Making Money

course.”
    “Anything but. Anything but,” said Moist, trying not to laugh. We humans are good at this curly thinking, aren’t we, he thought.
    “And he has had a good innings, when all’s said and done.”
    “Two of them,” said Moist, “when you come to think about it.”
    “What do you want us to do?” said Hicks, against the distant shouts of the ghostly professor berating the students.
    “There’s such a thing, I believe, as…an insorcism?”
    “Those? We’re not allowed to do those! They’re totally against university rules!”
    “Well, wearing the black robe and the skull ring has got to count for something, hasn’t it? I mean, your predecessors would turn in their dark coffins if they thought you wouldn’t agree to the minor naughtiness I have in mind…” And Moist explained, in one simple sentence.
    Louder shouts and curses indicated that the portable circle was almost upon them.
    “Well, Doctor?” said Moist.
    A complex spectra of expressions chased one another across Dr. Hicks’s face.
    “Well, I suppose…”
    “Yes, Doctor?”
    “Well, it’d be like sending him to Heaven, right?”
    “Exactly! I couldn’t have put it better myself!”
    “Anyone could put it better than this bunch!” snapped Flead, right behind him. “The department has really been allowed to go uphill since my day! Well, we shall see what we can do about that!”
    “Before you do, Professor, I must speak to the golem,” said Moist. “Can you translate for me?”
    “Can but won’t,” snapped Flead.
    “You tried to help Miss Dearheart just earlier on.”
    “She is attractive. Why should I bequeath to you knowledge it took me a century to acquire?”
    “Because there’s fools back there who want to use these golems to start a war?”
    “Then that will reduce the number of fools.”
    In front of them now was the lone golem. Even kneeling, this one’s face was level with Moist’s eyes. The head turned to look blankly at him. The guards around the golem, on the other hand, looked at Moist with deep suspicion.
    “We are going to perform a little magic, officers,” Moist told them.
    The corporal in charge looked as if this did not meet with his approval.
    “We’ve got to guard it,” he pointed out, eyeing the black robes and the shimmering Professor Flead.
    “That’s fine, we can work around you,” said Moist. “Do please stay. I’m sure there’s not much risk.”
    “Risk?” said the corporal.
    “Although perhaps it might be better it you fanned out to keep the public away,” Moist went on. “We would not want anything to happen to members of the public. If, perhaps, you could push them back a hundred yards or so?”
    “Told to stay here,” said the corporal, looking Moist up and down. He lowered his voice. “Er, aren’t you the postmaster general?”
    Moist recognized the look and the tone. Here we go…
    “Yes, indeed,” he said.
    The watchman lowered his voice still further. “So, er, do you by any chance have any of the blue—”
    “Can’t help you there,” said Moist quickly, reaching into his pocket, “but I do just happen to have here a couple of very rare 50p green stamps with the highly amusing ‘misprint’ that caused a bit of a stir last year, you may remember. These are the only two left. Very collectible.”
    A small envelope appeared in his hand. Just as quickly, it vanished into the corporal’s pocket.
    “We can’t let anything happen to members of the public,” he said, “so I suggest we’d better keep them back a hundred yards or so.”
    “Good thinking,” said Moist.
    A few minutes later, Moist had the square to himself, the watchmen having worked out quite quickly that the further back from danger they pushed the public the further from said danger they, too, would be.
    And now, Moist thought, for the Moment of Truth. If possible, though, it would become the Moment of Plausible Lies, since most people were happier with them.
    The Umnian golems were bigger and heavier than the ones commonly seen around the town, but they were beautiful. Of course they were—they had probably been made by golems. And their builders had given them what looked like muscles, and calm, sad faces. In the last hour or so, in defiance of the watchmen, the lovable kids of the city had managed to scrawl a black mustache on this one.
    O…kay. Now for the professor…
    “Tell me, Professor, do you enjoy being dead?” he said.
    “Enjoy? How can anyone enjoy it, you