Making Money

successfully argue, Commander, that the city has come with him.”
    All heads turned. A path cleared itself for Lord Vetinari, as paths do for men known to have dungeons in their basement. And Adora Belle hobbled past him, threw herself at Moist, and started beating on his chest, shouting: “How did you get through to them? How did you make them understand? Tell me or I’ll never promise to marry you again!”
    “What are your intentions, Mr. Lipwig?” said Vetinari.
    “I was planning to hand them over to the Golem Trust, sir,” said Moist, fending off Adora Belle as gently as possible.
    “You were?”
    “But not the golem horses, sir. I’ll bet they are faster than any flesh-and-blood creatures. There are nineteen of them, and if you’ll take my advice, sir, you’ll give one to the king of the dwarfs, because I imagine he’s a bit angry right now. It’s up to you what you do with the others. But I’d like to ask for half a dozen of them for the Post Offce. In the meantime, the rest of them will be safe under ground. I want them to be the basis of the currency, because—”
    “Yes, I couldn’t help overhearing,” said Vetinari. “Well done, Mr. Lipwig, I can see you’ve been thinking about this. You have presented us with a sensible way forward, indeed. I have also been giving the situation much thought, and all that remains is for me—”
    “Oh, no thanks are necessary—”
    “—to say, ‘Arrest this man, Commander.’ Be so good as to handcuff him to a sturdy officer and put him in my coach.”
    “What?” said Moist.
    “What?” screamed Adora Belle.
    “The directors of the Royal Bank are pressing charges of embezzlement against you and the chairman, Mr. Lipwig.” Vetinari reached down and picked up Mr. Fusspot by the scruff of his neck. The little dog swung gently back and forth in the Patrician’s grasp, wide eyes open wider in terror, his toy vibrating apologetically in his mouth.
    “You can’t seriously blame him for anything,” Moist protested.
    “Alas, he is the chairman, Mr. Lipwig. His pawprints are on the documents.”
    “How can you do this to Moist after what’s just happened?” said Adora Belle. “Hasn’t he just saved the day?”
    “Possibly, although I’m not sure whom he has saved it for. The law must be obeyed, Miss Dearheart. Even tyrants have to obey the law.” He paused, looking thoughtful, and continued, “No, I tell a lie, tyrants do not have to obey the law, obviously, but they do have to observe the niceties. At least, I do.”
    “But he didn’t take—” Adora Belle began.
    “Nine o’clock tomorrow, in the Great Hall,” said Vetinari. “I invite all interested parties to attend. We shall get to the bottom of this.” He raised his voice. “Are there any directors of the Royal Bank here? Ah, Mr. Lavish. Are you well?”
    Cosmo Lavish, walking unsteadily, pushed his way through the crowd, supported on one side by a young man in a brown robe.
    “You have had him arrested?” said Cosmo.
    “One uncontested fact is that Mr. Lipwig, on behalf of Mr. Fusspot, did formally take responsibility for the gold.”
    “Indeed he did,” said Cosmo, glaring at Moist.
    “But in the circumstances I feel I should look into all aspects of the situation.”
    “We are in agreement there,” said Cosmo.
    “And to that end I am arranging for my clerks to enter the bank tonight and examine its records,” Vetinari went on.
    “I cannot agree to your request,” said Cosmo.
    “Fortuitously, it was not a request.” Lord Vetinari tucked Mr. Fusspot under his arm, and continued: “I have the chairman with me, you see. Commander Vimes, Mr. Lipwig into my coach, please. See that Miss Dearheart is escorted safely home, will you? We shall sort this out tomorrow.”
    Vetinari looked at the tower of dust that now enveloped the industrious golems, and added, “We’ve all had a very busy day.”

    OUT IN THE BACK alley behind the Pink PussyCat Club the insistent, pumping music was muffled but still pervasive.
    Dark figures lurked…
    “Mr. Hicks, sir?”
    The head of the Department of Postmortem Communications paused in the act of drawing a complicated rune among the rather less complex everyday graffiti and looked up at the concerned face of his student.
    “Yes? Barnsforth?”
    “Is this exactly legal under college rules, sir?”
    “Of course not! Think of what might happen if this sort of thing fell into the wrong hands! Hold the lantern higher, Goatly,