Making Money

other hand, she was his age and at least had ambition and a wonderful gift for hatred. She wasn’t lazy like the rest of them. They spent their lives huddled around the money. They had no vision. Pucci was someone he could talk to. She saw things from a softer, female perspective.
    “You should have Bent killed,” she said. “I’m sure he knows something. Let’s hang him from one of the bridges by his ankles. That’s what Granddaddy used to do. Why are you still wearing that glove?”
    “He’s been a loyal servant of the bank,” said Cosmo, ignoring the last remark.
    “Well? What’s that got to do with it? Is there still something wrong with your hand?”
    “My hand is fine,” said Cosmo, as another red rose of pain bloomed all the way to his shoulder. I’m so close, he thought. So close! Vetinari thinks he has me, but I have him! Oh, yes! Nevertheless…perhaps it was time to start tidying up.
    “I will send Cranberry to see Mr. Bent tonight,” he said. “The man is no further use now that I have Cribbins.”
    “Good. And then Lipsbig will go to prison and we’ll get our bank back. You don’t look well, you know. You are very pale.”
    “As pale as Vetinari?” said Cosmo, pointing at the painting.
    “What? What are you talking about? Don’t be silly,” said Pucci. “And there’s a funny smell in here, too. Has something died?”
    “My thoughts are unclouded. Tomorrow will be Vetinari’s last day as Patrician, I assure you.”
    “You’re being silly again. And ever so sweaty, I might add,” said Pucci. “Honestly, it’s dripping off your chin. Pull yourself together!”
    “I imagine the caterpillar feels it is dying when it begins to turn into a beautiful butterfly,” said Cosmo dreamily.
    “What? What? Who knows? What’s that got to do with anything?” Pucci demanded. “That’s not how it works in any case, because, listen, this is very interesting: the caterpillar dies, right, and goes all mushy, and then a tiny bit of it, like a kidney or something, suddenly wakes up and eats the caterpillar soup, and that’s what comes out as the butterfly. It’s a wonder of nature. You’ve just got a touch of flu. Don’t be a big baby. I have a date. See you in the morning.”
    She flounced out, leaving Cosmo alone except for Cranberry, who was reading in the corner.
    It occurred to Cosmo that he really knew very little about the man. As Vetinari, of course, he would soon know everything about everybody.
    “You were at the Assassins’ School, weren’t you, Cranberry?” he said.
    Cranberry took the little silver bookmark from his top pocket, placed it carefully on the page, and closed the book.
    “Yes, sir. Scholarship boy.”
    “Oh, yes. I remember them, scuttling about all the time. They tended to get bullied.”
    “Yes, sir. Some of us survived.”
    “Never bullied you, did I?”
    “No, sir. I would have remembered.”
    “That’s good. That’s good. What is your first name, Cranberry?”
    “Don’t know, sir. Foundling.”
    “How sad. Your life must have been very hard.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “The world can be so very harsh at times.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Will you be so good as to kill Mr. Bent tonight?”
    “I have made a mental note, sir. I will take an associate and undertake the task an hour before dawn. Most of Mrs. Cake’s lodgers will be out at that time and the fog will be thickest. Fortuitously, Mrs. Cake is staying with her old friend Mrs. Harms-Beetle in Welcome Soap tonight. I checked earlier, having anticipated this eventuality.”
    “You are a craftsman, Cranberry. I salute you.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Have you seen Heretofore anywhere?”
    “No, sir.”
    “I wonder where he’s got to? Now go off and have your supper, anyway. I will not be dining tonight.
    “Tomorrow I will change,” he said aloud, when the door had shut behind Cranberry.
    He reached down and drew the sword. It was a thing of beauty.
    In the picture opposite, Lord Vetinari raised an eyebrow and said: “Tomorrow you will be a beautiful butterfly.”
    Cosmo smiled. He was nearly there. Vetinari had gone completely mad.

    MR. BENT OPENED his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
    After a few seconds, this uninspiring view was replaced by an enormous nose, with the rest of a worried face some distance beyond it.
    “You’re awake!”
    Mr. Bent blinked and refocused and looked up at Miss Drapes, a shadow against the lamplight.
    “You had a bit of a funny turn, Mr. Bent,” she