Making Money

extend the courtesy of your guild to Mr. Bent’s young lady, Doctor,” he added, to the surprise and delight of Miss Drapes, who clung on daily to the “lady” but had reluctantly said good-bye to the “young” years ago.
    “And will somebody please release those people from that ladder? I think a saw will be required,” Vetinari went on. “Drumknott, collect up these intriguing new ledgers that Mr. Bent’s young lady has so kindly supplied. And I think Mr. Lavish needs medical attention—”
    “I…do…not!” Cosmo, dripping custard, was trying to remain upright. It was painful to watch. He managed to point a furious but wavering finger at the tumbled books. “Those,” he declared, “are the property of the bank!”
    “Mr. Lavish, it is clear to us all that you are ill—” Vetinari began.
    “Yes, you’d like everyone to believe that, wouldn’t you—impostor!” Cosmo said, visibly swaying. In his head the crowd cheered.
    “The Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork,” said Vetinari, without taking his eyes off Cosmo, “prides itself on its red-leather ledgers, which without fail are embossed with the seal of the city in gold leaf. Drumknott?”
    “These are cheap cardboard-bound ones, sir. You can buy them anywhere. The writing within, however, is the unmistakable fine copperplate hand of Mr. Bent.”
    “You are sure?”
    “Oh, yes. He does a wonderful cursive script.”
    “Fake,” said Cosmo, as if his tongue was an inch thick, “all fake. Stolen!”
    Moist looked at the watching people and saw the shared expression. Whatever you thought of him, it was not good to see a man fall to bits where he stood. A couple of watchmen were sidling carefully toward him.
    “I never stole a thing in my life!” said Miss Drapes, bridling enough for gymkhana. “They were in his wardrobe—” she hesitated and decided she’d rather be scarlet than gray—“and I don’t care what Lady Deirdre Waggon thinks! And I’ve taken a look inside them, too! Your father took the gold and sold it and forced him to hide it in the numbers! And that’s not the half of it!”
    “…Beautiful but’fly,” Cosmo slurred, blinking at Vetinari. “You not me any mo’. Walked mile in y’shoes!”
    Moist also edged in his direction. Cosmo had the look of someone who might explode at any moment, or collapse, or just possibly fall on Moist’s neck, mumbling things like “You’re m’bestest pal, you are, it’s you’n me ’gainst the worl’ pal.”
    Greenish sweat was pouring down the man’s face.
    “I think you need a lie-down, Mr. Lavish,” said Moist cheerfully. Cosmo tried to focus on him.
    “’S a good pain,” the dripping man confided. “Got ’li’l hat, got got sword o’ t’ouands mens—” and with a whisper of steel, a gray blade, with an evil red glitter to it, was pointing between Moist’s eyes. It didn’t waver. Behind it, Cosmo was trembling and twitching, but the sword stayed rigid and unmoving.
    The advancing watchmen slowed down a little. Their job had a pension.
    “Will no one at all make any move, please? I think I can deal with this,” said Moist, squinting along the blade. This was a time for delicacy…
    “Oh, this is so silly,” said Pucci, strutting forward with a clatter of heels. “We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It’s our gold, isn’t it? Who cares what he wrote down in his books?”
    The phalanx of Lavish lawyers rose very cautiously to their feet, while the two employed by Pucci began to whisper urgently to her. She ignored them. Everyone was staring at her now, not her brother. Everyone was paying attention to her.
    “Could you please be quiet, Miss Lavish?” said Moist. The stillness of the blade worried him. Some part of Cosmo was functioning very well indeed.
    “Oh yes, I expect you just would like me to shut up, and I’m not going to!” said Pucci gleefully. Like Moist confronted by an open notebook, she triumphantly plunged on without a care: “We can’t steal what already belongs to us, can we? So what if Father put the wretched gold to better use? It was just sitting there! Honestly, why are you all so dense? Everybody does it. It’s not stealing. I mean, the gold still exists, yes? In rings and things. It’s not as though anyone’s going to throw it away. Who cares where it is?”
    Moist resisted the impulse to look at the other bankers in the room. Everyone does it, eh? Pucci was not going to get many Hogswatch cards this year. And her brother