Making Money

sure some ingenious person will devise one for you eventually. When they do, don’t hesitate to refrain from bringing it home. In the meantime, we have this wretched fait accompli.” Vetinari shook his head in what Moist was sure was genuinely contrived annoyance and went on: “An army that will obey anyone with a shiny jacket, a megaphone, and the Umnian words for ‘Dig a hole and bury yourselves’ would turn war into nothing but a rather entertaining farce. Rest assured, I’m putting together a committee of inquiry. It will not rest, apart from statutory tea and biscuit breaks, until it has found the culprit. I shall take a personal interest, of course.”
    Of course you will, Moist thought. And I know that lots of people heard me shout Umnian commands, but I’m betting on a man who thinks war is a wicked waste of customers. A man who’s a better con artist than I’ll ever be, who thinks committees are a kind of wastepaper basket, who can turn sizzle into sausage, every day…
    Moist and Adora Belle looked at one another. Their glances agreed: It’s him. Of course it’s him. Downey and all the rest of them will know it’s him. Things that live on damp walls will know it’s him. And no one will ever prove it.
    Moist’s thoughts added: He’s probably got our signed confessions in his pocket right now, just in case. Owlswick’s probably as busy as a bee and as happy as a pig in muck. Still, it could be worse. Better the devil who knows you…
    “You can trust us,” he said.
    “Yes. I know,” said Vetinari. “Come, Mr. Fusspot. There may be cake.”

    MOIST DIDN’T FANCY another ride in the coach. Coaches carried some unpleasant associations right now.
    “He’s won, hasn’t he,” said Adora Belle, as the fog billowed around them.
    “Well, he’s got the chairman eating out of his hand.”
    “Is he allowed to do that?”
    “I think that comes under the quia ego sic dico rule.”
    “Yes, what did that mean?”
    “‘Because I say so,’ I think.”
    “That doesn’t sound like much of a rule.”
    “Actually, it’s the only one he needs. All in all he could be—”
    “You owe me five grand, Mishter Shpangler!”
    The figure was out of the gloom and behind Adora Belle in one movement.
    “No tricks, miss, on account o’ this knife,” said Cribbins, and Moist heard Adora Belle’s sharp intake of breath. “Your chum promised it to me for peaching you, and since you peached yourself and sent him to the loony house I reckon you owe me, right?”
    Moist’s slowly moving hand found his pocket, but it was bereft of aid; the Tanty didn’t like you to bring blackjacks and lock picks in with you and expected you to buy such things from the wardens, like everyone else.
    “Put the knife away and we can talk,” he said.
    “Oh yeah, talk! You like talkin’, you do! You got a magic tongue, you have! I sheen you! You flap it about and you’re the golden boy! You tell ’em you’re goin’ to rob them and they laugh! How d’you get away with that, eh?”
    Cribbins was champing and spitting with rage. Angry people make mistakes, but that’s no comfort when they’re holding a knife a few inches from your girlfriend’s kidneys. She’d gone pale, and Moist had to hope that she’d worked out that this was no time to stamp her foot. Above all, he had to stop himself from looking over Cribbins’s shoulder, because in the edge of his vision he was sure someone was creeping up.
    “This is no time for rash moves,” he said loudly. The shadow in the fog appeared to halt.
    “Cribbins, this is why you never made it,” Moist went on. “I mean, do you expect me to have that much money on me?”
    “Plenty of places round here for ush to be coshy while we wait, eh?”
    Dumb, thought Moist. Dumb but dangerous. And a thought said: It’s brain against brain. And a weapon he doesn’t know how to use belongs to you. Push him.
    “Just back away and we’ll forget we saw you,” he said. “That’s the best offer you’re going to get.”
    “You’re going to try to talk your way out of thish, you shmarmy bashtard? I’m goin’ to—”
    There was a muffled twang, and Cribbins made a noise. It was the sound of someone trying to scream, except that even screaming was too painful. Moist grabbed Adora Belle as the man bent double, clutching at his mouth. There was another twang, and blood appeared on Cribbins’s cheek, causing him to whimper and roll up into a ball.
    Even then, there were more