Making Money

hanging around its neck, which meant it was one of those that couldn’t talk. Moist wondered if the Golem Trust knew about it. They had amazing ways of finding golems.
    As he watched, the wheel swung gently to a halt. The silent golem stood still.
    “Tell me,” said Moist, “why bother with goldish coins? Why not just, well, make the dollars out of gold?”
    “Very fast way to lose gold, sir!”
    “Did you get a lot of clipping and sweating?”
    “I’m surprised a gentleman like you knows them names, sir,” said the foreman, taken aback.
    “I take a keen interest in the criminal mind,” said Moist, slightly faster than he’d intended. It was true. All you needed was a talent for introspection.
    “Good for you, sir. Oh, yes, we’ve had them tricks and a lot more, oh yes! I swear we’ve seen ’em all. And painting an’ plating an’ plugging. Even recasting, sir, adulterated with copper, very neat. I swear, sir, there are people out there that will spend two days scheming and fiddling to make the amount of money they could earn by honest means in one day!”
    “No! Really?”
    “As I stand here, sir,” said Shady. “And what kind o’ sane mind does that?”
    Well, mine, once upon a time, Moist thought. It was more fun. “I really don’t know,” he said.
    “So the city council said the dollars were to be goldish, mostly navy brass, to tell you the truth, ’cos it shines up nice. Oh, they still forge, sir, but it’s hard to get right and the Watch comes down heavily on ’em and at least no one’s nicking the gold,” said Shady. “Is that all, sir? Only we’ve got stuff to finish before our knocking-off time, you see, and if we stay late we have to make more money to pay our overtime, and if the lads is a bit tired we ends up earning the money faster’n we can make it, which leads to a bit of what I can only call a conundrum—”
    “You mean that if you do overtime you have to do more overtime to pay for it?” said Moist, still pondering how illogical logical thinking can be if a big enough committee is doing it.
    “That’s right, sir,” said Shady. “And down that road madness lies.”
    “It’s a very short road,” said Moist, nodding. “But one last thing, if I may. What do you do about security?”
    Bent coughed. “The Mint is impossible to get into from outside the bank once it is locked, Mr. Lipwig. By arrangement with the Watch, off-duty officers patrol both buildings at night, with some of our own guards. They wear proper bank uniforms in here, of course, because the Watch is so shabby, but they ensure a professional approach, you understand.”
    Well, yes, thought Moist, who suspected that his experience of coppers was rather more in-depth than that of Bent. The money is probably safe, but I bet you get through a hell of a lot of coffee and pens.
    “I was thinking about…during the day,” he said. The Men of the Sheds were watching him with blank stares.
    “Oh, that,” said Mr. Shady. “We do that ourselves. We take turns. Boy Charlie’s the security this week. Show him your truncheon, Charlie.”
    One of the men pulled a large stick from inside his coat and shyly held it up.
    “There used to be a badge, too, but it got lost,” said Shady. “But that doesn’t matter much ’cos we all know who he is. And when we’re leaving, he’s sure to remind us not to steal anything.”
    Silence followed.
    “Well, that seems to cover it nicely,” said Moist, rubbing his hands together. “Thank you, gentlemen!”
    And they filed away, each man to his shed.
    “Probably very little,” said Mr. Bent, watching them go.
    “Hmm?” said Moist.
    “You were wondering how much money is walking out with them, I believe.”
    “Well, yes.”
    “Very little, I think. They say that after a while the money becomes just…stuff,” said the chief cashier, leading the way back into the bank.
    “It costs more than a penny to make a penny,” Moist murmured. “Is it just me, or is that wrong?”
    “But, you see, once you have made it, a penny keeps on being a penny,” said Mr. Bent. “That’s the magic of it.”
    “It is?” said Moist. “Look, it’s a copper disc. What do you expect it to become?”
    “In the course of a year, just about everything,” said Mr. Bent smoothly. “It becomes some apples, part of a cart, a pair of shoelaces, some hay, an hour’s occupancy of a theater seat. It may even become a stamp and send a letter, Mr. Lipwig. It might be spent three