Making Money

the boots of the man himself then they had almost certainly, at the very least, sometimes been in the same room as his feet.
    Heretofore handed over ten dollars for them and spent an evening wearing down the left heel enough to be noticeable. Cosmo paid him fifty dollars without flinching, although he did wince when he tried them on.
    “If you want to understand a man, walk a mile in his shoes,” he’d said, hobbling the length of his office. What insight he’d glean if they were the man’s under-butler’s shoes, Heretofore couldn’t guess at, but after half an hour, Cosmo rang for a basin of cold water and some soothing herbs and the shoes had not made an appearance since.
    And then there had been the black skullcap. That one had been the one stroke of luck in this whole business. It was even genuine. It was a safe bet that Vetinari bought them from Bolters in the Maul, and Heretofore had cased the place, entered when the senior partners were at lunch, spoke to the impecunious youth who worked the steamy cleaning and stretching machines in the back room—and found that one had been sent in for cleaning. Heretofore walked out with it, uncleaned, leaving the young man extremely pecunious and with instructions to wash a new cap for return to the palace.
    Cosmo was beside himself, and wanted to know all the details.
    Next evening, it turned out that the pecunious youth spent the evening in a bar and died outside in a drunken brawl around midnight, short of money and even shorter of breath. Heretofore’s room was next to Cranberry’s. On reflection, he’d heard the man come in late that night.
    And now there was the signet ring. Heretofore had told Cosmo that he could get a replica made and use his contacts—his very expensive contacts—at the palace to get it swapped for the real thing. He’d been paid five thousand dollars!
    Five thousand dollars!
    And the boss was overjoyed. Overjoyed and mad. He’d got a fake ring but he swore it had the spirit of Vetinari flowing in it. Perhaps it did, because Cranberry became part of the arrangement. If you got drawn into Cosmo’s little hobby, Heretofore realized too late, you died.
    He reached his room, darted inside, and shut the door. Then he leaned on it.
    He ought to run, right now. His savings by now could buy a lot of distance. But the fear subsided a little as he collected his thoughts.
    They told him: Relax, relax. The Watch hadn’t come knocking yet, had they? Cranberry was a professional, and the boss was full of gratitude.
    So…why not one last trick? Make some real money! What could he “obtain” that the boss would pay him another five thousand for?
    Something simple but impressive, that would be the trick, and by the time he found out—if he ever did—Heretofore would be on the other side of the continent, with a new name and suntanned beyond recognition.
    Yes…the very thing…

    THE SUN WAS HOT, and so were the dwarfs. They were mountain dwarfs and were not at home under open skies.
    And what were they here for? The king wanted to know if anything valuable was taken out the hole that the golems were digging for the mad smoking woman, but they weren’t allowed to set foot on it, because that would be trespassing. So they sat in the shade and sweated, while, about once a day, the mad smoking woman who smoked all the time came and laid…things on a crude trestle table in front of them. The things had this in common: they were dull.
    There was nothing to mine here, everyone knew. It was barren silt and sand all the way down. There was no fresh water. Such plants as survived here stored winter rain in swollen, hollow roots, or lived off the moisture in the sea mist. The place contained nothing of interest. And what came out of the long sloping tunnel bore this out to the point of boredom.
    There were bones of old ships, and occasionally the bones of old sailors. There were a couple of coins, one silver, one gold, which were not dull enough and were duly confiscated. There were broken pots and pieces of statue, which were puzzled over, part of an iron cauldron, an anchor with a few links of chain.
    It was clear, the dwarfs considered as they sat in the shade, that nothing came here but by boat. But remember: in matters of commerce and gold, never trust anyone who could see over your helmet.
    And then there were the golems. They hated golems, because they moved silently, for all their weight, and looked like trolls. They arrived and departed all