Making Money

paused for a little while to let this sink in. Bent was intelligent, after all. No need to use a hammer when a feather would float down with as much effect.
    “Perhaps you could find some way that will allow him to be removed from office without fuss or bloodshed? There must be something,” he prompted. “No one just steps out of nowhere. But people know even less about his past than they do about, for the sake of argument, yours.”
    Another little reminder. Bent’s eye twitched.
    “But Mr. Fusspot will still be chairman,” he mumbled, while the rain rattled on the glass.
    “Oh yes. But I’m sure he will then be looked after by someone who is, shall we say, better capable of translating his little barks along more traditional lines?”
    “I see.”
    “And now I must be going,” said Cosmo, standing up. “I’m sure you have a lot of things to—” he looked around the barren room which showed no sign of real human occupation, no pictures, no books, no debris of living, and concluded: “—do?”
    “I will go to sleep shortly,” said Mr. Bent.
    “Tell me, Mr. Bent, how much do we pay you?” said Cosmo, glancing at the wardrobe.
    “Forty-one dollars per month, sir,” said Bent.
    “Ah, but of course you get wonderful job security.”
    “So I had hitherto believed, sir.”
    “I just wonder why you choose to live here?”
    “I like the dullness, sir. It expects nothing of me.”
    “Well, time to go,” said Cosmo, slightly faster than he really should. “I’m sure you can be of help, Mr. Bent. You have always been a great help. It would be such a shame if you could not be of help at this time.”
    Bent stared at the floor. He was trembling.
    “I speak for all of us when I say that we think of you as one of the family,” Cosmo went on. He rethought this sentence with reference to the peculiar charms of the Lavishes and added: “But in a good way.”

CHAPTER 6

    Jailbreak The prospect of a kidney sandwich The barber-surgeon’s knock Suicide by paint, inadvisability of Angels at one remove Igor goes shopping The use of understudies at a hanging, reflections on Places suitable for putting a head Moist awaits the sunshine Tricks with your brain “We’re going to need some bigger notes” Fun with root vegetables The lure of clipboards The impossible cabinet

    ON THE ROOF of the Tanty, the city’s oldest jail, Moist was more than moist. He’d reached the point where he was so wet that he should be approaching dryness from the other end.
    With care, he lifted the last of the oil lamps from the little semaphore tower on the flat roof, and tossed its contents into the howling night. They had been only half-full, in any case. It was amazing that anyone had even bothered to light them on a night like this.
    He felt his way back to the edge of the roof and located his grapnel, moving it gently around the stern crenellation and then letting out more rope to lower it down to the invisible ground. Now he had the rope around the big stone bulk he slid down holding on to both lengths and pulled the rope down after him. He stashed both grapnel and rope among the debris in an alley; it would be stolen within an hour or so.
    Right, then. Now for it…
    The Watch armor he’d lifted from the bank’s locker room fitted like a glove. He’d have preferred it to fit like a helmet and breastplate. But, in truth, it probably didn’t look any better on its owner, currently swanking along the corridors in the bank’s own shiny but impractical armor. It was common knowledge that the Watch’s approach to uniforms was one-size-doesn’t-exactly-fit-any body, and that Commander Vimes disapproved of armor that didn’t have that kicked-by-trolls look. He liked armor to state clearly that it had been doing its job.
    He took some time to get his breath back, and then walked around to the big black door and rang the bell. The mechanism rattled and clanked.
    They wouldn’t rush, not on a night like this.
    He was as naked and exposed as a baby lobster. He hoped he’d covered all the angles, but angles were, what did they call it, he’d gone to a lecture at the university…ah, yes. Angles were fractal. Each one was full of smaller angles. You couldn’t cover them all. The watchman at the bank might be called back to work and find his locker empty, someone might have seen Moist take it, Jenkins might have been moved…The hell with it. When time was pressing you just had to spin the wheel and be ready to run.
    Or,