Making Money

thur.”
    This “poththibly” caused Hubert to grope for an umbrella.
    “How can anything be too accurate?”
    Igor looked around. Suddenly, he was on edge. “Would you mind if I wind down on the lisp a little, sir?”
    “Can you do that?”
    “Oh yeth…or, indeed, yes, sir. But it’s a clan thing, you see. It’s expected, like the stitcheth. But I think you will find the explanation hard enough to understand as it is.”
    “Well, er, thank you. Go ahead, please.”
    It was quite a long explanation. Hubert listened with care, his mouth open. The term “cargo cult” whirled past, and was followed by a short dissertation on the hypothesis that all water, everywhere, knows where all the other water is, some interesting facts about hyphenated silicon and what happens to it in the presence of cheese, the benefits and hazards of morphic resonation in areas of high background magic, the truth about identical twins, and the fact that if the fundamental occult maxim “as above, so below” was true, then so was “as below, so above”…
    The silence that followed was broken only by the tinkle of water in the Glooper, and the sound of the former Owlswick’s pencil as he worked away with demon-haunted skill.
    “Do you mind going back to lisping, please?” said Hubert. “I don’t know why, it just sounds better that way.”
    “Very good, thur.”
    “All right. Now, are you really saying that I can now change the economic life of the city by adjusting the Glooper? It’s like a witch’s wax doll and I’ve got all the pins?”
    “That ith correct, thur. A very nice analogy.”
    Hubert stared at the crystal masterpiece. The light in the undercroft was changing all the time as the economic life of the city pumped itself around the tubes, some of them no thicker than a hair.
    “It’s an economic model, in fact, which is the real thing?”
    “They are identical, thur.”
    “So with one hammer blow I could throw the city into an irrevocable economic crash?”
    “Yeth, thur. Do you want me to fetch a hammer?”
    Hubert stared up at the rushing, trickling, foaming thing that was the Glooper and his eyes bulged. He started to giggle but it grew very quickly into a laugh.
    “Hahah! Ahahahah!!! AHAHAHAHA!!!!…can you get me a glass of water, please?…HAHAHAHA!!! Hahahahahah!!…HAHA HAHA!!!—”
    The laughter stopped abruptly.
    “That can’t be right, Igor.”
    “Really, thur?”
    “Yes indeed! Look at our old friend Flask 244a! Can you see it? It’s empty!”
    “Indeed, thur?”
    “Indeed indeed,” said Hubert. “Flask 244a represents the gold in our very own vaults, Igor. And ten tons of gold just don’t get up and walk away! Eh? HAHAHAHA!!! Could you get me that glass of water I asked for? Hahahah ahah!!…HAHA HAHA!!!—”

    A SMILE PLAYED around Cosmo’s lips, which was a dangerous playground for anything as innocent as a smile.
    “All of them?” he said.
    “Well, all the counting-house clerks,” said Heretofore. “They just ran out into the street. Some of them were in tears.”
    “A panic, in fact,” murmured Cosmo. He looked at the picture of Vetinari opposite his desk and was sure it winked at him.
    “Apparently it was some problem with the chief cashier, sir.”
    “Mr. Bent?”
    “Apparently he made a mistake, sir. They said he was muttering to himself and then just ran out of the room. They said that some of the staff had gone back in to search for him.”
    “Mavolio Bent made a mistake? I think not,” said Cosmo.
    “They say he ran off, sir.”
    Cosmo very nearly raised an eyebrow without mechanical aid. It was that close.
    “Ran off? Was he carrying any large and heavy bags? They usually do.”
    “I believe he wasn’t, sir,” said Heretofore.
    “That would have been…helpful.”
    Cosmo leaned back in his chair, pulled off the black glove for the third time today, and held out his hand at arm’s length. The ring did look impressive, especially against the pale blue of his finger.
    “Have you ever seen a run on a bank, Drumknott?” he said. “Have you ever seen the crowds fighting for their money?”
    “No, sir,” said Heretofore, who was beginning to worry again. The tight boots had been, well, funny, but surely a finger shouldn’t look that color?
    “It’s a dreadful sight. It’s like watching a beached whale being eaten alive by crabs,” said Cosmo, turning his hand so that the light showed up the shadowy V. “It may squirm in its agony, but there can