Making Money

be only one outcome. It is a terrible thing, if done properly.”
    This is how Vetinari thinks, his soul exulted. Plans can break down. You cannot plan the future. Only presumptuous fools plan. The wise man steers.
    “As a director of the bank and, of course, a concerned citizen,” he said dreamily, “I shall now write a letter to the Times.”
    “Yes, sir, of course,” said Heretofore, “and shall I send for a jeweler, sir? I understand they have some fine little snips that—”
    “No pain without gain, Drumknott. It sharpens my thinking.” The glove went back on.
    “Er…” and then Heretofore gave up. He’d tried his best, but Cosmo was bent on his own destruction, and all a sensible man could do was to make as much money as possible and then stay alive to spend it.
    “I’ve had another stroke of luck, sir,” he ventured. He’d have liked more time, but it was clear that time was getting short.
    “Indeed? What is this?”
    “That project I have been working on…”
    “Very expensively? Yes?”
    “I believe I can get you Vetinari’s stick, sir.”
    “You mean his sword stick?”
    “Yes, sir. As far as I know, the blade has never been drawn in anger.”
    “I understood it was always close to him.”
    “I didn’t say it would be easy, sir. Or cheap. But after much, much work I now see a clear way,” said Heretofore.
    “They say the steel of the blade was taken from the iron in the blood of a thousand men…”
    “So I have heard, sir.”
    “Have you seen it?”
    “Very briefly, sir.”
    For the first time in his career, Heretofore found himself feeling sorry for Cosmo. There was a kind of yearning in the man’s voice. He didn’t want to usurp Vetinari. There were plenty of people in the city who wanted to usurp Vetinari. But Cosmo wanted to be Vetinari.
    “What was it like?” The voice was pleading. Poison from the sickening finger must have got to his brain, thought Heretofore. But his mind is pretty poisonous to begin with. Perhaps they will be friends.
    “Er…well, the handle and scabbard are just like yours, sir, but a little worn. The blade, though, is gray and looks—”
    “Gray?”
    “Yes, sir. It looks aged and slightly pitted. But here and there, when the light catches it, there are little red and gold flecks. I have to say that it looks ominous.”
    “The flecks of light would be the blood, of course,” said Cosmo thoughtfully, “or, possibly, yes, very possibly the trapped souls of those who died to make the dreadful blade.”
    “I had not thought of that, sir,” said Heretofore, who had spent two nights with a new blade, some hematite, a brass brush, and some chemicals to produce a weapon that looked as though it’d spring for your throat of its own accord.
    “You could get it tonight?”
    “I think so, sir. It will be dangerous, of course.”
    “And require yet more expense, I imagine,” said Cosmo, with rather more insight than Heretofore would have expected in his current state.
    “There are so many bribes, sir. He will not be happy when he finds out, and I daren’t risk the time it would take to make an exact replacement.”
    “Yes. I see.”
    Cosmo pulled off the black glove again and looked at his hand. There seemed to be some greenish tint to his finger now, and he wondered if there was some copper in the ring’s alloy. But the pink, almost red streaks moving up his arm looked very healthy.
    “Yes. Get the stick,” he murmured, turning his hand to catch the light from the lamps. Odd, though, he couldn’t feel any heat on the finger, but that didn’t matter.
    He could see the future so clearly. The shoes, the cap, the ring, the stick…Surely, as he filled the occult space occupied by Vetinari, the wretched man would feel himself getting weaker and more confused, and he’d get things wrong and make mistakes…“See to it, Drumknott,” he said.

    LORD HAVELOCK VETINARI pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day and was clearly going to be a long evening.
    “I think I need a moment to relax. Let’s get it over with,” he said.
    Drumknott walked over to the long table, which at this time of day held copies of several editions of the Times, his lordship being keen on keeping track of what people thought was going on.
    Vetinari sighed. People told him things all the time. Lots of people had been telling him things in the last hour. They told him things for all sorts of reasons: to gain some credit; to gain some money; for a