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Harry moved into what might be called his avuncular persona and said, ‘That might very well be so, my lad, but I think that you and me are going to a place where there’ll be a lot of money, and where there’s a lot of money there are a lot of people trying to take it off you. I’d like to think that if anyone broke into your big shed to fossick around for any interesting bits of machinery or clues as to how you build your engines, they might find themselves having to explain their interest to Snatcher, Stiletto Dave and Grinder Bob. They’re all good lads, kind to their old mums and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Call it, well, call it … insurance. And if you can be good enough to let them have a key, I’ll send them up there right now. Mind you, if you can’t find a key I’m sure they’ll find their way in. They’re very versatile in that respect.’
Young Simnel smiled and said, ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Sir Harry. Perhaps I should give them a message to take to my mother. She’ll show them where everything is. My dad said always put a few nasty little booby traps around the place before you lock up and then after that owt they can steal from you they’re welcome to, if they’ve still got their arms to carry it away, that is.’
Harry laughed out loud and said, ‘Sounds to me like your old dad looked at things just the way I do. What’s mine is mine and what is mine is me own.’
When Moist and Mr Thunderbolt stepped out into the compound Moist saw that people were still queueing up for a ride on the train, which was waiting like a queen while Mr Simnel’s lads filled her bunker full of coal, and oiled and greased everything again, including themselves. They tapped her wheels and polished everything that could be polished, once again including themselves, while just about every little boy in the city, and, amazingly, most of the girls, stared at her in awe, worshipping at her shrine. And then it came back to him: earth, air, fire and water, the sum of everything! The goddess had found her worshippers.
There was a sound like thunder, but it was only Mr Thunderbolt clearing his throat to say, ‘Remarkable, isn’t it, Mister Lipwig? There appears to be what one can only call a presence of sorts, a hint, as it were, that life turns up in many different guises, perhaps? Just a passing thought.’
Moist had never heard such clear diction from a troll, and it must have shown, because Thunderbolt laughed, saying, ‘A touch of diamond does the trick, Mister Lipwig, and I will endeavour to draw up contracts that suit all parties, you need not worry.’
Just then Moist beheld Drumknott, greasy and cheerful and covered with smuts, stepping off the engine and regretfully handing a hat and a very grubby jacket to one of Mr Simnel’s lads. Moist grabbed the little secretary by one arm.
‘Where did you get to, Mister Drumknott? I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ he lied. ‘His lordship is expecting you back any time now.’
Moist wasn’t sure he liked Drumknott, but it wouldn’t do to have him as an enemy, being so close as he was to the engine that drove Ankh-Morpork, and so he cleaned up the little man as best he could and flagged a coach back into the city, noticing, as they travelled along the busy towpath, that the major traffic was still going the other way.
Moist knew about the zeitgeist, he tasted it in the wind, and sometimes it allowed him to play with it. He understood it, and now it hinted at speed, escape, something wonderfully new, the very bones of the land awakening, and suddenly it seemed to cry out for motion, new horizons, faraway places, anywhere that is not here! No doubt about it, the railway was going to turn coal into gold.
‘Excuse me, young man.’
Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs, who had taken it upon themselves to patrol the line of expectant sightseers queueing for a ride on the train, looked around uncertainly. It had been a long time since Sergeant Colon had been a young man, and as for Nobby Nobbs, although it was generally agreed that he was the younger of the two, there was some doubt about whether the term Homo sapiens could be applied to him; the jury of Ankh-Morpork was out. Colon and Nobby were supposed to have been on the beat in the Shades, but Colon had delegated that task to a couple of new recruits. ‘Good experience for ’em, Nobby. And it’s likely to be a dangerous business, this streaming engine. Needs someone to have a look-see – a couple of experienced coppers, let’s say, prepared to put therselves in harm’s way for the public good.’
‘Young man … excuse me,’ came the voice again. The speaker was a harassed-looking lady with two boys at heel, who weren’t at all at heel and were expressing their frustration at having to wait for the promised ride on the train in the supremely annoying ways that only small children can manage. In a desperate attempt to distract them from their contest to inconvenience as many people in the queue in front of them as possible, their mother had seized on the first official-looking people who might be able to entertain her offspring with some interesting facts.
‘We were just wondering if you could tell us how this locomotive goes?’ she asked.
Fred Colon took a deep breath. ‘Well, missus, there’s the boiler, you see. It’s like a kettle.’
This was not enough for the smaller child, who said, ‘Mum’s got a kettle. That doesn’t go anywhere.’
His mother tried again. ‘And how does this “boiler” work?’
‘Well, you see, it sends the hot water to the engine,’ said Nobby hurriedly.
‘Right,’ said the lady, ‘and then what happens?’
‘And then all the hot water goes into the wheels.’
The elder boy looked sceptical. ‘Really? How’s that done?’
Nobby, cornered, said, ‘I think the sergeant can tell you that.’
A little bead of sweat appeared on Colon’s face and he was aware that the two children were looking at him as if he were some kind of exhibit. ‘Ah, well, the water is magnetic, right, because of all that spinning,’ he said.
The elder boy said, ‘I don’t think it works like that.’
But Colon was on a roll and ignored him. ‘The spinning causes the magnetism and that’s what makes the water stick in there. Lots of iron in train wheels, stands to reason. And that’s what keeps the train on the iron road, magnetism.’
The smaller boy changed tack. ‘Why does the engine go chuff?’
‘That’s because it’s chuffed,’ said Colon with a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘See, you’ve heard of “chuffed”. That’s where it comes from.’
Nobby looked at his friend in admiration. ‘Is that why, sarge? I never thought of that!’
‘And when it’s had enough of a chuffing, there’s enough magnetism to hold the train on the iron road, see?’
The last phrase was delivered in a rush in the hope that no more questions would be forthcoming. But it doesn’t work like that with children. The elder boy had had enough and decided to show off the knowledge gleaned from friends who had been there earlier in the day. ‘Isn’t it to do with reciprocating motions?’ he said, with a glint in his eye.
