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‘You know what, Harry?’ said Moist. ‘I think Dick’s right about this. There’s something about that engine—’
Just then, from Iron Girder, a little way away, there came a perceptible hiss of steam. Even Harry noticed it.
And Simnel said, ‘Steam’s up, gentlemen. All aboard, those who’re going to Quirm. I’m sorry, Mister Lipwig, but his lordship’s orders are to send freight trucks only, to distract attention, like. And to tell t’truth it may be the only way we’ll get some Watch officers to fit on board. I’ve to work on that before you get back. Don’t worry,’ he added hastily, seeing the others’ horror, ‘it’ll be regular carriages hitched up for the return journey.’
‘I hope those trucks are full,’ said Harry. ‘Can’t afford to waste the journey when there’s goods waiting to go.’
‘Well, the front one is presently a bit full of Sergeant Detritus,’ said Simnel, and indeed through its open hatch Moist could now make out the form of the troll watchman, patiently hunched against the far wall. ‘But yes, we’ve loaded up the rest right and tight.’
Moist snoozed his way to Quirm, rocked in the cradle of Iron Girder. He was certain she gave a smoother ride than any of the new-fangled Flyers. Everyone said that was silly, but nevertheless, the thought didn’t leave him. Somehow the Flyers looked like machinery, but Iron Girder always looked like … somebody. And the train spotters all seemed to think the same thing. It was as if she was the railway.
The chateau that had been put at the disposal of the Low King while he was in Quirm for the all-important summit had ‘ridiculously grand’ written all over it.
Moist was greeted at the main entrance by a dwarf who was neatly dressed but notably lacking in the usual weaponry.
‘Bashfull Bashfullsson, Mister von Lipwig. I know your face. It’s in the papers so often.’
As they hurried inside Bashfull said, ‘Please let me, as they say, mark your card, Mister Lipwig. The King is furious. Furious with the rebels and furious with himself for not doing enough at the right time and I dare say he’s also furious with me. But me, well, I look to the sky and I say to Tak, “Don’t get mad, but when you made us dwarfs you had a bad day and couldn’t find anything in the subtlety box.” It seems that we’d sooner fight and argue than live.’
Inside the chateau there was a squad of heavily armed dwarfs on guard, heavily armed, that is, being more heavily armed than the average dwarf who, nevertheless, could generally look like a squad all by himself. They scowled at Moist, with the regulation scowl of all guards everywhere, which intimated that you were less than the dust on the dust on their boots, so watch out. Bashfullsson ignored them and led Moist into the Great Hall, which was buzzing with activity.
But then there was the question of seeing the Low King. It was a delicate matter, but Moist wasn’t going to let courtiers and guards push him around. He knew Rhys Rhysson was a sensible and powerful dwarf, moderate, the kind of person who looks facts in the face, knowing that it’s the only way to survive.
Moist waited while Bashfullsson dealt with the protocols, and wondered how many of the glittering company in the hall were actually on the King’s side. Suspicion floated in the air like a fine dust, settling on every shoulder. After all, this was the beginning of a clandestine dwarf war. Much better to fight the trolls. You could recognize the trolls as possibly the enemy, but who knew where the traitors were in this chattering throng?
One of the dwarf guards attempted to dispossess Moist of his treasured lockpicks and only let go when Moist had retrieved them using very non-diplomatic language and some clever misdirection. He hadn’t actually made use of the lockpicks in years, his tongue generally being more effective at getting into places than some bent pieces of metal ever could be. Nevertheless, he was still fuming and was about to say something non-political when Bashfullsson grabbed him by the arm and took him to see the King.
The King’s suite was, surprisingly, at the top of the building. In normal dwarf dwellings, the lower a dwarf, the more important he was, and so, Moist surmised, putting the Low King into rooms on the top floor might just be a ruse to thwart any traditionally minded enemies.
Kings don’t travel lightly or quietly. There were dwarfish flunkies everywhere alongside the chateau staff, folding things and indeed shovelling things into cases with a sense of panic, as if the bailiffs were coming.
But at last Moist and Bashfullsson were ushered into a small antechamber where the Low King was planning his counter-coup with his inner council. Every so often a clacks arrived and was hurried to the King.
Rhys Rhysson was smaller and slighter than Moist had expected and was surrounded in this cramped room by generals and some of the rest of the circus that has to follow a monarch.
Moist noticed black looks from a few dwarfs, angry at the human trespasser. Bashfullsson bowed to the King as he introduced Moist. ‘Mister von Lipwig, your majesty. An envoy of Lord Vetinari.’
‘And killer of a number of renegade delvers,’ said the King to Moist. ‘And not least a bank manager.’ Rhys laughed. ‘It must be tough in the banking business, Mister Lipwig?’
Moist joined in the little attempt at laughter and said, ‘You have no idea, sire; but the most important thing you need to know about me is that I was a crook and a scoundrel and a very clever one. What better man to run the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork and the Mint than a crook? I had the tendencies of a crook and many of the skills of a crook and because I look at things with a crooked eye, metaphorically speaking, I see the opportunities and the problems. I’m very lucky and I have the knack of finding friends easily.’
‘But probably not with those delvers, eh?’ said the King.
‘I was lucky and I survived. I survived and, if I may say so, I wish survival to the Low King and his court.’ All right, he thought, that was drawing the long bow and no mistake, but he couldn’t avoid it … all that armament getting in one another’s way, well, with all that milling about something would go wrong sooner or later.
‘Mister Lipwig, as you know, I have sudden important business that requires my presence in Uberwald as soon as possible, and at the highest speed. I understand from the clacks I received from Lord Vetinari this morning that you have a plan to get me there. I’m curious to know what that plan involves.’
There were the usual murmurs and glances, but Moist was not going to be intimidated by a bunch of small people who were giving themselves airs. He was never one for protocol – it got in the way and often concealed nasty and dangerous things.
‘I’m afraid, sire, that I’m not willing to divulge Lord Vetinari’s proposal here. There are too many people in this room, any one of whom could be a traitor!’
Uproar ensued. Moist kept his face blank and totally unmoving until all protestations had been protested.
‘I’m not here to be nice, and I have to tell you that, while on this mission, my allegiance is to you and only you, sire. Apart from Mister Bashfullsson here, I don’t know any of the rest of these dwarfs. The opposition must surely be intelligent enough to make certain they have a sleeper in the palace, funnelling everything back to
them.’
He had gone too far, he knew it, but the dwarfs had not impressed him with their security. It was far too stiff … all front and pomposity.
