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‘Thank you so much, my dear Mrs Simnel,’ said the King, who had clearly dealt with these things many times before. ‘No need for that from the mother of the genius engineer.’ And Mrs Simnel was suddenly awash with maternal pride.
‘Oh, yes, your majesty. He’s a good lad, our Dick. Did you know that when he were quite young he made me an iconograph, caught the imp himself, so ’e did, and trained it with butter. They really like butter, do imps. And it’s ever so useful, yes indeed.’
While Clerk Godfrey, on flannel feet, quickly checked the rest of the house, Mrs Simnel turned to Moist and said, ‘I know you, too. You’re Mister Lipwig. Dick speaks very highly of you. I saw your picture in the paper only yesterday and I’ve seen our Dick in there, too. Makes an old mum reet proud, so it does. Of course, I don’t buy it, the Reverend Amusable comes round and reads the paper to me, what with that tiny print an’ all. I don’t get around as much these days, but now my lad is in the money he has all kind of food delivered up fresh every day on the train and sees his old mum all right. The other day, ooh, it were a lobster in a bag of ice. I ’ad to go all the way up to t’posh restaurant to find out how to cook it, but it were gradely and toothsome and so much on it there was enough for Mrs Pankweather who’s bedbound and can’t digest most things, but you should’ve seen her tooth light up when she saw a plate full of lobster. Well, you ’ave to, after all. Not every elderly lady has a good strong lad to see she’s all right.’
Mrs Simnel suddenly looked sombre and said, ‘But he sends me money every week regular, so much I don’t rightly know what to do wi’ it, so I give some of it to the poor. You are a friend of his, aren’t you, Mister Lipwig?’
‘Yes, Mrs Simnel,’ said Moist. ‘You can’t imagine how much.’
At this point Clerk Godfrey said, ‘We are now going back to the marshalling yard to assist Mister Vimes and other members of the Watch who will be travelling with us on the long haul to Uberwald. Clerks Columbine and Silkworm will remain outside and will escort you back to the station in time to catch the train to Zemphis.’ And then he was gone.
Mrs Simnel looked again at the bedraggled King, and said with unconscious informality, ‘You look famished, pet. I know it’s late but I’ve got some pease pudding in t’pot … not much, but it keeps you going and it’ll build up your strength when you most need it.’
As it turned out, Mrs Simnel’s pease pudding was the queen of pease puddings and even though the dinner at Harry’s had only been a few hours earlier Moist noticed that the King almost sucked it up. When they’d eaten, Mrs Simnel put the lid back on the pot.
‘I’ve got to leave some for my lad,’ she said, ‘out in all this weather. Mind you, he likes his pease pudding cold.’
And then the King settled into a comfy chair for a snooze. While he slept and Mrs Simnel busied herself clearing the dishes, Moist looked around at the walls and noticed carefully arranged pictures of smiling babies, or was it just one baby taken over and over, because, he thought, at that age all babies look like, well, babies, and only mothers could fathom which one was which. It was amazing.
‘My word, Mrs Simnel, what wonderful children,’ Moist commented when she returned to wish him goodnight. ‘All yours?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, dear me, no! Our Dick’s my only one, but I were trained as a midwife before I met my late ’usband and you know ’ow it is, I were right good at midwifery and especially when events were going badly.’
And here she looked sternly at Moist and said, ‘I’m sure you know what I mean, Mister Lipwig? I only ever lost one because they couldn’t find my whereabouts until it were too late. Any road, ever since then people call me out and you know ’ow it is, my lad says I don’t have to do it any more, but once you’ve got a reputation for something it clings. Especially when the young lass is desperate.’
The look of Mrs Simnel was that of the put-upon, but in her eyes pride flashed a fin.
Snoring heavily in the huge armchair, the King turned over. Mrs Simnel adjusted the deep cushions to make him more comfortable and then there was a fleeting stillness as her attention seemed to be caught by something. She sent a quick, surprisingly sharp glance in Moist’s direction and gave the cushions a final pat before straightening up and smiling sweetly. The moment, whatever it was, most definitely had passed. Moist’s brain was soggy with tiredness, and the natural ability to read tiny signals that had kept him alive on so many occasions had deserted him hours before. Even so, he had to ask.
‘Mrs Simnel … Is something wrong?’
She cut him short. ‘Nay, lad. I were just thinking how strange it is that someone so small and, well, hairy could be … a king. But ’appen that’s the disguise. I’m sure he’ll look reet fine in his crown and glitter when he’s back on his scone. Now, you need a bed, my lad.’
Tired though he was, Moist could recognize a deflection tactic, and carried on. ‘Mrs Simnel, is there something you’re not—’
‘Nay, there’s nothing, nothing for you to worry about at any rate.’
Moist’s thoughts were in a whirl, but then further thoughts were blown away by the sound of the front door being blown open as Dick arrived with water streaming off his gabardine, and greeted his mother. He was carrying so many bundles and boxes that he had to deposit them all in the little hallway where a shiny clock told the time, the days of the week and quite possibly the phase of the moon for that night, but most of all it was there to show the world that Dick Simnel’s mother got the very best things he could buy for her. She was in his arms immediately, scattering parcels, but he managed to shake her off, laughing.
Seated in the still warm kitchen of the little house, Dick scoffed the congealed pease pudding while she unpacked some of the parcels.
‘That’s gradely, our ma! It’s blowing up something cruel out there.’
Moist suddenly realized he was dog tired.
Mrs Simnel said, ‘I’ve made up a bed for you, Mister Lipwig. I had made up one for t’King, but he looks comfortable where he is and I don’t want to disturb him now. Will you be stopping for the night, our Dick?’
‘Sorry, Mother, no, too much to do. We’re all on double shifts.’
Mrs Simnel looked at Moist proudly. ‘That’s my lad. He’s a worker, my boy, what with his tiddling stick.’
‘That’s a sliding ruler, Mother,’ Simnel said, grinning at Moist.
‘Aye, well,’ said the proud parent, ‘he’s making his way in the world, is my lad, working for that Harry King.’ And she went to kiss Dick, who picked her up and kissed her in mid air, and put her back down again, leaving her slightly more wet and greasy than before.
‘Oh, Mother,’ he said, ‘don’t make me out to be some kind of saint, I’m just another working man with filthy ’ands. Any road, I ’ave to get going, you know ’ow it is.’
