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‘And when you give her rails she’ll move more freight than a battalion of trolls, and get there much faster to boot,’ said Sir Harry, standing behind Moist. And he added, ‘It’s true. I swear that young Simnel tinkers with Iron Girder all the time: tinker, tinker, tinker. An overhaul every day.’ He laughed and said, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he eventually got her to fly.’
Mr Simnel wiped his hands on his greasy rag, causing them to get even more greasy, and then proffered one to Lord Vetinari, who gently waved it away, saying, ‘I would prefer it if you dealt with Mister Lipwig, Mister Simnel. If I decide to allow you your fascinating … experiment, it will be to him that you answer, in the first part. Personally, I treasure my ignorance of how machinery works, although I am well aware that this is something of great interest to some people,’ he added, in a tone of voice that suggested he meant strange and secret people … busy people, excitable people, fiddling people, tinkering and volatile people. A kind, alas, who would say something as innocent as, let’s give it a try, it can’t hurt, surely? We can always hide under the coffee table.
‘My interest,’ continued Lord Vetinari, ‘lies in ways and means, opportunity, danger and consequences, do you see? I am given to believe that your remarkable engine is propelled by steam, heated until the boiler almost, but doesn’t quite burst. Is that not the case?’
Mr Simnel gave the Patrician a cheerful smile and said, ‘That’s about it, gaffer, and I’ve blown up one or three in testing, I don’t mind telling thee! But now, sir, we’ve got it right, sir. Safety valves! That’s the ticket! Safety valves made out of lead, bungs that melt if the fire box gets too hot so the water comes down and extinguishes the fire before the boiler blows.’
Simnel carried on, ‘Live steam is very dangerous, of course, to them that don’t have the knowing of it, but to me, well, gaffer, it’s as playful as a puppy. Sir Harry has allowed me to build a demonstration track, sir,’ and he gestured to the rails that led out of the shed and wound round the perimeter of the compound. ‘May I ask if you gentlemen would care to come for a little spin?’
Moist turned to Vetinari and said, with a flat face, ‘Yes, how about it … gaffer?’ And got a look like a stiletto. A look that said, we’ll have words about this later.
Vetinari turned to Simnel and said, ‘Thank you, Mister Simnel. I think on this occasion I will give that honour to Mister Lipwig. And I dare say Drumknott will be eager to accompany him.’
This was said brightly, but Drumknott looked anything but delighted at the opportunity, and frankly neither was Moist overjoyed, remembering too late that he had put on an expensive new jacket.
Moist asked, ‘Mister Simnel, why does your contraption need to run on rails, please?’
Dick Simnel smiled the expansive smile of a man who really, really wants to talk about his wonderful pet project and is now keen to illuminate every bystander to the point of boredom, and in the worst cases suicide. Moist recognized the type; they were invariably useful and in themselves amiable and quite without malice of any sort, but nevertheless they were implicitly dangerous.
And right now, Mr Simnel, happy as a clam and greasy as a kebab, said, speaking earnestly, ‘Well, sir, steam likes it smooth, sir, and the countryside is full of ups and downs, and steam and iron are heavy, and so putting all this together back at Swine Town we found it much more sensible to lay down what we call t’permanent way, it’s a kind of road wi’ tracks, or rails, just for the engine to run on, as it were.’
‘Railway’ll do fine for the punters, though,’ said Harry. ‘I keep telling the lad – short and snappy, that’s the kind of name people remember. Can’t expect them to ride on something they can’t spell.’
Simnel beamed, and suddenly his genial face seemed to fill the world. ‘Now then, Iron Girder is greased, in steam and all fired up for you, gentlemen. Who’s ready for a little ride?’
Drumknott had not uttered a word, and remained staring at the dribbling engine like a man looking at his doom. Moist, taking pity on the little clerk for once, half pulled him, half helped him up into the small open cabin of the metal beast, while Mr Simnel fussed around, tapping mysterious brass and glass items, and the fire in the belly of the beast burned hotly, and filled the place with yet more smoke.
And suddenly there was a shovel in Moist’s hand, put there by Simnel so fast that Moist couldn’t avoid it. The engineer smiled and said, ‘You can be t’stoker, Mister Lipwig. If she needs stoking you’ll need to open up t’fire box when I tell you. Ee, we’ll ’ave some fun.’
Simnel looked down at the stunned Drumknott and said, ‘Er, as for you, sir, well, I’ll tell you what. You, sir, you can blow t’whistle, by means of this chain here. And as you see, gentlemen, this is by way of being a working prototype, with not very much of the comforts of home, but ’old on and you’ll be fine, so long as you don’t stick your head too far out. We’ll be pulling a fair few ton today. Sir Harry were interested to see what she were made of, and so, er, Mister Drumknott, blow the whistle, if you please!’
Speechlessly, Drumknott yanked on the chain, and shuddered as a banshee scream came from the engine. And then, well, thought Moist, there was not very much, just one chuff, a jerk, another couple of chuffs, and another jerk, another chuff, and suddenly they were moving, not only moving but accelerating as if the end of Iron Girder was trying to be out in front.
Through roiling clouds of steam Moist looked behind at the loads they were towing in the creaking carts, and he could feel the weight, and yet still the engine with its train was gathering speed and momentum. Mr Simnel was placidly tapping his dials and shifting levers, and now here came a curve, and the train chuffed, and every truck followed the curve like ducklings following their dear old mum, rattling a little, certainly creaking, but nevertheless being one big moving thing.
Moist had travelled fast before. Indeed, a golem horse, that rare creation, could have easily outpaced them. But this, well, this was machinery, handmade by men: wheels, bolts, brass knobs, dials, gauges, steam and the grunting sizzling fire box, beside which Drumknott was standing now, hypnotized and pulling the chain that blew the whistle as if performing a holy duty, and everything shook and continued to shake like a red-hot madhouse.
Lord Vetinari and Harry came into view as the train raced towards them on its first lap. And they disappeared behind Moist into the cloud of smoke and steam left hanging in the air. Then, as Iron Girder plunged on, it broke through into Moist’s consciousness that this wasn’t magic, neither was it brute strength, it was, in fact, ingenuity. Coal and metal and water and steam and smoke, in one glorious harmony. He stood in the fierce heat of the cabin, shovel in hand, watching and wondering about the future, as the train of carriages bumped round once more, screeching slightly on the second curve. Then, with the sound of tortured metal, it slid to a stop a few feet away from the watchers in front of Iron Girder’s shed.
Now Mr Simnel was all arms and business, shutting things down and turning things off as the wonderful engine died. Moist corrected himself: not died – she was sleeping but still dribbling water and hissing steam and, inexplicably, she was very much alive.
Simnel dropped down from the cab on to a makeshift wooden platform and looked at his enormous stopwatch, glanced at the dial and said, ‘Not bad, but I couldn’t really open ’er up round here. On the test track over at Swine Town I got her going at almost seventeen miles an hour, and I can swear that she co
uld go much faster if I could lay down a longer track! And she moved reet wonderfully, didn’t she, gentlemen? With all that load, tons of it.’ This was said to his fellow engineers.
‘Aye, what is it?’ And this, in fact, was directed to a small wide-eyed urchin, who seemed to have miraculously appeared by the side of the track. Simnel looked on gravely as the urchin took out a very small notebook from his jacket pocket and meticulously wrote down the numeral 1 as if it were a command.
And Moist, for some reason, couldn’t help himself from saying, ‘Well spotted, young man, and you know what? I rather feel that you’re going to need a much bigger book before long.’ And the certainty hit him that, although Lord Vetinari’s face was as impassive as ever, those of Harry King and some of the other on lookers were gleaming in the smoky light of the future to come. Given the numbers already lining the fence, straining to watch the train on its circuits of the compound, the news was out and flying.
Harry King said, ‘Well, gents, is this iron horse not amazing? She seems to be able to move anything, I assure you. Now, there’s a nice lunch awaiting us in my boardroom, gentlemen. Shall we go up there? … There’s some cracking good beef.’
Lord Vetinari broke his silence. ‘Certainly, Sir Harry, and perhaps in the meantime someone could locate my secretary?’
They turned to look at the engine, which had come to a stop in a kind of human way, not all at once, but settling down like an old lady making herself comfortable in a favourite armchair, except that at that moment Iron Girder blew out a hissing stream of shining water vapour, which does not normally happen with old ladies, at least not in public.
Drumknott, up in the cabin, was still desperately pulling the chain for the next whistle, and he seemed to be weeping like a toddler bereft of a favourite toy as the sizzling got fainter. He caught their gaze, carefully relinquished the chain, climbed down from the footplate and almost tiptoed through the sizzling steam and the occasional unexpected mechanical creak, as the metal cooled. He walked gingerly over to Dick Simnel and said, hoarsely, ‘Could we do that again, please?’
Moist watched the Patrician’s face. Vetinari seemed to be deep in thought, then he said breezily, ‘Very well done, Mister Simnel, an excellent demonstration! Am I to believe that many passengers and tons of freight could be carried by means of this … thing?’
