Raising Steam: (Discworld novel 40) (Discworld Novels) Read online

  The Low King’s eyes lit up when he recognized the sergeant and he exclaimed, ‘Detritus! If you’re on board, then perhaps I don’t need any other bodyguards.’

  This was said laughing, but Moist couldn’t help thinking that it might just be true.

  ‘Good to see you, King!’ Detritus roared. He looked around sharply and said, ‘Dere any grags here? If yes, please line up.’

  Behind the King, always present, Aeron was carefully busying himself getting people and weapons on board. He opened the door and quickly ushered Rhys into the gleaming carriage.

  Bashfullsson tapped Detritus on the knee. ‘I am indeed a grag, sergeant, and lining up as requested. What next?’

  Detritus scratched his head. ‘But you is okay, Mister Bashfullsson. Der commander knows you, and his lady.’

  ‘Ah, so I’m lining up to get on the train, then?’ said the dwarf. ‘It’s pleasant to meet you again, sergeant, but please remember there are grags and grags.’ And he turned to follow Aeron into the carriage.

  Once the whole retinue was safely aboard, Moist stood watch while Detritus heaved himself into the guard’s van, which gave a tremendous creak and groan; but everything seemed to hold, so with a signal to the footplate Moist scrambled up into the van and they were off.

  The train pulled away with the usual jerk of the couplings and as the long journey back to Ankh-Morpork began Moist suddenly realized that he was, as it were, not required on this voyage.

  In the coaches the Low King, his bodyguards and councillors huddled together and were speaking very quietly, their thoughts deep in planning. On the footplate, the driver was focused on getting his royal cargo to its destination and was in a world of concentration. You could see it dripping off him like snow; listening to the wheels, listening to the rails, watching the lights, checking the gauges and driving the train in such a positive way that possibly even without Iron Girder herself they might just get there on willpower alone. And the stoker made it clear he had no need of Moist’s assistance. So Moist now had nothing to do except sleep and … worry so much.

  If the King was a target, if the grags got to hear that he was on the train, then the train was bound to be a target although, as it happened, Moist hoped they had run some interference.

  For his part Moist thought attacks would surely come out in the wilderness, later, on the long lonely haul up to Uberwald. Despite everything he’d said to Lord Vetinari, he knew it was oh so easy to derail a locomotive. The ever diligent Mr Simnel had told Moist that he’d tried it at low speed at the back of the compound in a place where Iron Girder couldn’t see, with impressive effects. Once derailed, it required the combined efforts of several trolls and golems over many hours with a clever system of pulleys to get the engine back on the track. If it happened to an engine travelling at speed under full steam … And this, Moist thought, is a man who lives by the sliding rule and the sine and cosine, not forgetting the tangent. Moist never challenged Dick’s proclamations regarding his sliding rule; he could make the numbers dance and Moist was yet to see him get things wrong. It was like … like wizardry, but without the wizards and all their mess.

  And indeed, as Dick was finding out, you could even have a girlfriend … an intriguing thought that seemed to echo at the back of his mind. And it was common knowledge now that Dick and Harry’s niece were, as they say, walking out. He had apparently one night driven Emily around the compound by starlight and that had to mean something, didn’t it? And Dick had told Moist, in the voice of somebody having found a strange and attractive new world, that she was very good at handling the fire box, without ever getting her dress dirty. And he’d added, ‘I reckon Iron Girder likes her. You never see a smut on her. I come out every time looking like a dustman and when we’ve finished she looks like she’s one of them ballerinas or something.’

  But right now there was so much else to think about. This most important of trains was moving its priceless cargo, and Moist knew that the whole business relied on fairly simple things being done properly, at the precise time and in exactly the right way. There were people who made certain there was coal in the coal bunkers along the route and by now he knew how much water would be needed and who would make certain that it would be there when and where it was required. But how did you make certain that the person who made certain actually did these things? It had to be someone’s responsibility!

  And these tasks seemed to Moist like a great big pyramid whose every stone had to be laid in place before one wheel turned. In some ways it frightened him. For most of his life he had been mostly alone and as for the Bank and the Mint, well, Vetinari had got it right. He did have a knack for finding and keeping people who liked their jobs and were good at them, and since everything was delegated, why, then he could be Moist von Lipwig, a catalyst in the world. And now he could see why people had anxiety attacks, the kind of people who would lock their door and halfway up the garden path would come back to see if they’d locked said door and unlock it to make sure and lock it again then set off up the path only to go through the whole terrible procedure once more.

  The fact of the matter was you had to hope and assume that a lot of capable people had done lots of capable things in a capable way, and double-checked them frequently to make sure everything was right. So worrying was stupid, wasn’t it? But worrying was never quite like that. It sat like a little goblin on your shoulder and whispered. And suddenly that kind of worried person, in the strange world of mistrust, was now entering the stuff of nightmares, and right now he, Moist von Lipwig, for heaven’s sake, was worried, yes, really very worried. What had been left in? What had been left out? I can hear the wheels just down there and I know the journey is going to take four days, at least, not counting breakdowns, dreadful weather and the storms up in the mountains, they can be ferocious, and all this without mentioning some lunatic dwarfs hell-bent on ruining the party for everybody.

  It has to be said that this was an inner monologue. Yes, it was an inner monologue’s own personal inner monologue, but outside Moist’s skin absolute stone-cold certainty reigned: nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, Dick would be dealing with the technicalities, and he was a genius. Not in the same way that Leonard of Quirm was a genius, but, Moist thought loyally, in a reassuring, solid, Simnel sort of way. Leonard would probably get distracted halfway through the journey by an idea for using cabbages as fuel, or using the waste from the fire box to grow better cabbages, or painting a masterpiece of a nymph clad in cabbage leaves and coal. But Dick had his flat cap on straight. Vimes would be coming too, and although part of Moist – the part that still thought of coppers as people to avoid even in your best disguise – got the willies when the commander looked him in the eye or any other part of his anatomy, the rest of him was very grateful that Blackboard Monitor Vimes would be on his side if the grags came calling …

  In fact, Moist was full of little monologues, chasing one another around, but afterwards, because they were his monologues, they decided that they would come together again as one whole Moist von Lipwig and would therefore maintain and get through no matter the circumstances.

  Everything is going to be mar … vell … ous, he assured himself. When has it ever not been – you’re the lucky Moist von Lipwig! Right in the centre the hypothetical goblin of uncertainty twisted itself into a tiny quivering mush. Moist wished it well, smiled and said goodbye.

  Harry King’s vast mansion was well protected and a perfect place for a private dinner where the Low King and Vetinari could meet while preparations were being made for the long haul to Uberwald. It was widely considered that Harry’s … undertakers had the jump on your average soldier or policeman when it came to a scrap, because those people had been taught to have rules while most of Harry’s boys couldn’t even spell the word. Any intruder foolish enough to be found lurking in the shrubbery of Harry’s extensive estate in the dark and the dripping rain would be pruned in no short order.

  Even though this was a private dinner, Effi
e King was not going to let the side down. She had begun her preparations for the meal with a headache and then moved on to a dither before segueing into an organization of military precision and dimensions, bullying the cooks on the way and frantically looking up such things as what spoon you used with what soup.

  Effie genuflected deeply to the Low King as he arrived in her oak-panelled dining room. And Effie was in a more expensive and acceptable version of hog heaven.

  ‘How was your journey, sire? Safe and comfortable?’

  The Low King hesitated for a moment. ‘It’s Euphemia, isn’t it?’ he said.

  Effie was on fire. ‘Yes, your majesty, but just Effie to you.’

  The King smiled again. ‘Very good, and I’m “your majesty” to you, Lady King.’

  Effie looked somewhat challenged until the King of the Dwarfs held out his hand and said, ‘Actually, you can call me anything you like. I was just trying to make an old dwarf joke, just like myself right now: a fugitive trying to avoid even more dangerous fugitives and reliant on the help of others, such as your noble husband and his friends.’

  Moist smiled as the noble penny dropped on Effie.

  The King now looked around the other guests. He smiled at Commander Vimes and Lady Sybil and shook hands with Adora Belle who was, Moist thought proudly, a real looker when she wasn’t in her work clothes. And from what he could see, she had bought a most attractive and therefore expensive gown for the evening. It was still grey, of course, but with a kind of lustre to it that made it seem almost festive. This was grey letting its hair down. He couldn’t possibly argue about it, she earned more than he did.

  The King’s eyes scouted the room and he continued, ‘And Lord Vetinari … will be joining us? And Mister Simnel, the technical genius behind your remarkable railway?’

  Harry looked around, just as Lord Vetinari stepped forward from the shadows in the roomfn66 and got there first and rather more smoothly.

  ‘Your majesty, welcome to Ankh-Morpork. Mister Simnel is overseeing the final preparations for the locomotive that will get you back to your home and throne in time. Nothing is being left to chance, I can assure you.’

  ‘Ah, Lord Vetinari – I didn’t see you, forgive me,’ replied Rhys, and Moist nearly choked on his drink when he continued, ‘But I understand there’s still some track to lay and bridges that need to be completed.’ He paused. ‘Rather close to our intended destination, I believe.’

  Moist felt the air chill instantly. He quickly scanned the faces of Harry and Vetinari and jumped in – after all, it was what he was there for – ‘Excuse me, your majesty, but Mister Simnel has developed a concept called loggysticks, the nature of which is enshrined in the phrase “first things first”. Of course, the trick is to know exactly what needs to be first and, right now, since you are many days away from Uberwald, the gangs still have time to complete the last few sections. You will get to Uberwald for the appointed time. I’ll stake my life on that.’

  There was a silence that froze the air in the room and Moist counted down to the inevitable comment from a smiling Lord Vetinari.

  ‘Most gratifying, Mister Lipwig, and you have made that promise in front of all of us. Good show! And all good people here with quite excellent memories.’

  After that, the first person to speak was Adora Belle, who said, ‘Oh, that’s definitely my husband, but I’m sure he’ll manage it at the last possible minute … He always does. And if he can achieve it while riding a white charger he’ll be as happy as a clam.’

  The King laughed in a rather strange way and said, ‘Well, then let’s hope that he is not unduly shucked.’

  ‘Your majesty, Mister Lipwig always achieves his goals, I assure you,’ said Lord Vetinari, in his best oiled voice. ‘I find it amazing and, of course, annoying, but so far he has always succeeded, which is why, therefore, all of his extremities are in their rightful place.’

  Everybody present laughed nervously, except Lord Vetinari, who just laughed. The King of the Dwarfs stared at Moist as if seeing him in a new light, and said, ‘Is that really true, Mister Lipwig?’

  Moist forced his face to go so deadpan that it might have actually been dead. ‘Yes, your majesty, everything that ought to be attached still is, isn’t that right, Adora Belle?’

  His wife didn’t say anything. She just looked the look of a wife who was putting up with her husband’s funny little ways for which he would suffer in the boudoir later.

  After that, Effie beamed anxiously and said, in a voice that she considered posh people would use, ‘Shall we take our seats for dinner, your majesty, ladies and gentlemen? All the spoons are in their rightful place, I do assure you.’

  Conversation around the dinner table, in deference to Effie and the flapping ears of the staff, was … nice, and mostly about the new railway and the wonders of what might be achieved with it, and indeed the interesting fact that lots of rich people were buying seaside houses in Quirm now that it was so easy to get there. And there was also another careful conversation about how good the fish and the seafood was becoming now it didn’t have to bake in the sunshine, which might have had something to do with the mountainous platter of prawns, monkey clams and unidentified tentacular things sculpted to resemble the lost citadel of Leshp, which Effie had given pride of place in the centre of the table. And this went on in various different ways until dinner was almost over and the staff had left the room, whereupon Vimes gave Rhys a quizzical look, stood up and left the room. He returned a few minutes later, nodded to the Low King and resumed his seat at the table.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, preparations for our departures are in place. As I speak, the Low King is departing by fast coach for Uberwald.’ And there was something in the way he said that that made Moist think, because the Low King, at that moment, was clearly still in the room shovelling down expensive ice cream.

  Sure enough, there was the sound of a coach pulling up outside, stopping for a moment and then driving away, surrounded by well-armed bodyguards.

  Back at the table the King licked his spoon in a very regal way and chuckled. ‘That should keep those scoundrels busy for a while.’ He smiled at Vimes. ‘Thank you for your help in this, commander.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Vimes gruffly. ‘It’s a good idea. And Harry and I have added some embellishments of our own.’

  ‘So who was on that coach, commander?’ Moist asked.

  ‘The coach?’ Vimes replied. ‘This is a very dark night and the King is cloaked and it is almost impossible to see inside, but the dark-accustomed eye might see Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom accompanied by some of my most trusted dwarf officers. Anybody interfering with the coach and its contents will find their life difficult, nay extinct.’

  The King coughed before saying to Vimes, ‘I remember Sergeant Littlebottom when we met by the Scone of Stone eight years ago. Oh, yes, I remember her.’

  ‘She volunteered for the job, sire,’ said Vimes.

  ‘She did, did she?’ said the King. ‘Well, none of us know what the future holds, but if my backside is still on the Scone when all of this is over then Sergeant Littlebottom and her colleagues will have earned any favours they want from me. A king’s gratitude has to be worth something, wouldn’t you say, Blackboard Monitor Vimes?’

  Vimes smiled as if remembering an old joke and said, ‘Well, I hope she does, because she’s one of the best officers I’ve got.’

  ‘How many Cheery Littlebottoms can you afford?’ The King looked sombre. ‘I’d hate for someone to die, just to see that I don’t. Now, if I am to get to Uberwald with all due speed, we should be leaving very soon, yes?’

  ‘Soon, your majesty,’ Vimes agreed. ‘The rail traffic between here and Sto Lat runs throughout the night. At present it’s mostly freight and perishables for the market and the Post Office parcel business, but people are always coming and going at the terminus. Nobody could keep track of everyone. We’ve set it up so that you’ll be just another anonymous traveller on the platfor
m, looking like any one of the Third Class passengers, although, should the need arise, you and your travelling companions would be found to be carrying an inordinately large amount of deadly weaponry. And that, your majesty, includes fangs.

  ‘The Watch is not going to be outdone on this one, sire. If the sh— excrement hits the wossname, nearly every place you go we’ll have people watching you. Now, if you and Mister Lipwig will accompany me to the side room over there, we’ll make sure that neither of you looks like either of you by the time we’ve finished.’

  Turning to Harry, the commander said, ‘Harry, are you sure you can vouch for the discretion of all your people, even those in the kitchens?’

  Harry almost saluted. ‘Yes, commander. Some of them are scoundrels – well, you know – but they’re my kind of scoundrel.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the King. ‘I’m used to that sort of scoundrel. They are all so very … useful.’

  Moist knew a lot about the tricks of disguise, although he never bothered with makeup as such. Becoming another person was a subtle matter that was probably only understood by those wrinkled old men up in the very high mountains around Oi Dong who knew the secrets of the known universe, one of them being how to kick your enemy’s spine all the way out of their body. They certainly knew that true camouflage came from within. And, oh yes, an occasional change of clothes was warranted, but mostly Moist just thought about the type of person he wanted to be seen as and it all came into focus. A false nose was definitely a no-no – inevitably, any nose designed to make you look like a stranger would be noticeably strange. And why risk it when his own features were so unmemorable that no one recalled their shape in any case? Of course, trying to look female had some built-in snags, but he’d managed it on a few occasions, back in the bad old days which were, in retrospect, so damn good. And he had lost track of all the clergymen he had been. If there was ever such a thing as redemption, they would have to open a magnum of the stuff for Moist. No, a brewery.