Making Money (Discworld 36)

Bent stood up in one unfolding movement, like a Jack-in-the-box. 'Men? What will they be wearing?'

'Well, er, just, you know, clothes?' said Mrs Cake uncertainly. 'Black clothes. One of them will hand me his card, but I won't be able to read it because I'll have my wrong spectacles on. Of course, I could go and put the right ones on, obviously, but I get such a headache if I don't let a premonition go properly. Er... and now you're going to say "Please let me know when they arrive, Mrs Cake".' She looked at him expectantly. 'Sorry, but I had a premonition that I'd come up to tell you I had a premonition, so thought I'd better. It's a bit silly, but none of us can change how we're made, I always say.'

'Please let me know when they arrive, Mrs Cake,' said Bent. Mrs Cake gave him a grateful look before hurrying away.

Mr Bent sat down again. Life with Mrs Cake's premonitions could get a little intricate at times, especially now they were becoming recursive, but it was part of the Elm Street ethos that you were charitable towards the foibles of others in the hope of a similar attitude to your own. He liked Mrs Cake, but she was wrong. You could change how you were made. If you couldn't, there was no hope.

After a couple of minutes he heard the ring of the bell, the muted conversation, and went through the motions of surprise when she knocked on his door.

Bent inspected the visiting card.

'Mr Cosmo? Oh. How strange. You had better send them up.' He paused, and looked around. Subdivision was rife in the city now. The room was exactly twice the size of the bed, and it was a narrow bed. Three people in here would have to know one another well. Four would know one another well whether they wanted to or not. There was a small chair, but Bent kept it on top of the wardrobe, out of the way.

'Perhaps just Mr Cosmo,' he suggested.

The man was proudly escorted in a minute later.

'Well, this is a wonderful little hideaway, Mr Bent,' Cosmo began. 'So handy for, um - '

'Nearby places,' said Bent, lifting the chair off the wardrobe. 'There you are, sir. I don't often have visitors.'

'I'll come straight to the point, Mr Bent,' said Cosmo, sitting down. 'The directors do not like the, ha, direction things are going. I'm sure you don't, either.'

'I could wish for them to be otherwise, sir, yes.'

'He should have held a directors' meeting!'

'Yes, sir, but bank rules say he needn't do so for a week, I'm afraid.'

'He will ruin the bank!'

'We are in fact getting many new customers, sir.'

'You can't possibly like the man? Not you, Mr Bent?'

'He is easy to like, sir. But you know me, sir. I do not trust those who laugh too easily. The heart of a fool is in the house of mirth. He should not be in charge of your bank.'

'I like to think of it as our bank, Mr Bent,' said Cosmo generously, 'because, in a very real way, it is ours.'

'You are too kind, sir,' said Bent, staring down at the floorboards visible through the hole in the cheap oilcloth which was itself laid bare, in a very real way, by the bald patch in the carpet which, in a very real way, was his.

'You joined us quite young, I believe,' Cosmo went on. 'My father himself gave you a job as trainee clerk, didn't he?'

'That is correct, sir.'

'He was very... understanding, my father,' said Cosmo. 'And rightly so. No sense in dredging up the past.' He paused for a little while to let this sink in. Bent was intelligent, after all. No need to use a hammer when a feather would float down with as much effect.

'Perhaps you could find some way that will allow him to be removed from office without fuss or bloodshed? There must be something,' he prompted. 'No one just steps out of nowhere. But people know even less about his past than they do about, for the sake of argument, yours.'

Another little reminder. Bent's eye twitched. 'But Mr Fusspot will still be chairman,' he mumbled, while the rain rattled on the glass.

'Oh yes. But I'm sure he will then be looked after by someone who is, shall we say, better capable of translating his little barks along more traditional lines?'

'I see.'

'And now I must be going,' said Cosmo, standing up. 'I'm sure you have a lot of things to'  -  he looked around the barren room which showed no sign of real human occupation, no pictures, no books, no debris of living, and concluded  -  'do?'

'I will go to sleep shortly,' said Mr Bent.