Unseen Academicals (Discworld 37)

'No, she's got a good, steady job in the Night Kitchen, with me,' said Glenda. 'It might not be big money, but it'll turn up every week. On the nail, and she won't lose it if someone prettier comes along.'

'Dolly Sisters, right? Sounds like the Botney Street area,' said Pepe. 'I'm sure of it. Not too bad, as I recall. I didn't get beaten up much down there, but at the end of the day they're all crab buckets.'

Glenda was taken aback. She'd expected anger or condescension, not this sharp little grin.

'You know a lot about our city for a dwarf from Uberwald, I must say.'

'No, love, I know a lot about Uberwald for a boy from Lobbin Clout,' said Pepe smoothly. 'Old Cheese Alley, to be precise. Local lad, me. Wasn't always a dwarf, you know. I just joined.'

'What? Can you do that?'

'Well, it's not like they advertised. But yeah, if you know the right people. And Madame knew the right people, ha, knew quite a lot about the right people. It wasn't hard. I've got to believe in a few things, there's a few observances, and of course I have to keep off the old booze - ' He smiled as her glance pinned the glass in his hand, and went on: 'Too quick, love, I was going to add "when I'm working", and good job too. It doesn't matter if you are shoring up the mine roof or riveting a bodice, being a piss artist is bloody stupid. And the moral of all this is, you have to grab life or drop back into the crab bucket.'

'Oh yes, that's all very well to say,' Glenda snapped, wondering what crabs had got to do with anything. 'But in real life people have responsibilities. We don't have shiny jobs with lots of money, but they are real jobs doing things that people need! I'd be ashamed of myself, selling boots at four hundred dollars a go, which only rich people can afford. What's the point of that?'

'Well, you must admit that it makes rich people less rich,' said the chocolate voice of Madame behind her. Like many large people, she could move as quietly as the balloon she resembled. 'That's a good start, isn't it? And it goes to wages for the miners and the smiths. It all goes around, they tell me.'

She sat down heavily on a packing case, glass in hand. 'Well, we've got most of them out now,' she said, fumbling in her capacious breastplate with her spare hand and pulling out a thick wad of paper.

'The big names want to be in on this and everyone wants it exclusively and we're going to need another forge. Tomorrow I'll go and see the bank.' She paused to dip into her metal bodice again. 'As a dwarf I was raised in the faith that gold is the one true currency,' she said, counting out some crisp notes, 'but I have to admit this stuff is a lot warmer. That's fifty dollars for Juliet, twenty-five from me and twenty-five from the champagne, which is feeling happy. Juliet said to give it to you to look after.'

'Miss Glenda thinks that we'll lead her treasure into a lifetime of worthless sin and depravity,' said Pepe.

'Well, that's a thought,' said Madame, 'but I can't remember when I last had some depravity.'

'Tuesday,' said Pepe.

'A whole box of chocolates is not depraved. Besides, you slid out the card between the layers, which confused me. I did not intend to eat the bottom layer. I did not want the bottom layer. It was practically assault.'

Pepe coughed. 'We're scaring the normal lady, love.'

Madame smiled. 'Glenda, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking we're a couple of louche evil clowns who booze away in a world of smoke and mirrors. Well, that's fairly accurate right now, but today was the end of a year's hard work, you see.'

And you bicker like an old married couple, Glenda thought. Her head was aching. She'd tried a rat fruit, that was the trouble, she was sure of it.

'In the morning I'm going to show these orders to the manager of the Royal Bank and ask him for a lot of money. If he trusts us, can you? We need Juliet. She just... sparkles.'

And you two are holding hands. Tightly. Something soft snapped inside Glenda.

'All right, look,' she said. 'It's like this. Jools is going to come back home with me tonight, to get her head straight. Tomorrow... well, we'll see.'

'We can't ask for more than that. Can we?' said Madame, patting Glenda on the knee. 'You know, Juliet thinks the world of you. She said she'd need you to say yes. She was telling all the society ladies about your pies.'

'She's been talking to society ladies?' said Glenda in astonishment laced with trepidation and tinted with wonder.

'Certainly. They all wanted a close look at the micromail, and she just chatted away, cheery as you like. I don't think anyone ever said "Wotcher!" to them in their lives before.'

'Oh no! I'm sorry!'

'Why be? They were rather taken by it. And apparently you can bake pickled onions into a pie so that they stay crunchy?'

'She told them that?'

'Oh, yes. I gather that they all intend to get their cooks to try it out.'

'Hah. They'll never find the way!' said Glenda with satisfaction.

'So Jools says.'