Making Money (Discworld 36)

At dawn he found a barn. He scraped off the dried custard and caked greasepaint and washed himself in a puddle. Oh, that face! The fat nose, the huge mouth, the white tear painted on  -  he would remember it in nightmares, he knew it.

At least he still had his own shirt and drawers, which covered all the important bits. He was about to throw everything else away when an inner voice stopped him. His mother was dead and he hadn't been able to stop the bailiffs taking everything, even the brass ring Mother polished every day. He'd never see his father again... he had to keep something, there had to be something, something so that he might remember who and why he was and where he'd come from and even why he'd left. The barn yielded a sack full of holes; that was good enough. The hated suit was stuffed inside.

Later that day he'd come across some caravans parked under the trees, but they were not the garish wagons of the circus. Probably they were religious, he thought, and Mother had approved of the quieter religions, provided the gods weren't foreign.

They gave him rabbit stew. And when he looked over the shoulder of a man sitting quietly at a small folding table, he saw a book full of numbers, all written down. He liked numbers. They'd always made sense in a world that didn't. And then he'd asked the man, very politely, what the number at the bottom was, and the answer had been: 'It's what we call the total', and he'd replied: 'No, that's not the total, that's three farthings short of the total.' 'How do you know?'

said the man, and he'd said: 'I can see it is', and the man had said: 'But you only just glanced at it!' And he'd said: 'Well, yes, isn't that how?'

And then more books were opened and the people gathered round and gave him sums to do, and they were all so, so easy...

It was all the fun the circus couldn't be, and involved no custard, ever.

He opened his eyes, and made out the indistinct figures.

'Am I going to be arrested?'

Moist glanced at Vetinari, who waved a hand vaguely.

'Not necessarily,' said Moist carefully. 'We know about the gold.'

'Sir Joshua said he would let it be known about my... family.'

'Yes, we know.'

'People would laugh. I couldn't stand that. And then I think I... you know, I think I convinced myself that the gold was all a dream? That provided I never looked for it, it would still be there.' He paused, as if random thoughts were queueing for the use of the mouth. 'Dr Whiteface has been kind enough to show me the history of the Charlie Benito face...' Another pause. 'I hear I threw custard pies with considerable accuracy. Perhaps my ancestors will be proud.'

'How do you feel now?' said Moist.

'Oh, quite well in myself,' said Bent. 'Whoever that is.'

'Good. Then I want to see you at work tomorrow, Mr Bent.'

'You can't ask him to go back so soon!' Miss Drapes protested.

Moist turned to Whiteface and Vetinari. 'Could you please leave us, gentlemen?'

There was an affronted look on the chief clown's face, which was made worse by the permanent happy smile, but the door shut behind them.

'Listen, Mr Bent,' said Moist urgently. 'We're in a mess - '

'I believed in the gold, you know,' said Bent. 'Didn't know where it was, but I believed.'

'Good. And it probably still exists in Pucci's jewellery box,' said Moist. 'But I want to open the bank again tomorrow, and Vetinari's people have been through every piece of paper in the place, and you can guess what kind of mess they leave. And I want to launch the notes tomorrow, you know? The money that doesn't need gold? And the bank doesn't need gold. We know this. It worked for years with a vault full of junk! But the bank needs you, Mr Bent. The Lavishes are in real trouble, Cosmo's locked up somewhere, the staff are all over the place and tomorrow, Mr Bent, the bank opens and you must be there. Please? Oh, and the chairman has graciously barked assent to putting you on a salary of sixty-five dollars a month. I know you are not a man to be influenced by money, but the rise might be worth considering by a man contemplating a, ah, change in his domestic arrangements?'

It wasn't a shot in the dark. It was a shot in the light, clear blazing light. Miss Drapes was definitely a woman with a plan, and it had to be a better one than the rest of a life spent in a narrow room in Elm Street.

'It's your choice, of course,' he said, standing up. 'Are they treating him all right, Miss Drapes?'

'Only because I'm here,' she said smartly. 'This morning three clowns came in with a big rope and a small elephant and wanted to pull one of his poor teeth! And then I'd hardly got them out when two more came in and started to whitewash the room, very inefficiently in my opinion! I got them out of here in very short order, I can tell you!'

'Well done, Miss Drapes!'

Vetinari was waiting outside the building with the coach door open.

'You will get in,' he said.

'Actually it's a very short walk to - '