Raising Steam (Discworld 40)

At which point, to his surprise, Commander Vimes cleared his throat and said slowly, like a man essaying something unfamiliar, ‘Mister von Lipwig, it may be the case in recent years that I’ve given you the opinion that I consider you a cheat and a fraud and no better than a worm. However, the fact that you threw yourself in front of that train to save two kiddies suggests to me that the leopard can change his shorts.

‘Theoretically, I’ll be dressing you down for sorting out the murderous dwarfs involved in this latest atrocity and telling you that you should leave that sort of thing to the damn Watch. But I’m not stupid and I’m prepared to give credit where credit is due. The delvers are a vicious lot, a type of vermin that I’d very much have liked to see dance to Mister Trooper’s tune just to show them how justice should be done. But knowing that at least some of the buggers are out of the way must suffice for now. So, on a personal note, which I’ll certainly deny if you repeat this to anyone: Well done.’

And at this Vimes waggled, yes, waggled a finger, and in tones of a funeral bell and much louder said, ‘Don’t do it again! That was an official reprimand, you understand, Mister Lipwig? And this is my hand.’

To Moist’s amazement Vimes walked around the table and gave him the hardest handshake he had ever had. It was like shaking hands with a boxing glove full of walnuts. Nothing actually broke and there was no blood and Vimes hadn’t even tried to squeeze, so it appeared to Moist that what had just been perpetrated must be Commander Vimes’s everyday handshake. He decided it was probably the commander being a man who didn’t believe in half measures.

And now the commander looked sombre, saying, ‘If I were you, Mister von Lipwig, I’d make certain that my wife spent a lot of time out of the way in clacks towers for a while and I’d ask the Watch to keep an eye on my property. Those wretched delvers will stop at nothing, and I mean no offence when I say I’m surprised that you managed to take the bastards down.’ He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper, and said, ‘What did it feel like, son?’

There was an expression in Vimes’s eyes that told Moist that now, if ever, it was time for the truth and so he too lowered his voice and said, ‘To tell you the truth, commander, I had some unexpected back-up. You wouldn’t believe it.’

And amazingly, Vimes’s smile broadened and he said, ‘Actually, Mister Lipwig, I just might. I know a little something of fighting dirty in the dark, don’t I just. It was under Koom Valley a few years back and I had some back-up too, and I don’t think I want to know where it came from. Just be careful now. The grags clearly have your number. You’d better go and see Vetinari, but I’m very glad we’ve had this little chat.’

‘Why d’you think I’m going to see Vetinari next?’

‘I know, because I’ve just come from the palace. He was sending for you and I asked his lordship if I could get a crack at you first.’

Moist walked to the door, turned round and said simply, ‘Thank you, Commander.’

Outside on Lower Broadway, Moist hailed a one-troll trolley busfn47 and he was not pleased when a dwarf jumped into the pannier beside him. He braced himself for a blow, but the dwarf just smiled at him.

‘Mister Lipwig, how pleased I am to see you. I’d appreciate a moment of your time.’

‘Look,’ said Moist, ‘I’m a very busy man with a great deal to do, and I’m expected at the palace.’

‘The palace? Allow me.’

And the dwarf flipped the correct fare to said troll and gave him the destination in the troll’s own language, much to the amazement of the troll. Oh my, thought Moist. Ankh-Morpork, the melting pot of the world, which occasionally runs foul of lumps that don’t melt.

Moist looked down at the dwarf which was, of course, inevitable. He seemed to be more, well, streamlined than your traditional dwarf, although smiling in a confrontational sort of way: not unpleasantly, but with a kind of inner dedication to the smile. He realized that the dwarf reminded him of something … oh dear, what was its name? Oh, yes, a gyroscope, which he’d seen demonstrated in Unseen University’s High Energy Magic building. In short, and of course this person was a dwarf, he did have the feel of a gyroscope about him, something spinning around an undeclared centre. The insight built itself in a matter of seconds, at the end of which, instead of insisting that his unwanted fellow passenger got out, Moist was paying a lot of attention to the smart little figure.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am merely a messenger,’ replied the dwarf. ‘I am here to tell you something that you cannot ignore. In a sacred place near Koom Valley your name is on the list of people to be summarily executed, but do not fret unduly, because—’

‘Er, you mean I should just simply fret in a duly kind of way, then? So what the hell is that supposed to mean?’

The annoyingly grave face of the dwarf, with its curious essence of smile, was irking Moist, and the dwarf said, ‘Well, Mister Lipwig, you are in a queue behind Lord Vetinari and Commander Vimes and, of course, so are a very large number of dwarfs consid

ered to be un-dwarfish. It is a tiny war at the moment, it’s burning underground like an abandoned coal measure, waiting to break out in unexpected places and soon, I suspect, to a place containing yourself.’

‘Look,’ said Moist, ‘it may have escaped your notice, but I am not and never have been a dwarf, okay? I don’t have a beard and I can’t walk under a table. Human, you see?’

The composure of the dwarf was unshakeable, just like his smile, which now broadened a little as he said, ‘You may not be a dwarf, my friend, but you are considered a vector, a symbol of all that is opposed to real dwarfishness, a carrier, if you like, and also a central figure in a city that some dwarfs would love to see burned to the ground. The clacks were just the start. Your railway will not succeed in tempting dwarfs from the true path of Tak. The commander and Lord Vetinari are surrounded by people who carry a large variety of useful weapons. You don’t, though, do you, Mister Lipwig? You are not a warrior, you are a target, admittedly a remarkable and ingenious one. I suggest you remember how Albert Spangler watched his back and, above all, do not go into dark places.’

The dwarf shook his head and added, ‘You have been warned, sir. I understand you have been known to say that a life without danger is a life not worth living, and frankly all I can say is, good luck with that. Tak does not require that you think of him, but he does require that you think, and I suspect that Tak will be requiring your services in the near future. There are things happening, political things, that you know nothing of, but Tak knows where to find you when Tak needs you.’

And with that the dwarf smiled, jumped out of the pannier and ran off at speed before Moist could react.

Taken by surprise, Moist continued the journey to the palace with his head in a whirl. Until the massacre at the railhead, he hadn’t been doing anything wrong! Just trying to help everybody! And now he was apparently a target because he represented the wicked ways of Ankh-Morpork … which was not only unfair, but also untrue. Well, probably untrue, well, at least a bit. He assumed that the grags were hurt about the fact that he had just killed some of their number, even though it had been a fair fight. Well, probably fair and, anyway, they’d got what they deserved. Moist had hardly done anything actually truly wicked in his lifefn48 and now his new cleaned-up, hard-working, upstanding citizen persona was at risk.

Moist was seething by the time he arrived at the Oblong Office.

‘It seems I’m a damn target,’ he began, ‘and you knew it, sir!’

In the following silence Lord Vetinari’s head did not move until he folded his newspaper. ‘I assume the grags found you, yes, Mister Lipwig? I thought you knew that, along with myself, Drumknott, Commander Vimes and many others, you are on what I believe is called a hit list drawn up by radical grags. But if I were you I wouldn’t worry. After all, a life without danger is a life not worth living, eh, Mister Lipwig?’

And Moist said, ‘Well, yes, but what about Adora Belle?’