Raising Steam (Discworld 40)

‘Oh yes, Mister Lipwig, I told her last week.’

‘What! She didn’t tell me!’

‘I believe she wanted to surprise you, Mister Lipwig. She knows how much you like surprises and you do enjoy a quantum of frisson, she told me.’

Moist almost squealed, ‘But you know I’m no fighter!’

‘Really, Mister Lipwig? But I already have reports that say otherwise: thrilling tales of derring-do and, believe me, nothing was said about derring-don’t.’

Moist, a long-time student of Vetinari and his moods, knew that you could never be sure of what he was thinking. But now the Patrician seemed carved out of stone, like a statue.

‘Mister Lipwig, you know what they say about dwarfs?’

Moist looked blank. ‘Very small people?’

‘“Two dwarfs is an argument, three dwarfs is a war”, Mister Lipwig. It’s squabble, squabble, squabble. It’s built into their culture. And in the squabbling, the grags hide and poison.

‘The Koom Valley Accord, which I helped to broker with the Low King and Diamond King of Trolls, was hailed around the world as a fresh hope for the future. But now some of the senior dwarfs appear to be in thrall to a faction of the grags who are bent on destruction. Differences of opinion are one thing, but this sort of atrocity cannot be borne. Diamond King of Trolls and I are putting pressure on the Low King and we have every expectation he will deal with the matter.

‘It has gone too far, Mister Lipwig. Once upon a time the grags were bold dwarfs who checked the mines for firedamp, hence the heavy clothing. Of course that gave them status but, in truth, they were just plucky miners … expert at mining, perhaps, but certainly not skilled in politics and thinking. After all, you don’t negotiate with a lump of rock. With people, you negotiate all the time. The Low King knows it. The grags know it but don’t like it.

‘I am a tyrant and, if I say so myself, good at it, but I understand the ways of people and the way of the world. Everything is mutable. Nothing is unchangeable. A little give and a little take and a little negotiation, and suddenly the balance of the world is back on track again; that is what politics is for. But the politics of the grags consists only of “Do what you are told, we know best.” And I find that rather tedious.’

‘And I find it tedious when your men wake me up by prodding me,’ said Moist.

‘Really, is that all?’ said Vetinari. ‘I shall tell them not to prod too much in future.’ He smiled and said, ‘Mister Lipwig, Commander Vimes is a decent man and he spends much of his time telling people what to do and that is how the Watch works. It’s not an area where freelancing is allowed. Things have to be seen to be done, in the proper manner. There is indeed a difference between tyranny and running a police force. There must be rules that everyone understands. Do you understand, Mister Lipwig?’

The Patrician stared at Moist, who said, ‘Yes, I understand. The commander is Vetinari’s terrier and I—’

‘You, Mister Lipwig, are useful and a conduit for serendipity. For example, I understand you have just blessed us with more goblins at a time when we need them. Apart from that, I am told by Sydney, the head ostler, that one of our golem horses arrived here declaring “Give me livery or give me death”. We had been given to understand that golem horses do not talk, but it would appear, Mister Lipwig, that you have introduced that one to the delights of speech. I am impressed.’

Lord Vetinari’s smile was widening. ‘What a little bundle of joy you are, Mister Lipwig.’ He sighed and continued, ‘To think I once fed you to Mister Trooper’s capable hands. He often asks after your wellbeing. You know he never forgets a neck. Now off you go, Mister Lipwig … your audience needs you.’

The Low King’s bellow of rage and betrayal when the news of the massacre at the railhead arrived echoed around the state quarters and into every corner of the great cavern. Bats dropped out of the ceiling, in the bakeries the dough refused to rise, and the silver on the decorative weaponry tarnished.

Rhys Rhysson sat down heavily on the Scone of Stone and waved the clacks flimsy he had just received.

‘Dwarfs have killed railway workers!’ he shouted. ‘Ordinary men, going about their business in an enterprise that would be useful to dwarfs as well as humans.’ The King looked almost in tears and thumped a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘This after the clacks towers!’ he said, with a groan of loss. ‘This is a message from Diamond King of Trolls and he is trying not to upset me, but I think he feels sorry for me.’

He raised his voice and shouted, ‘And this is the king of the trolls, our one-time arch enemy, but now a personal friend of mine! What will he think about the trustworthiness of dwarfs now? Thanks to intelligence gathered by the Ankh-Morpork Watch, including our own Cheery Littlebottom, we have the names of the idiots who did the deed. And now I know exactly who is behind it all.’

He paused and glared at the growing crowd. ‘Where is Ardent? Bring him to me at once! I’ll show him what his idiotic ranting has caused! I want him brought here in chains if possible. Good heavens, Tak gave

us the Koom Valley Accord and now the little blister is trying to break it.’

The crowd was bigger now and the voice of the King was even louder. ‘I repeat, I want him here. Now. Today. No excuses. No second chances. No redemption. Let it be known that the King will not let the benefits of the Koom Valley Accord be turned to dust by adventurers who believe that the past is still with us and belongs to them. All I see is its sterile echo.

‘And I notice these days talk against goblins who are working in the human industries, such as the new railway and the clacks. I hear a lot of complaints that it is taking work from us dwarfs, but why is that? Because goblins learn quickly, work hard and are glad to be in Ankh-Morpork! And the dwarfs? We have factions that bring us down with every flaming tower … Who would trust us after that? Remember, if Tak teaches us anything, he teaches us to be tolerant of all sapient shapes. Let me tell you, the world changes with every generation and if we don’t learn to surf on the tide then we will be smashed on the rocks.’

By the Low King’s side, Bashfull Bashfullsson picked up the theme. He looked around at the assembled dwarfs and spoke.

‘Tak did not expect the stone to have life, but when it did, he smiled upon it, saying “All Things Strive”.’ Glaring at the onlookers, Bashfullsson continued, ‘Time and again the last testament of Tak has been stolen in a pathetic attempt to kill the nascent future at birth and this is not only an untruth, it is a blasphemy! Tak even finds it in his heart to suffer the Nac Mac Feegles, possibly for their entertainment value, but I wonder if he will continue to tolerate us … He must look at us now with sorrow, which I hope will not turn into rage. Surely the patience of Tak must find some limitations somewhere.’

Bashfullsson bowed to the Low King and said, ‘I am your servant, your majesty. What would you have of me?’

The King, still red in the face, said, ‘I won’t have you bow to me, my friend, I rather think I should bow to you. Your words are wise as ever and will be proclaimed in every mine.’

At this point a dwarf arrived in the chamber at a run and whispered something to the Low King’s loyal secretary, Aeron, who looked sombre.