Raising Steam (Discworld 40)

The everlasting fog that filled the vertiginous gorge created deep swirling shadows in the fading light as they approached the final bridge before the Wilinus Pass. And the fog itself seemed to be alive as it moved and twisted, leaving the watchers with the feeling that they were teetering at the edge of the world.

The far side of the bridge was barely visible as Simnel stood in earnest conversation with the head engineer in charge of the bridge works. A bit of darkness in the fog near Moist turned out to be Commander Vimes, grinning.

‘A rickety bridge, a heavy train, a terrifying drop to certain death below, with a pressing deadline and no back-up plan?’ said Vimes. ‘You must be in your element, Mister Lipwig. I’m told the engineers say it can’t be done. Are you really planning to risk the Low King and the future peace of this region on one throw of the dice?’

Behind them an engineer said, ‘I wouldn’t travel over that for a pension.’

As Rhys and Aeron joined them, the creaks and groans of the ancient bridge structure intensified, and seemed almost alive, like some demon daring them to chance their fate. The less fanciful of the engineers might talk of natural movement caused by the drop in temperature as night approached, but it was hard to ignore the ominous atmosphere of the place which was almost … eldritch.

Then Iron Girder snorted steam, panting like a dog ready to be unleashed. Moist took a deep breath, stuck his fingers into his jacket and smiled with a confidence which had blossomed just a second before when he had finally heard the subtle sound he had been waiting for.

‘It’s a little-known fact, my friends, that these fogs have remarkable solidity. Allow me to demonstrate.’

He stepped off the edge of the cliff beside the track and stood there with the fog swirling around his ankles. He heard gasps from behind. He turned and faced his fellow travellers with a huge grin and a silent sigh of relief before stepping back on to what might be called solid ground.

‘You see. Would you like me to run to the other side and back again while this mystical phenomenon continues, as I believe it will, or shall we all go over now, while the time is ripe?’

‘D’you mind if I try?’ said Vimes.

There was a twinkle and Moist said, ‘By all means, commander.’

And Vimes disappeared into the swirling fog, lighting his cigar, saying, ‘Just like standing on a pavement. Amazing. I suggest you make steam, Mister Simnel! I’m in some doubt about how long such a, as you say, mystical phenomenon will last. So I think alacrity is our motto here, gentlemen.’

Simnel, resisting the natural temptation of a scientist to examine the phenomenon more closely, looked around and said, ‘Oh aye. All aboard, everybody!’ And after a moment, he added, ‘Quickly … please.’

Moist looked at Simnel and said, ‘Do you now believe, Dick?’

‘Yes, Mister Lipwig.’

‘But do you really believe?’

‘I surely do, Mister Lipwig! I believe in the sliding rule, the cosine and the tangent and even when the quaderatics give me gyp, yes, I still believe. Iron Girder is my machine, I built ’er, every last rivet carefully forged by ’and. And I reckon if I could bolt rails on to the sky, Iron Girder would take us to t’moon.’

Moist whistled and heard a signal from below. He raised his voice and said, ‘Forward, please, Mister Simnel!’ And immediately there was the familiar chugging sound of a train anxious to be travelling and getting up steam. Moist loved the moment as the power built up slowly and by degrees until there was a rolling thunder, taking charge of the universe, and they were moving into the villainous fog and on to the bridge.

It was difficult to see anything from the footplate, but Moist could just make out Simnel’s white face as the vibrations and swaying intensified. Despite Moist’s dramatic demonstration earlier, he could tell that Simnel and his crew were terrified and even he began to doubt whether the bridge would in fact hold under the pressure. And then the vibrations suddenly ceased and there was a strange sensation as Iron Girder left the rails and she flew.

Down below, the fog curled into even stranger shapes, spiralling vortices, stirred up by the passage of the train, and after a strangled few minutes there was a thump of wheels on rails as Iron Girder consented to exchange flight for the sensible permanent way once more and then Dick blew the whistle and kept blowing, and she was bowling along again as if nothing uncanny, mystic or even eldritch had happened.

It wasn’t until Moist found time to himself after all the backslapping he had received that the enormity of what he had done hit him like a jack-hammer: a whole train under steam, full of passengers! And a king apparently flying through thin air! And he sweated again as the next thought said, ‘So many things could have gone wrong.’ In fact so many things could have gone wrong and he began to feel certain that history might just slam backwards to ensure that they did. And the sweat ran down his whole body but he wouldn’t have been Moist if he couldn’t recover from this sort of thing. Just as long as Vetinari never got to hear about it.

The thought of Vetinari was still proving hard to banish later that evening when Moist finally bunked down in the guard’s van. As the motion of the train lulled him into a tired and relieved doze, an image of the Patrician swam into Moist’s mind. He shuddered at the recollection of his recent encounter. Vetinari had been at his desk reading reports of what looked suspiciously to Moist like other people’s clacks messages.fn77 He had frowned when he saw Moist and said, ‘Well now, Mister Lipwig, is the train already cleared for Uberwald, by any chance?’

Moist had assumed an expression that would not have deceived a child, which was, of course, part of the game. ‘Not quite yet, my lord, but I think the prospects are getting rosier by the hour.’

‘Long-winded. Very long-winded indeed. Come to the point, if such a thing exists, please? After all, I do have matters of state to deal with.’

‘Well, sir, I’m sure you recall, we have buried within the city limits a number of very ancient golems, and you vowed that they would only be deployed in the event of a threat to national security, and right now I think I could use several dozen of them, sir, that is of course if you don’t mind?’

‘Mister Lipwig, you surely try my patience. I’m quite well aware that both you and your wife have the tools that would allow you to enter said vault and, indeed, give said golems instructions, but nevertheless I strictly forbid you to try anything of the sort. This has to do with the railway, I am assuming.’

‘Yes, my lord, a minor little problem on the train to success, as it were.’

‘Let me make myself entirely clear. If I find any evidence that you have removed city golems from their proper place and moreover have taken them outside the city limits, you will be thrown to the kittens. Is that understood?’

Vetinari’s expression was as flat and impenetrable and as placid as a sea of pitch, and Moist had bowed and said, ‘I assure you, sir, no such evidence will ever be found.’ While overhead, the words ‘If I find’ floated like a sly invitation.

Uncomfortably alert again, with Vetinari’s voice echoing in his head, Moist drew out the clacks flimsy he’d had from Adora Belle about the progress of the golems. He tore it up and threw the pieces out of the nearest window, from where he watched them disappear in the wake of the wonderful train.