Raising Steam (11 page)

He stopped talking for a moment, looked at the ceiling and said, ‘Tell me: how long d’you think that’ll be?’

The engineer looked thoughtful and somewhat baffled and said, ‘I couldn’t rightly say, sir, but the more the money jingles the faster the wheels’ll turn. I mean, if I can hire the best skilled workers and, well, sir, I’ve made my calculations, done a lot of testing and I reckon I could have a new engine ready for …’

Moist held his breath.

‘One thousand dollars.’

Moist glanced at the face of Harry King, who flicked the ash from his cigar and said, in a deadpan way, ‘A thousand dollars? And how soon can you have it on the rails, lad?’

Simnel took his small sliding device out of his pocket, played with it for a minute or so and said, ‘How about two months?’ He fiddled with the device again and added, ‘Around teatime.’

Moist was fidgeting at this point, and he chimed in with, ‘Excuse me, I know you said that Simnels have been working on steam for years and that other people might have been too, but do you know if anybody else has anything like this? Might they steal a march on you even if they don’t have your secrets?’

To his surprise Simnel said cheerfully, ‘Oh yes, sir, about four or five of them, but none of them have yet produced even a working
concept like Iron Girder. They’re making all t’mistakes my dad did, and making a few others of their own an’ all, from what I hear. Superheated steam doesn’t give you a chance. Get it wrong and it’ll tek t’flesh off your bones. Now me, sir, well, I’m a stickler for measurements, tiny teeny weeny measurements. They ain’t very exciting but that’s the soul and centre of being an engineering artificer.

‘Unfortunately, my granddad and my dad were a bit slapdash about them, seeing as they didn’t have the proper knowing of them, but measurements is your saving grace if you want to raise steam. Me mum paid for me to get a better learning, being as ’er side of the family had money from …’ he paused, ‘fishing, and one of my uncles made theodolites and other delicate instruments, and I thought to meself, well, this is very helpful, especially when he taught me ’ow to blow glass, and what I need glass for is my own little secret …’

Simnel looked anxious for a moment and said, ‘I’ll need a shedload of iron, especially for t’tracks themselves. And, of course, then there’s the question of laying t’tracks through people’s land … someone’ll have to talk to the landowners. I’m an engineer, always will be, and I’m not sure I know how to ’aggle with the big nobs.’

‘Ah, as it happens we have a born haggler with us right now,’ said Harry. ‘What do you say, Mister Lipwig? Do you want to be a part of it?’

Moist opened his mouth to speak.

‘There you are, then, young Dick. We’ll use Mister Lipwig for any negotiations. He’s the kind of man who’d follow you into a revolving door and still come out in front. And he speaks posh, when necessary. Of course, he’s a bit of a scoundrel, but aren’t we all in this business?’

‘I don’t think I am, sir,’ said Simnel cautiously, ‘but I know what you mean. If you don’t mind, I’d like to suggest that my first track
is laid all the way back to Sto Lat. Well, not exactly Sto Lat, it’s a place on the outskirts called Swine Town, there being so many pigs in the area. That’s where the rest of my gear and machinery is stored.’

Simnel looked nervously at Sir Harry, who was pursing his lips. ‘It’s a long way, lad, must be twenty-five miles or more, and you’d be right out in the sticks there.’

Moist couldn’t hold his tongue. ‘Yes! But they wouldn’t be the sticks for long, would they? Try and get fresh milk in the city … it’s always bad cheese by the time it gets to you, and then there are things like strawberries, watercress, lettuce, you know, everything with a limited shelf life! The areas that have the railways’ll be more prosperous than those that don’t! It was the same at first with the clacks. Everybody said they didn’t want the towers, and now anybody who’s anybody wants one at the bottom of their garden. The Post Office’ll be on your side too, moving the mails faster and all that, and I can assure you that the Royal Bank will be right behind you, and indeed, Mister Simnel, I’ll invite you to join me in my office as soon as possible to discuss our
special
banking facilities …’

Harry King slapped his thigh and said, ‘Mister Lipwig, didn’t I say it: you’re a man who sees an opportunity when it’s in front of him!’

Moist smiled. ‘Well, Harry, I think it’s in front of all of us now.’

In fact, in his mind’s eye Moist could see
lots
of opportunities and plenty of room for problems, and here right in the middle of it all was Moist von Lipwig. It couldn’t get better than this! His smile widened, inside and out.

It wasn’t about the money. It had never been about the money. Even when it was about the money, it wasn’t entirely about the money. Well, it was
slightly
about the money, but most of all it was about what the dwarfs called the
craic
. The sheer pleasure about what you were doing and where you were doing it. He could feel
the future catching him up. He could see it beckoning. But, of course, sooner or later someone would try to kill him. That usually happened, but you had to take the chance. It seemed to be a necessary part of the whole thing, whatever the whole thing actually was. You
always
had to take the chance. Any chance.

Harry gave Moist a sideways glance and said, over his shoulder, ‘Mister Simnel, if you’ve got a lot of your valuable stuff in a shed up there in Pig City or wherever, would you mind me sending a couple of my …’ Harry paused, seeking for a genteel wording, ‘… my
useful
gentlemen to keep an eye on the place for you?’

Simnel looked puzzled and said, ‘It’s really a quiet old place, sir.’

Harry moved into what might be called his avuncular persona and said, ‘That might very well be so, my lad, but I think that you and me are going to a place where there’ll be a lot of money, and where there’s a lot of money there are a lot of people trying to take it off you. I’d like to think that if anyone broke into your big shed to fossick around for any interesting bits of machinery or clues as to how you build your engines, they might find themselves having to explain their interest to Snatcher, Stiletto Dave and Grinder Bob. They’re all good lads, kind to their old mums and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Call it, well, call it …
insurance
. And if you can be good enough to let them have a key, I’ll send them up there right now. Mind you, if you can’t find a key I’m sure they’ll find their way in. They’re very versatile in that respect.’

Young Simnel smiled and said, ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Sir Harry. Perhaps I should give them a message to take to my mother. She’ll show them where everything is. My dad said always put a few nasty little booby traps around the place before you lock up and then after that owt they can steal from you they’re welcome to, if they’ve still got their arms to carry it away, that is.’

Harry laughed out loud and said, ‘Sounds to me like your old dad looked at things just the way I do. What’s mine is mine and what is mine is me own.’

When Moist and Mr Thunderbolt stepped out into the compound Moist saw that people were
still
queueing up for a ride on the train, which was waiting like a queen while Mr Simnel’s lads filled her bunker full of coal, and oiled and greased everything again, including themselves. They tapped her wheels and polished everything that could be polished, once again including themselves, while just about every little boy in the city, and, amazingly, most of the girls, stared at her in awe, worshipping at her shrine. And then it came back to him: earth, air, fire and water, the sum of everything! The goddess had found her worshippers.

There was a sound like thunder, but it was only Mr Thunderbolt clearing his throat to say, ‘Remarkable, isn’t it, Mister Lipwig? There appears to be what one can only call a
presence
of sorts, a hint, as it were, that life turns up in many different guises, perhaps? Just a passing thought.’

Moist had never heard such clear diction from a troll, and it must have shown, because Thunderbolt laughed, saying, ‘A touch of diamond does the trick, Mister Lipwig, and I will endeavour to draw up contracts that suit all parties, you need not worry.’

Just then Moist beheld Drumknott, greasy and cheerful and covered with smuts, stepping off the engine and regretfully handing a hat and a very grubby jacket to one of Mr Simnel’s lads. Moist grabbed the little secretary by one arm.

‘Where did you get to, Mister Drumknott? I’ve been looking for you
everywhere
,’ he lied. ‘His lordship is expecting you back any time now.’

Moist wasn’t sure he liked Drumknott, but it wouldn’t do to have him as an enemy, being so close as he was to the engine that drove Ankh-Morpork, and so he cleaned up the little man as best he could and flagged a coach back into the city, noticing, as they travelled along the busy towpath, that the major traffic was still going the other way.

Moist knew about the zeitgeist, he tasted it in the wind, and sometimes it allowed him to play with it. He understood it, and now it hinted at speed, escape, something wonderfully new, the very bones of the land awakening, and suddenly it seemed to cry out for motion, new horizons, faraway places,
anywhere that is not here
! No doubt about it, the railway was going to turn coal into gold.

‘Excuse me, young man.’

Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs, who had taken it upon themselves to patrol the line of expectant sightseers queueing for a ride on the train, looked around uncertainly. It had been a long time since Sergeant Colon had been a young man, and as for Nobby Nobbs, although it was generally agreed that he was the younger of the two, there was some doubt about whether the term
Homo sapiens
could be applied to him; the jury of Ankh-Morpork was out. Colon and Nobby were supposed to have been on the beat in the Shades, but Colon had delegated that task to a couple of new recruits. ‘Good experience for ’em, Nobby. And it’s likely to be a dangerous business, this streaming engine. Needs someone to have a look-see – a couple of experienced coppers, let’s say, prepared to put therselves in harm’s way for the public good.’

‘Young man … excuse me,’ came the voice again. The speaker was a harassed-looking lady with two boys at heel, who weren’t at all at heel and were expressing their frustration at having to wait for the promised ride on the train in the supremely annoying ways that only small children can manage. In a desperate attempt to distract them from their contest to inconvenience as many people in the queue in front of them as possible, their mother had seized on the first official-looking people who might be able to entertain her offspring with some interesting facts.

‘We were just wondering if you could tell us how this locomotive goes?’ she asked.

Fred Colon took a deep breath. ‘Well, missus, there’s the boiler, you see. It’s like a kettle.’

This was not enough for the smaller child, who said, ‘Mum’s got a kettle. That doesn’t go anywhere.’

His mother tried again. ‘And how does this “boiler” work?’

‘Well, you see, it sends the hot water to the engine,’ said Nobby hurriedly.

‘Right,’ said the lady, ‘and then what happens?’

‘And then all the hot water goes into the wheels.’

The elder boy looked sceptical. ‘Really? How’s that done?’

Nobby, cornered, said, ‘I think the sergeant can tell you that.’

A little bead of sweat appeared on Colon’s face and he was aware that the two children were looking at him as if he were some kind of exhibit. ‘Ah, well, the water is magnetic, right, because of all that spinning,’ he said.

The elder boy said, ‘I don’t think it works like that.’

But Colon was on a roll and ignored him. ‘The spinning causes the magnetism and that’s what makes the water stick in there. Lots of iron in train wheels, stands to reason. And that’s what keeps the train on the iron road, magnetism.’

The smaller boy changed tack. ‘Why does the engine go
chuff
?’

‘That’s because it’s chuffed,’ said Colon with a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘See, you’ve heard of “
chuffed
”. That’s where it comes from.’

Nobby looked at his friend in admiration. ‘Is that why, sarge? I never thought of that!’

‘And when it’s had enough of a chuffing, there’s enough magnetism to hold the train on the iron road, see?’

The last phrase was delivered in a rush in the hope that no more questions would be forthcoming. But it doesn’t work like that with children. The elder boy had had enough and decided to show off the knowledge gleaned from friends who had been there earlier in
the day. ‘Isn’t it to do with reciprocating motions?’ he said, with a glint in his eye.

‘Ah, well, yes,’ blustered Colon helplessly. ‘You’ve got to have your recip-roca-tory motions to get the right
kind
of chuff. And when everything is chuffing and reciprocatoring, away we go.’

The smaller child was still puzzled, as well he might be. ‘I still don’t understand, mister.’

‘Well, perhaps you’re too young to know,’ said Colon, taking refuge in the excuse used by exasperated adults through the millennia. ‘Very technical stuff, your chuffing. Probably shouldn’t even be trying to explain it to children.’

‘I don’t think I understand either,’ said the mother.

‘You know clockwork?’ said Nobby, coming to the rescue again. ‘It pretty much goes like clockwork, only bigger and faster.’

‘How’s it wound up?’ asked the boy.

‘Ah yes,’ said Colon, ‘that chuffing noise, of course, is the winding up. And when it’s wound up, then off it chuffing goes.’

The smaller boy held up a clockwork engine and said, ‘He’s right, Mum, you wind them up and away they go.’

Bemused, the lady said, ‘Right … well, thank you, gentlemen, for a comprehensive little talk. I’m sure the boys were fascinated.’ And she handed Colon several coins.

Colon and Nobby watched the happy family as they climbed on to the cart behind Iron Girder. And Nobby said, ‘It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it, sarge? Being helpful to people.’