Raising Steam (17 page)

The clacks was an equal opportunities employer, especially when it came to people who could swarm their way up the skeletal ribs of a clacks tower
and
once at the top sit down in a little chair and code like a demon, without actually being one, despite their appearance.

Adora Belle was going through clacks reports with a suspicious eye while the goblin crouched like a nightmare on the end of her desk. She waved her fingers to indicate that she couldn’t afford to let go her concentration, then rolled up a script, handed it to the goblin and snapped, ‘Get that out
now
, please, to tower ninety-seven. Someone there isn’t coding accurately. Might be a trainee. I want to know, okay?’

The goblin snatched the scroll in a claw, sprang off the desk like a frog, headed for a little door near the floor and disappeared through it. Moist could hear rattling all the way up the wall as the goblin clambered up the panelling and scuttled to the private clacks tower on the roof. He shuddered, but before he could say anything Adora Belle looked up and said, ‘Look, he’s punctual, fast, reliable and codes more accurately even than me and all he wants from us is to be allowed to live with his family on the roof. Now don’t you
give me all that again about being traumatized by seeing the picture of a grinning goblin in that children’s book when you were little, okay? Get over it, Moist. The goblins are the best thing that has happened to the clacks since, well, you know – us! They
love
running it and, what’s more, with them around the place we don’t have those nasty rat and mouse infestations that we used to have.’

Adora Belle stood up, walked around the desk to Moist and gave him a big kiss, and said, ‘How was your latest marathon, mister? I got reports of your progress throughout, of course, as you may imagine.’

Moist took a step back. ‘Reports? How?’

Adora Belle laughed. ‘What is a clacks tower but an enormous watchtower? And every clacksman has a very expensive pair of Herr Fleiss’s binoculars, made using the very best in Uberwald technology. There are lots of towers, so I made certain they kept a friendly eye on you – well, a lot of friendly eyes on you. After all, every clacksman knows your face and even the top of your head, and I thought it was my duty as a wife …’

‘What, spying on your husband! Supposing I was messing about with other women?’

‘That’s all right, I know you weren’t and if you had been I’d have had you killed – no offence meant – but you didn’t and so I didn’t and so everything is all right, yes? Mrs Crossly is doing a wonderful beef and oyster pie. See? Aren’t you glad I knew exactly when you were coming home?’

Moist smiled, and then the smile broadened as he realized what it was he had been told, and he added thoughtfully, ‘Are you telling me, my love, that you could spot and follow
anybody
?’

‘Oh yes, probably, if they walk around a lot. The lads and lasses often peek when they have some down time. They just do it, there’s no harm in it. The other day when you were heading home I was at the Grand Trunk office and was privileged to get a report of you bobbing up and down on your golem horse …
very
fetching, they said.’

Adora Belle stared at her husband and added, ‘Do you know that when you’ve found out something amazingly interesting and useful your eyes light up like a Hogswatch decoration? So stop glittering right now and go and smarten yourself up before we sit down to a proper dinner.’

It was a rule of Moist and Adora Belle’s household that the evening meal, if at all possible, was sacrosanct. No eating at their desks, no rush, but candles, and silverware, as if it were always a special occasion. And a special occasion it was: the only time they could sit down face to face and just, well, be at least moderately married to each other.

However, Adora Belle couldn’t conceal her dismay about losing her husband again for yet another prolonged absence in a foreign country.

‘Quirm isn’t that far away,’ Moist soothed. ‘And once I get the local lads on side it won’t be too bad.’

Adora Belle cleared her throat. ‘Garçons. If they’re lobsters, your lads will be known as garçons.’

‘What?’

‘Garçons. It’s Quirmian, but don’t worry, most of them speak Morporkian. And you know why? Because none of us can be bothered to learn Quirmian.’

‘Well, no matter what they’re called. Once the railway line’s built I’ll probably be able to come home more often.’ He paused to take another mouthful of pie. ‘By the way, Harry’s just had a clacks from the King of Lancre asking if we could eventually run a line all the way to his kingdom so that, and I quote, “Lancre can take its rightful place on the world stage”.’

‘Don’t underestimate that place,’ said Adora Belle. ‘They’ve got witches up there. They fly up to the clacks towers and scrounge coffee off the lads – well, at least one of them does, especially when the lads are young and the goblins aren’t on shift. And then there
are all the dwarf mines up at Copperhead. I’m sure they could find a use for the railway.’

Moist made a face. ‘The lads say no way. It’s too steep, and anyway, the Lancre bridge wouldn’t take the weight of the engine. Sorry. But I suppose we could tell his majesty that we’ll send surveyors to take a look once the Quirm line’s complete.’ Moist put down his fork. ‘But here we are, and it looks like for the first time in ages we have an evening free. What shall we do? Perhaps it might be a good idea to give the staff the rest of the evening off …’

And Adora Belle replied with a smile, ‘Yes … What shall we do?’

‘It’s simply mechanical,’ said Ponder Stibbons over tea in the Uncommon Room at Unseen University. ‘It just
looks
magical.’

‘Shouldn’t be allowed, then,’ said the Senior Wrangler, spearing a whole pie with his fork. ‘Looking magical is our business.’

‘Well,’ said Mustrum Ridcully, pointedly ignoring him, ‘you can’t stand in the way of progress, so why don’t you hitch a ride on it? Does anyone else want a train ride? It gets so stuffy in here and I’m sure we don’t want people thinking of us as being stick-in-the-muds.’

‘But we are stick-in-the-muds,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘I treasure the fact.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s time we looked the railway in the face. Mister Stibbons will lead the way.’

The wizards left the University in a small fleet of coaches which caused quite a stir when they appeared at the Ankh-Morpork terminus. Stibbons, knowing his fellow wizards, had made arrangements beforehand and a special train had been laid on for the occasion, with particularly well cushioned seats.

‘You will of course travel First Class, gentlemen,’ said the station master, who had been well primed by Stibbons. ‘But if you wish, some of you might be able to ride on the footplate.’ He hesitated and said, ‘Although I’m not sure those robes would be safe.’

The Archchancellor burst out laughing. ‘Young man, a wizard’s
robe is impervious to fire. Good grief, if they weren’t we’d be burned alive every day before elevenses!’

Stibbons, who had already had several rides with Iron Girder over the previous weeks followed by some intense conversations with Dick Simnel, had got the hang of the business and took some pleasure in seeing the best minds in the University coming to terms with their first railway ride.

It was a short journey to Upunder and back, including a dinner at the halfway mark which lasted longer than the train ride itself. On the homeward stretch, the Chair of Indefinite Studies was allowed to operate the emergency brake to the envy of the rest of the wizards, and there was a certain amount of waving of flags, blowing of whistles, and slamming of doors at each stop for the wizards to try their hands at. Iron Girder was in full steam and the fireproof wizards taking their turn on the footplate stared into the fire box and approved.
^fn37

Replete and tired on their way back to Ankh-Morpork, they considered this new form of locomotion as a phenomenon. The Senior Wrangler thought about objecting again, but was too full.

‘Amazing, people waving at you as you go past,’ said Ridcully. ‘I’ve never seen that before. Who’d have thought it? Machinery making people smile. What are you writing down, Mister Stibbons?’

Blushing, Stibbons said, ‘I like to spot an occasional train, you know … I’m just interested in them … It’s like watching the future go past.’

The Archchancellor smiled and said, ‘Then perhaps we should be the ones who are minding the doors, not to mention the gap, because the future is coming down the track fast. And who knows what is going to arrive next.’

It was a wonderful sunny day. Skylarks sang in the deep blue sky. It was a great day to be alive. Moist, needing a change of air, walked away from the compound with a spring in his step, a little way along the railway track.

And right there on this perfect day … yes, there out of sight of anyone excepting, of course, the ambling Moist himself, on the rail that Iron Girder would have to travel along as soon as she came around the bend on to the little incline leading to the station, were two small … creatures. Rabbits, his common sense tried to tell him, plenty of them around here … even the compound was riddled with them. And, for a moment, the whole world stopped right in his face, leaving him spinning slowly in a little world of his own, looking out on to the real one.

There were the main engine sheds, over there was the crowd queueing for their rides, and there on the track was the future of the railway. It was one perfect moment where time stretched out, and Moist the only witness to this terrible tableau. It was like a strange game of high-speed chess unfolding before his eyes.

And then, suddenly, his legs took off from under him and he ran and ran, too breathless to shout, towards the two children who had hunkered down with their ears pressed against the rails, giggling because the vibrations were at times funny and bouncy and loud and …

RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!

And … gone …

Moist woke up, which could be interpreted as a good thing. First time round, Iron Girder was over him and he was dead, but his next careful waking was in a white room that smelled of camphor wood and other disinfectants, sharp and reassuring smells: tangible proof that he had a nose at least, because he couldn’t really feel anything else.

After a while subtle little noises grew into louder ones, coming
closer and forming words, loudly reassuring and somewhat hearty words that crystallized into an individual in a white coat saying, ‘Well, madam, he keeps going up and down, but with fewer downs and a welcoming parade of ups. He’s getting more stable all the time and nothing’s broken, although he’s ruined a decent pair of boots – and, may I say, madam, that even here in the hospital there are already people organizing a whipround to replace them.’

Moist made a mighty heave, fought his way out of unconsciousness and arrived back in the here and now – a place where
everything
hurt. On the plus side, Adora Belle was looking at him, while looming behind her, in a white coat, was a large and expansive man of a sort that had played many rough competitive games when he was younger and wished he could do so now, if only the belly were smaller and the limbs willing.

Moist’s wife was regarding her husband carefully, as if checking that all the bits were there in their rightful places, at which point the doctor grabbed his hand and boomed, ‘Somebody up there must be watching over you, Mister Lipwig. How do you feel? As your physician I must tell you that jumping in front of railway trains is not recommended by medical practitioners, but acts of mindlessly idiotic bravery most certainly are, and can be applauded!’

Dr Lawn looked carefully down at Moist and said, ‘You don’t know what you did, do you, Mister Lipwig? Just you come along and we’ll see if you can walk.’

Moist could walk and wished he couldn’t. The whole of him felt as if it had been smacked very hard, but the nurses helped him upright and led him carefully to the ward next door, which contained, as it turned out, among the noise, two families; and there were small children and parents weeping. Bits of the past slammed into place in Moist’s memory and got bigger and more horrible as once again he felt the breath of the engine as it sailed over the top of him, a toddler under each arm. No, it couldn’t have happened like that – could it?

But clamouring voices were telling him otherwise, with women trying to kiss him and holding up their offspring to do likewise, their husbands at the same time trying to shake his hand. Bafflement filled him up like smoke and now in front of him Adora Belle was looking at him with a funny little smile, such as only husbands know of.

When they were at last able to disembogue themselves of the crowd of happy parents and somewhat sticky children, Adora Belle still had her faint smile. ‘Well now, my dear, didn’t you once say that a life without danger is a life not worth living?’

Moist patted her hand and said, ‘Well, Spike, I married you, didn’t I?’

‘You couldn’t resist it, could you? It’s like a drug. You’re not happy unless someone is trying to kill you, or you’re in the centre of some other kind of drama, out of which, of course, the famous Moist von Lipwig will jump to safety at the very last moment. Is it a disease? Some kind of syndrome?’

Moist put on his meek face as only husbands and puppies can do and said, ‘Would you like me to stop? I will if you say so.’

There was silence until Adora Belle said, ‘You bastard, you know I can’t do that. If you stopped all of that you wouldn’t be Moist von Lipwig!’

He opened his mouth to protest just as the door opened and in came the press: William de Worde, editor of the
Ankh-Morpork Times
, followed by a porter and the ubiquitous Otto Chriek, the iconographer.

And, because Moist would never stop being Moist von Lipwig until he died, he smiled for the iconograph.

He reminded himself that this was only the start. All the rest would be along soon … but no matter, he had danced this fandango many times before, and so he maintained his best boy scout face and smiled at Mr de Worde, who started off by saying, ‘It appears that you are a hero
again
, Mister Lipwig. The driver and
the stoker say that you ran faster than they could brake the train, picked up the children and jumped to safety just in time. Safety, at that precise moment, being
under
your Iron Girder. It was a miracle that you were there, wasn’t it?’