Raising Steam (19 page)

‘Everyone wants to sell their wine and cheese and fish to Ankh-Morpork, zat is certain, but
nobody
wants to lose land. We all like our slice of Quirm: it’s
real
real estate, something you can pick up and crumble in your fingers, something zat you can fight for. It’s old-fashioned, I know, and of course its continued existence leaves the government exasperated, which, as a true son of Quirm, I consider perfectly acceptable.

‘However, for you, my friend, zis is difficult because we don’t sell our birthright unless, that is, the price is extremely ’igh. And, when the news gets out about the railway the price will be
extremely
’igh: you will, as my wife says, ’ave to pay “
dans le nez
”. I think, my friend, you will ’ave to find another route from here to Quirm City if you want to get ze job done before
les poules auront des dents
.’

He hesitated for a moment and said, ‘Come with me to ze library. I want to show you some maps.’

In a large and ornate room, filled with the heads of many stuffed animals – or at least
probably
stuffed – and a stench of old formaldehyde, Moist pored over a large map which the Marquis had pulled out of an old chest.

Pointing to what seemed to be a rather empty part of the map, the Marquis said, ‘Most country
’ere
is worthless land, maquis all the way, nothing to mine except ochre, and precious little of zat too. It’s more or less a wasteland, covered in scrub zat would tear your boots off and with nothing to induce people to be zere. Badlands, you might say, ’ome to rogues on the run, highwaymen, bandits and occasionally smugglers, all of them extremely nasty and armed to ze teeth. Oh, the government makes a play of getting rid of them every so often, but that isn’t all. There are goblins and zey know nothing about land rights.’

‘We’ve now come to terms with goblins in Ankh-Morpork,’ said Moist quickly. ‘It’s a matter of finding something for them to do that they really like doing and are good at and, of course, after that it’s just a case of remembering their names and refraining from kicking them. They can be extremely helpful if unkicked, although not necessarily likeable.’

‘I wish
we
could get on decent terms with zem,’ said the Marquis wistfully, ‘but these, you must understand, are
Quirm
goblins, and therefore extremely argumentative and intractable and on top of it, often drunk. They brew their own wine for ’eavens’ sake.’ He
thought for a moment and then corrected himself, ‘Or, rather, a wine-like substance.’

‘That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?’ said Moist.

‘Really? They brew ze wine from snails. From the fruit of the wall, as you call it in Ankh-Morpork. It makes zem
extremely
rowdy, but zey would probably be okay if it wasn’t for the bandits, who ’unt them for fun.’

‘So do the
bandits
own the maquis?’ said Moist.

The Marquis hesitated. ‘No, it is indeed no man’s land. I suppose if we talk to lawyers, they will say it’s owned literally by ze state of Quirm in its entirety.’

‘Well, sir, since it appears that the state of Quirm is gagging to have the railway, even if the landowners aren’t, and if you can assure me of the land rights issue, I’ll be very happy to do them a favour.’

The Marquis grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as zat. We are not difficult people, but the government drags its feet when it comes to cleaning out ze bandits, because, as you understand, bandits and governments ’ave so much in common that they might be interchangeable anywhere in the world … I see you smiling, Mister Lipwig. Is something amusing?’

‘Many bandits?’

‘A considerable amount. This whole area is rather spoiled by them – unpleasant bandits who would cheerfully commit murder if and when zey think zey can get away with it. I ’ave to tell you that if you are in a ’urry to clear the maquis of bandits, I’m afraid, Mister Ankh-Morpork, you might ’ave to do it yourself. And I see you are
still
smiling! Will you be so good as to share ze joke? The well-known so-called Ankh-Morpork sense of ’umour does not translate very well here, I’m afraid.’

‘Don’t be,’ said Moist. ‘When the humours were handed out, Ankh-Morpork got the one for joking and Quirm had to make do with their expertise in fine dining and love-making.’

He held a beat and said, ‘Would you fancy a trade?’

The Marquise giggled into her wine, smiled at Moist and winked, while her husband grinned and said solemnly, ‘I think, monsieur, we prefer the status quo.’

And Moist, who had almost but not totally embarrassed himself, said, ‘Sir, apart from the goblins, do
any
decent people live in those badlands?’

The Marquis shook his head. ‘No, certainly not, they’re as dry as dust.’

Moist looked thoughtful for a while, then stood up, bowed to both of them, kissed the hand of the Marquise and said, ‘Thank you so much for your hospitality and your help and information. I should get away now if I’m to make the overnight coach back to Ankh-Morpork, but I have a funny feeling that happier circumstances will soon prevail. In fact, I can feel them just floating in the air.’

Ankh-Morpork was full of dwarf bars, big and small, accommodating all comers. The gloom of the Dirty Rat was particularly popular with those who preferred a traditional style of establishment and a definite lack of umbrellas in their drinks.

‘Knocking down clacks towers. What good does that do us? My old granny lives under a clacks tower and the lads let her send clackses for nothing.’

In the shadows somebody said, ‘You shouldn’t allow her to do that. The clacks is for humans.’

And then the quarrel began.

‘You’ve got to admit the clacks is useful sometimes. It’d save a ship at sea, I heard. And anyway it helps you keep in touch with your friends.’

The voice from the dark corner said again, ‘Don’t touch the clacks towers, then. There are other ways. I’ve seen the locomotives. It should be easy enough to turn one over on the rails.’

‘Oh yeah? And why d’you want to do that?’

‘It’ll show that us dwarfs are not to be trifled with and anyway, I’m hearing that dwarfs aren’t being allowed to work on the railway.’

‘I hadn’t heard that. That’s discrimination.’

‘No, that’s because silly buggers have been chopping up clacks towers, isn’t it? It’s what you get if you go around doing things like that. No wonder at all.’

‘That’s as may be, but the railway employs lots of trolls and even goblins … I mean, goblins! Filth! We’re being pushed aside. The Low King has sold his soul to bloody Vetinari and the next thing you know they’ll have built a railway line to Uberwald and all our mines will be full of stinking goblins … unless we stand up for ourselves now!’

‘Yeah! Bloody goblins. All over the place!’

The conversation was punctuated by the sound of much quaffing and the subsequent cleaning of the tables.

‘Not that a true dwarf would
want
to work on the railway, mind you,’ said the soft voice that hadn’t yet identified itself.

‘No! You’re right. I’d never work on the railway. It’s an abomination! It should be stopped!’

‘They’re laying tracks to Quirm from Ankh-Morpork. It would make a statement if we got in the way,’ the voice from the shadows continued.

Someone thumped a hand on the bar and said, ‘We must show them that dwarfs are not going to be pushed around any longer!’

‘We could smash up those bloody water towers and steal the coal,’ another suggested. ‘That wouldn’t hurt anyone but it would mean they’d have to walk.’

‘That’s not big enough. They’d just rebuild and carry on, like they’ve done with the clacks. We’d need to do something really big. Something that would make people pay attention.’

There was the sound of people thinking who didn’t think very much. Somebody said, ‘You mean killing people?’

‘Well, you know, you have to make a stand. And later on, when people find out, we’ll be the heroes.’

And then the barman, who had been keeping an eye on the group, said pointedly, ‘It’s closing time, gentlemen, ain’t you got no holes to go to?’ And shooed them out on to the street.

Ardent walked confidently away. After all, there was another dwarf bar a few streets away and the poison could drip so gently. Amazing how simple people could be manipulated by the right voice at the right time. And after that they did it for themselves with vocabulary like ‘stands to reason’ and ‘they’re up to something’, little caltrops on the road to interspecies misunderstanding.

When Moist finally arrived back in Ankh-Morpork around breakfast time, he hurried to Harry King’s house. It was unusual to see Harry being, as it were, just Harry King, family man. He was even wearing carpet slippers. Effie fussed about with the servants for more coffee while Moist made his report to her husband.

‘Sir, we have a little problem down in Quirm. To put it bluntly, some unpleasant gentlemen are getting in the way of the success of our railway.’

Moist explained the land-rights situation to Harry and proposed that since the rolling acres of maquis didn’t belong to anybody it belonged to everybody and he could put the railway line straight through. There was just the little matter of the bandits to be dealt with. The look on Harry’s face would have warmed the cockles of any heart, especially if it was the heart of a shark, and really Moist didn’t need to say much more, but did so anyway.

‘It would be very helpful, Harry, if I could go back there one night soon with some of your golems and possibly some of your … security men, your
specialist technicians
, as it were. The kind of
gentlemen who are adept at resolving conflict. Of course, I’ll need to commandeer a coach.’

The expression on Harry’s face changed like a kaleidoscope until at last he said, ‘Do you mind if I come too?’

And Effie shrieked, ‘Harry King! At your age you’re going to be doing nothing more than stopping home!’

‘Oh, come on, my love, the man said these are bandits. It’s my duty as an honest citizen. After all, I’m Harry King, the man who does business, and
this
, well, this is my business and I’m going to take care of it.’

‘Harry, please! Remember your position in life!’

‘A man makes his own position in life, Duchess, and this is business and I’m going to sort it and it will be the last time, okay?’

‘Oh, all right … but you mind and take notice, Mister Lipwig. And Harry, you do what Mister Lipwig tells you, he’s a very sensible young man,’ said Effie. ‘And there’s to be no alcohol and, Mister Lipwig, make certain he’s wrapped up nice and warm because of his bladder, er, thing, you know. He’s not as young as he thinks he is.’

And Harry roared. ‘Yes, Effie! But right now I reckon I’m ready for anything. I’ll get the word out to my lads and my golems, Mister Lipwig, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning. Seven o’clock sharp.’

At home, Adora Belle said, ‘It’s a harebrained idea, of course, otherwise
you
wouldn’t have had it, would you?’

‘Actually, my sweetness, the raid was Harry’s idea,’ Moist lied. ‘I think he thinks of it as his last grand hurrah, but he really had to twist my arm, I promise you, or my name isn’t Moist Lipwig. You should have seen the look on his face!’

‘Yes, you
are
Moist von Lipwig and you are really looking forward to this, aren’t you? You have that look about you.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Moist. ‘But it’ll be a moonless night, and it might be instructive to see Harry and his chums having one of their little parties. Of course,
you
don’t know anything about this, okay?’

Adora Belle’s face went delightfully blank. ‘This what? But just you remember, Moist, if it’s going to be a mêlée do try to come back with all your bits in their rightful place.’

The following morning, two large coaches were waiting outside Harry King’s house with a crew of Harry’s chums on board. Moist wondered how Harry could gather them together so quickly and then thought about all the things Harry used to do back in the bad old days that he now fondly remembered as being so good. Actually, it was no surprise that the man could assemble an army to settle a little dispute about who owned the streets.

They were all on their best behaviour now and almost all of them didn’t spit and there was no cursing, because the Duchess was looking out of the window, ready to wave them off.

Before the coaches departed, Harry addressed his team. ‘It’s like this, lads: this isn’t exactly a killing job, unless they tries to kill you first. These ain’t our streets, but they’re bandits all the same. You could say we’re making the world better for decent people, like what we are, and we’re cleaning up the mess like we’ve always done.’

Moist looked at the faces of Harry’s associates. Some had gold teeth and some had no teeth, but all of them had the surreptitious look of gentlemen that mostly go abroad after dark. And if you looked with an experienced eye, bits of them bulged, indeed one of them was holding a toolbox and an eager expression, clearly a man who wasn’t for half measures.

Harry had made it clear that there was to be no alcohol, at least until the homeward stage, and so it was a subdued journey through the day. By mid-afternoon they came to the edge of the maquis. The country that lay before them was clearly no place for coaches,
with the road petering out into a vague track amid the scrub. Harry ordered the drivers to halt at a spot that offered some grazing and water for the horses, where the coaches would be screened from view, and sent his associates to scout the maquis ahead.

Moist had never before travelled with such silent men; they seemed to absorb all noise and as they jumped down from the coaches with flannel feet they melted instantly into the landscape. Content to leave this part to the specialists, Harry and Moist settled back to wait.

It was a black night, and the whole party had made its stealthy way to the edge of the bandits’ camp. They were now in the depths of the wretched wilderness of the Quirmian maquis, a nightmare of dense blackthorn that could strip the skin from your bone. It was a garden from hell, especially in the darkness. They could see the fitful flames of the cooking fires and hear the unmistakable sound of alcohol-assisted snoring. These outlaws ought to be ashamed, Moist thought, not one single lookout!