Raising Steam (20 page)

With his associates strategically deployed around the perimeter, Harry made his way quietly into the centre of the camp.

‘Good morning, gentlemen! We are the Goblin Preservation Society and all of yous has got two minutes to get up and be out of here. Got it? Nice and smart, chums!’

A bandit stumbled out of his tent and sneered, ‘We don’t care who you are, and you can shove all of that right up your jacksie, monsieur.’

And Harry said, ‘Good! We like shoving it anywhere! Go on, lads, but no goblins get hurt, okay?’

Moist took a careful step backwards and watched. Harry had stipulated that murdering people wasn’t really on the cards tonight, but most of the bandits were either lying on the ground or running away within a couple of minutes of Harry’s chums being unleashed. It was gang warfare, but one gang had no sense of
strategy. Harry’s men were surgical and methodical and very, very professional, even somewhat sombre. This was a job of work and they did it with care and precision. It was what you did, didn’t you, and they were flattering themselves that for once they were the good guys, an experience, Moist thought, that they seldom ever had.

Harry took a look around the battleground to assure himself that nothing more than a little concussion and the occasional broken leg had been achieved and was satisfied on all points.

‘What do you plan to do with them?’ Moist asked.

‘Deliver them to the local justice, like the honest citizens we are. I suppose that’ll be your Marquis.’

‘Very good, but can I suggest we leave one or two behind, to make sure the rest of the bandit population get to hear what happens if they make honest citizens upset?’

‘Suppose so,’ Harry grunted. ‘But I’ll get the lads to do a few further … excursions in the area first, see if we can’t mop up some more of ’em. Actions speak louder than words, Mister Lipwig.’

At the chateau later that night the Marquis emerged in his dressing gown to receive them, accompanied by two servants.

‘Monsieur Lipwig,
mon ami
, what an unexpected pleasure to see you again so soon. And with companions.’

Harry stepped forward before Moist could speak and said, ‘We’ve a parcel of miscreants here we’ve brought to you, my lord, since I reckoned you were the closest figure of authority in these parts.’

The Marquis cast a bright eye over the prisoners. ‘I see at least two appear to ’ave “’ARRY KING” stamped across the temples. Can it be I ’ave the ’onour to address Sir ’arry King in person? Don’t be surprised. My wife has told me much about ze King of ze Golden River, including his famous rings. You are most welcome,
monsieur, and I ’ope we will be doing much business together. May I offer you some refreshment?’

‘’scuse me, sir, but what d’you want done with this lot?’ said the toolbox-holding associate.

‘Put them in the oubliette, if you would be so kind, we’ll fish them out sooner or later.’

‘What’s an oubliette, sir? Is it like a privy?’

‘Yes,’ the Marquis laughed, ‘I suppose it is in this instance! These garçons ’ave been a thorn in our side for quite a while, but I don’t think we’ll be getting any further trouble from
them
.’

When Moist, Harry and associates reboarded the coaches in the small hours and started on the long journey home, this time the crates of beer were brought out for the victors.

‘Well done, lads,’ Harry boomed as he cracked the top off a bottle. ‘You did all I expected and more, gentlemen. And you know Harry King is a generous man and so I look forward to working with you again soon. You can rely upon it.’

He lay back on the seat and starting smoking one of his cigars, every so often chatting to one or other of his chums about the escapades they had had long ago when the Watch was a laughing stock.

Adora Belle eventually woke Moist with a cup of tea around about four o’clock in the afternoon. As he supped the tea his wife puffed up his pillows and said, ‘Come on, then, tell me, how did it go? I wasn’t woken by any big bangs last night, which I consider a result, don’t you?’

‘Well, it wasn’t a massacre and it wasn’t a lot of smacked bottoms, as far as I could tell, but the good guys won, well, to a given value of good guy. Harry King’s cronies are very sprightly for old guys, and devious as well.’

Placing a tray of food on his knees she said, ‘I suppose breakfast
in bed just can’t present the same frisson for Mister A Life Without Danger Is A Life Not Worth Living, yes?’

Puncturing a sausage, Moist said, ‘How well you know me, Spike. Now listen, it seems there are a lot of goblins in the maquis and the people of Quirm haven’t found out yet how useful they can be even though they apparently do a good line in wine made from snails.’ Moist grimaced and continued, ‘Do you mind if I take Of the Twilight the Darkness to Quirm with me?’

His wife looked astonished. ‘I didn’t think you liked him?’

‘Well, he grows on you, you know, like a fungus, and there’s going to be a lot of puzzled goblins around now so they might like to see a friendly face.’ He hesitated. ‘If you can call it that.’

In darkness far from Moist in just about every sense that could be imagined, including the metaphysical, deliberations were taking place in a cavern that was paradoxically glittering and dark when tested by a different eye. It
was
illuminated, in so far as there was illumination, by one solitary candle, whose light was, as the saying goes, just there to show you the darkness. Nevertheless, its trembling little light was refracted in a veritable hoard of gems, the like of which, if you added up the sad little glimmerings, gave off entirely less light than could be delivered by a humble tallow candle.

It was, in short, a light that hid from light, and it had a reason to hide. Just as the unfortunate dwarf now sitting uncomfortably in the centre of the cavern had reason to wish to be elsewhere. Elsewhere, he thought, was the operative word; anywhere would surely be a better place than here.

On the other hand, he was under a religious obligation. He had first heard it on his father’s knee, or possibly his mother’s, because he had never seen or heard either of them clearly and their voices were always muffled, because silence was as much of a virtue as darkness among the grags, and as he recalled the
undeniable fact, he almost tried to cut and run, stopping himself in a nanosecond because there was nowhere to hide. He was in it too high!
^fn41
Never a good place to be for a dwarf, and the grags had the measure of him.

It was said that they had many ways of killing in the darkness and even had ways of moving from darkness to darkness without being apprehended by the intervening light. Oh, so much was said of them, although generally it was whispered. And he had done
so many
bad things, like eating beef and buying his wife colourful earrings and, worst of all, he had become friends with Rocky Debris who was, horror of horrors, a troll, and also quite a decent bloke, who he quite often sat next to when they were going to work and who, like him, was a supporter of Dolly Sisters United and generally went with him when there was a match on, and surely anyone who cheered for your side was a friend, wasn’t he?

And yes, he was, but down in the base of his brain was the bogeyman of his childhood, and subtle whisperings, curdled fragments of old songs sung on special occasions, little observances made holy by repetition with the right people sitting at the same fireside, in those cosy days when you were not really old enough to understand and didn’t have your wretched brain stuffed full of ideas that part of you thought you shouldn’t
ever
obey, like not shaking hands with a troll
and now he had been seen
and now they had him and now they stood between him and his chances of a new life after death. They held the keys to the next world and, on a whim, could have him floating in the ultimate darkness of the Ginnungagap where there were … things, tormentors, creatures of indefinite invention and patience.

He shifted because of the cramp in his legs, and said, ‘Please, I know I’ve got into bad ways and I’ve strayed from the path and indeed may be unworthy to call myself a dwarf, but if you allow me
I can make recompense. Please, I’m begging you, remove my shackles and I promise to do whatever you ask.’

The silence in the room grew thicker, more dense, as if it was pulling itself together. How long had he been in here now? It might as well have been years, or merely seconds … That was the difficulty about darkness; it encompassed everything, turning it into an amorphous substance in which everything got twisted, and remembered and then lost.

‘Very well,’ said the voice. ‘We have looked into your wretched soul and are minded to give you one last chance. Be aware there will be no other.’ The voice softened a little and said, ‘Tak is watching you. Now you can eat your meal, which is right in front of you, and go from this place and be assured that Tak will be with you. Remember, for those who turn away there is no redemption. And when Tak needs you, you will be contacted again.’

After a rare, well-earned evening with his wife, Moist set off the next day on the golem horse with Of the Twilight the Darkness clinging on behind him.

As they galloped along, there was something about the golem horse that was troubling Moist von Lipwig. A golem horse was incredibly useful if you needed to get somewhere fast, that is if you liked a ride where you spent a lot of the time finding that stirrups just didn’t do the job. You merely hung on until you got there, it was as simple as that. No need to steer, NagNav did the trick: if you told it where you wanted to go it took you there. The creature made no sound, required no water or oats and simply stood patiently when it wasn’t in use.

And then it dawned on Moist what the problem was. It was all give and no take. Generally speaking, he didn’t have much to do with the concept of karma, but he had heard of it and felt that a ton of it was dropping on him right now. The horse was all give and he was all take … But that was nuts, he told himself. A spoon doesn’t
want you to say please and thank you, does it? Ah yes, he thought, but a spoon is a piece of metal and the golem horse is a horse. He hesitated, pondering. And thought,
I wonder
…

Shortly before the border crossing they reached the head of the finished railway track. He and the goblin thankfully slid off the horse and a sudden impulse prompted Moist to ask the creature a question.

‘Can you speak?’ he asked, feeling more than faintly ridiculous.

And the answer came back out of the air rather than from the horse’s mouth, as it were.

‘Yes, if we want to.’

The goblin sniggered. Moist ignored him and pressed on with his line of inquiry.

‘Ah, we’re getting somewhere. Would you like to run around in meadows and generally cavort in pastures and so on?’

Out of nowhere came, ‘Yes, if you wish.’

Moist said, ‘But what do
you
wish?’

‘I don’t understand the concept.’

Moist breathed in and said, ‘I saw a little stream not far back, and some green pastures and, for the sake of my soul, I would like you to go over there and gallop in the meadows and enjoy yourself.’

‘Yes, enjoy myself, if you want me to.’

‘For heavens’ sake, this is manumission we’re talking about here!’

‘That would be horseumission, sir. And I must point out that I don’t need to enjoy myself.’

‘Well, do so for my sake, will you, please? Roll around on the flowers and neigh a bit and gallop about and have some kind of fun. If not for your own pleasure, then for my sanity, please.’

He watched the horse disappear into the meadow.

Behind him Of the Twilight the Darkness cackled. ‘What a piece of work you are, Mister Slightly Damp, freeing the slaves and all. What you think his lordship will say about that?’

Moist shrugged. ‘He might be acerbic, but a little acerbic isn’t all
that bad. He’s quite a one for freedom is Vetinari, though not necessarily mine.’

Turning his attention to the railway, Moist was pleased to see that the work gangs, under the tutelage of Mr Simnel’s young men, were evidently making steady progress laying down the next stage of track towards Quirm.

To travel onwards, Moist and Of the Twilight the Darkness hitched a ride on a handcar operated with gusto by two young railway workers, a curiously amusing contraption whose wheels ran along the newly laid rails still waiting to be fully bedded in.

They passed the border with only a brief stop to deal with the formalities which were, in fact, nothing more than nodding at the guards and saying, ‘Is it okay if we cross, lads?’ Whereupon they briefly stopped digging their respective allotments and waved him through.

Where the handcar ran out of track, they found an old man with a horse and cart waiting, as arranged, to take them the rest of the distance to the chateau. He was clearly very sniffy about having a goblin in his nice clean vehicle, even though it was only a cart.

The Marquis was waiting for them at the chateau and beamed at Moist. His nose wrinkled at the sight of Moist’s companion.

‘Who is this?’ he asked in a tone a society lady might take upon finding half of something bristling in her soup.

‘This is Of the Twilight the Darkness.’

Of the Twilight the Darkness gave the Marquis a smart salute. ‘Of the Twilight the Darkness, Mister Mar-keee. Nice place you got here. Veeery nice. Don’t worry about smell. I’ll get used to it.’

After an awkward silence, the Marquis said, ‘
Mon Dieu
.’

‘Not a god, Mister Mar-keee,’ said Of the Twilight the Darkness, ‘just goblin, best there is, oh yes. Very useful, you know.’ The goblin continued in ringing sarcasm, ‘And not only that, Mister Mar-keee, I’m real. If you cut me, do I not bleed? And if you do, I bleeding well cuts you too, no offence meant.’

The Marquis’s laughter bounced off the scenery. There was no doubt about it. The goblin knew how to break the ice. Even an iceberg.

The Marquis held out a hand and said, ‘
Enchanté
, Monsieur Of the Twilight the Darkness. Do you drink wine?’

The goblin hesitated. ‘Are there snails in it?’