Making Money Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dearheart?” said Vetinari, apparently oblivious of the growing stir.
    “She’s away,” said Moist bluntly.
    “Ah, the Trust has located another buried golem, no doubt.”
    “Yes.”
    “Still trying to carry out orders given to it thousands of years ago?”
    “Probably. It’s out in the wilderness somewhere.”
    “She is indefatigable,” said Vetinari happily. “Those people are resurrected from darkness to turn the wheels of commerce, for the general good. Just like you, Mr. Lipwig. She is doing the city a great service. And the Golem Trust, too.”
    “Yes,” said Moist, letting the whole resurrection thing pass.
    “But your tone says otherwise.”
    “Well…” Moist knew he was squirming, but squarm anyway. “She’s always rushing off because they’ve traced another golem in some ancient sewer or something—”
    “And not rushing off after you, as it were?”
    “And she’s been away for weeks on this one,” said Moist, ignoring the comment because it was probably accurate, “and she won’t tell me what it’s about. She just says it’s very important. Something new.”
    “I think she’s mining,” said Vetinari. He began to tap his cane on the marble, slowly. It made a ringing sound. “I have heard that golems appear to be mining on dwarf land this side of Chimeria, near the coach road. Much to the interest of the dwarfs, I might add. The king leased the land to the Trust and wants to make certain he gets a look at what is dug up.”
    “Is she in trouble?”
    “Miss Dearheart? No. Knowing her, the king of the dwarfs might be. She’s a very…composed young lady, I’ve noticed.”
    “Hah! You don’t know the half of it.”
    Moist made a mental note to send Adora Belle a message as soon as this was over. The whole situation with golems was heating up once more, what with the guilds complaining about them taking jobs. She was needed in the city—by the golems, obviously.
    He became aware of a subtle noise. It came from below, and sounded very much like air bubbling through liquid, or maybe water being poured out of a bottle with the familiar blomp-blomp sound.
    “Can you hear that?” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “Do you know what it is?”
    “The future of economical planning, I understand.” Lord Vetinari looked if not worried then at least unaccustomedly puzzled.
    “Something must have happened,” he said. “Mr. Bent is normally oiling his way across the floor within seconds of my entrance. I hope nothing unamusing has happened to him.”
    A pair of big elevator doors opened at the far end of the hall, and a man stepped through. For just a moment, probably unnoticed by anyone who had never had to read faces for a living, he was anxious and upset, but it passed with speed as he adjusted his cuffs and set his face in the warm, benevolent smile of someone who is about to take some money off you.
    Mr. Bent was in every way smooth and uncreased. Moist had been expecting a traditional banker’s frock coat, but instead there was a very well-cut black jacket above pinstripe trousers. Mr. Bent was also silent. His feet, soundless even on the marble, were unusually large for such a dapper man, but the shoes, black and polished, mirror-shiny, were very well made. Perhaps he wanted to show them off, because he walked like a dressage horse, lifting each foot very deliberately off the ground before setting it on the ground again. Apart from that incongruity, Mr. Bent had the air about him of one who stands quietly in a cupboard when not in use.
    “Lord Vetinari, I am so sorry!” he began. “I’m afraid there was unfinished business—”
    Lord Vetinari got to his feet. “Mr. Mavolio Bent, allow me to present Mr. Moist von Lipwig,” he said. “Mr. Bent is the chief cashier here.”
    “Ah, the inventor of the revolutionary unsecured one-penny note?” said Bent, extending a thin hand. “Such audacity! I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Lipwig.”
    “One-penny note?” said Moist, mystified.