‘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 yo
ung 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?’