And suddenly the atmosphere turned to ice and his lordship said, ‘Then I suggest you get going.’ Vetinari resumed his seat. ‘Mister Lipwig, the world lives between those who say it cannot be done and those who say that it can. And in my experience, those who say that it can be done are usually telling the truth. It’s just a matter of thinking creatively. Some people say “Think the unthinkable”, but that’s nonsense – although in your case, sir, I think you have the nerves for it. Think about it. Now, don’t let me detain you.’

The door closed behind Moist and silence enveloped the Oblong Office as the Patrician returned his attention to the crossword. Eventually he frowned, filled in a line and laid down the paper.

‘Drumknott,’ he said, ‘how’s Charlie’s Punch and Judy business going these days? Is he doing well? I wonder whether he might consider a short holiday. Just a short one, that is.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Drumknott. ‘I’ll go and see him this afternoon.’

‘That’s the way to do it,’ said Lord Vetinari.

While he was still reeling from the Patrician’s latest demand, Moist found himself riding back to the Effing Forest on a mission for Harry.

‘Go and see the old girl and send her my sympathies,’ Harry had said. ‘Tell her I was impressed at how her boys tried to harness steam and I salute them as pioneers. Have a look around and see what she’s got and since it would seem as if I have got gold coming out of my ears then I reckon we can give her a little pension, though for heavens’ sake don’t let anyone else know. Oh, and tell her that I’ll make it certain that her lads will be up frontline when the history of the railway is written down, and say she can call on me at any time.’

The old homestead in the forest was all that Moist had expected, and Mrs Wesley burst into tears when he told her about Harry’s offer. She was determined to think of Sir Harry as a saint or angel and if Moist knew anything about the ways of the world Harry’s gesture would be all over the forest within hours; and because news spreads, it would get as far as Ankh-Morpork by the end of the day. Moist knew Harry the man as he was: extremely sharp with a heart of gold and tears of soppy. Harry’s gesture was entirely Harry, with no ulterior motive, but nevertheless once the news had got around, he would be in all the papers as a benefactor of the poor and therefore a celebrity. Not for the first time Moist deplored his own tendency to see the angles in whatever happened, good or bad.

‘How much?’

The simple question sounded like a declaration of war, which it almost was, as Harry was presented with the costings for the express line to Bonk.