‘I do understand your position. It’s such a shame, especially since the ones that started it all are likely to get away into the darkness.’

And yet again Moist was impressed. The grizzled commander was all honey as he continued, ‘Of course, as a friend, you might give me certain names. I like collecting names, they sing to me.’

And Moist thought, they have the honey, here comes the sting.

Cheerfully, Vimes took names like a guardian uncle, while in various corners of the van people were being bandaged, cleaned and fed.

And so, battered but triumphant, Iron Girder blew her whistle and gently got up to speed on the track out of the Paps towards Uberwald with goblins everywhere: panel-beating, tidying up, greasing, bending and cleaning and almost rebuilding her on the run, as it were, and Moist noticed that at no point did Iron Girder turn them into a pink haze with live steam. The queen of locomotion valued her courtiers.

Moist had lost all track of time after the excitement of the ambush, but what he thought must be teatime refreshment was interrupted by the squealing of brakes followed by a jerk that caused crockery to scatter all over the floor as the driver leaned on his emergency brake lever, which did little more than pit screaming metal against metal. And then the train came to an abrupt stop, overturning anything that was left upright, followed by the voice of Bluejohn from the rear of the train saying, ‘I reckon it needed pullin’. Sorry if I was wrong.’

Moist hurried towards the troll’s flatbed. ‘You appear to have stopped the train all by yourself,’ he said, and waited. You waited a lot when you were talking to Bluejohn.

And at last when Bluejohn had assembled his words to his satisfaction he said, ‘Oh, sorry, Mister Lipwig, if I broke anythin’ take it outta my wages if you like.’

Moist said, ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He leaned out to look down the track towards the front of the train. Simnel had jumped from the footplate to investigate.

‘It’s a load of kids!’ he shouted back.

Moist jumped down on to the track and ran towards Simnel.

‘Leave it to me, Dick, I can handle this,’ he said as he reached the engine. In the fading light he could see some children on the track a short way ahead, who, it appeared, had flagged down the train with their pinafores.

The eldest of the children was female and well dressed and almost in tears. She said, ‘There’s a landslide, mister.’

‘Where?’

‘Round the next bend, sir,’ gasped the girl.

And sure enough, when Moist strode along the track and looked into the gloom beyond, he saw a load of old timbers and rocks surrounded by other debris. And then the situation dawned on him. He carefully set his face like thunder and said, ‘What’s your name, young lady?’

‘Edith, sir,’ she simpered, but not properly, and he could tell that she wasn’t used to a life of crime.