Dick Simnel was made a knight, and a master engineer too, courtesy of the Chief Mining Engineer himself, and now stood hand in hand with the beaming Emily. Commander Vimes, resplendent in his ceremonial pantaloons and looking furious about them, was already burdened with every title it was his lordship’s pleasure to bestow, but was given another medal anyway, struck in sorortanium and featuring Iron Girder herself. In fact there was a medal for every watchman who had been on the train, and every crew member, goblins included.

Later, there came the inevitable interview in the Oblong Office with Drumknott at a side table taking notes.

‘I understand, Mister Lipwig,’ said the Patrician, surveying the city below them from the window, ‘that there were some remarkable events along the journey.’

Moist kept a straight face but around his neck he felt the prickle of a phantom noose.

The Patrician continued. ‘A fog which became conveniently solid, a train which apparently flew across a gorge, and I’m still getting reports of subterranean phenomena all the way from the city to Bonk. The Archchancellor has assured me that no magic was involved in any of these events. You will recall, I am sure, Mister von Lipwig, that I expressly forbade the use of the buried golems in the railway enterprise, and that any evidence of their use would send you to the kittens?’ He moved towards the fire, which was getting low in the grate, and gave it a prod with the poker – rather too pointedly, Moist thought.

‘Excuse me, my lord, but did you find any such evidence?’

Vetinari turned to his secretary. ‘Did we find any evidence, Drumknott?’

Drumknott looked at Moist. ‘No, sir, we did not.’

‘Well then, there is nothing more to say,’ said the Patrician. ‘After all, strange and inexplicable things turn up around here almost every week.’

Drumknott cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir. There was that fall of pianos in the Fish Market last week. It’s just a part of being Ankh-Morpork.’

‘Indeed, we are no strangers to strangeness. And frankly some things can be written down as phenomena without cause or issue,’ said Vetinari, looking as benevolent as it was possible to do whilst holding a red-hot poker, and whilst being Vetinari.

‘Incidentally, Mister Lipwig, your prowess in that fight on the train was excellent! Of course you needed a little assistance.’

Moist looked up at the Patrician, silhouetted by the flames behind him, and inside his head there was the horrible tinkle of a penny dropping. He gulped.

‘You! You were Stoker Blake! That’s impossible!’

‘Really?’ said the Patrician. ‘As impossible as a train travelling on free air? Do you not believe that I could throw coal into the fire box? After all, what is that compared to dealing with Ankh-Morpork with its myriad demanding problems every day? I assure you of this, Mister Lipwig, I am a man of many talents and you should hope never to encounter some of them. Compared with them, Stoker Blake was a mere babe in arms.’