‘What,’ said Moist, ‘fighting with shovels?’

‘Dear dear, Mister Lipwig, you are easily impressed. You surely remember that I was schooled in the Assassins’ Guild. After that experience, my predecessor on the footplate, Killer John Wagstaff, was, as they say, a pussycat in comparison. Indeed, I enjoyed my life as Mister Blake and all the new little skills it has taught me. Excellent implement, the shovel. And as for the other stokers, I think I made friends there, yes, there was a certain camaraderie among us. All said, a little holiday from the weighty business of the city, and I dare say I might be predisposed to travel on the footplate again when the mood takes me.’

‘But why?’

‘Why, Mister Lipwig? You of all people ask me why? The man who danced on the train roof, the man who actually looks for trouble if it appears to be the kind of trouble which is associated with the term derring-do? Though in your case a few more derring-don’ts might be a good idea. Sometimes, Mister Lipwig, the young you that you lost many years ago comes back and taps you on the shoulder and says, “This is the moment when civilization does not matter, when rules no longer hold sway. You have given the world all you can give and now it’s the time that is just for you, the chance to go for broke in the last hurrah. Hurrah!”

Vetinari swung the poker against the fender, causing sparks to dance in the fireplace. He looked at the sparks and in whiplash fashion turned to Moist and said, ‘And if you, Mister Lipwig, ever tell anyone else about this, Mister Trooper will be very glad to see you again. Do we have an understanding? Excellent.’

As if anyone would believe him if he did breathe a word about it! Moist was finding it hard enough to credit from the man’s own lips. Then as he tried to process what he had been told, the Patrician’s words about his own prowess sparked a renewed sense of grievance.

‘You’ve given everyone else on that train a medal, even Nobby Nobbs. Is there nothing for me, then, my lord?’

There was a pause and Vetinari said, ‘Oh, there is, Mister Lipwig, there is, and it’s something wonderful: it’s the precious gift of staying alive.’

And later, when he came to think about it, Moist thought that was, well, on the whole a good deal and, after all, he had danced on the speeding locomotive. That was living, all right!

A few weeks later, Drumknott persuaded Lord Vetinari to accompany him to the area behind the palace where a jungle of drain pipes emptied and several mismatched sheds, washhouses and lean-tos housed some of the necessary functions without which a modern palace could not operate.^[81]

There was a young goblin waiting there, rather nervous, clasping what looked like two wheels held together by not very much. The wheels were spinning.

Drumknott cleared his throat. ‘Show his lordship your new invention, Mister Of the Wheel the Spoke.’