As he expected, the hubbub bubbled even more: wilful bubbled hatred, bubbled misunderstanding, bubbled spitefulness.

He said, ‘I tell you now that history will run straight over us squabbling dwarfs and I will not stand by and allow that history to end with our race brought down to the status of angry b’zugda-hiara! I am the King, by right, duly elected with all the proper observances. I was anointed on the Scone of Stone in accordance with traditions going back to the time of B’hrian Bloodaxe and I will serve the sacred duty by all means necessary. I declare these grags and their puppets are d’hrarak and I will not suffer their pernicious doctrines any more. I am the King, and I will be King!’

The uproar returned, as it always did, but Rhys thought he could see some comfort in the faces around the table and then his gaze ran into Ardent and triumph wobbled a little and he thought softly: sooner or later, my friend Mister Ardent, I will have to deal with you.

Lord Vetinari’s expression did not alter as he read the headline in the Ankh-Morpork Times: ‘LOCOMOTIVE PROJECT DANGEROUS FOR HEALTH’ followed in a much smaller font by ‘SO IT IS CLAIMED’. And it wouldn’t alter until he had had a word with the editor. Of course, the Patrician knew that any change was an affront to somebody, and quite clearly the proposed locomotive undertaking couldn’t hope to be anything other than a target.

‘Apparently,’ Vetinari remarked to Drumknott, ‘the pounding rhythm of the railway wagons will lead to immorality. This from a Mister Reginald Stibbings of Dolly Sisters.’ He signalled to one of the dark clerks. ‘Geoffrey, what do we know about this Mister Stibbings? Does he have a particular expertise in immorality?’

‘The one at Loose Chippings, my lord? I am informed that he has a very young mistress, sir. A young lady formerly employed at the Pink PussyCat, and very highly thought of there, I believe.’

‘Does he? An expert indeed, then.’ Vetinari sighed and continued, ‘Though of course I do not imagine it is in my remit to monitor the private doings of my people.’

‘My lord,’ interjected Drumknott. ‘As a tyrant that is, in fact, exactly what you do.’

Vetinari gave him a look that did not actually employ a raised eyebrow but which implied that one might be forthcoming if the recipient of the look pushed his luck. He shook the paper in front of him and continued. ‘A Mrs Baskerville from Peach Pie Street says that young ladies travelling on the train might find any kind of gentlemen sitting next to them.’ He thought for a moment and said, ‘In this city, expecting to encounter any kind of gentleman seems somewhat optimistic. But perhaps she has a point. It might be prudent to have compartments for ladies only. I rather think that Effie King would approve that.’

‘Excellent idea as always, sir.’

‘And what do we have here? A Captain Slope is very concerned about noxious gases around the lines of the railway.’