And then the waiting was over. At Moist’s invitation Queen Keli stepped forward to drive in the golden spike, the last one on the line, signifying it was now open for business. The chuffing sound that was the signature tune of the railway got louder and more expansive, the crowd of bystanders thronging the sides of the track waved their colourful little flags and cheered with increased enthusiasm, and two apprentices opened the gates of the barn. To a metaphorical drumroll Moist announced: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Dick Simnel and Iron Girder!’

Leading the dream of steam, Dick Simnel, in pride of place on the footplate, beamed an unmissable look of I told thee so.

Behind the engine ten carriages bumped along and, glory be, some of them even had a roof! The iconographers’ flashes popped and, very gently, Iron Girder moved along the track and stopped beside the platform.

Moist waited until the applause faded away and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you may safely climb aboard. There will be refreshments, but first may I invite you to inspect the carriages.’

Now Moist needed to be everywhere at once. Anything to do with steam and locomotives was news and news could be good news or news could be bad news, or occasionally news could be malicious news. Dick just loved talking about Iron Girder and everything else to do with locomotion, but he was a straightforward man and the press of the Sto Plains could eat up for lunch a straightforward man if he wasn’t careful. Moist, on the other hand, in the vicinity of the press, was as straightforward as a sackful of kaleidoscopes. While the chattering was going on, he did his best to hover around Dick Simnel like a wet-nurse.

The Ankh-Morpork Times wasn’t bad, and the Tanty Bugle was mostly interested in ’orrible murder and the more salacious aspects of the human condition, but Moist’s heart sank as he realized that Dick, temporarily off the reins, was now talking to Hardwick of the Pseudopolis Daily Press, who was adept at getting the wrong end of the stick very much on purpose and then hitting people over the head with it. And Pseudopolis disliked Ankh-Morpork with a sullen and jealous vengeance.

As Moist executed the world’s fastest nonchalant walk, he heard Hardwick saying, ‘What do you say, Mister Simnel, to people who are upset because the noise and the smoke will cause their horses to bolt and their cows and sheep to miscarry?’

‘I don’t rightly know,’ said Simnel. ‘Never had a problem here on the Plains. When I were doing me tests the horses in the next field would try to outpace Iron Girder, racing her, as it were, and I reckoned they thought it was fun!’

But Hardwick wasn’t to be thrown off. ‘You must admit, Mister Simnel, that the train is inherently dangerous? Some people have said that your face melts if you reach speeds greater than thirty miles an hour!’