Ankh-Morpork to Sto Lat was becoming a regular journey, and it was working now. Moist had written the slogan, ‘You don’t have to live in Ankh-Morpork to work in Ankh-Morpork’ and properties in Sto Lat were becoming quite sought after. The idea of a little place in the country away from the big city, but with acceptable communications to Ankh-Morpork, suddenly looked very inviting.

The hours of travel on the golem horse were proving altogether conducive to creative thought. His mind was filling up with the world of locomotive possibilities at the speed of a hamster really at odds with its treadmill. Another synapse in Moist’s head flashed; the trains were just the start! The railway now, he knew, was something in the ether, floating over the whole world. An idée fixe, if he would excuse his own Quirmian.

Nevertheless, the engines remained important. Dick Simnel’s workshops at Swine Town had been turning out many marvels, carefully placed on wagons behind the never-tiring Iron Girder. She now shared the big shed with two newcomers that Simnel had called the Flyers, which made the regular run to Sto Lat and back, while Iron Girder herself had gone back to giving rides around the Ankh-Morpork compound, extended with a short loop along the river to show off the new bridge. The small but growing band of patient train spotters had written down a number two in their little books, then a number three.

Within minutes of his arriving back in Ankh-Morpork, Moist was borne off by an ebullient Harry to see the latest development. Dodging sparks, they arrived at the doorway of the monstrous engine shed guarded by one of Harry’s heavies, who glared even at his employer. He looked human, or at least humanoid, and Harry introduced him merely as ‘Trouble’. Trouble, glaring at Moist, moved away from the door so that Moist and Sir Harry could go inside.

Moist could feel Trouble’s glare on the back of his neck as he walked through, and asked, ‘Harry, does Trouble have an official Watch record?’

Harry King stared for a moment at Moist and said, ‘Of course he’s got a Watch record! He’s a security guard! And I need him. People have been hanging around, trying to break in, especially at night, and the official security – the Watch, the golems and guard dogs – generates a whole lot of paperwork whereas Trouble deals with trouble. Don’t trouble Trouble and Trouble won’t trouble you, as my granny always said.’ Harry chuckled and added, ‘Don’t you worry, Mister Lipwig, I’ve expressly told him not to kill you … today.’

Moist took this under advisement and turned for a last brief look at Trouble, who made up a new scowl just for him, a reminder that there were oh so many painful things you could do to a person without actually killing them.