Raising Steam by Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online Page A

or responsibility, and frankly, I would like to see them chained up where they can do no harm.’
    And here Lord Vetinari paused and added, ‘And I could have made that happen in an instant were it not for the fact, Mr Lipwig, that the wretches are so damn useful.’
    He sighed, causing Moist to worry. Moist had never seen his lordship so discomfited, staring intently at the little truck as it went round and round on its little rails and filled the room with a smell of methylated spirits. There was something hypnotic about it, for Lord Vetinari, at least.
    A silent hand dropped lightly, and eerily, on to Moist’s shoulder. He turned around quickly and behind him was Drumknott, smiling gently.
    ‘I suggest you pretend you didn’t hear anything, Mister Lipwig,’ he whispered. ‘It’s the best way, especially when he has one of his, er, sombre moments …’ Still whispering, Drumknott continued, ‘A lot of this is to do with the crossword, of course. You know how he is about that. I intend personally to write to the editor. His lordship considers elegant completion to be a test of his integrity. A crossword is meant to be an engaging and educational puzzle.’
    And then, his normally pink face reddening, Drumknott added, ‘I’m sure it’s not intended to be a form of torture, and I’m certain that there is no such word as
lagniappe
. However, his lordship has terrific powers of recovery, and if you care to wait while I make you some coffee I’d wager he’ll be his old self again before you can say “death warrant”.’
    In fact, Lord Vetinari stared at the wall for only eight minutes more before he appeared to shake himself down. He beamed at Drumknott and, less warmly, acknowledged the presence of Moist, who had been surreptitiously looking at the unfinished crossword lying prominently across the table.
    Moist said, brightly but with the best of intentions, ‘My lord, I’m sure you know that
lagniappe
is spelled differently than it sounds. Just a thought, of course, only trying to be helpful, sir.’
    ‘Yes. I know,’ said Lord Vetinari, in dark tones.
    ‘Can I be of any
other
assistance, my lord?’ said Moist, reckoning that he hadn’t been prodded out of his bed for an undone crossword, or to admire a child’s toy.
    Lord Vetinari looked down his nose at Moist momentarily and said icily, ‘Since you have
finally
decided to join us at this difficult time, Mister Lipwig, I will tell you that there was once a man called Ned Simnel who made a mechanical device, propelled in some arcane way, for taking in the harvest. The present difficulties might have begun there, but fortuitously his device didn’t work, tending, apparently, to explode and burst into flames, and so the balance of the world was maintained. But, of course, the men who are drawn to tinkering continue to tinker in their little sheds! And not only that, they find ladies, good sensible ladies, who inexplicably agree to marry them, thus breeding a race of little tinkerers.
    ‘One of them, a scion of the aforesaid Simnel, has apparently been scratching about in his father’s shed and most certainly wondered if
he
, with his infinite curiosity, could achieve what his father, alas, had not. And now this young man has created a machine which devours wood and coal and spews out flames, polluting the sky, undoubtedly scaring every living creature for miles around, and making the gods’ own noise. Or so I am told.
    ‘Finally, young Mister Simnel has found his way to our good friend Sir Harry King. And apparently the two of them are now dreaming up an enterprise, which I believe is called … the rail way.’
    Vetinari paused only briefly before continuing. ‘Mister Lipwig, I feel the pressure of the future and in this turning world must either kill it or become its master. I have a nose for these things, just as I had for you, Mister Lipwig. And so I intend to be like the people of Fourecks and surf the future. Giving it a little tweak here and