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By Root 499 0

and money is going out but somehow, they learn, they’re not quite as financially stable as they think, and really do need more money. Well, this is all fine, because it’s clear to all that the basic enterprise is going to be a money tree one day, and does it matter if they sign over another fifteen percent? It’s just money. It’s not important in the way that shutter mechanisms are, is it? And then they find out that yes, it is. It is everything. Suddenly the world’s turned upside down, suddenly those nice people aren’t so friendly anymore, suddenly it turns out that those bits of paper they signed in a hurry—were advised to sign by people who smiled all the time—mean that they don’t actually own anything at all, not patents, not property, nothing. Not even the contents of their own heads, indeed. Even any ideas they have now don’t belong to them, apparently. And somehow they’re still in trouble about money. Well, some run and some hide and some try to fight, which is foolish in the extreme, because it turns out that everything is legal, it really is. Some accept low-level jobs in the enterprise, because one has to live and in any case the enterprise even owns their dreams at night. And yet actual illegality, it would appear, has not taken place. Business is business.”

Lord Vetinari opened his eyes. The men around the table were staring at him.

“Just thinking aloud,” he said. “I am sure you will point out that this is not the business of the government. I know Mr. Gilt will. However, I note that since you acquired the Grand Trunk at a fraction of its value, breakdowns are increasing, the speed of messages has slowed down, and the cost to customers has risen. Last week the Grand Trunk was closed for almost three days. We could not even talk to Sto Lat! Hardly ‘As Fast as Light,’ gentlemen.”

“That was for essential maintenance,” Mr. Slant began.

“No, it was for repairs,” snapped Vetinari. “Under the previous management the system shut down for an hour every day. That was for maintenance. Now the towers run until they break down. What do you think you are doing, gentlemen?”

“That, my lord, and with respect, is none of your business.”

Lord Vetinari smiled. For the first time that morning, it was a smile of genuine pleasure.

“Ah, Mr. Reacher Gilt, I was wondering when we’d hear from you. You have been so uncharacteristically silent. I read your recent article in the Times with great interest. You are passionate about freedom, I gather. You used the word ‘tyranny’ three times and the word ‘tyrant’ once.”

“Don’t patronize me, my lord,” said Gilt. “We own the Trunk. It is our property. You understand that? Property is the foundation of freedom. Oh, customers complain about the service and the cost, but customers always complain about such things. We have no shortage of customers at whatever cost. Before the semaphore, news from Genua took months to get here, now it takes less than a day. It is affordable magic. We are answerable to our shareholders, my lord. Not, with respect, to you. It is not your business. It is our business, and we will run it according to the market. I hope there are no tyrannies here. This is, with respect, a free city.”

“Such a lot of respect is gratifying,” said the Patrician. “But the only choice your customers have is between you and nothing.”

“Exactly,” said Reacher Gilt calmly. “There is always a choice. They can ride a horse a few thousand miles, or they can wait patiently until we can send their message.”

Vetinari gave him a smile that lasted as long as a lightning flash.

“Or fund and build another system,” he said. “Although I note that every other company that has lately tried to run a clacks system in opposition has failed quite quickly, sometimes in distressing circumstances. Falls from the tops of clacks towers, and so on.”

“Accidents do happen. It is most unfortunate,” said Mr. Slant stiffly.

“Most unfortunate,” Vetinari echoed. He pulled the paper toward him, dislodging the files slightly, so that a few names were visible, and wrote “Most unfortunate.”

“Well, I believe that covers