Making Money - Terry Pratchett [118]
He gave the drawer one last tug. The ladle sprang out, twanging through the air like a leaping salmon, and smashed a vase in the corner.
Moist decided to take that as a hopeful sign. You were supposed to smell cigarette smoke if Anoia was present, but since Adora Belle had spent more than ten minutes in this room, there was no point in sniffing.
What next? Well, the gods helped those who helped themselves, and there was always one last Lipwig-friendly option. It floated up in his mind: wing it.
CHAPTER 10
Doing it in style “The chairman goes woof” Harry King puts something by The screaming starts One kiss, no tongue Council of wars Moist takes charge A little magic, with stamps Arousing the professor’s interest A vision of paradise
WING IT! There’s nothing left. Remember the nearly gold chain? This is the other end of the rainbow. Talk yourself out of a situation you can’t talk your way out of. Make your own luck. Put on a show. If you fall, let them remember how you turned it into a dive. Sometimes the finest hour is the last one.
He went to the wardrobe and took out the best golden suit, the one he wore on special occasions. Then he went and found Gladys, who was staring out of the window.
He had to speak her name quite loudly before she turned to face him, very slowly.
“They Are Coming,” she said.
“Yes, they are,” said Moist, “and I’d better look my best. Could you press these trousers, please?”
Wordlessly, Gladys took the pants from him, held them against the wall, and ran a huge palm down them before handing them back. Moist could have shaved with the crease. Then she turned back to the window.
Moist joined her. There was already a crowd in front of the bank, and coaches were pulling up as he watched. There were a fair number of guards around, too. A brief flash indicated that Otto Chriek of the Times was already taking pictures. Ah, yes, a deputation was now forming. People wanted to be in at the death. Sooner or later, someone would hammer at the door. Blow that for a game of soldiers. He couldn’t let that happen.
Wash, shave, trim errant nose hairs, brush teeth. Comb hair, shine boots. Don hat, walk down stairs, unlock door very slowly so that the click was unlikely to be heard outside, wait until he heard a tread getting louder.
Moist opened the door, sharply.
“Well, gentlemen?”
Cosmo Lavish wobbled as the knock failed to connect, but recovered and thrust a sheet of paper at him.
“Emergency audit,” he said. “These gentlemen—” and here he indicated a number of worthy-looking men behind him “—are representatives of the major guilds and some of the other banks. This is standard procedure and you can’t stand in their way. You will note that we have brought Commander Vimes of the Watch. When we have established that there is indeed no gold in the vault, I shall instruct him to arrest you on suspicion of theft.”
Moist glanced at the commander. He did not like the man much, and was certain that Vimes did not like him at all. He was even more certain, though, that Vimes did not readily take orders from the likes of Cosmo Lavish.
“I’m sure that the commander will do as he sees fit,” said Moist meekly. “You know the way to the vault. I am sorry it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”
Cosmo half-turned, to make certain the crowd heard everything he said. “You are a thief, Mr. Lipwig. A cheat and a liar, an embezzler and have no dress sense whatsoever.”
“I say, that’s a bit on the harsh side,” said Moist as the men swept through. “I happen to think I dress rather snappily!”
Now he was alone on the steps, facing