Making Money - Terry Pratchett [128]
“It’s rather like riding a flowerpot that you can’t steer,” Moist yelled to make himself heard over the noise. “The saddle could use some padding, too. Good, though, aren’t they? Notice how they keep shifting all the time, just like the real thing?”
“And why are the golems burying themselves?”
“I ordered them to!”
“But they are immensely valuable!”
“Yes. So we should keep them safe, right?”
“But they belong to the city!”
“They were taking up a lot of room, don’t you think? I’m not claiming them, in any case!”
“They could do wonderful things for the city, couldn’t they?” More people were arriving now and gravitating toward the man in the golden suit, because he was always good value for money.
“Like embroil it in a war or create an army of beggars? My way’s better!”
“I’m sure you are going to tell us what it is!” shouted Sacharissa.
“I want to base the currency on them! I want to make them into money! Gold that guards itself! You can’t fake it!”
“You want to put us on the golem standard?”
“Certainly! Look at them! How much are they worth?” shouted Moist, as his horse reared very convincingly. “They could build canals and dam floods, level mountains and make roads! If we need them to, they will! And if we don’t, then they’ll help to make us rich by doing nothing! The dollar will be so sound you could bounce trolls off of it!”
The horse, with an astonishing grasp of public relations, reared again as Moist pointed at the laboring masses.
“That is value! That is worth! What is the worth of a gold coin compared to the dexterity of the hand that holds it?” He replayed that line in his head and added, “That would make a good headline on page one, don’t you think? And it’s Lipwig with a G!”
Sacharissa laughed. “Page one is already crowded! What’s going to happen to these things?”
“They’ll stay here until cool heads decide what to do next!”
“And what are they guarding the city from right now, exactly?”
“Stupidity!”
“One last thing, Moist. You are the only one who knows the secret of the golems, yes?”
“Inexplicably, this seems to be the case!”
“Why is this?”
“I suppose I’m just a very persuasive person!” This got another laugh.
“Who just happens to command a huge, unstoppable army? What demands are you going to make?”
“None! No, on second thought, a coffee would be nice! I didn’t have any breakfast!” That got a much bigger laugh from the crowd.
“And do you think the citizens should be glad it’s you in the saddle, as it were?”
“Hell, yes! Trust me!” said Moist, dismounting and lifting a reluctant Mr. Fusspot down from his perch.
“Well, you should know about that, Mr. Lipwig.” This got a round of applause. “You wouldn’t care to tell us what happened to the gold from the bank, would you?”
“’Es wearin’ it!” shouted a wag in the crowd, to cheering.
“Miss Cripslock, your cynicism is, as ever, a dagger to my heart!” said Moist. “I intended to get to the bottom of that today, but ‘best-laid plans’ and all that. I just don’t seem to be able to clear my desk!”
Even this got a laugh, and it wasn’t really very funny.
“Mr. Lipwig? I want you to come with me…”
Commander Vimes shoved his way through the crowd, with other watchmen materializing behind him.
“Am I under arrest?” said Moist.
“Hell, yes! You did leave the city!”
“I think he could successfully argue, Commander, that the city has come with him.”
All heads turned. A path cleared itself for Lord Vetinari, as paths do for men known to have dungeons in their basement. And Adora Belle hobbled past him, threw herself at Moist, and started beating on his chest, shouting: “How did you get through to them? How did you make them understand? Tell me or I’ll never promise to marry you again!”
“What are your intentions, Mr. Lipwig?” said Vetinari.
“I was planning to hand them over to the Golem Trust, sir,” said Moist, fending off Adora Belle as gently as possible.
“You were?”
“But not the golem horses, sir. I’ll bet they are faster than any flesh-and-blood creatures. There are nineteen of them, and if you’ll take my advice, sir, you’ll give