Making Money - Terry Pratchett [146]
“You can trust us,” he said.
“Yes. I know,” said Vetinari. “Come, Mr. Fusspot. There may be cake.”
MOIST DIDN’T FANCY another ride in the coach. Coaches carried some unpleasant associations right now.
“He’s won, hasn’t he,” said Adora Belle, as the fog billowed around them.
“Well, he’s got the chairman eating out of his hand.”
“Is he allowed to do that?”
“I think that comes under the quia ego sic dico rule.”
“Yes, what did that mean?”
“‘Because I say so,’ I think.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a rule.”
“Actually, it’s the only one he needs. All in all he could be—”
“You owe me five grand, Mishter Shpangler!”
The figure was out of the gloom and behind Adora Belle in one movement.
“No tricks, miss, on account o’ this knife,” said Cribbins, and Moist heard Adora Belle’s sharp intake of breath. “Your chum promised it to me for peaching you, and since you peached yourself and sent him to the loony house I reckon you owe me, right?”
Moist’s slowly moving hand found his pocket, but it was bereft of aid; the Tanty didn’t like you to bring blackjacks and lock picks in with you and expected you to buy such things from the wardens, like everyone else.
“Put the knife away and we can talk,” he said.
“Oh yeah, talk! You like talkin’, you do! You got a magic tongue, you have! I sheen you! You flap it about and you’re the golden boy! You tell ’em you’re goin’ to rob them and they laugh! How d’you get away with that, eh?”
Cribbins was champing and spitting with rage. Angry people make mistakes, but that’s no comfort when they’re holding a knife a few inches from your girlfriend’s kidneys. She’d gone pale, and Moist had to hope that she’d worked out that this was no time to stamp her foot. Above all, he had to stop himself from looking over Cribbins’s shoulder, because in the edge of his vision he was sure someone was creeping up.
“This is no time for rash moves,” he said loudly. The shadow in the fog appeared to halt.
“Cribbins, this is why you never made it,” Moist went on. “I mean, do you expect me to have that much money on me?”
“Plenty of places round here for ush to be coshy while we wait, eh?”
Dumb, thought Moist. Dumb but dangerous. And a thought said: It’s brain against brain. And a weapon he doesn’t know how to use belongs to you. Push him.
“Just back away and we’ll forget we saw you,” he said. “That’s the best offer you’re going to get.”
“You’re going to try to talk your way out of thish, you shmarmy bashtard? I’m goin’ to—”
There was a muffled twang, and Cribbins made a noise. It was the sound of someone trying to scream, except that even screaming was too painful. Moist grabbed Adora Belle as the man bent double, clutching at his mouth. There was another twang, and blood appeared on Cribbins’s cheek, causing him to whimper and roll up into a ball.
Even then, there were more twangs as a dead man’s dentures, mistreated and ill-used over the years, finally gave up the ghost, who made a determined effort to take the hated Cribbins with him. Later on, the doctor said one spring almost made it into a sinus.
Captain Carrot and Nobby Nobbs ran out of the fog, and stared down at the man who twitched now and again with a ping.
“Sorry, sir, we lost you in the muck,” said Carrot. “What happened to him?”
Moist held Adora Belle tightly. “His dentures exploded,” he said.
“How could that happen, sir?”
“I have no idea, Captain. Why not do a good deed and get him to the hospital?”
“Will you want to press charges, Mr. Lipwig?” Carrot said, lifting the whimpering Cribbins with some care.
“I’d prefer a brandy,” said Moist. He thought: Perhaps Anoia was just awaiting her moment. I’d better go to her temple and hang up a big, big ladle. It may not be a good idea to be ungrateful…
SECRETARY DRUMKNOTT TIPTOED into Lord Vetinari’s office on velvet-shod feet.
“Good morning,” said his lordship, turning