Making Money - Terry Pratchett [86]
Moist laid a hand on Adora Belle’s arm to forestall an Incident.
“She’s very passionate about golems,” he said. “The Trust digs them up all the time.”
“That’s very commendable,” said Stibbons. “I’ll talk to Dr. Hicks. He’s the head of the Department of Postmortem Communications.”
“Postmortem Com…” Moist began. “Isn’t that the same as necroman—”
“I said the Department of Postmortem Communications,” said Ponder very firmly. “I suggest you come back at three o’clock.”
“DID ANYTHING ABOUT that conversation strike you as normal?” said Moist, as they stepped out into the sunlight.
“Actually, I thought it went very well,” said Adora Belle.
“This wasn’t how I imagined your homecoming,” said Moist.
“Why the rush? Is there some problem?”
“Look, we found four golems at the dig,” said Adora Belle.
“That’s…good, yes?” said Moist.
“Yes! And you know how deep they were?”
“I couldn’t guess.”
“Guess!”
“I don’t know!” said Moist, bewildered at suddenly having to play “What’s My Depth?” “Two hundred feet down? That’s more than—”
“Half a mile underground.”
“Impossible! That’s deeper than coal!”
“Keep it down, will you? Look, is there somewhere we can go and talk?”
“How about—the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork? There’s a private dining room.”
“And they’ll let us eat there, will they?”
“Oh yes. The chairman is a great friend of mine,” said Moist.
“He is, is he?”
“He certainly is,” said Moist. “Why, only this morning he licked my face!”
Adora Belle stopped and turned to stare at him. “Really?” she said. “Then it’s just as well I got back when I did.”
CHAPTER 7
The joy of collops Mr. Bent goes out to lunch The Dark Fine Arts Amateur thespians, avoidance of embarrassment by The Pen of Doom! Professor Flead gets cozy Lust comes in many varieties A hero of banking! Cribbins’s cup runneth over
THE SUN SHONE through the window of the bank’s dining room onto a scene of perfect pleasure.
“You should sell tickets,” said Adora Belle dreamily, with her chin in her hands. “People who are depressed would come here and go away cured.”
“It’s certainly hard to watch it happening and be sad,” said Moist.
“It’s the enthusiastic way he tries to turn his mouth inside out,” said Adora Belle.
There was a gulp from Mr.
Fusspot as the last of the sticky toffee pudding went down. He then turned the bowl over hopefully, in case there was any more. There never had been, but Mr. Fusspot was not a dog to bow down to the laws of causality.
“So…” said Adora Belle, “a mad old lady—all right, a very astute mad old lady—died and gave you her dog, which sort of wears this bank on its collar, and you’ve told everyone that gold is worth less than potatoes, and you broke a dastardly criminal out of your actual death row, he’s in the cellar designing ‘bank notes’ for you, you’ve upset the nastiest family in the city, people are queuing to join the bank because you make them laugh…what have I missed?”
“I think my secretary is, uh, getting sweet on me. Well, I say secretary, she’s sort of assumed that she is.”
Some fiancées would have burst into tears or shouted. Adora Belle burst out laughing.
“And she’s a golem,” said Moist.
The laughter stopped. “That’s not possible. They don’t work that way. Anyway, why should a golem think he’s female? It’s never happened before.”
“I bet there haven’t been many emancipated golems before. Besides, why should he think he’s male? And she bats her eyelashes at me…well, that’s what she thinks she’s doing, I think. The counter girls are behind this. Look I’m serious. Trouble is, so is she.”
“I’ll have a word with him…or, as you say, her.”
“Good. The other thing is, there’s this man—”
Aimsbury poked his head around the door. He was in love.
“Would you like some more minced collops, miss?” he said, waggling his eyebrows as if to indicate that the joys of minced collops were a secret known only to a few.
“You’ve still got more?” said Adora Belle, looking down at her plate. Not even Mr. Fusspot could have cleaned it better, and she’d already cleaned it twice.
“Do you know what they are?” said Moist,