He had written: K. Whistler, Baker, 3 Pigsty Hill.

'There are three bakeries in the city that could be said to be opposite a pharmacy,' said Vetinari, 'but Whistler does those rather good curly buns that regrettably look as though a dog has just done his business on your plate and somehow managed to add a blob of icing.'

'Well done, sir,' said Moist weakly.

At the other end of the room Frank and Dave, who spent their time deciphering the illegible, misspelled, misdirected or simply insane mail that sleeted through the Blind Letter Office every day, were watching Vetinari in shock and awe. In the corner, Drumknott appeared to be brewing tea.

'I think it is just a matter of getting into the mind of the writer,' Vetinari went on, looking at a letter covered with grubby fingerprints and what looked like the remains of someone's breakfast. He added: 'In some cases, I imagine, there is a lot of room.'

'Frank and Dave manage to sort out five out of every six,' said Moist.

'They are veritable magicians,' said Vetinari. He turned to the men, who smiled nervously and backed away, leaving the smiles hanging awkwardly in the air, as protection. He added: 'But I think it is time for their tea break?'

The two looked at Drumknott, who was pouring tea into two cups.

'Somewhere else?' Vetinari suggested.

No express delivery had ever moved faster than Frank and Dave. When the door had shut behind them, Vetinari went on: 'You have looked round the bank? Your conclusions?'

'I think I'd rather stick my thumb in a mincing machine than get involved with the Lavish family,' said Moist. 'Oh, I could probably do things with it, and the Mint needs a good shaking. But the bank needs to be run by someone who understands banks.'

'People who understand banks got it into the position it is in now,' said Vetinari. 'And I did not become ruler of Ankh-Morpork by understanding the city. Like banking, the city is depressingly easy to understand. I have remained ruler by getting the city to understand me.'

'I understood you, sir, when you said something about angels, remember? Well, it worked. I am a reformed character and I will act like one.'

'Even as far as the gold-ish chain?' said Vetinari, as Drumknott handed him a cup of tea.

'Damn right!'

'Mrs Lavish was very impressed with you.'

'She said I was an out-and-out crook!'

'High praise indeed, coming from Topsy,' said Vetinari. He sighed. 'Well, I can't force such a reformed person as you to—' He paused as Drumknott leaned down to whisper in his ear, and then continued: '—well, clearly I can force you, but on this occasion I don't think I will. Drumknott, take this down, please. "I, Moist von Lipwig, wish to make it clear that I have no desire or intention to run or be involved in the running of any bank in Ankh-Morpork, preferring instead to devote my energies to the further improvement of the Post Office and the clacks system." Leave a space for Mr Lipwig's signature and the date. And then—'

'Look, why is this necessary—' Moist began.

'—continue: "I, Havelock Vetinari, etc., confirm that I have indeed discussed the future of the Ankh-Morpork banking system with Mr Lipwig and fully accept his express wish to continue his fine work at the Post Office, freely and without hindrance or penalty." Space for signature, etc. Thank you, Drumknott.'

'What is all that about?' said Moist, bewildered.

'The Times seems to think I intend to nationalize the Royal Bank,' said Vetinari.

'Nationalize?' said Moist.

'Steal,' Vetinari translated. 'I don't know how these rumours get about.'

'I suppose even tyrants have enemies?' said Moist.

'Well put as usual, Mr Lipwig,' said Vetinari, giving him a sharp look. 'Give him the memorandum to sign, Drumknott.'

Drumknott did so, taking care to retrieve the pencil afterwards with a rather smug look. Then Vetinari stood up and brushed off his robe.

'I well recall our interesting conversation about angels, Mr Lipwig, and I recall telling you that you only get one,' he said, a little stiffly. 'Do bear that in mind.'

'It would appear that the leopard does change his shorts, sir,' mused Drumknott, as the evening mist drifted, waist high, along the street.

'It would appear so, indeed. But Moist von Lipwig is a man of appearances. I'm sure he believes everything he said, but one must look beyond the surface to the Lipwig beneath, an honest soul with a fine criminal mind.'

'You have said something similar before, sir,' said the secretary, holding open the coach door, 'but it seems that honesty has got the better of him.'

Vetinari paused with his foot on the step. 'Indeed, but I take some heart, Drumknott, from the fact that, once again, he has stolen your pencil.'

'In fact he has not, sir, because I was most careful to put it in my pocket!' said Drumknott, in some triumph.

'Yes,' said Vetinari, happily, sinking into the creaking leather as Drumknott started to pat himself down with an increasing desperation, 'I know.'

There were guards in the bank at night. They patrolled the corridors in a leisurely way, whistling under their breath, safe in the knowledge that the very best locks kept miscreants out and all the ground floor was paved with marble which, in the long silent watches of the night, rang like a bell at every step. Some dozed, standing upright with their eyes half open.

But someone ignored the locks of iron, passed through the bars of brass, trod soundlessly on the ringing tiles, moved under the very noses of the slumbering men. Nevertheless, when the figure walked through the big doors to the chairman's office, two crossbow bolts passed through it and splintered the fine woodwork.

'Well, you can't blame a body for trying,' said Mrs Lavish.

I am not concerned with your body, Mrs Topsy Lavish, said Death.

'It's been quite a while since anyone was,' sighed Topsy.

This is the reckoning, Mrs Lavish. The final accounting.

'Do you always use banking allusions at a time like this?' said Topsy, standing up. Something remained slumped in the chair, but it wasn't Mrs Lavish any more.

I try to acknowledge the ambience, Mrs Lavish.

'The "Closing of the Ledger" would have the right ring, too.'

Thank you. I shall make a note. And now, you must come with me.

'I made my will just in time, it seems,' said Topsy, letting her white hair down.

One should always take care of one's posterity, Mrs Lavish.

'My posterity? The Lavishes can kiss my bum, sir! I've fixed 'em for good. Oh yes! Now what, Mr Death?'

Now? said Death. Now, you could say, comes... the audit.

'Oh. There is one, is there? Well, I'm not ashamed.'

That counts.

'Good. It should,' said Topsy.

She took Death's arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.

After a while Mr Fusspot sat up and started to whine.

There was a small article about the banking business in the Times next morning. It used the word crisis quite a lot.

Ah, here we are, thought Moist, when he got to paragraph four. Or, rather, here I am.

'Lord Vetinari told the Times:

"It is true that, with the permission of the bank's chairman, I discussed with the Postmaster General the possibility of his offering his services to the Royal Bank in these difficult times. He has declined, and the matter ends there. It is not the business of the government to run banks. The future of the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork is in the hands of its directors and shareholders."'

And gods help it, thought Moist.

He tackled the in-tray with vigour. He threw himself at the paperwork, checking figures, correcting spelling, and humming to himself to drown out the inner voice of temptation.