Cosmo pushed his eyebrow up. He was getting the hang of it, he was sure. He'd been just like Vetinari out there, hadn't he? Yes, he had. The look on the family's faces when he'd told Josephine to shut up! Even the recollection made his spine tingle…

Was this the time? Yes, just for a minute, perhaps. He deserved it… He unlocked a drawer in his desk, reached inside, and pressed the hidden button. On the other side of his desk a secret compartment slid out. From it, Cosmo took a small black skullcap. It seemed as good as new. Heretofore was a genius.

Cosmo lowered the cap on to his head with great solemnity.

Someone knocked on the study door. This was pointless, since it was then slammed open.

'Locking yourself in your room again, bro?' said Pucci triumphantly.

At least Cosmo had strangled the impulse to snatch the cap from his head as if he'd been caught doing something dirty.

'It was not in fact locked, as you see,' he said, 'and you are forbidden to come within fifteen yards of me. I have an injunction.'

'And you are not allowed to be within twenty yards of me, so you broke it first,' said Pucci, pulling up a chair. She straddled it heavily and rested her arms on the back. The wood creaked.

'I wasn't the one who moved, I think?'

'Well, cosmically it's all the same,' said Pucci. 'You know, that's a dangerous obsession you have there.'

Now Cosmo took off the cap. 'I'm simply trying to get inside the man,' he said.

'A very dangerous obsession.'

'You know what I mean. I want to know how his mind works.'

'And this?' Pucci said, waving a hand at the large picture that hung on the wall opposite the desk.

'William Pouter's Man with dog. It's a painting of Vetinari. Notice how the eyes follow you around the room.'

'The dog's nose follows me around the room! Vetinari has a dog?'

'Had. Wuffles. Died some time ago. There's a little grave in the palace grounds. He goes there alone once a week and puts a dog biscuit on it.'

'Vetinari does that?'

'Yes.'

'Vetinari the cool, heartless, calculating tyrant?' said Pucci.

'Indeed!'

'You're lying to your sweet dear sister, yes?'

'You can choose to believe that if you wish.' Cosmo exulted, deep inside. He loved to see that irate-chicken expression of furious curiosity on his sister's face.

'Information like that is worth money,' she said.

'Indeed. And I'm only telling you because it's useless unless you know where he goes, at what time, and on which day. It just may be, dear sweet Pucci, that what you call my obsession is in fact of great practical use. I watch, study and learn. And I believe that Moist von Lipwig and Vetinari must share some dangerous secret which could even—'

'But you just weighed in and offered Lipwig a bribe!' You could say this about Pucci: she was easy to confide in because she never bothered to listen. She used the time to think about what to say next.

'A ridiculously small one. And a threat, too. And so now he thinks he knows all about me,' said Cosmo, not even trying not to look smug. 'And I know nothing about him, which is even more interesting. How did he turn up out of nowhere and immediately get one of the highest jobs in—'

'What the hell is that?' demanded Pucci, whose massive inquisitiveness was hampered by the attention span of a kitten. She was pointing at the little diorama in front of the window.

'That? Oh—'

'Looks like an ornamental window-box. Is it Toytown? What's that all about? Tell me right now!'

Cosmo sighed. He didn't actually dislike his sister — well, more than the natural basic feeling of irksomeness all Lavishes felt for one another — but it was hard to like that loud, nasal, perpetually irritated voice, which treated anything Pucci didn't immediately understand, which was practically everything, as a personal affront.

'It is an attempt to achieve, by means of scale models, a view similar to that seen from the Oblong Office by Lord Vetinari,' he explained. 'It helps me think.'

'That's crazy. What kind of dog biscuit?' said Pucci.

Information also travelled through Pucci's apprehension at different speeds. It must be all that hair, thought Cosmo.

'Tracklement's Yums,' he said. 'The bone-shaped ones that come in five different colours. But he never leaves a yellow one because Wuffles didn't like them.'

'You know they say Vetinari is a vampire?' said Pucci, going off at a tangent to a tangent.

'Do you believe it?' said Cosmo.

'Because he's tall and thin and wears black? I think it takes a bit more than that!'

'And is secretive and calculating?' said Cosmo.

' You don't believe it, do you?'

'No, and it wouldn't make any real difference if he was, would it? But there are other people with more… dangerous secrets. Dangerous to them, I mean.'

'Mr Lipwig?'

'He could be one, yes.'

Pucci's eyes lit up. 'You know something, don't you?'

'Not exactly, but I think I know where there is something to be known.'

'Where?'

'Do you really want to know?'

'Of course I do!'

'Well, I have no intention of telling you,' said Cosmo, smiling. 'Don't let me detain you!' he added, as Pucci stormed out of the room.

Don't let me detain you. What a wonderful phrase Vetinari had devised. The jangling double meaning set up undercurrents of uneasiness in the most innocent of minds. The man had found ways of bloodless tyranny that put the rack to shame.

What a genius! And there, but for an eyebrow, went Cosmo Lavish.

He would have to make good the failings of cruel nature. The mysterious Lipwig was the key to Vetinari, and the key to Lipwig—

It was time to talk to Mr Bent.

Chapter 5

Spending spree — Inadvisability of golem back-rubs — Giving away money — Some observations on the nature of trust — Mr Bent has a visitor — One of the Family

WHERE DO YOU TEST a bankable idea? Not in a bank, that was certain. You needed to test it where people paid far more attention to money, and juggled their finances in a world of constant risk where a split-second decision meant the difference between triumphant profit or ignominious loss. Generically it was known as the real world, but one of its proprietary names was Tenth Egg Street.

The Boffo Novelty and Joke Shop, in Tenth Egg Street, prop. J. Proust, was a haven for everyone who thought that fart powder was the last word in humour, which in many respects it is. It had caught Moist's eye, though, as a source of material for disguises and other useful things.

Moist had always been careful about disguises. A moustache that could come off at a tug had no place in his life. But since he had the world's most forgettable face, a face that was still a face in the crowd even when it was by itself, it helped, sometimes, to give people something to tell the Watch about. Spectacles were an obvious choice, but Moist got very good results with his own design of nose and ear wigs. Show a man a pair of ears that small songbirds had apparently nested in, watch the polite horror in his eyes, and you could be certain that that would be all he remembered.

Now, of course, Moist was an honest man, but part of him felt it necessary that he keep his hand in, just in case.

Today he bought a pot of glue and a large jar of fine gold sprinkles, because he could see a use for them.

'That will be thirty-five pence, Mr Lipwig,' said Mr Proust. 'Any new stamps coming along?'

'One or two, Jack,' said Moist. 'How's Ethel? And little Roger,' he added, after only a moment's shuffle through the files in his head.

'Very well, thank you for asking. Can I get you anything else?' Proust added hopefully, in case Moist might have a sudden recollection that life would be considerably improved by the purchase of a dozen false noses.