Igor looked round. Suddenly he was on edge. 'Would you mind if I wind down on the lisp a little?'

'Can you do that?'

'Oh yeth… or, indeed, yes, sir. But it's a clan thing, you see. It's expected, like the stitcheth. But I think you will find the explanation hard enough to understand as it is.'

'Well, er, thank you. Go ahead, please.'

It was quite a long explanation. Hubert listened with care, his mouth open. The term 'cargo cult' whirled past, and was followed by a short dissertation on the hypothesis that all water, everywhere, knows where all the other water is, some interesting facts about hyphenated silicon and what happens to it in the presence of cheese, the benefits and hazards of morphic resonation in areas of high background magic, the truth about identical twins and the fact that if the fundamental occult maxim 'As Above, so Below' was true, then so was 'As Below, so Above'…

The silence that followed was broken only by the tinkle of water in the Glooper, and the sound of the former Owlswick's pencil as he worked away with demon-haunted skill.

'Do you mind going back to lisping, please?' said Hubert. 'I don't know why, it just sounds better that way.'

'Very good, thur.'

'All right. Now, are you really saying that I can now change the economic life of the city by adjusting the Glooper? It's like a witch's wax doll and I've got all the pins?'

'That ith correct, thur. A very nithe analogy.'

Hubert stared at the crystal masterpiece. The light in the undercroft was changing all the time as the economic life of the city pumped itself around the tubes, some of them no thicker than a hair.

'It's an economic model, in fact, which is the real thing?'

'They are identical, thur.'

'So with one hammer blow I could throw the city into an irrevocable economic crash?'

'Yes, thur. Do you want me to fetch a hammer?'

Hubert stared up at the rushing, trickling, foaming thing that was the Glooper and his eyes bulged. He started to giggle but it grew very quickly into a laugh.

'Haha! Ahahaha!!! AHAHAHAHA!!!!… Can you get me a glass of water, please?… HAHAHAHA!!! Hahahahaha!!… HAHA HAHA!!!—' The laughter stopped abruptly. 'That can't be right, Igor.'

'Really, thur?'

'Yes indeed! Look at our old friend Flask 244a! Can you see it? It's empty!'

'Indeed, thur?'

'Indeed indeed', said Hubert. 'Flask 244a represents the gold in our very own vaults, Igor. And ten tons of gold don't just get up and walk away! Eh? HAHAHAHA!!! Could you get me that glass of water I asked for? Hahaha aha!!… HAHA HAHA!!!—'

A smile played around Cosmo's lips, which was a dangerous playground for anything as innocent as a smile.

'All of them?' he said.

'Well, all the counting house clerks,' said Heretofore. 'They just ran out into the street. Some of them were in tears.'

'A panic in fact,' murmured Cosmo. He looked at the picture of Vetinari opposite his desk and was sure it winked at him.

'Apparently it was some problem with the chief cashier, sir.'

'Mr Bent?'

'Apparently he made a mistake, sir. They said he was muttering to himself and then just ran out of the room. They said that some of the staff had gone back in to search for him.'

'Mavolio Bent made a mistake? I think not,' said Cosmo.

'They say he ran off, sir.'

Cosmo very nearly raised an eyebrow without mechanical aid. It was that close.

'Ran off? Was he carrying any large and heavy bags? They usually do.'

'I believe he wasn't, sir,' said Heretofore.

'That would have been… helpful.'

Cosmo leaned back in his chair, pulled off the black glove for the third time today, and held out his hand at arm's length. The ring did look impressive, especially against the pale blue of his finger.

'Have you ever seen a run on a bank, Drumknott?' he said. 'Have you ever seen the crowds fighting for their money?'

'No, sir,' said Heretofore, who was beginning to worry again. The tight boots had been, well, funny, but surely a finger shouldn't look that colour?

'It's a dreadful sight. It's like watching a beached whale being eaten alive by crabs,' said Cosmo, turning his hand so that the light showed up the shadowy V. 'It may squirm in its agony, but there can be only one outcome. It is a terrible thing, if done properly.'

This is how Vetinari thinks, his soul exulted. Plans can break down. You cannot plan the future. Only presumptuous fools plan. The wise man steers.

'As a director of the bank and, of course, a concerned citizen,' he said dreamily, 'I shall now write a letter to the Times!

'Yes, sir, of course,' said Heretofore, 'and shall I send for a jeweller, sir? I understand they have some fine little snips that—'

'No pain without gain, Drumknott. It sharpens my thinking.' The glove went back on.

'Er…' and then Heretofore gave up. He'd tried his best, but Cosmo was bent on his own destruction, and all a sensible man could do was to make as much money as possible and then stay alive to spend it.

'I've had another stroke of luck, sir,' he ventured. He'd have liked more time, but it was clear that time was getting short.

'Indeed? What is this?'

'That project I have been working on…'

'Very expensively? Yes?'

'I believe I can get you Vetinari's stick, sir.'

'You mean his swordstick?'

'Yes, sir. As far as I know the blade has never been drawn in anger.'

'I understood it was always close to him.'

'I didn't say it would be easy, sir. Or cheap. But after much, much work I now see a clear way,' said Heretofore.

'They say the steel of the blade was taken from the iron in the blood of a thousand men…'

'So I have heard, sir.'

'Have you seen it?'

'Very briefly, sir.'

For the first time in his career, Heretofore found himself feeling sorry for Cosmo. There was a kind of yearning in the man's voice. He didn't want to usurp Vetinari. There were plenty of people in the city who wanted to usurp Vetinari. But Cosmo wanted to be Vetinari.

'What was it like?' The voice was pleading. The poison must have got to his brain, thought Heretofore. But his mind was pretty poisonous to begin with. Perhaps they will be friends.

'Er… well, the handle and scabbard are just like yours, sir, but a little worn. The blade, though, is grey and looks—'

'Grey?'

'Yes, sir. It looks aged and slightly pitted. But here and there, when the light catches it, there are little red and gold flecks. I have to say that it looks ominous.'

'The flecks of light would be the blood, of course,' said Cosmo thoughtfully, 'or, possibly, yes, very possibly the trapped souls of those who died to make the dreadful blade.'

'I had not thought of that, sir,' said Heretofore, who had spent two nights with a new blade, some haematite, a brass brush and some chemicals to produce a weapon that looked as though it'd spring for your throat of its own accord.

'You could get it tonight?'

'I think so, sir. It will be dangerous, of course.'

'And require yet more expense, I imagine,' said Cosmo, with rather more insight than Heretofore would have expected in his current state.

'There are so many bribes, sir. He will not be happy when he finds out, and I daren't risk the time it would take to make an exact replacement.'

'Yes. I see.'

Cosmo pulled off the black glove again and looked at his hand. There seemed to be a greenish tint to his finger now, and he wondered if there was some copper in the ring's alloy. But the pink, almost red streaks moving up his arm looked very healthy.

'Yes. Get the stick,' he murmured, turning his hand to catch the light from the lamps. Odd, though, he couldn't feel any heat on the finger, but that didn't matter.