Mr Slant bowed to Vetinari and let his steady gaze take in the rest of the room. It lingered a long time on the ranks of the Lavishes.

'First, the matter of the gold,' said Vetinari. 'I present Drumknott, my secretary and chief clerk, who overnight took a team of my senior clerks into the bank—'

'Am I in the dock here?' said Moist.

Vetinari glanced at him and looked down at his paperwork. 'I have here your signature on a receipt for some ten tons of gold,' he said. 'Do you dispute its authenticity?'

'No, but I thought that was just a formality!'

'Ten tons of gold is a formality, is it? And did you later break into the vault?'

'Well, yes, technically. I couldn't unlock it because Mr Bent had fainted inside and left the key in the lock.'

'Ah, yes, Mr Bent, the chief cashier. Is he with us today?'

A quick survey found the room Bentless.

'I understood that he was in a somewhat distressed state but not seriously harmed,' said Lord Vetinari. 'Commander Vimes, please be so good as to send some men along to his lodgings, will you? I would like him to join us.'

He turned back to Moist. 'No, Mr Lipwig, you are not on trial, as yet. Generally speaking, before someone is put on trial it helps to have some clear reason for doing so. It is considered neater. I must point out, though, that you took formal responsibility for the gold which we must assume was clearly gold and clearly in the vault at that time. In order to have a thorough understanding of the bank's disposition at this time I asked my secretary to audit the bank's affairs, which he and his team did last nigh—'

'If I'm not actually on trial at this moment can I get rid of these shackles? They do rather bias the case against me,' said Moist.

'Yes, very well. Guards, see to it. Now, Mr Drumknott, if you please?'

I'm going to be hung out to dry, thought Moist, as Drumknott started speaking. What is Vetinari playing at?

He stared at the crowds as Drumknott went through the tedious litany of accountancy. Right in front, in a great black mass, was the Lavish family. From here they looked like vultures. This was going to take a long time, by the sound of Drumknott's earnest drone. They were going to set him up, and Vetinari wa— Ah, yes, and then it would be, in some quiet room: 'Mr Lipwig, if you could see your way clear to telling me how you controlled those golems…'

A commotion near the door came as welcome relief, and now Sergeant Fred Colon, trailed by his inseparable associate Nobby Nobbs, was practically swimming through the crowd. Vimes pushed his way towards them, with Sacharissa drifting in his wake. There was a hurried conversation, and a ripple of horrified excitement rolled through the crowd.

Moist caught the word 'Murdered!'

Vetinari stood up and brought his stick down flat on the table, ending the noise like the punctuation of the gods. 'What has happened, Commander?' he said.

'Bodies, sir. In Mr Bent's lodgings!'

'He's been murdered?'

'Nosir!' Vimes conferred briefly and urgently with his sergeant. 'Body provisionally identified as Professor Cranberry, sir, not a real professor, he's a nasty hired killer. We thought he'd left the city. Sounds like the other one is Ribcage Jack, who was kicked to death' — there was another whispered briefing, but Commander Vimes tended to raise his voice when he was angry — 'by a what? On the second floor? Don't be daft! So what got Cranberry? Eh? Did you just mean what I thought you said?'

He straightened up. 'Sorry, sir, I'm going to have to go and see this for myself. I think someone is having a jape.'

'And poor Bent?' said Vetinari.

'No sign of him, sir.'

'Thank you, commander.' Vetinari waved a hand. 'Do hurry back when you know more. We cannot have japes. Thank you, Drumknott. I gather you found nothing untoward apart from the lack of gold. I'm sure that comes as a relief to us all. The floor is yours, Mr Slant.'

The lawyer rose with an air of dignity and mothballs. 'Tell me, Mr Lipwig, what was your job before you came to Ankh-Morpork?' he said.

O-kay, thought Moist, looking at Vetinari, I've worked it out. If I'm good and say the right things, I might live. At a price. Well, no thanks. All I wanted to do was make some money.

'Your job, Mr Lipwig?' Slant repeated.

Moist looked along the rows of watchers, and saw the face of Cribbins. The man winked.

'Hmm?' he said.

'I asked you what your job was before you arrived in this city!'

It was at this point that Moist became aware of a regrettably familiar whirring sound, and from his raised position he was the first to see the chairman of the Royal Bank appear from behind the curtains at the far end of the hall with his wonderful new toy clamped firmly in his mouth. Some trick of the vibrations was propelling Mr Fusspot backwards across the shiny marble.

People in the audience craned their necks as, with tail wagging, the little dog passed behind Vetinari's chair and disappeared behind the curtains on the opposite side.

I'm in a world where that just happened, Moist thought. Nothing matters. It was an insight of incredible liberation.

'Mr Lipwig, I asked you a question,' Slant growled.

'Oh, sorry. I was a crook'… and he flew! This was it! This was better than hanging off some old building! Look at the expression on Cosmo's face! Look at Cribbins! They had it all planned out, and now it had got away from them. He had them all in his hand, and he was flying!

Slant hesitated. 'By crook you mean—'

'Confidence trickster. Occasional forgery. I'd like to think I was more of a scallywag, to be frank.'

Moist saw the looks that passed between Cosmo and Cribbins, and exulted within. No, this wasn't supposed to happen, was it? And now you're going to have to run to keep up…

Mr Slant was certainly having trouble in that area. 'Can I be clear here? You broke the law for a living?'

'Mostly I took advantage of other people's greed, Mr Slant. I think there was an element of education, too.'

Mr Slant shook his head in amazement, causing an earwig to fall, with a keen sense of the appropriate, out of his ear.

'Education?' he said.

'Yes. A lot of people learned that no one sells a real diamond ring for one tenth of its value.'

'And then you stepped into one of the highest public offices in the city?' said Mr Slant, above the laughter. It was a release. People had been holding their breath for too long.

'I had to. It was that or be hanged,' said Moist, and added: 'again.'

Mr Slant looked flustered, and turned his eyes to Vetinari.

'Are you sure you wish me to continue, my lord?'

'Oh yes,' said Vetinari. 'To the death, Mr Slant.'

'Er… you have been hanged before?' Slant said to Moist.

'Oh, yes. I did not wish it to become a habit.'

That got another laugh.

Mr Slant turned again to Vetinari, who was smiling faintly. 'Is this true, my lord?'

'Indeed,' said Vetinari calmly. 'Mr Lipwig was hanged last year under the name of Albert Spangler, but it turned out that he had a very tough neck, as was found when he was being placed in his coffin. You may be aware, Mr Slant, of the ancient principle Quia Ego Sic Dico? A man who survives being hanged may have been selected by the gods for a different destiny, as yet unfulfilled? And since fortune had favoured him, I resolved, therefore, to put him on parole and charge him with resurrecting the Post Office, a task which had already taken the lives of four of my clerks. If he succeeded, well and good. If he failed, the city would have been spared the cost of another hanging. It was a cruel joke which, I am happy to say, rebounded to the general good. I don't think that anyone here would argue that the Post Office is now a veritable jewel of the city? Indeed, the leopard can change his shorts!'