'How do you feel now?' said Moist.

'Oh, quite well in myself,' said Bent. 'Whoever that is.'

'Good. Then I want to see you at work tomorrow, Mr Bent.'

'You can't ask him to go back so soon!' Miss Drapes protested.

Moist turned to Whiteface and Vetinari. 'Could you please leave us, gentlemen?'

There was an affronted look on the chief clown's face, which was made worse by the permanent happy smile, but the door shut behind them.

'Listen, Mr Bent,' said Moist urgently. 'We're in a mess—'

'I believed in the gold, you know,' said Bent. 'Didn't know where it was, but I believed.'

'Good. And it probably still exists in Pucci's jewellery box,' said Moist. 'But I want to open the bank again tomorrow, and Vetinari's people have been through every piece of paper in the place, and you can guess what kind of mess they leave. And I want to launch the notes tomorrow, you know? The money that doesn't need gold? And the bank doesn't need gold. We know this. It worked for years with a vault full of junk! But the bank needs you, Mr Bent. The Lavishes are in real trouble, Cosmo's locked up somewhere, the staff are all over the place and tomorrow, Mr Bent, the bank opens and you must be there. Please? Oh, and the chairman has graciously barked assent to putting you on a salary of sixty-five dollars a month. I know you are not a man to be influenced by money, but the rise might be worth considering by a man contemplating a, ah, change in his domestic arrangements?'

It wasn't a shot in the dark. It was a shot in the light, clear blazing light. Miss Drapes was definitely a woman with a plan, and it had to be a better one than the rest of a life spent in a narrow room in Elm Street.

'It's your choice, of course,' he said, standing up. 'Are they treating him all right, Miss Drapes?'

'Only because I'm here,' she said smartly. 'This morning three clowns came in with a big rope and a small elephant and wanted to pull one of his poor teeth! And then I'd hardly got them out when two more came in and started to whitewash the room, very inefficiently in my opinion! I got them out of here in very short order, I can tell you!'

'Well done, Miss Drapes!'

Vetinari was waiting outside the building with the coach door open.

'You will get in,' he said.

'Actually it's a very short walk to—'

'Get in, Mr Lipwig. We will go the pretty way.

'I believe you think our relationship is a game,' said Vetinari, as the coach pulled away. 'You believe that all sins will be forgiven. So let me give you this.'

He took up a black walking stick, topped with a silver skull, and tugged at the handle.

'This curious thing was in the possession of Cosmo Lavish,' he said, as the blade slid out.

'I know. Isn't it a replica of yours?' said Moist.

'Oh really!' said Vetinari. 'Am I a "sword made of the blood of a thousand men" kind of ruler? It'll be a crown of skulls next, I suppose. I believe Cosmo had it made.'

'So it's a replica of a rumour?' Outside the coach, some gates were swung open.

'Indeed,' said Vetinari. 'A copy of something that does not exist. One can only hope that it is not authentic in every respect.'

The coach door was opened, and Moist stepped down into the palace gardens. They had the usual look of such places — neat, tidy, lots of gravel and pointy trees and no vegetables.

'Why are we here?' said Adora Belle. 'It's about the golems, isn't it?'

'Miss Dearheart, what do our local golems think about this new army?'

'They don't like them. They think they will be the cause of trouble. They have no chem that can be changed. They're worse than zombies.'

'Thank you. A further question: will they kill?'

'Historically, golem-makers have learned not to make golems that kill—'

'Is that a no?'

'I don't know!'

'We make progress. Is it possible to give them an order which cannot be countermanded by another person?'

'Well, er… Yes. If no one else knows the secret.'

'Which is?' Vetinari turned back to Moist, and drew the sword.

'It must be the way I give the orders, sir,' said Moist, squinting downwards at the blade for the second time. It really did glint.

He was braced for what happened, except that it happened in entirely the wrong way.

Vetinari handed him the sword and said: 'Miss Dearheart, I really wish you would not leave the city for long periods. It makes this man seek danger. Tell us the secret, Mr Lipwig.'

'I think it could be too dangerous, sir.'

'Mr Lipwig, do I need a badge that says tyrant?'

'Can I make a bargain?'

'Of course. I am a reasonable man.'

'Will you keep to it?'

'No. But I will make a different bargain. The Post Office can have six golem horses. The other golem warriors will be considered wards of the Golem Trust, but the use of four hundred of them to improve the operation of the clacks system will, I am sure, meet with international approval. We will replace gold with golems as a basis for our currency, as you have so eloquently pleaded. The two of you have made the international situation very… interesting—'

'Sorry, why is it me that's holding this sword?' said Moist.

'—and you tell us the secret and, best of all, you live,' Vetinari finished, 'and who is going to give you a better offer?'

'Oh, all right,' said Moist, 'I knew this would have to happen. The golems obey me be—'

'—because you wear a golden suit and therefore in their eyes must be an Umnian priest,' said Vetinari. 'Because for an order to be fully realized the right person must say the right words to the right recipient. And I used to be quite a scholar. It's a matter of reasoning. Do not continue to stand there with your mouth open.'

'You already knew?'

'It wasn't exactly dragon magic'

'And why did you give me this horrible sword?'

'It is tasteless, isn't it,' said Vetinari, taking it from him. 'One might imagine it belonging to someone with a name like Krax the Mighty. I was just interested to see that you were more fearful when you were holding it. You really are not a violent man, are you…'

'That wasn't necessary!' said Moist. Adora Belle was grinning.

'Mr Lipwig, Mr Lipwig, Mr Lipwig, will you never learn?' said Vetinari, sheathing the sword. 'One of my predecessors used to have people torn apart by wild tortoises. It was not a quick death. He thought it was a hoot. Forgive me if my pleasures are a little more cerebal, will you? Let me see, now, what was the other thing? Oh yes, I regret to tell you that a man called Owlswick Clamp has died.'

There was something about the way he said it…

'Did an angel call him?'

'Very likely, Mr Lipwig. But should you find yourself in need of more designs, I'm sure I can find someone in the palace to assist.'

'It was meant to be, I'm sure,' said Moist. 'I'm glad he's gone to a better place.'

'Less damp, certainly. Go now. My coach is at your disposal. You have a bank to open! The world spins on, and this morning it is spinning on my desk. Come, Mr Fusspot.'

'Can I make a suggestion that might help?' said Moist, as Vetinari turned away.

'What is it?'

'Well, why don't you tell all the other Plains governments about the golden secret? That would mean no one could use them as soldiers. That would take the pressure off.'

'Hmm, interesting. And would you agree with that, Miss Dearheart?'

'Yes! We don't want golem armies! It's a very good idea!'

Vetinari reached down and gave Mr Fusspot a dog biscuit. When he straightened up there was an almost imperceptible change in his expression.

'Last night,' he said, 'some traitor sent the golden secret to the rulers of every major city in the Plains via a clacks message, the origin of which appears to be untraceable. It wasn't you, was it, Mr Lipwig?'