Free Making Money by Terry Pratchett Page B

the leaks,” said the little man, looking crestfallen. “I’ll swear that every joint is watertight, but we never end up with the same amount of water that we started with.”
    “Of course not, Hubert,” said Moist, patting him on the shoulder. “And that’s because you’re close to achieving perfection!”
    “I am?” said Hubert, wide-eyed.
    “Certainly. Everyone knows that at the end of the week you never have quite as much money as you think you should. It’s a well-known fact!”
    The sunrise of delight dawned on Hubert’s face. Topsy was right, Moist told himself. I am good with people.
    “Now demonstrated by the Glooper!” Hubert breathed. “I shall write a paper on it!”
    “Or you could write it on paper!” said Moist, shaking him warmly by the hand. “Okay, Mr. Bent, let us tear ourselves away!”
    When they were walking up the main stairs Moist said: “What relation is Hubert to the current chairman?”
    “Nephew,” said Bent. “How did you—?”
    “I’m always interested in people,” said Moist, smiling to himself. “And there’s the red hair, of course. Why does Mrs. Lavish have two crossbows on her desk?”
    “Family heirlooms, sir,” lied Bent. It was a deliberate, flagrant lie, and he must have meant it to be seen as such. Family heirlooms. And she sleeps in her office. All right, she’s an invalid, but people usually do that at home.
    She doesn’t intend to step out of the room. She’s on guard. And she’s very particular about who comes in.
    “Do you have any interests, Mr. Bent?”
    “I do my job with care and attention, sir.”
    “Yes, but what do you do in the evenings?”
    “I double-check the day’s totals in my office, sir. I find counting very…satisfying.”
    “You’re very good at it, yes?”
    “More than you can imagine, sir.”
    “So if I save ninety-three-point-forty-seven dollars a year for seven years at two and a quarter percent, compound, how—”
    “Eight hundred and thirty-five-point-thirteen dollars calculated once annually, sir,” said Bent calmly.
    Yes, and twice you’ve known the exact time, thought Moist. And you didn’t look at a watch. You are good with numbers. Inhumanly good, perhaps…
    “No holidays?” he said aloud.
    “I did a walking tour of the major banking houses of Überwald last summer, sir. It was most instructive.”
    “That must have taken weeks. I’m glad you felt able to tear yourself away!”
    “Oh, it was easy, sir. Miss Drapes, who is the senior clerk, sent a coded clacks of the day’s business to each of my lodging houses at the close of business every day. I was able to review it over my after-dinner strudel and respond instantly with advice and instructions.”
    “Is Miss Drapes a useful member of the staff?”
    “Indeed. She performs her duties with care and alacrity.” He paused. They were at the top of the stairs. Bent turned and looked directly at Moist.
    “I have worked here all my life, Mr. Lipwig. Be careful of the Lavish family. Mrs. Lavish is the best of them, a wonderful woman. The others…are used to getting their own way.”
    Old family, old money. That kind of family. Moist felt a distant call, like the song of the skylark. It came back to taunt him every time, for example, he saw an out-of-towner in the street with a map and a perplexed expression, crying out to be relieved of his money in some helpful and hard-to-follow way.
    “Dangerously so?” he said.
    Bent looked a little affronted at this directness. “They are not at home to disappointment, sir. They have tried to declare Mrs. Lavish insane, sir.”
    “Really?” said Moist. “Compared to who?”

     

    T HE WIND BLEW through the town of Big Cabbage, which liked to call itself The Green Heart of the Plains.
    It was called Big Cabbage because it was home to The Biggest Cabbage in the World, and the town’s inhabitants were not very creative when it came to names. People traveled miles to see this wonder; they’d go inside its