‘That,’ said Moist, ‘is Emily, Harry King’s favourite niece, not married yet.’
‘Oh,’ said Simnel. ‘The other day she brought me out tea — and a bun!’
Moist looked at the worried face of Dick Simnel, who was suddenly in a place where the sliding rule couldn’t go. No, this was a different kind of rule, and so he said, ‘Would you care to take a walk with her, Dick?’
Simnel blushed, if a blush could actually be seen under all the grease. ‘Aye, I really would, but she’s all smart and dandy as a daisy and I’m—’
‘Stop right there!’ said Moist. ‘If you’re going to say that you’re just a bloke in greasy dungarees I’d like to draw your attention to the fact that you own a very big slice of all the revenue the railway is ever going to make. So don’t go around saying “Oh dear me I’m too poor to even think about making advances to a nice young lady,” because you’re the best catch that any young lady in Ankh-Morpork could ever find, and I imagine that even Harry, in the circumstances, wouldn’t throw you down the stairs as he did with the swains who were the suitors of his daughters. If you’d like to go walking out with Emily I’d say go to it and I’m sure her uncle and parents will be overjoyed.’
To himself, Moist thought: in fact, Harry would love it because it’d keep the money in the family. I know Harry King, oh, yes. ‘What’s more,’ he added, ‘she’s a lawyer in the making: understands the legalities of running a business. You should get on like a house on fire.’
In the voice of a man encountering new territory, Dick said carefully, ‘Thank you for the information and advice, Mister Lipwig. Mebbe one day when I’ve got meself clean I might get meself the courage to knock on ’er door.’
‘Well, don’t wait too long, Dick. There’s more to life than the sliding rule.’
The Grand Opening of the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway brought the international press out in droves.
Dick Simnel had always intended that the first serious public railway journey would start from Sto Lat, putting the old town on the map as it were. Sir Harry was somewhat dismayed by this:[32] a true denizen of Ankh-Morpork, he tended to get a little disorientated when outside the city. Still, as Moist had pointed out, after an outward journey by road the guests would find the return rail trip with refreshments all the more impressive.
When their coaches eventually arrived at what the gold-edged invitation had described as the ‘Sto Lat terminus’, the journalists and other invited guests discovered that terminus apparently meant a work in progress: which is to say most of it wasn’t there yet (being full of workmen, human, troll and goblin, labouring at cross purposes just like on every big construction site anywhere) but nevertheless a sympathetic eye could arrive at the conclusion that something rather good was being built here.
The guests were ushered on to a long raised platform, standing above gleaming steel rails that ran off into the distance, the tracksides crowded with onlookers. In the other direction the rails led to a very large barn, where Dick’s apprentices, recently scrubbed, were lined up on either side of the closed doors, along with a brass band that could hardly be heard above the noise of the workmen.
Moist von Lipwig was, of course, master of ceremonies, there to welcome them with Harry King and Effie by his side. Lord Vetinari too was there, as holder of Ankh-Morpork’s guardian share in the railway, accompanied by Drumknott, who wouldn’t have missed the occasion for a big clock. And Queen Keli of Sto Lat[33] was present to give the occasion the royal seal of approval, with the Mayor by her side looking stunned by the circus that appeared to have taken over his town.
As always in these matters, everything had to wait until everything else was ready. That seemed to have been anticipated, judging by the door with a neat label WAITING ROOM, alongside the entrance to the platform.[34]
And then the waiting was over. At Moist’s invitation Queen Keli stepped forward to drive in the golden spike, the last one on the line, signifying it was now open for business. The chuffing sound that was the signature tune of the railway got louder and more expansive, the crowd of bystanders thronging the sides of the track waved their colourful little flags and cheered with increased enthusiasm, and two apprentices opened the gates of the barn. To a metaphorical drumroll Moist announced: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Dick Simnel and Iron Girder!’
Leading the dream of steam, Dick Simnel, in pride of place on the footplate, beamed an unmissable look of I told thee so.
Behind the engine ten carriages bumped along and, glory be, some of them even had a roof! The iconographers’ flashes popped and, very gently, Iron Girder moved along the track and stopped beside the platform.
Moist waited until the applause faded away and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you may safely climb aboard. There will be refreshments, but first may I invite you to inspect the carriages.’
Now Moist needed to be everywhere at once. Anything to do with steam and locomotives was news and news could be good news or news could be bad news, or occasionally news could be malicious news. Dick just loved talking about Iron Girder and everything else to do with locomotion, but he was a straightforward man and the press of the Sto Plains could eat up for lunch a straightforward man if he wasn’t careful. Moist, on the other hand, in the vicinity of the press, was as straightforward as a sackful of kaleidoscopes. While the chattering was going on, he did his best to hover around Dick Simnel like a wet-nurse.
The Ankh-Morpork Times wasn’t bad, and the Tanty Bugle was mostly interested in ’orrible murder and the more salacious aspects of the human condition, but Moist’s heart sank as he realized that Dick, temporarily off the reins, was now talking to Hardwick of the Pseudopolis Daily Press, who was adept at getting the wrong end of the stick very much on purpose and then hitting people over the head with it. And Pseudopolis disliked Ankh-Morpork with a sullen and jealous vengeance.
As Moist executed the world’s fastest nonchalant walk, he heard Hardwick saying, ‘What do you say, Mister Simnel, to people who are upset because the noise and the smoke will cause their horses to bolt and their cows and sheep to miscarry?’
‘I don’t rightly know,’ said Simnel. ‘Never had a problem here on the Plains. When I were doing me tests the horses in the next field would try to outpace Iron Girder, racing her, as it were, and I reckoned they thought it was fun!’
But Hardwick wasn’t to be thrown off. ‘You must admit, Mister Simnel, that the train is inherently dangerous? Some people have said that your face melts if you reach speeds greater than thirty miles an hour!’
It seemed to Moist that everyone else who had been chattering away in the vicinity went silent to listen as one person, and he knew that if he intervened at this point things would get worse, and so all he could do was hold his breath, just like everybody else, to see what the solemn country boy would say.
‘Well now, Mister ’ardwick,’ said Simnel, sticking his thumbs into his belt as he always did when broaching long sentences. ‘I think many things are inherently dangerous: such as wizards, and trees. Dangerous things, trees, they could fall down and drop straight on your ’ead without you knowing it. And boats are dangerous an’ all, and other people might be dangerous and you, Mister ’ardwick, you’ve been talking to me for five minutes now, ’oping that a country lad like me might be tempted into saying summat I shouldn’t.
‘So I’ll tell you this: Iron Girder is my machine, I made her, every single bit of her. I tested her and every time I find a way to make her better and safer, I do it. But, oh aye, you, Mister ’ardwick, you might be dangerous! Power is dangerous, all power, yours included, Mister ’ardwick, and the difference is that the power of Iron Girder is controllable whereas you can write whatever you damn well like. Do you think I don’t read? I’ve read the rubbish you spout in your paper and, Mister ’ardwick, a lot of what you write is flamin’ gristle, Mister ’ardwick, total stinking made-up gristle, meant to frighten people who don’t know owt about steam and power and the cosines and the quaderatics and tangents and even the sliding rule … but I hope you enjoy your journey anyway, Mister ’ardwick. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get in t’cab. Oh, and I’ve had Iron Girder up to more than thirty mile an hour and all I got were sunburn. Good day to you, Mister ’ardwick. Enjoy your ride.’
32
A dismay shared by many of the journalists, who worried they would get mud on their new shoes and be attacked by pheasants.
33
Proctector of the Eight Protectorates and Empress of the Long Thin Debated Piece Hubwards of Sto Kerrig.
34
There were in fact two waiting rooms, one for men and families and the other for single ladies; as predicted, Effie was very firm that all aspects of the railway should be clean and wholesome, indeed hygienic, something she was very keen on.