Moist hurried towards the troll’s flatbed. ‘You appear to have stopped the train all by yourself,’ he said, and waited. You waited a lot when you were talking to Bluejohn.
And at last when Bluejohn had assembled his words to his satisfaction he said, ‘Oh, sorry, Mister Lipwig, if I broke anythin’ take it outta my wages if you like.’
Moist said, ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He leaned out to look down the track towards the front of the train. Simnel had jumped from the footplate to investigate.
‘It’s a load of kids!’ he shouted back.
Moist jumped down on to the track and ran towards Simnel.
‘Leave it to me, Dick, I can handle this,’ he said as he reached the engine. In the fading light he could see some children on the track a short way ahead, who, it appeared, had flagged down the train with their pinafores.
The eldest of the children was female and well dressed and almost in tears. She said, ‘There’s a landslide, mister.’
‘Where?’
‘Round the next bend, sir,’ gasped the girl.
And sure enough, when Moist strode along the track and looked into the gloom beyond, he saw a load of old timbers and rocks surrounded by other debris. And then the situation dawned on him. He carefully set his face like thunder and said, ‘What’s your name, young lady?’
‘Edith, sir,’ she simpered, but not properly, and he could tell that she wasn’t used to a life of crime.
Moist beckoned the girl to come closer. ‘Edith, pardon me for being suspicious, but my instincts tell me that your charming little scheme was devised so that you brave young people could save the train from derailing and then be heroes, am I right?’
The girl and her smaller chums looked miserable, but the scound rel in Moist urged him to say, ‘Well, it’s an ingenious idea, but if Lord Vetinari were to hear about this you’d be having the kitten treatment.’
And the girl smiled and said, ‘Oh, that’s nice. I like kittens.’
‘I dare say you do, but I don’t think you’d like Cedric who comes with them … Now, I admire the resourcefulness of your little plot, but people could have been hurt.’ He raised his voice. ‘Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people.’
He had to stop there because the girl looked like death. And, if his instincts were right, somewhat damp around the legs, not weeping for effect this time but traumatized, her face white.
Moist lowered his voice and said, ‘Yes, you’ve seen it in your head now, and probably, when you think about it again, you’ll remember that you very nearly killed lots of people.’
Edith said in a small voice, ‘I’m really very sorry, it won’t happen again.’
Moist said, ‘Actually, it hasn’t happened once. Still, I’d like you to see to it that it doesn’t happen around here or anywhere else. Have I made my message clear?’
Damp and scared, Edith managed a weak, ‘Yes, sir.’ And Moist recognized true contrition.
He looked into her hopeful face and said, ‘I’ll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I’d get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops. I hear there’s money in it, and you won’t meet Cedric that way. Oh, and don’t keep waving your pinafores at people. It could give quite the wrong idea in the dark. Now, where do you live, young lady? I haven’t seen any settlements round here, it’s all woodland.’
She curtsied. She actually curtsied. And still red-eyed, she said, ‘We live in the railway houses, just back by the water crane and coal bunker.’
‘And is your father likely to be at home?’
The girl went white again but gamely managed, ‘Yes, sir, if you please, sir.’
‘In that case, while the gentlemen back there are settling things down, I’d like to see him, please.’
And uncertainly Edith led him to, yes, the railway houses and introduced Moist to a burly but cheerful-looking man who was sitting at a table devouring bread and cheese with half a pint of beer in his hand.
‘This is my dad.’
The man put down a large slab of cheese and said, ‘Can’t shake hands, sir, I’m all over cheese, apart from what’s not all over grease. Nesmith is the name.’
‘Well, Mister Nesmith, perhaps your children might go off and play while I have a little chat with you.’
When Edith and the others had made themselves scarce at the speed of sound, Moist said, ‘You must have heard the squealing?’
‘Oh, yessir, I did, and our Jake and Humphrey were sent off to see what was going on, what with me just home after a long shift.’
‘Well, Mister Nesmith, I congratulate you for your clean and well-spoken children, but I’m sorry to say they came very close to at least disabling the new express to Uberwald.’
Nesmith’s face went grey as he contemplated a future with no work and no pension and quite probably a criminal record. Greasy tears flowed out of his eyes and he said, ‘Anyone hurt, sir? If anyone’s hurt I’ll tan their hides.’
‘Some broken crockery, and there’s work to be done to get the track cleared before we can leave.’
The big round face was contorted. ‘I can help there, sir, I can help, but I’ll tan their hides for them, you see if I don’t.’
‘No, you will not, Mister Nesmith, I’ll see you pay for it if you do, indeed I will. Look, they could have caused a terrible accident, but the important thing is that they didn’t. They wanted to appear brave, as far as I can see, and you can’t blame kids for that. However, the railway isn’t a playground. Do you understand me, Mister Nesmith? Now, if I were you I’d get out my jim crow, off shift or not, and help clear the rails. Oh, and treasure your eldest daughter: you might be grateful for her imagination one day.’
Ohulan Cutash beckoned. Moist knew it as a likeable kind of place: a little market town with the usual hinterland of farmers and lumberjacks. Some mining too, dwarfs and humans quite often these days working on the same mine and even the same seams. It was big enough to have a mayor and sensible enough to have a very good tavern called the Fiddler’s Riddle. And apparently it was a place where the current unpleasantness had not yet reached.
What Moist hadn’t expected to find, as they pulled up to the platform just past midnight, was the brass band and the flags and the Morris dancing and the fun-fair, which it appeared had been organized to welcome the first proper train to arrive at the newly constructed station and had been going on for hours.
And as soon as Iron Girder came to a stop with her last hiss, Mr Skiller, the landlord of the Fiddler’s Riddle, who turned out also to be the town mayor, began an address offering the freedom of his little town to everyone on the train. Although of course it wasn’t a little town, oh indeed not, to its mayor. It was chasing Ankh-Morpork. A little part of Moist’s brain laid a bet with itself that very shortly the words ‘on the map’ were going to be uttered.
And indeed, the mayor, large and florid as a proper mayor should be, said as Moist stepped down, minding the gap, ‘This will put Ohulan Cutash on the map and no mistake. We’re already breaking ground for a much bigger tavern with facilities.’ He looked at Moist solemnly and said, ‘You have to have facilities, these days, you know. We paid for our own clacks tower. We’re very modern here, that’s for sure.’