'The Times seems to think I intend to nationalize the Royal Bank,' said Vetinari.
'Nationalize?' said Moist.
'Steal,' Vetinari translated. 'I don't know how these rumours get about.'
'I suppose even tyrants have enemies?' said Moist.
'Well put as usual, Mr Lipwig,' said Vetinari, giving him a sharp look. 'Give him the memorandum to sign, Drumknott.'
Drumknott did so, taking care to retrieve the pencil afterwards with a rather smug look. Then Vetinari stood up and brushed off his robe.
'I well recall our interesting conversation about angels, Mr Lipwig, and I recall telling you that you only get one,' he said, a little stiffly. 'Do bear that in mind.'
'It would appear that the leopard does change his shorts, sir,' mused Drumknott, as the evening mist drifted, waist high, along the street.
'It would appear so, indeed. But Moist von Lipwig is a man of appearances. I'm sure he believes everything he said, but one must look beyond the surface to the Lipwig beneath, an honest soul with a fine criminal mind.'
'You have said something similar before, sir,' said the secretary, holding open the coach door, 'but it seems that honesty has got the better of him.'
Vetinari paused with his foot on the step. 'Indeed, but I take some heart, Drumknott, from the fact that, once again, he has stolen your pencil.'
'In fact he has not, sir, because I was most careful to put it in my pocket!' said Drumknott, in some triumph.
'Yes,' said Vetinari, happily, sinking into the creaking leather as Drumknott started to pat himself down with an increasing desperation, 'I know.'
There were guards in the bank at night. They patrolled the corridors in a leisurely way, whistling under their breath, safe in the knowledge that the very best locks kept miscreants out and all the ground floor was paved with marble which, in the long silent watches of the night, rang like a bell at every step. Some dozed, standing upright with their eyes half open.
But someone ignored the locks of iron, passed through the bars of brass, trod soundlessly on the ringing tiles, moved under the very noses of the slumbering men. Nevertheless, when the figure walked through the big doors to the chairman's office, two crossbow bolts passed through it and splintered the fine woodwork.
'Well, you can't blame a body for trying,' said Mrs Lavish.
I am not concerned with your body, Mrs Topsy Lavish, said Death.
'It's been quite a while since anyone was,' sighed Topsy.
This is the reckoning, Mrs Lavish. The final accounting.
'Do you always use banking allusions at a time like this?' said Topsy, standing up. Something remained slumped in the chair, but it wasn't Mrs Lavish any more.
I try to acknowledge the ambience, Mrs Lavish.
'The "Closing of the Ledger" would have the right ring, too.'
Thank you. I shall make a note. And now, you must come with me.
'I made my will just in time, it seems,' said Topsy, letting her white hair down.
One should always take care of one's posterity, Mrs Lavish.
'My posterity? The Lavishes can kiss my bum, sir! I've fixed 'em for good. Oh yes! Now what, Mr Death?'
Now? said Death. Now, you could say, comes... the audit.
'Oh. There is one, is there? Well, I'm not ashamed.'
That counts.
'Good. It should,' said Topsy.