'Certainly, sir. There is a small kitchen in the suite and we have a chef on call. Mrs Lavish has lived here for some time. It will be interesting to have a Master of the Royal Mint again.'
'I like the sound of Master of the Royal Mint,' Moist said. 'How about that, Mr Fusspot?'
On cue, the chairman barked.
'Hmm,' said Bent. 'One final thing, sir. Could you please sign these?' He indicated a pile of paperwork.
'What are they? They're not minutes, are they? I don't do minutes.'
'They are various formalities, sir. Basically, they add up to your signing a receipt for the bank on the chairman's behalf, but I am advised that Mr Fusspot's paw mark should appear in the places ticked.'
'Does he have to read all this?' said Moist.
'No, sir.'
'Then I won't. It's a bank. You've given me the big tour. It's not as though it's got a wheel missing. Just show me where to sign.'
'Just here, sir. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here...
The lady in the boardroom was certainly an attractive woman, but since she worked for the Times Moist felt unable to award her total ladylike status. Ladies didn't fiendishly quote exactly what you said but didn't exactly mean, or hit you around the ear with unexpectedly difficult questions. Well, come to think of it, they did, quite often, but she got paid for it.
But, he had to admit, Sacharissa Cripslock was fun.
'Sacharissa! This is a should-have-been-expected surprise!' he declared, as he stepped into the room.
'Mr Lipwig! Always a pleasure!' said the woman. 'So you are a dog's body now?'
That kind of fun. A bit like juggling knives. You were constantly on your toes. It was as good as a workout.
'Writing the headlines already, Sacharissa?' he said. 'I am merely carrying out the terms of Mrs Lavish's will.' He put Mr Fusspot on the polished tabletop and sat down.
'So you're now chairman of the bank?'
'No, Mr Fusspot here is the chairman,' said Moist. 'Bark circumspectly at the nice lady with the busy pencil, Mr Fusspot!'
'Woof,' said Mr Fusspot.
'Mr Fusspot is the chairman,' said Sacharissa, rolling her eyes. 'Of course. And you take orders from him, do you?'
'Yes. I am Master of the Royal Mint, by the way.'
'A dog and his master,' said Sacharissa. 'How nice. And I expect you can read his thoughts because of some mystic bond between dog and man?'
'Sacharissa, I could not have put it better.'
They smiled at each other. This was only round one. Both knew they were barely warming up.
'So, I take it that you would not agree with those who say that this is one last ruse by the late Mrs Lavish to keep the bank out of the hands of the rest of her family, believed by some to be totally incapable of running it anywhere but further into the ground? Or would you confirm the opinion of many that the Patrician has every intention of bringing the city's uncooperative banking industry to heel, and finds in this situation the perfect opportunity?'
'Some who believe, those who say... Who are these mysterious people?' said Moist, trying to raise an eyebrow as good as Vetinari's. And how is it that you know so many of them?'
Sacharissa sighed. 'And you wouldn't describe Mr Fusspot as really little more than a convenient sock puppet?'
'Woof?' said the dog at the mention of his name.
'I find the very question offensive!' said Moist. 'And so does he!'
'Moist, you are just no fun any more.' Sacharissa closed her notebook. 'You're talking like... well, like a banker.'