Raising Steam by Terry Pratchett

Author:Terry Pratchett [Pratchett, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Humour
ISBN: 0857522272
Google: BZ-NAQAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00FIN0TGY
Barnesnoble: B00FIN0TGY
Goodreads: 18594777
Publisher: Doubleday
Published: 2013-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Moist was, by inclination, a stranger to the concept of two in the morning, a time that happened to other people. He didn’t object to a certain amount of early alfresco when he was on the road, especially on the railroad, which was more like camping and therefore fun, but to be awakened in his own bed in the small hours was an abomination that cried to the heavens for justice, although he did not cry at Sir Harry, who had just arrived in Scoone Avenue with all hell following him.

Crossly the butler rushed to get in front of Sir Harry as etiquette required, but Sir Harry swarmed up the stairs, waving a clacks flimsy at anyone he could see, and burst into Moist’s bedroom, booming, “Someone has been buggering around with a steam contraption and has managed to kill two people, including himself, down in the Effing Forest. And you know what? Clacksmen on the Scrote tower spotted the explosion then went out and found the carnage, and you know the clacksmen! The news is already all over the bloody place! And so, apparently, are bits of the poor buggers! Two people dead, Mister Lipwig. The press’ll have our guts for garters.”

By this time Moist had managed to get his pants on the right way up. He spluttered, “But, Harry, we aren’t doing anything in the Effing Forest at the moment. There’s going to be a little branch line that goes to Scrote and that’ll be a very good earner, but this is nothing to do with us. Crossly, please get Sir Harry a stiff brandy and a soft chair.”

“Nothing to do with us or not, Moist, you know the press will be round us like flies on a midden.”

Moist said, to the annoyance of Harry, “Trust me, Harry. Trust me. It wasn’t us and I see no reason to worry. I’ll deal with the press. I imagine they’ll all be going to the Effing place as soon as it gets light, so if you don’t mind I’ll head there right now and be ahead of the game.”

“It’s no bloody game!” Harry boomed.

And over his shoulder, Moist said, “I’m sorry, but it helps to think of it like that, Harry.”

Just as Moist was heading down the stairs with Harry simmering behind him, Adora Belle arrived home. She sometimes worked nights on the Grand Trunk; she told Moist that it was to keep people on their toes, but he knew that she actually loved the quiet watches of a clear night when messages would twinkle from hill to hill like fireflies.

That was the spell of the clacks, and it wasn’t only goblins who felt it. Adora Belle knew and didn’t mind that the clacksmen and clackswomen would fraternize along the wonderful scintillating lines of light. After all, quite a few marriages had been brokered through the unsuspecting ether in the small hours of the night and sooner or later little clacksmen and women would be born.

Adora Belle had once told

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