“No dashing around on mad stallions? Nothing to make us cheer? No wild dreams?” said Sacharissa.
“Well, I’m already tidying the foyer.”
Sacharissa’s eyes narrowed. “Tidying the foyer? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Moist von Lipwig?”
“No, I’m serious. We have to clean up ourselves before we can clean up the economy,” said Moist, and felt his brain shift seductively into a higher gear. “I intend to throw out what we don’t need. For example, we have a room full of useless metal in the vault. That’ll have to go.”
Sacharissa frowned. “Are you talking about the gold?”
Where had that come from? Well, don’t try to back away, or she’ll go for the throat. Tough it out! Besides, it’s good to see her looking astonished.
“Yes,” he said.
“You can’t be serious!”
The notebook was instantly flipped open, and Moist’s tongue began to gallop. He couldn’t stop it. It would have been nice if it had talked to him first.
– the old game is back on again |
Terry Pratchett, Making Money