Hubert Turvey glanced nervously around. Being summoned to the Oblong Office to 'answer a few questions' by Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, was frightening. He'd heard that some people never returned and was sorely tempted to turn and run hysterically back to the Royal Bank's basement and the safety of his Financephalograph, the Glooper. However, his friend Moist von Lipwig, Master of the Mint and Royal Bank was standing next to him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder so he merely shuddered continuously until the Patrician looked up from his reading and smiled.

"Ah, Professor Turvey! Thank-you for taking time from your busy schedule. Do sit down, this should only take a few moments. Mr. von Lipwig tells me you have been making adjustments to your remarkable device to take into account the Undertaking. Could you please explain?"

'Could you please explain?' Magic words to a born academic and budding economic theorist. At once all nervousness vanished. Hubert stood tall (or at least less short and stout), grasped the tweed lapels on either side of his bow tie and took a deep breath.

"Well, milord, it's like this," he began stentoriously, "when you first announced your intention to use the dwarfs' tunnels and their proven techniques for excluding water from mines to build the Undertaking, I considered that this might have an especially beneficial effect on the city's economy. Because the Glooper was specifically designed to measure the economic effects of all activities . . ."

This went on for some time. Hubert was a brilliant man and obsessed with perfection. However, his social skills were well below his intellect so he was inclined to go on at greater length than any normal audience wanted to hear. In this case, though, his audience was Havelock Vetinari, an even more brilliant man (uh, thought to be a man) who was equally obsessed with perfection. The greater the detail Hubert expounded, the greater the intensity of the Patrician's attention. To von Lipwig's amazement, the man even took notes rather than relying on his capacious memory. When Hubert finally ran down enough to take the cup of tea Drumknott offered, Vetinari gently asked a few inciteful questions and then smiled.

"Thank-you, Professor! That was most enlightening. Is there anything the city can offer to further your worthy researches?"

Hubert looked a bit at a loss. "Uh, no, milord, I don't think so. I have ample personal funds and my Igor is most helpful. Mr. von Lipwig has generously made the bank's basement out of bounds for anyone else so I have plenty of room though it might be helpful if I had someone to take and keep records."

"Drumknott, find someone in the Guild of Secretaries and Personal Assistants who can help Professor Turvey and put them on the city payroll. His work is of utmost value and needs recording in an organized and readily available manner. Possibly that nephew of yours who collects stamps?"

Drumknott coughed softly. "I think not, milord, he is enrolled in the Guild of Historians but I will endeavor to find someone appropriate."

The Patrician nodded. "Gentlemen, do not let me detain you."

*****

A riot-startingly beautiful woman entered the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork and approached the chief teller.

"Excuse me," she began, "I'm from the Guild of Secretaries and Personal Assistants? I'm looking for a Mr. Hubert Turvey? Where might I find him?"

"Mr. Turvey? My goodness. No one has ever asked for him before. Let me get the manager."

The chief teller hurried over to a nearby desk where a young man sat looking at ledgers. She whispered in his ear earning a look of considerable surprise. But he rose and came over.

"Good morning, I'm Hammersmith Coot, the floor manager. I understand you want to see Mr. Turvey Miss . . .?"

"Igorina. I'm from the Guild of Secretaries and Personal Assistants and the Patrician's Chief Clerk told the Guild that Mr. Turvey was in need of my assistance."

That stopped Hammersmith in his tracks. The Patrician's Chief Clerk, the man who was Lord Vetinari's personal assistant and right hand, the man who, more often than most of the city knew, spoke for the Patrician had directed this stunning woman to help Hubert Turvey. Hubert Turvey!! Would he even realize his luck, Hammersmith wondered? But this was a directive from the Palace so he nodded and smiled pleasantly.

"Of course. If you would just come this way, please. Mr. Turvey's laboratory is in the basement. Do you, perchance, have a raincoat? It is awfully wet down there."

Igorina smiled and, reaching into her capacious purse, withdrew a folding umbrella. Coot nodded approvingly and led her to the elevator and indicated the 'B' button.

"I would escort you to him but unfortunately I didn't come as well-prepared as you. But he'll be easy to spot. He's rather short and stout and has very bright red hair which he keeps in a flat top. Best of luck."

When the elevator door opened she could see why raingear was approved wear. Hundreds of miles of glass tubing crisscrossed the vast area and leaked constantly. She looked around and saw two men pondering part of the array. One of them looked up and with an expression of amazement called out, "Igorina!" He held out both his arms and she ran to him, laid her head on his chest and began to sob.

"Igor, oh, Igor! No one told me you were here. I had no idea . . ."

"There, there," he hugged her tight and patted her hair, "It'th going to be alright. Marthtur Turvey ith a genius but not the thort who will make thitizens come and try to burn thingth down. He has a wonderful laugh but knowth how to control it. Are you the athithtant Lord Vetinari thent?"

"Yes," Igorina squeaked.

"Marthtur Turvey," Igor turned to the short, stout man in a sou'wester, "thith ith my cousin Igorina. Thee will be a marvelouth addition to our effortth. Igorina, Marthtur Turvey, the thity's greateth economic theoritht."

Hubert was suitably gobsmacked. The only woman besides his mother who he'd ever had much contact with was his late aunt Topsy. And now here was not just a woman, but a stunningly beautiful one, who was supposed to work for him? He stood opening and closing his mouth until a faint memory of Mr. von Lipwig's wife prodded him into doing something. Hesitantly, he stuck out his hand.

"P—pleased to meet you, Miss Igorina. Uh, welcome to the Glooper."

"Oh, thank-you Professor Turvey. I do so want to be helpful. It's just—just that I can't be a surgeon like the rest of my clan. I'm an excellent seamstress and take very good care with detail but—but I can't stand the sight of blood! So, I went to the Guild School hoping to find a position that I can do. And now I find that you have my cousin Igor working for you. This is—is so amazing . . ."

"And thee's come to the right plathe, hathn't she, Marthtur?" Igor hugged his cousin tighter, "blood may be thicker than water but we find water to be much more utheful. Everyone elthe in the clan thought thee would be a fine eye surgeon becauthe her attenthun to detail is tho good but that attenthun ith going to be jutht what we need here.

Igorina, are you going to thtay here or do you have lodgingth?"

"Is there room for me? Right now, I'm sharing a room with three other students and having some space of my own would be wonderful."

A problem to solve! Just what Hubert needed to regain his equilibrium. Again, he straightened up and grasped his lapels.

"We can't have our new secretary living like a student in a dormitory! Can we convert one of the storage rooms into an apartment suitable for a lady?"

"Yeth we can, Marthtur, and I'll get on it right away. Igorina, you jutht thee about getting your thingth packed up and brought here. By the time you come back, I'll have everything arranged."

After Igorina left to go pack Igor explained to Hubert, "Poor Igorina wath rather the black theep of the family, I'm afraid. From infanthy whenever the thlightetht pin prick of blood appeared, thee'd begin vomiting. The family tried everything but it'th jutht one of those thingth. But we're going to have to be exthra careful with the glathth. No cutth allowed."

Hubert nodded. "Uh, I'll just go see Mr. von Lipwig and ask if some of the furniture from the President's Suite could be moved down here for her. It's going to be hard to find things as pretty as she is, though."

"Oh, pthaw, Marthtur! All the Igorinath are gorgeouth. That'th why Dr. Lawn had them thet up a cothmetic thurgery clinic over on Thlippery Back. They're walking advertithementh for their work!"

*****

Grag Helge Gruvdottir watched impassively while the crew of dwarfs unloaded a pallet of boxes from the steam train. She raised a bushy eyebrow at the stumpy figure that got off with them. So, this was a golem, was it? When word that Vetinari was sending one to begin the process of deliberately mining for Axles, she'd snickered behind her beard. A golem? In a dwarf mine? That would be something to see!

But instead of a lumpy, eight-foot tall, animated statue, this golem was no taller than her brother Snarky. Interesting. She wondered how they'd done that but given the other surprises that had come out of Ankh-Morpork in the last several years, it was merely a mild one. And the Low Queen had said that one was to be given access to all the Axles in Überwald so that just possibly it might discover a way to find more—on purpose. That would be a feat. She walked over to it.

"Greetings. I am Helge Gruvdottir. The Low Queen has tasked me with giving you access to the Axles in the mines of Überwald. Now that your luggage is unloaded, is there anything else you require?"

"Greeting Helge Gruvdottir. I Am Shelger. I Am Tasked With Determining If There Is Anything The Axles Have In Common. The Vice Chancellor Of Unseen University Believes That They All Give Off A Tone And My Luggage Is A Collection Of Devices That Can Detect It. If All The Axles Have The Same Tone, My Chem Can Be Modified To Allow Me To Detect It Through The Rock. And If This Turns Out To Be The Case It Will Be Very Profitable For The Dwarfs."

Grag Gruvdottir was taken aback. Deliberately mine for Axles—and find them? 'Profitable' wasn't the word, since that she couldn't think of one that implied that much greater profit. Phew! Gold would run like water.

"It would, indeed, Shelger. Very well, just follow me. We will go to the center of Schmaltzberg where you can set up one of your devices next to the Axle that powers the entire city."

The squad of guards at the gate leading down into Schmaltzberg from Bonk looked with great suspicion (bordering on hostility) at Shelger until Grag Gruvdottir showed the draht on her wrist. The guards snapped to attention, saluted and opened the gates.

"Very few dwarfs here in Bonk-Schmaltzberg have ever seen a golem, Mr. Shelger. They thought you might be some sort of troll. And even with the Koom Valley Accord in place, mistrust of trolls runs deep among my people. However, they will pass the word so you should have no trouble going about your work."

"Other Dwarfs Will Believe Them?"

"Oh, yes. Gossip is the dwarfs national sport and everyone who stops by the gate will be told the story of your coming. Then they will take it down into the city and tell everyone they meet. Word will probably get down into the lower reaches before you do."

"That Sounds Faster Than The Clacks."

"But not as accurate. Dwarfs consider gossip as an art form, one to be polished and refined with each retelling. By the time you get to the lowest tunnels some may be confused to meet you the way you really are instead of the way they expect. Such is life in the Dark."

Gruvdottir led the golem and the train of dwarfs carrying the sonographs down the ramp into Schmaltzberg proper and from there to the elevators that carried miners down and broken ore up. They were large and ran constantly.

"These Are Part Of The Mechanisms Powered By The Axle?" Shelger asked.

"Almost everything that moves in the city is powered by the Axle," the Grag replied, "We do have a few p0nies to transport the rails, cables and wheels so that new shafts can be connected to the Axle but other than that, the Axle runs everything."

"I Understand Now Why They Are So Highly Valued."

"That and they are so rare that new mines have to wait many years to obtain one. And essential? Without an Axle a mine can only go so deep before it either begins to fill with water or the air gets so foul no one can survive. If this idea of the Vice-Chancellor's works out and there are more Axles than we have heretofore believed, there are many mines to reopen which had to be abandoned before all the minerals could be extracted.

You will be greatly rewarded," she continued, "should this occur. But tell me, what does a golem do with money?"

"There Are Many Golems Yet To Be Found And Freed," Shelger answered gravely, "Those Of Us Who Are Free Are Still A Small Percentage. Whatever I Earn, I Will Take Back To The Golem Trust. We Then Buy Owned Golems And Give Them To Themselves. Freedom Is Not Free."

"And the owned golems.. Why do they not rebel?"

"We Were Crafted To Work. If We Are To Be Free It Must Be Through Work. By Our Own Hand Or None!"

Grag Gruvdottir blinked in surprise. So, this was the golem revolution, was it? Work to buy your way out of bondage and then work to free others. There was something so—so responsible about it. She nodded in approval. No wonder the Low Queen had approved letting the golem set up its devices around the Devices. Somehow it just seemed—right!

*****

Six months had passed and the short row of sonagraphs sat across the room from Hex's console.

++++//So, there are only a small number of Axles. That is interesting but it does go far to explain why they are so valued and why the list of mines waiting for another to be excavated is so long—and so old.//++++

"Indeed," the Vice Chancellor took off his glasses and polished the lenses, "However, as we hoped, the record of the tone seems to be identical in each of them. This gives us a target to aim at and a way to test if the modifications to a chem do really allow Shelger to detect them through the rock. Now, how does one go about adjusting a chem?"

++++//That is a question for the Archchancellor's brother. Heretofore, all that has been done is modify the instructions, as the Patrician has done with his employed golems. Trying to install a new ability may be challenging and possibly more in the line of theology than of magic.//++++

"Then I'd better get the Archchancellor to ask him. The Guild of Priests, Sacerdotes and Occult Intermediaries is stroppy enough about golems being able to talk and being referred to as 'People of Clay'. Asking them to get involved in giving one a hugely valuable talent that will result in freeing all the rest of the owned ones is not likely to get much of a positive response!"

++++//Good observation//++++

****

After a (normally) sumptuous dinner, the Archchancellor, Vice Chancellor and the Chief Priest of Blind Io met in the Uncommon Room of Unseen University over port and tobacco. Conversation (as usual) had been minimal during the meal so there was a bit of small talk once the pipes were lit and the port decanted. Then, the Chief Priest set down his glass and in his usual straightforward way asked, "Okay, you two, what's this all 'bout. And don't spin me a line about maintainin' good relationships 'cross the city. You want somethin', it's pretty obvious, so out with it."

Mustrum Ridcully smiled at his brother. "Not much gets past y', Hughnon. You're right; we do. Stibbons, here, has been researchin' the Axle that drives the Undertakin' and has discovered a way that might lead t'uncoverin' more of 'em. However, it requires seriously changin' the chem of a golem. Vetinari and Carrot know how to add to the chem but changin' it is probably more tec'nical than they're up t'. We need t' give the golem what 'mounts t' an entirely new sense. There's nothin' in the Library that anyone can find 'bout how to do it so the Librarian believes that it was never written down. So who among the Guild of Priests, Sacerdotes and Occult Intermediaries has a tradition of orally handin' down the instructions?"

The younger Ridcully brother sagged slightly and a slightly stricken expression covered his face. "Who knows how t'animate a golem these days? No one that I know of. They were put under interdict a couple o' centuries ago as bein' abominations in the eyes o' the gods, an unholy semi-lifeform. Havin' the Patrician declare the free ones People o' Clay hasn't gone down any too well with the Guild, and you want to give one a new talent? I don't see that passin' muster, at all."

"Might it help," Stibbons asked, "if the priesthood knew how valuable the talent might be? How much more money it would bring into the city and from there to the offering plates? The Axle is the very heart of the Undertaking. Without it, the whole venture is pretty much a waste of time and energy. Think, sir, how much would Klatch or Quirm or even Genua pay for one? How much would the dwarfs pay for the rights to use the talent to directly mine for Axles? But the golem needs a hypersensitive sense of touch in a very specific spectrum of sound and we don't know anyone who can do that. It's all about 'holy words', sir. You know that. Surely there is someone?"

Hughnon carefully packed his pipe in silence and sat drumming his fingers for a while. Then he lifted the pipe up overhead for the obligatory micro lightning bolt to light it, sucked it into full, glowing life and blew a smoke ring.

"That's a pretty trenchant line of reasonin', Vice Chancellor, and one that I 'spect the Patrician is already followin'. And that means that if the Guild doesn't volunteer to help out on its own, we're liable to get a sharply worded 'request' t'do so. I'll take it back to the Street and make a few pointed suggestions of m'own about 'the good of the city' and get back to y'. Might take a week or so, though."

Mustrum snorted. "Th' Axles have been lyin' deep in the rock for millions of years. Another couple of weeks can hardly matter. Thanks, old man. If anyone can get this rollin', you can."

*****

"Igor?"

"Yeth, Igorina?"

"Master Turvey—he's been looking at me rather—oddly."

"I know. I think he'th in love. He probably doethn't know it himthelf becauthe he'th never done anything outthide of hith work. Feelingth like thith are completely new to him."

"In love? With me? Oh, my. What should I do?"

"That dependth on how you feel about it. What do you think about him?"

Igorina put one hand to her lips and held it's elbow with the other, pensively. "Well, I'm not sure. He's a very smart man, though a little strange. Of course, 'strange' has its own attraction. And he's always very considerate and kind. What would the clan think?"

"I think your mother and aunth Igorina would thay, 'Go for it, girl!' He'th a geniuth and very well-off. The Patrithian thinkth motht highly of him and hith betht friend ith Pothtmarthter, and Marthter of the Royal Mint, tho he'th very well connected. And, ath you thaid, he'th kind and conthiderate. What elthe doth a girl want?"

Igorina pursed her lips and smiled slyly. "Well, being 'hung' like an Igor is something to look forward to. At least that's what all my aunts told me. And if he isn't, well, the clan can fix that. Thank-you. I believe I will encourage him—gently."

"Thmart girl!"

*****

Two weeks had passed and Hughnon Ridcully invited his brother and his Vice Chancellor over to the Temple of Blind Io for aperitifs. Once everyone's glasses were filled Mustrum lifted his and said, "Cheers! So, Hughnon, have y'any news for us? I'm presumin' y'do."