Chapter 4: Looking for Trouble
Monte Gribeau's carriage and four made its way smartly along the road leading to Sto Helit. The farmlands here were flat, marred only by a few low ridgelines. Cabbage fields spread out in all direction. Every once in a great while, a tower would rise up into the sky, one of the many clacks towers which dotted the landscape, connecting the cities of Anhk-Morpork and Sto Helit.
"Mmmrrraowwwrrr."
Obediently, Runt stopped the carriage next to a farmhouse.
Runt climbed down from the driver's seat and opened the door for le Compte de Monte Gribeau. The count got out and squinted up at the tower that loomed above him. It was a high and bulky monster, like a god gone bad.
The aged farmer and his wife crept cautiously out of their hovel. "'Morning, y'Lardship?"
"Rrwwwrrr."
The couple backed away.
"The Count of Monte Gribeau grants you a good morning," Runt assured them. "He begs your pardon; he has a slight speech impediment."
"Mmrrrroaw."
"He may wish to buy your land and asks how much you want for it?"
"Oh, it's not for sale, y'Lardship. It's all we have."
"Mmmrr mmrr mrr."
"Do you know of any farmland having a clacks tower that is for sale?"
The old man shrugged. "We don't get out much."
"Rrwww.
"How did you happen to come to sell the right to build the clacks tower?"
"Oh, we didn't sell it. Yeah, the clack's people took it by something called 'immediate domain.' We didn't want to sell, but they had one of them lawyer fellows, and so it was all legal like."
His wife added, "We wuz supposed to get a dollar a year fer it, but we ain't never seen a pence. Lousy lying zombie."
"Even if we had got the dollar, it wouldn't half make up for crop loss from having to grow crops in that thing's shadow."
There was a rickety, weather-beaten chair out in the front yard. The count sat in it. "Rrrwwwrrr?"
"Would you be kind enough to show my master the papers you signed?"
"Didn't sign no papers. There weren't none, and even if there wuz, I don't know how to write."
Again, le Compte de Monte Gribeau squinted up at the tower. He made a decision and called Runt over. They carried on a long, whispered conversation. When it was over, the dwarf straightened up and shook his head.
"My master would like to buy your land from you for one year. For this privilege, he will pay this diamond."
The count held up a diamond as large as a hen's egg.
"During that year, you may stay on the land, you may farm the land, you may harvest the land, you may sell the harvest, and you may keep the proceeds of the harvest. You will not pay any rent. And, at the end of the year, the land will once again become yours."
The farmer scratched his head. "'Scuse me, mister. But it seems to me that your master would be giving me this diamond for a whole lot of nothing."
"Not for nothing. For one year, he will be the legal owner of the land."
The wife interrupted. "And what's something like that worth?" she asked suspiciously.
"Why," said Runt, "exactly one diamond."
CG
The Compte de Monte Gribeau's coach and four returned to Anhk-Morpork. Runt drove the coach expertly through the streets to the 8th Municipal Bank of Ankh-Morpork. Le Compte ascended the steps and went inside and crossed to Dibbler's private office.
"Monsieur le Compte!" gushed S-M-O-T Dibbler. "Back so soon? What a pleasant surprise!"
"RrrrRRRrRRr, maow, mrr."
"Quiet," translated Runt. "I have something to tell you in strictest confidence. Can you be trusted?"
"Oh, Monsieur le Compte! You have my personal guarantee!"
"Rrwwwrr. Yawl, murr, murr, murr."
"I have spies everywhere, questing, questing, questing."
"You mean like those delightful ladies you had over at your place last night?"
"Rrwwrr."
"Everywhere."
"Rrooouuuwww, mmrrrww, yarrr, maowww."
"They tell me that rats have gotten into the city's wheat supplies, destroying much of it. Tomorrow, when the good citizens of Anhk-Morpork arise expecting their morning coffee and buns, plfffft, no buns."
Dibbler's eyes opened wide.
"I need you to write me a sight draft for five thousand Anhk-Morpork dollars. I'll take it to the clacks office and order five-thousand-dollars' worth of Sto Helit buns to be delivered by early tomorrow morning. I'll make a fortune. I only hope I'm ordering enough. Remember, tell no one."
Dibbler had Bernard whip up the sight draft.
Once the count had departed for the nearest clacks office, Dibbler told Bernard, "Now, write up a sight draft on my own personal account for five thousand dollars."
Bernard raised a skeptical eyebrow. "There won't be much left if I do."
"I will order buns from Quirm. Then contact our largest customers and tell them that Dibbler recommends the immediate mass importation of buns."
CG
"Uh oh," mumbled Runt as he guided the carriage into the general work yard of the Avalanche and Quake Demolition Company. Trolls stopped what they were doing and glared at the dwarf. Chained down between chunks of broken stone and twisted iron, wardogs barked and jerked at their iron chains. A three-headed cerberus slavered at him. Momma Thunderbelch had always told him to stay out of places like this. He halted the coach and crawled down (very carefully) to open the door for le Compte de Monte Gribeau.
When the dogs saw Greebo, they went from frenzied to crazy. Calmly, the count strolled over to the nearest one. He raised one hand, and five needle-sharp claws slid silently out.
"Bow wowowow-WOW!" barked the dog when he saw what he was up against. The 'KILL!' command in his small, canine brain suddenly changed to 'RETREAT!' The wardog turned and ran until his chain ended, which flipped his feet out in front of him, and he landed on his tail.
The other dogs' homicidal barks became nervous whines.
"HEY!" A gigantic troll was tromping down the steps of the command trailer, the wooden steps bending with his tremendous rocky weight. "Wat you do wit' my dog?"
"RRwwwrrrmmm," replied Monte Gribeau.
"My master says he was just admiring your cute puppy."
"Puppy? Dat dog is killer!"
"Mrrmmrrrr rrhrr."
"My master says, 'Naw. He's just a cute little puppy'."
The count made his way to the cringing wardog, bent over its quivering form, patted it on its trembling head, and (blocking the troll's view) loosed a threatening hiss. The dog fainted. The count stood and turned back to the troll. "Rrwwrr."
"My master wishes me to introduce him. He is le Compte de Monte Gribeau. And you are . . ?"
"Avalanche," rumbled Avalanche, coming closer.
"Ah yes. Well, my master wishes to offer you a lot of money."
The moss over one eye rose. "How much? For wat?"
"Have you ever torn down a clacks tower?"
"Ha! No one tears dem down. More an' more jus' get built."
"Would you like to be the first?"
The troll thought about this.1 Then his lips parted as he grinned, showing diamond teeth.
Runt and the count returned home that evening just as hoards of garishly dressed young women were climbing out of their carriages.
"I haven't met anyone as vigorous as the count," commented one of the girls, "since my cat died. I named him Randy because, well, he was."
End Notes:
1 "Thought" being a somewhat overly broad use of the verb.