Afterwards
It was an event that had been planned and anticipated by hundreds over the past fifty years. When it finally happened it was nothing like any of the planners had anticipated, none of them except one.
"LORD HAVELOCK VETINARI."
"Indeed." There was no mistaking him, not that Death was in the habit of making such mistakes. His hair was as dark as it had ever been, but it was certainly now the darkness of dyes not youth. Vetinari had even allowed the industrious young dwarves who formulated it to use his image on the bottle, for a small consideration. The face too, the essential features were as they had always been, but the skin clung to them in a way it had not in his younger days. Lord Vetinari, onetime Patrician of Anhk-Morepork, looked down on his cooling body, sat in the armchair that had done duty for his bed in recent years after the pains in his leg had gotten too much, customary evening coco slowly developing a skin.
"IT IS TIME."
"I had gathered. Very well." He paused for a moment. "I don't suppose..."
"YES."
"I had wondered if I might see Leonard again, I always felt slightly guilty that I could not give him the attention he deserved in our little talks."
"I COULD NOT SAY. BUT IT IS POSSIBLE."
"Very well then. And let no one honestly say that I left the city worse than I found her."
"INDEED."
"I do not think anyone, even to this day, even their King himself, has realised my master-stroke."
The two began to walk, off into that lightless land.
"WHO?"
"Trolls. There is nothing better to keep a state stable than strong institutions with strong institutional memory. Humans forget within a handful of years and while Dwarves remember they argue and debate so much that they might prove white to be black. But Trolls, the Trolls will remember. And the cultural memory of trolls has a machinelike quality. A human might pretend 2 and 2 are 5 if it suits him and a dwarf might argue that the 2 was in fact a 3 all along but to a troll, 2 and 2 are 4 and that is that. Humans forget the lessons of my time in office already, the dwarves will remember me, I have no doubt, for centuries but the trolls, the trolls will understand this city for millennia."
The figures vanished. The body cooled in the late autumn evening. The coco raced it. By the time the nurse came to check it was too late to see who had won.
Checksum of Consistency liked the night shift. He had always felt that night time was when he could really be a goblin. Truthfully he didn't see much point in daytime, it was a silly thing for humans. Dwarves liked the dark and Trolls had only stopped being nocturnal because humans weren't. Plus it was quiet, mostly because there weren't many humans around. Humans loved being noisy, as if they worried they might vanish if people didn't know they were there.
Still it did mean he had to deal with stuff like this. A priority message from Commander Angua, for His Grace, in one of the old Watch cyphers. In theory that meant Checksum didn't know what it said, but really even the new Watch cyphers wern't that good, on account of Watchmen having to know how to decode them. But Crundells paid for direct service, messages run directly to the back door upon arrival, very fancy. And Checksum didn't like taking Stoneface bad news, it made him grumpy. And this was very bad news. Maybe even sad news. Her Ladyship would think so, even if old Stoneface didn't. He didn't like taking her sad news either, he still remembered how upset she had been to hear about Lord Young Sam being in The Free Hospital, and that had only been for a broken arm.
He rang the bell by the back door and waited. A few minutes later the latch slid back and a familiar face floated into view.
"Checksum of Consistency, urgent message is it?"
"Yessir." Willikins had been the family butler until a few years ago and was now the night doorman as a sort of working-retirement.
"Bad news?" Willikins leant down Checksum's level.
"Dunno sir." Checksum said as he gave a clear nod.
"I see."
"Someone hasn't died."
"Glad to hear it."
"The Dark One."
A moment of confusion, followed by a studied look. "Alright lad, give it here." Willikins looked pensive as he turned the flimsy over and over in his hands "Can you do me a favour lad? Send a clacks to the station and get a pair of First Class tickets for the 11:15 to Anhk and another to Ramkin House to let them know to meet His Lordship off the train?"
"Won't he want the Dawn Flyer?"
"He might lad, but seeing as I misheard you just now and didn't realise this was high priority he'll only read it after breakfast." There was a slight pause and his face softened. "No point waking them over this lad, he isn't getting any deader. And I don't doubt Commander Angua would prefer to be able to get at least a half a days work in before His Lordship ends up hovering over her shoulder."
"Right. Sorry I wasn't clear and all that. In a rush I was." He paused. "Better get meself back."
Lady Rust was awoken by the soft but oddly penetrating knock that she had come to associate with Sir Rufus, head of The Anhk-Morepork Civil Service. It was a knock that she was used to hearing, by her estimation it had interrupted one in five nights ever since she had secured the Patricianship.
"Yes?" Sometimes she wondered how old Vetinari had managed it, but then again the rumours had always been that he barely slept.
"Its His Lordship, Your Ladyship."
"Really Sir Rufus have you," she stopped, signature acerbic sarcasm half way out her mouth. There was a slight tremor to the man's voice, decided uncharacteristic even in the worst of times. "You mean Vetinari don't you?"
"Yes Your Ladyship. The nurse summoned The Watch a half hour ago."
"Damn, damn, damn. OK, tell the kitchens to get some breakfast up here and send a runner for Moist." She said, knowing full well both orders were likely already underway. "Cancel the meeting of The Hygiene Committee and send the appropriate prepared statement to The Times, was it suspicious?"
"Not as far as The Watch have been able to determine."
"So that's statement seven then. And start allocating appointments to the Guilds, and I will see Dr Sanguineous in 45 minutes, tell him 30 so he can be late, to make damn sure this wasn't an assassination."
"Very good Your Ladyship." She heard him withdraw.
She strode over to her wardrobe and pulled her mourning dress out of the drawer. And it had been shaping up to be a quiet week.
"Get up dear. Its urgent." Adora Belle thrust a steaming mug into her husband's chest as he blinked slowly awake. Sum of Primes had woken her over an hour ago when the Watch had been summoned, The Palace's clerk was currently sat in the kitchen.
"Hmm?" Moist took a sip. "Shrewplorgamatargranthigan!" He stopped and shook his head. It must be important if Spike had made Splot, she usually didn't like him drinking it. "Who's died?"
"Old Vetinari. Good guess by the way."
"And I guess I'm needed at the palace. Right. Can you,"
"Suit's hanging on the washroom door, Rufus' messenger is downstairs and his coach is waiting outside. I've got the boys in the attic ready to send any messages you have and there's a bacon roll on the way."
Moist had adapted most of his old skills to government service, but he suspected no one realised how much his skill at quickchange had been necessary to keep up with the demands of two Patricians. By the time he emerged the promised breakfast had only just arrived.
"You're smiling. I'd stop that if I were you, you don't want people to get the wrong impression."
Moist set his face in its carefully developed mask of neutrality.
"Why were you smiling?"
"Because he's pulled it off. I realised what was going on when he retired."
"I recall you spent most of the rest of the day laughing."
"I don't think you can trust anyone with as much power as Vetinari once had, but by the time he retired the Guilds, The Watch, The Palace Service, they were all powerful and stable enough to make sure that if we ended up with another Winder or Snapcase the city would be able to eject them. Retiring was the ultimate test, can the city keep spinning with him in the big chair? By having died in his private apartment without having to return to power or anything he proves he fixed the city, see? Plus if Vetinari can retire to a modest." Spike snorted. "OK, reasonably modest post-Patrician lifestyle, well isn't that the ultimate precedent?" He started scribbling a note to Stanley to get ready for a special re-issue of the old 1p Vetinari head stamps and get some designs ready for a commemorative set.
"I do know a lot of people thought he might try and hang on, they do say he had a very close relationship with Lady Margolotta."
"He does. Did. But what's the point in that?"
"I also know a lot of people expected you to run for Patrician."
"It would never have worked. Back before Vetinari, maybe, sure. But today? Former con-artist running the Post Office? Sure. The Bank? Amusing. The Tax Office? Practically a job requirement. But the Oval Office? Back in the bad old days people would just abandon the subtlety you know? Today? Unthinkable." He kissed Spike, grabbed the sandwich in his off hand, passed the flimsies to her and pushed out of the door. "Apologise to John for me, I probably won't be back to take him to the footie."
"I'm sure Mr Statuario will be happy to take him, I know he's taking Carrara."
It had been a decidedly political funeral, that is to say lots of long speeches without any sort of content, lots of standing around, which he feet were still irritated about, and mountains of pointlessly small sandwiches and glasses of wine, or in his case fruit juice. Plus a seemingly unending number of majors, nobles, kings, grags and other assorted individuals who felt they needed to speak with the famous Commander Vimes for, as far as he could tell, no reason. It irritated him even more that almost none of them, not even the nobby ones, felt that Commander Angua warranted more than a brief chat, Burgomaster Tantony aside.
Still it had been good to catch up with some people, like old Captain Thighbiter who had been recruited into the Smaltzberg Guard, or Sergeant Cuivre who'd gone back to Quirm after his probation, or...
Come to think of it, it had been quite enjoyable once all the people who thought they were important had run out.
He had no idea however why, as things had finally started winding down and even the wizards had started slowing down on the buffet and had started making their plans for dinner, that one of the Palace staff had passed him a note requesting his presence here at Mr Honeyplace's suite of offices. Out of habit he'd arrived early and a legal clerk had directed him to room full of old and well maintained furniture and handed him a cup coffee so rich it could have opened a bank account.
About five minutes later he was joined by a serious faced lady with mostly white hair. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him.
"Mister Vimes?"
"Miss Susan."
"I'm surprised to see you here."
"I'm surprised to be here."
"Is Sybil doing well?"
"Very. We're in the city for another week if you want to come to tea. I am sure she would love the chance to catch up." It was true, Sybil seemed to enjoy being the the presence of another Dutchess, even if the Duchy of Sto Helit would have been considered small even by the standards of Lancre.
"I'm sure I'll find time. And how is Sam?"
"Doing very well, although I can't understand what at." Sam had always been a bright and inquisitive lad, but he'd really blossomed at The Frout Academy, although Vimes had never quite forgotten the application interview. Miss Susan had been acting headmistress at that time and had spoken to each pair of prospective parents individually and quite frankly she could have taught Vimes a thing or two about making interviewees feel uncomfortable. "You're looking well." He said, mostly for something to fill the silence, but it was true, Miss Susan look like she had aged maybe five years in the last ten.
Miss Susan gave him a look like a person awarding a begrudging passing grade and checked her watch. "Less than a minute to go. It can't just be the two of us can it?"
The door opened, almost on queue, and in trotted another familiar figure.
"Your Grace, Your Grace, I wonder if you have any notion of why we have been asked here?" It was Mr Bent, exactly on time as always.
"No idea, sorry." Miss Susan said nothing. A few moments passed and then a legal clerk opened the main office door and didn't so much cough as create a slight disruption in the air to draw their attention.
"Thank you for your patience sirs, madam, Mr Honeyplace is ready for you.
Vimes didn't know much about Mr Honeyplace, although every copper knew the firm of Morecombe, Slant and Honeyplace thanks to Mr Slant's role as the city's most formidable defence lawyer and the Ramkin estate was handled by Mr Morecombe. As they entered the room Vimes' eyes drifted from the young legal clerk, past the figure sitting in the ancient office chair to the face of Sir Rufus Drumknott who was sat at the large conference table, before realising they had missed something important. Snapping back to the main office chair he finally noticed the emaciated grey man in the unremarkable and slightly out of date grey suit. He'd heard that some vampires could turn invisible, but Mr Honeyplace seemed to have mastered the trick of being so uninteresting that your eyes forgot to tell you about him.
"Please be seated." The same applied to his voice, in fact Vimes suspected the coffee had been a defence mechanism. Even through the caffeine he started to feel drowsy as Mr Honeyplace droned through the entirely needless introductions and pleasantries.
"I now come to the purpose of this meeting. Firstly I should advise that Sir Rufus' presence is as an official observer for the city, at his own and Lady Rust's request. He has no official part in these proceedings. I trust there is no objection." There wasn't, but then again no one knew what they were objecting to. "In that case I may begin. As I expect you will have surmised you have been asked here today to fulfil your roles as executors of the estate of the late Lord Vetinari, onetime Patrician of this city."
The shock hit Vimes about half a sentence late. "Wait, what?"
"You were unaware Your Grace?"
"I bloody well was."
"Bloody, yes, indeed, I was advised by his Lordship that he had selected executors to ensure the highest and most visible standards of probity, precision and common sense. Naturally it did not occur to question if he had taken the expected step of ensuring the executors had been notified of their role. Do you wish to withdraw?"
Vimes looked around the room, but everyone in it was someone who had mastered deadpan. "No, go on."
"Very well." A large folder seemed to appear from nowhere in front of Honeyplace. "The first stipulation of the will has already been undertaken, Mr Beedle is currently handing out Impostatic copies of a report commissioned by my office into the death of Lord Vetinari. You will see that in section seven confirmation that the injury his Lordship received during the Gonne incident and the report of a physical examination of the Fool's Guild member Charlie, who has in the past occasionally acted as a stand in for his Lordship, to confirm that he lacks the signs of such an injury. The report concludes that the death was natural and the result of a heart failure brought on by his Lordship's deteriorating health, attributed to a long and stressful career in public service. You will note that it has been countersigned by Dr Sanguineous of The Assassin's Guild, Captain Littlebottom of The City Watch, Dr Hix of Unseen University, Igor of the Sybil Vimes Free Hospital, Igor and Igor of Igor, Igor and Igor private medical consultants and Madam Sally of Cockbill Street. I am therefore satisfied as to the nature of his Lordship's death and, unless any of you have any concerns, I feel we can move on."
It took a few moments for everyone to realise he was waiting on an answer.
"I trust Cheery. If she's satisfied so am I."
"This is not my area of expertise, I defer to His Grace." Mr Bent answered. Miss Susan just nodded.
"Very good. In that case we can dispense with these conditional clauses." Honeyplace slowly and methodically leafed through the pages until he reached about the 80% point, picked them up and transferred them to a second waiting folder. "The remainder of the will stipulates how the Vetinari family assets are to disposed of. As you may well be aware since the passing of Lady Roberta Meserole Lord Vetinari was the sole surviving member of the Vetinari family, his line is officially extinct. It is also of note that the estate's assets have been broadly dormant for several decades, His Lordship was not in the habit of making speculative investments while inhabiting of office of Patrician and was satisfied, I believe, with a simple investment plan once he retired."
"That is essentially correct, yes. There were a few small licencing agreements as well." Mr Bent provided.
"Indeed. In fact Mr Bent, I wonder if you might furnish us with the current state of the estate."
"That information is available to the executors, yes. The Vetinari estate produced an after tax income of AM$572,608.16."
"And this is investments?"
"It is, yes."
"The terms of the will, special stipulations aside, are in fact rather brief. A legacy bequest of some AM$1,000 a year is to be paid to Prudence Standweather, Vincent McKeen and Gordon Wallice, the three members that formed his Lordship's household at time at death. Beyond this funds are to be made available, with the consent of The Anhk-Morepork Times, to publish a compilation of that publication's back catalogue of crossword puzzles with any profits due back to the estate's trust. Such personal objects as considered appropriate, there is an attached list of recommendations, are to be auctioned for additional funds. The remainder of the estate, including three city properties, their furnishings, five active merchant vessels and the freehold of some 15,000 acres of Sto planes agricultural land is to be placed into a trust formed initially by the Will's executors, to include the firm of Morcombe, Slant and Honeyplace, and to utilised to the following purposes:
Firstly a fund not to exceed 5% of the annual interest is to be made available to The City Watch for the maintenance to new and first year recruits of under-privileged or foreign backgrounds intended to act as an inducement to recruitment.
Secondly an annual tournament with a prize of AM$5,000 to be established in the city in Lord Vetinari's name for the game of Hnaflbaflwhiflsnifltafl.
Third the remained of the fund to be used for the purpose of providing scholarships and apprenticeship fees to those citizens of Anhk-Morepork and its environs for the entry into the city's many institutions of learning and guilds. This fund to be issued on the criteria of individual intellect and to those citizens from less-advantaged backgrounds. The exact details of which to determined by the trustees." There was a long pause. "Those are the only stipulations."
"Well the boots money will certainly come in handy I can say that."
Drumknott met Vimes' gave with slightly red eyes. "Boots money?"
"There are a lot of little expenses that pile up when you first join The Watch. Decent boots, a second shirt, armour polish, the little things that you usually deal with one at a time that you have to deal with all at once when you start. I know it puts some recruits off, or else leaves them without much to live on till next payday. Can be a bit rough. Surprised his Lordship knew about it."
"Your Grace, that is, Lady Sto Heilit."
"Miss will do."
"Very well, um, Miss Sto Heilit. Do you happen to know what the usual rate for an indenture happens to be?"
"I do as it happens Mr Bent, but surely we are going to start sooner than that. If the aim is truly to help the most disadvantaged in society the mustn't we start by providing the basic education that that would allow a child to even reach the indenture level or to qualify for a place of higher learning? And then there is, to use Mister Vimes' terminology, boot money. Pens, paper, candles to do homework by, perhaps even a small stipend to ensure that the child doesn't feel the need to abandon their education to assist with the family budget."
"Yes. I see. Very well, perhaps you might give that topic some thought and we can arrange to discuss it, I suppose we should arrange a subsequent meeting to discuss this?"
"Well I am only in the city for a week, but I am sure I can extend the stay. Sybil might well have some ideas, she did a lot of reading on this stuff when we set up the Free Hospital trust."
"It might" Honeyplace's voice drifted into the conversation. "do well to see if we might approach representatives of the guild entry committees as well. I do know that Mr Slant has become somewhat frustrated at the narrow and often frustrating sheltered views many of the young men who enter the profession have. This might provide an acceptable way of procuring some fresh blood, a consideration that might warrant an adjustment of rates."
This took a moment to register.
"We should get Moist in on this." Said Vimes after a short pause. "If ever there was a man who could convince a body to give away something for free. Plus he has a lot of pull with Sir Harry and The Guild of Railway Engineers, The Surveyors Guild, a few others."
"Perhaps then Mister Vimes you can discuss with with Lady Sybil and let us know when you want us to drop by. Outside school hours, of course?"
Frankie "Sniffly" Knibbs shifted uneasily in the chair. No one had told him to expect this, back when old Mr Nobbs had convinced him to put his name down a decade ago. He'd not really thought about education, leastways not beyond letters and similar with old Father O'Noodle at the Unusual-Reform-Allied-Traditionalist-Radical-Reformed-Revised Omnist charity school. Now here he was, pulled away from his work at Teamer and Spools ("Of course you should go lad, paid time too, good for the company's image!") to answer a bunch of questions for The Times.
"Mr Knibbs?" The dwarf sat opposite him had her beard in a series of neat, businesslike plats with metal clips and was looking at him with the a focused expression made more intense by her eyeshadow and a helmet with one of those fashionable decorative noseguards.
"Yes?"
"Aged 22 of Chittling Street, currently a junior press-setter at Teamer and Spools?"
"Yes? Well, um, no as it happens. Mr Spools had me made up to full setter last week." The dwarf made a note in a notebook. Frankie recognised the short, harsh strokes of dwarven shorthand.
"Very good. That is, congratulations. So as I explained in my letter I am doing a profile piece on some of the first group of Vetinari Scholars for the 10th anniversary of the founding of the Vetinari Foundation."
"Yes?"
"So, its just a few questions, nothing too heavy, and we'd like Otto to take a few photos as well. Can't say right now if we'll use them but if not, no harm done."
"Yes?"
"Very well. So, tell me, you are living on Chittling Street, is that where you grew up?"
"Yes? Well, partly. We moved in with my aunt when my dad left. I was 6."
"Was that very upsetting?"
"Was it? Um, no, not as I recall. He'd been in the Tanty a lot."
"And you still live there now? With your mother and aunt?"
"And my uncle and my other aunt and her friend Ms Tebbin, and my little cousin Joeseph, yes."
"Crowded?"
"Well, that's the city for you, but I'm looking to get my own place soon. Just a room you understand but the current tenants are moving out end of the month."
There was a flurry of note taking.
"And why did you apply for the Foundation's assistance?"
"Um, well, someone suggested it like and, well, I've always been good with my hands and Father O'Noodle always said I caught on fast."
She flipped to a different page "That's Father Partly O'Noodle of the URATRRR Mission, charity school, laundrette, pawnshop, stationery supplier, pin emporium and coffee shop?"
"Yes. I think they're looking to start up the garment repairs again." Another note.
"Are you an Omnian Mr Kipps?"
"Yes? Well Father O'Noodle used to say everyone is an Omnian, some just don't know it."
"And are you?"
"Erm. Not really." Thankfully no note was taken.
"So, what do you recall about the process?"
"Ah, well I put my name down at the local Bluelight, The Watch kept the local role in the early years, before they got enough of their own offices. And a few weeks later I got a letter telling me to be at Ramkin Manor at a certain time. They had a bunch of people in the garden asking these lists of questions. Some of them were pretty strange now I recall. Not difficult like but, strange."
"Do you remember any of them?"
Frankie's face went a little distant. "What's the point of knowing the political history of Howunderland?" He said after a moment. "I didn't, so I said so but I also said it would probably help if you needed to go there, or if you wanted to work with someone from there, or it might just be interesting."
"A lot of people have mentioned similar questions."
"Yes? Well then we was, were, given a cup of tea and a bun and we went home. A few weeks later I get another letter and I was invited to a formal interview."
There was a long pause. "And?"
"Well, it was really strange. It was inside the hall this time and I remember being sat across from the three of them, Old Duke Vimes, Miss Susan and, um, I dunno, some laywer. Stoneface, he just asked me a load of questions about me, my, mum and similar, where I lived and if so and so was still running their shop at somewhere. Strange though, he seemed to think that the Uratta had had a clacks tower, I told him I thought he must have confused it with the Peculiar Unorthodox Potatoe Church, over the way. Miss Susan, Miss Susan asked me a load of questions about the weird questions I had had on the outdoors interview, kept asking me them again or asking other questions that made it sound like I was wrong or daft or whatever."
The Dwarf (was it too late to ask her name? had the letter said and he forgot?) nodded. He remembered that Miss Susan, or the Dutchess of Sto Helit as he now knew she was, had famously disappeared one Hogswatch a few years back. The paper had said that all The Watch had found was a stack of end-of-year school reports, some personal carriers advice letters, a few letters of recommendation for The Foundation and whole rooms filled with stacks of interview questions. Hang on, hadn't a lady dwarf written that article?
"Anyway, I left thinking I'd made a pigs breakfast of it, I didn't remember what the lawyer said, got all turned about by Miss Susan and argued with Old Stoneface to his, um, face." He leant in, as if sharing a secret. "Next week I gets a letter saying that they was going to offer to me indenture money and set me up with a guild, even gave a list of guilds that would have me! I still has that letter, cos I never did really believe it was real!" More notes. "Anyway I looked at them and, well, my uncle said that printing seemed like a good job for a reading lad like me. All indoors like."
"And where did you do your indenture?"
"Goatberger Publishers. They had me on the Almanack mostly, but near the end they had me planning setting for some Witch's new book, name of Earwig I think."
"And now you are at Teamer and Spools?"
"Yes, well Goatgerger said they didn't need us permanent like, but was happy to do the indentures like. A bunch of the other lads got a loan and opened that Totally Serious Resources company? You know, them that prints them games?"
This got a small smile. "Legends of Tak? The Darksome Forrest? Barbarians of the Borderlands?"
"Yes, that's them. I was never much on the creative stuff, and Teamer and Spools had an opening and Mr Kneesplitter, he was very complimentary on my maintenance and troubleshooting, did me a letter like and I got the job. Wish the lads well though, some of us at T&S even has a game every Wednesday regular."
"Really? What do you play?"
"Well, ah, Nosey's done up a load of extra stuff for Legends of Tak and we're playing what he says is a sort of version of Bloodaxe and Ironhammer, like minor characters in the background style of thing. Its really interesting. I'm a 5th Level Baker. I started playing a Candleman but he fell down a well."
"How much would you say that the Vetinari Foundation has affected your life?"
"Um, ah, yes? Um, well, I mean, a lot? I wouldn't have been able to do this like at all. 'sides, besides, from maybe the Theives I wouldn't have had a guild job in my future."
"Do you remember Lord Vetinari at all?"
"Um, not much. I mean he was on the stamps and all that but, really I didn't know too much about what was going on. I was a little kid when he retired."
"You must have heard stories."
"Oh yeah. My uncle was in the Klatch war and he said how Vetinari tricked the Klatchians into giving up and how another time someone used Golems to try and poison him with candles. I didn't really understand that one, but then again I don't reckon my uncle did either. Oh and I read about the time they used a clown to make it look like he was stealing money, the Uratta had a load of old copies of The Times they used to help teach reading."
"Sorry, Uratta?"
"Oh, um, The URATRRR."
"Do you think he made much of an impact on the city in his life?"
"Well, I reckon so. I mean, you have to right, as Patrician. But its not like he Mr Dearheart or Commander Vimes or Dr Lawn. I mean, I'm not sure how much politics really matters to ordinary folk, but a proper Post Office and a mostly decent Watch or the Free Hospital like, I mean, those matter. I imagine someone needs to make sure we don't end up in a war or whatever, but for people like me, I reckon, think, that The Foundation is the biggest thing he did, least from where I can see."
"Is there anything you think could be improved or changed about it?"
"Well, yes. I know a lot of lads and girls who're smart and hard working, but didn't get the chance. I mean, its great and there's lots who benefit, but it isn't enough."
"And do you see the risk, as some have implied, of the city becoming over-educated?"
"Yes, what, no, I mean, how exactly?"
"Perhaps people wouldn't want to do the less intellectual jobs?"
"Right but, why? I mean I know a lad who got on the system, same as me, but these days he works shifting cargo in the docks like his old man. He don't, doesn't, mind it, he says its reliable work in the somewhat fresh air. Only reason to be worried about everyone getting smarter is if you have rely on tricking dumb people to get by."
"I see. Well thank you for your time. If you go out to the front desk and ask them to let Otto know you are ready, that's all Ill need I think."
As she watched him go Grumpy Sneezydaughter looked back over her notes. Enough for a short profile certainly, certainly enough for a decent piece with all the other profiles and a few quotes from Trustees, although every time she looked at Mr Honeyplace's comments her eyes glazed over. Nothing too unusual though, nothing that gave her any more of a clue about Susan Sto Heilit. Something important had happened there, she was sure, and one day she'd break the exclusive.
In the meantime she'd wait, gather the leads and make another pitch to The Goodmountains about that game magazine. She was certain Gamesforge would sell like hot rat pies.