Chapter 14 - Bright and Shiny Things

"Close that bag!" Junior Clerk Combs managed in a strangled voice. Seeing the dwarf comply, he reached above his head for a speaking tube, blew in it for a moment, and then after some struggle managed a "Senior Clerk Spittle, your immediate assistance please, sir."

An older man, who could only be Senior Clerk Spittle, entered through a side door a few moments later. The eyes of the clerks sitting at the other desks followed him as he approached Combs' desk. Finally reaching it, he pushed his thick glasses a bit further up his nose before addressing the junior clerk. "Yes yes Combs, what seems to be the problem." Combs found that now that Spittle was there, it was difficult to form more than a few disjointed syllables. "Mister Combs, you are incoherent. Take a deep breath. There's a good man. Now. What can be the matter?"

"Senior Clerk Spittle, this lady wishes to open an account. Her initial deposit is in that satchel, but…" he lowered his voice, "it is most irregular."

"Irregular."

"Yes sir."

Mr. Spittle looked at the dwarf and lady before him[1]. "Very well, what is it?"

"Gold, sir."

The Senior Clerk raised his eyebrows, giving him a slight owlish look. "Well, yes that is somewhat irregular, but you are trained in the proper process for handling transactions in actual gold coin as well."

The relatively younger man stiffened and drew himself up slightly. Coughing slightly he managed to regain some of his original dignity, "Senior Clerk Spittle, it is a considerable amount of gold."

Spittle's eyebrows lowered. "Really. A considerable amount of gold?" He looked at the satchel in Cheery's hands and noted its possible volume.

"Yes sir. A considerable amount of gold."

Myria felt her concern grow as she watched the exchange. This was a bank. Surely a deposit of gold could not be this unusual and alarming?

"I see." He extended his hand to the dwarf. "May I?"

With some reluctance, Cheery handed the bag to the senior clerk, who upon taking it paled slightly as he felt the weight of it. Perhaps the satchel is also padded, he considered, but still. Immediately he began noting the number and locations of the other individuals in the bank, including how much attention they were paying to the current discussion[2]. Satisfying himself that no customers were more than passing curious, he lifted the bag closer to his face, and opened it slightly.

The gentle reflection of gold seemed to be stronger than the light of the room itself, and Myria was sure she felt the weight of it pour through the small gap and into the room. It was as if the color, the essence of the gold were a physical force, distorting the very air in the room.

It appeared to make Senior Clerk Spittle momentarily unable to breathe. His eyes, already slightly enlarged through his thick lenses, widened further. Clearing his throat, he closed the satchel. "Yes. I do indeed see. Considerable." Carefully hugging the satchel to his body, he leaned over and read the information from the already completed forms. "Lady Myria LeJean, as a special customer, we would prefer to handle your account in a more discreet fashion. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?"

Myria stood immediately, relieved to be making some progress. "Yes. Of course Senior Clerk Spittle." The junior clerk placed the sheaf of forms into a folder, which he carried with him as he arose as well.

Cheery rose, intending to accompany the group, when Spittle paused. "I'm sorry, constable. While I appreciate the services your officers provide to our bank, it is policy that only a legal representative may accompany a client to the back offices."

"Surely there is no harm-" Myria began.

"The bank has a strict policy regarding account discussions, my lady." He smiled, not unkindly, at the dwarf. "Surely you were here only to ensure her safety, which you have done admirably. I do not mean to be rude, officer, but we must adhere to our own policies. Surely, you understand."

Grumbling under her breath, Cheery gave Myria a wave and turned back toward the main doors. Myria was sorry to see her go, as she truly felt they were beginning to become friends.

Once they passed through the side door where Spittle had previously entered, he turned to the younger man. "Combs, please leave the folder with me, and ask Miss Drapes to join me in my office."

"Yes sir."

Entering one of several small offices along the hall, Spittle waved Myria to a seat and took his seat behind the desk. "Miss Drapes should be joining us momentarily. Meanwhile we can make some headway with the remaining paperwork."

"Is this necessary, Chief Clerk Spittle?"

"Please, call me Mister Spittle, my lady. And yes, a deposit of this size in tangible assets always requires special handling." He leaned forward, "For example, there are situations where the depositor may not wish the exact value to be known outside of the bank itself." Myria blinked, unsure of his reasoning. "We are very discreet, you see."

"Of course. I-"

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, which opened without waiting for Spittle to answer it. A thin and pale woman entered.

"Ah. Miss Drapes, thank you for joining us."

"Of course, Mister Spittle." She turned to Myria, "Lady LeJean, please allow me to welcome you as a new depositor to the Royal Bank of Ankh Morpork."

"Thank you."

"Mr. Spittle?"

Carefully and reverently, Spittle opened the bag fully and gently extracted the heavy ingot from it, placing it on the desk as if it were fragile and not, in fact, nearly indestructible. There were a few moments of silence as they basked in its golden radiance.

Finally Miss Drapes smiled. "I shall fetch the medium scales, Mister Spittle. Please do carry on." She swept from the room with a lighter step.

"Very well," he caressed the gold lightly before clearing his throat and becoming businesslike again. "Will you be retaining the full value of the deposit as a letter of credit, my lady?"

"No Mister Spittle. I would require a portion in coin for immediate purchases."

"Of course. How much would you require?"

"I am not sure. Enough to purchase a few changes of wardrobe," she considered the current living arrangements, "and perhaps a few weeks of lodging at La Extravaganzia, and monies for other incidental purchases." Myria paused to do some very basic calculations. "I believe $600 in coin would be sufficient."

Spittle nodded. "That would present no problem whatsoever, Lady LeJean. However I would be remiss if I did not point out that many of the reputable businesses in town will also accept a draft promissory note against the letter of credit itself." He paused. "It would prevent you needing to carry as much coin about your person. While the Thieves Guild," he shuddered "can be trusted not to bother you, there are still common ruffians willing to risk the wrath of the guild if the gain were sufficient.[3]

Myria felt a thrill run through her. I had forgotten about the Thieves Guild! This was of slight concern, but also relief. While she considered it was not good that she should forget something so important, perhaps this was a positive sign that she would soon be able to forget other things that she did not wish to remember quite so clearly.

"Unfortunately, Mister Spittle, that is an area where I am currently lacking. I am not paid up with the Thieves Guild." To her surprise, this did not seem to worry him.

"Not a concern, My Lady. I believe that, for a client such as yourself, Miss Drapes will likely insist we handle that item for you as well." He shuddered again. The bank itself had nothing to fear from the Thieves Guild; Vetinari had long since explained in no uncertain terms what would happen should they decide the Royal Bank was fair game. However, many of the long-time bank employees still considered relations with them akin to associating with common criminals.

"That would be most convenient, Mister Spittle. Thank you again. And based on your kind advice, I believe $100 should be sufficient for expenses."

"Again, the least we can do for a valued customer." Spittle pulled out three very elaborate looking forms from his desk. Myria could see that the paper was very thick and heavy, with small threads of some fiber running through it and patterns of multicolored inks. It was quite pretty and appealing in its own way.

Taking the least elaborate of the three, Spittle dipped pen in ink, and with a few final questions filled in the required information on one form, blotting and drying and handing to her. "This document is merely an internal request for disbursement against your account. When our affairs here are complete, I will take you to a teller where they will exchange this for the amount of coin indicated here." He indicated the amount they had agreed upon. "You may of course specify at that time what denominations you wish."

"I see."

A second, and more elaborate document was produced, which he handled with some distaste. "This documents the receipt, on behalf of the Thieves' Guild, of a sum totaling $5,000. A copy will also be filed with the Guild today, but it is a good idea to keep this copy on your person until you receive verification from them."

"Yes. Thank you Mr. Spittle."

There was another knock at the door, and again it opened without waiting for a response. Myria noted that Mister Spittle reached out with both hands toward the gold, as if to protect it from attack. It is likely, she mused, that were there a threat he would look to its safety before mine. The thought amused her but was also worrisome. She had known, in a vague way as an Auditor, that humans coveted gold, but was it truly this extreme?

"Ah, Lady LeJean, may I introduce Chief Cashier Bent."

The man who now entered the room caused that line of consideration to flee. For one thing, he seemed to float into the room almost independently of the movement of his feet, which he picked up and set down in a strange circular motion so that his footsteps made almost no noise. Likewise, his face seemed to hold absolutely no humor whatsoever.

Auditor! her senses yelled, and she shrank back. But no. That would be impossible. Surely he has worked for the bank for some time. Long before the Auditors had attempted to take human form.

"My apologies for the delay, Lady LeJean. We were required to bring the medium scales from the vaults." He paused, taking in the sight on Spittle's desk. "Ah, that is truly a thing to behold." His eyes brightened, and Myria began to reconsider her earlier impression. "And such near perfection of form as well. It is rare that we see gold in such an unadulterated form, my lady. You do us an honor by bringing it to this, its new home."

Setting the scales upon the counter, Bent carefully and meticulously zeroed them. Myria was, frankly, impressed by his exactitude. Placing the gold carefully on one tray, he loaded weights to the other, until it appeared roughly balanced.

Then he began his work in earnest, working his way down from larger weights to batches of smaller ones until he again reached a final result.

Then, motioning the other two back and holding his breath, he worked down to an even smaller set of weights, mere splinters, until, holding his breath and brandishing a set of fine tweezers and a magnifying glass, he placed what would appear to the unaided eye as a mere fleck of metal upon the tray.

Myria felt that, in some way, here was a kindred spirit. She felt the briefest stirrings of… something. It was similar to her reaction to the watch captain, but less blinding.

He is like me. Perhaps he was once Auditor after all?

Turning to the Senior Clerk, who had the look of an apprentice who has just watched a masterwork created, he smiled. "The total weight is 2.172 pounds."

Myria frowned. Surely she had not been so much in error previously. "My apologies, Mister Bent, but surely the weight is 2.194 pounds."

Bent's eye twitched slightly, and she heard a small gasp from Spittle. Then Bent smiled again. "Well observed, my lady, but I believe you are assuming that the ingot is absolutely pure. We, unfortunately, must presume otherwise. While it is clearly very pure, the amount of the deposit will be based on a nominal purity of 99%."

Myria drew herself straighter. This could not be right. "I do not find that reasonable at all. I can assure you the purity is 99.9995%."

In a tone that adults usually reserve for children, Bent asked, "My lady, that would be impossible to prove. In what manner can you assure me that this is the case?"

Indeed, how would I? She chewed her lip slightly, and finally accepted defeat. "I cannot prove this to be so. I have only my statement that it is true."

Bent regarded her sadly. "If only the word of men were of such value. Only gold, my lady, can be trusted. All else is fleeting and subject to the whims of base motive, much like our money which has been contaminated with base metals." He went on like this at some length, which Myria and apparently Spittle felt was somewhat excessive.

When he finally wound down, Spittle hazarded, "Considering the size of her deposit, Mister Bent, perhaps Lady LeJean would like to see it safely to its new home?"

There was that twitch of the eye again, followed by a speedy recovery. "Of course." Taking a cloth bag from Spittle, he placed the gold in it, closed it, and tied a wired tag around the closed opening.

It was a short walk down the hallway and a set of stairs to the gold vault, located in the basement of the bank. Myria was, unsurprisingly, not allowed inside the vault but was able to watch through the bars as Mr. Bent placed the gold with its brethren.

"As you can see, my lady, your deposit will not lack for companionship. Here is the largest single concentration of gold in the entire city, happily residing in peace and harmony and, by doing so, providing the basis for a strong and stable economy."

Something nagged at Myria. Something significant. There is something wrong here. Looking at Bent, she determined that he seemed generally at ease. It is not he that is the… wrongness. Her gaze turned back to the vault itself.

Narrowing her eyes, she looked at the pile of gold there in the vault, considered the space occupied and the shape of the sacks and boxes.

"Mister Bent, how much gold would you say is there?"

The tic again. "Over 10 tons, my lady. As I said…"

But she was not listening as he continued on. No… that does not seem correct. She tilted her head, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that was forming. Surely that assumes that the content of the mass of metal in the vault is consistent throughout, but just as Mister Bent would not accept my statement without proof, I find that I cannot accept this at its face value either.

Bent had wound down again, and was looking at Myria with something approaching concern, possibly from some distance away. The way her eyes covered the gold made him slightly uneasy. It was as if… it were being weighed.

"Perhaps, my lady, we should complete your business here so you can be on your way?"

For a few seconds, Myria struggled with herself. She felt the urge, the very strong urge, to speak her thoughts. To tell Mister Bent that, in point of fact, the amount of gold in the vault could be no more than several hundred pounds based on the surface evidence.

Two things stopped her. One was the fact that the vault, with its bars and thick walls, reminded her jarringly of Pseudopolis Yard and its cells. Somehow the idea of being here, with Mister Bent, and making that statement felt… hazardous.

The second was that she was finally, she believed, getting a feel for when it was a Bad Idea to spout off the first thing that came into her head. Mister Bent reminded her, in some very concerning ways, of the Auditor-gone-mad-human Mr. White.

[1] We hope you will forgive him for not recognizing Cheery's gender as well. Like many in his field, if it couldn't be calculated on an abacus he was really quite lost.

[2] At any moment, he expected a deranged man and woman to burst into the bank screaming: "any of you clerks move, and I'll execute every mother loving last one of you!" Accompanied by a raucous guitar riff and later degenerating into a discussion of what they call a ground beef sandwich in Quirm.

[3] The Thieves Guild was rather unforgiving of unlicensed practitioners, often recovering the improperly ill-gotten gains with extreme prejudice and far more pain than the Watch would ever consider inflicting.