'If he was a Sir, shouldn't she be a Lady?' said Moist.

'It is rather characteristic of Mrs Lavish that she does not like being a Lady,' said Lord Vetinari. 'And I bow to her wishes.'

'Did he often "work" late?' said Moist, carefully quoting.

'With astonishing regularity for his age, I understand,' said Vetinari.

'Oh, really?' said Moist. 'You know, I think I recall the obituary in the Times. But I don't remember any of that sort of detail.'

'Yes, what is the Press coming to, one wonders.'

Vetinari turned and surveyed the building. 'Of the two, I prefer the honesty of the Mint,' he said. 'It growls at the world. What do you think, Mr Lipwig?'

'What's that round thing I always see poking out of the roof?' said Moist. 'It makes it look like a money box with a big coin stuck in the slot!'

'Oddly enough, it did use to be known as the Bad Penny,' said Vetinari. 'It is a large treadmill to provide power for the coin stamping and so forth. Powered by prisoners once upon a time, when "community service" wasn't just a word. Or even two. It was considered cruel and unusual punishment, however, which does rather suggest a lack of imagination. Shall we go in?'

'Look, sir, what is it you would want me to do?' said Moist, as they climbed the marble steps. 'I know a bit about banking, but how do I run a mint?'

Vetinari shrugged. 'I have no idea. People turn handles, I assume. Someone tells them how often, and when to stop.'

'And why will anyone want to kill me?'

'I couldn't say, Mr Lipwig. But there was at least one attempt on your life when you were innocently delivering letters, so I expect your career in banking will be an exciting one.'

They reached the top of the steps. An elderly man in what might have been the uniform of a general in one of the more unstable kinds of armies held open the door for them.