Doomed.

It all started when they found the old carriage in the woods.

Now, admittedly, many things had started in those woods over the years: folk tales, unfortunate family lines, at least one major misunderstanding about the nature of certain funghis, and a few unsolved disappearances. Well, quite a few, actually. But this was different. This was a carriage. And it was old.

The discoverers of this peculiar relic were three young and feckless individuals who had been ambling through the trees in search of nothing in particular and had, to their immense surprise, found exactly that. It was a large, ornate carriage, the kind that might once have belonged to nobility, though its current state suggested any nobility inside had long since given up and gone off to be noble somewhere drier.

“Probably full of bodies,” said Jenk, who lived only to enjoy the pleasure of forecasting doom in any situation.

“Probably full of money,” countered Heth, also known as ‘Heth the Rummage’.

“Probably locked,” suggested Dill, who had, if nothing else, a talent for being correct. And boring.

The carriage door, turned out not to be locked and creaked open theatricality.

Inside, in the plush (though now exceptionally moth-eaten) interior, was a man. A man who could best be described as having been very carefully preserved by time, some very dry dust, but mostly, by the look on his face, sheer stubbornness. He wore a faded but once-immaculate coat, a powdered wig that had gone slightly rogue, and an expression of irritation that suggested he had been waiting for someone to open that door for quite some time.

Jenk peered at him. “Definitely bodies,” he said with deep satisfaction.

The man blinked. This alone was enough to make all three of them take a step back. “Oh, finally,” he said, in the sort of weary tone employed by people who have been put on hold by customer service for the last two centuries. “Would one of you be so kind as to inform me of the current monarch?”

There was a long silence as the three exchanged glances.

“Er,” said Dill eventually, “Depends how you mean. There’s supposed to be a King of Ankh-Morpork, except there isn’t one. On account of the revolting. There’s the Patrician, who would most probably say he isn’t one either. Although, there wouldn’t be any revolting around the Patrician. Not for long, anyway. There’s the King of the Dwarfs, but you don’t look like you’re into mining, and…”

The man in the carriage sighed. “Wonderful. Confusion and ambiguity. Just the ticket to wake up to.” He adjusted his cuffs, or at least he attempted to, before frowning at their general state of disrepair. “Very well. Introductions are in order. I am…was…am…Sir Albrecht St. John Whittleby III, former Minister of Carriages and Other Unnecessary Luxuries. And I suspect I have been misplaced.”

Jenk, who had been itching to say something ominous, seized the moment. “We found you in the woods.”

Sir Albrecht blinked again. “The woods? Curious.”

“These woods,” Heth pointed out. “In this here very antique carriage.”

Sir Albrecht made a face. “Ugh. The last thing I remember, I was en route to a dinner engagement, discussing the state of the roads with my driver.” He frowned slightly. “And then… well, it all goes a little fuzzy. There may have been lightning. Possibly brigands.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Or possibly not. But definitely lightning… I think… ”

Dill scratched his head. “So, you’ve been in this carriage for… what, a hundred years? Two?”

Sir Albrecht inspected his reflection in a tarnished hand mirror. “Judging by the state of my complexion, at least two, I’d say. Dreadful. I look like, well, a chap who’s been dead for two hundred years. Not that I’m dead, obviously.”

The three of them looked at one another. As far as encounters with the unexpected went, this was certainly up there.

“So… what now?” asked Heth.

Sir Albrecht sniffed. “Well, I suppose the first order of business is to get this carriage out of the woods. A proper gentleman does not loiter in a shrubbery.”

Jenk squinted at the wheels, which had long since become one with the undergrowth. “That might be a bit tricky.”

Sir Albrecht gave them a scrutinising look. “You are enterprising young people, are you not?”

There was a long pause.

“Up to a point…,” admitted Dill.

“Then I shall hire you,” declared Sir Albrecht. “You shall be my retinue. My entourage, if you will. My… what’s the modern term? Ah! My crew. We shall find out what has become of my title, my estate, and my dinner plans. There is, I suspect, a conspiracy afoot.”

“Hmm,” said Heth, “and the remuneration for this assistance? These being hard times and so on, you understand…”

“Ah yes. Practicalities. I have gold. And plenty of it. You will be handsomely remunerated.”

And so, the three friends, now hired workers, with an entirely normal hubbub of grumbling and moaning, set about the muddy, frustrating, and profoundly swear-heavy work of extricating the carriage, Sir Albrecht rested against a tree and watched with the air of someone entirely unaccustomed to even the concept of manual labour.

“So,” grunted Heth, heaving at a wheel, “why were you so… why are you not … Why you?”

Sir Albrecht coughed. “Ah. Well. Finishing a job is always important, I think? I was tasked with overseeing certain… fiscal matters.”

“You mean you’re a banker or a bailiff?” Dill asked.

Sir Albrecht hesitated. “Not precisely either one. More simply, I was entrusted with ensuring that certain funds did not fall into the hands of those who might… how shall I put this… examine those funds too closely.”

Jenk stopped mid-shove. “So some species of dodgy banking then.”

Sir Albrecht looked deeply wounded. “My dear fellow, banking is such an ugly word, don’t you feel? I prefer ‘strategic redistribution.’”

Heth wiped her brow. “And someone, I’m guessing, wanted to ‘strategically redistribute’ the aforementioned funds from you?”

Sir Albrecht sighed. “So it would appear, yes.”

“And failed?”

“I believe that to be the case, yes.”

“Well,” Jenk said, rolling his shoulders, “if you were and are hiding money, and someone ‘banked’ you to find out where it was, but failed, then it stands to reason it, or they, might still be out there… Even if they or it, are going to be as old as the hills.”

There was a thoughtful silence.

“Great grandchildren, I expect,” said Heth, “or somesuch.”

“You make a compelling point,” said Sir Albrecht, looking suddenly more interested in the conversation than hitherto. “Well, I suppose we’d better get a bit of a trot on, then.” Sir Albrecht smiled thinly. “Of course, their maybe no one left we need to worry about.”

“No. There’ll be someone. It’s always the same. We’re all doomed,” said Jenks, happily, climbing up to the driving position. “Where did these horse suddenly appear from?”