The City of Morpork, or Where all Sins Begin by Artem Zavalniuk

There is not such a creepy place in the world

as the city of Morpork split by the Ankh River (if one can denote the randomly accumulated liqued of unknown nature, form and colour as a river). At the same time, there's no more desirable hot-spot for people of the whole flat Earth as Morpork. People of all sorts and conditions get there by ships. Although the river of Ankh is not the only way to make it here, it's the only ILLegal way to get into Morpork. And taking the Ankh-Morpork Legal System into consideration, ILLegal system of Morpork seems to be even safer, both for dwellers and travellers. As a matter of fact, once in a red moon one alchemist was accused by Supremacy Court of Morpork of inventing the clean water. 

It comes with no surprise that ILLegal in Morpork gives more freedom than the Legal one. The first race who admitted this fact were gnomes. They were the most burnt race in the melting pot called Morpork. They were just ordinary blue-collar workers digging lead and other metals for the city services. To sat they get decent paychecks is to say nothing.

One day, the chief gnomes gathered in a cell of Morpork Time—a local newspaper... 

'Oui need a change' said Viktor De Miserly, with a thick French accent bringing you back to Paris.

'You mean us?' Abby Goldfish, his wife asked.

'Oui! Oui!' affirmatively nodded De Miserly. 'Look at this, I got it from the s-nail in the morning'. So-called s-nail was a similar to our e-mail system, but a way more archaic: snails were used in Morpork as the main post service, so you can only imagine for how long you was supposed to wait for parsels. 

De Miserly haned the letter in to Abbby. It read:

A Scot Letter ∙

Dear Viktor de Misery, 

and the rest of Gnome Union!

With all few respect to the work the Union carries out on the regular basis, the Lord Cetinary sets out new rules of taxation. From the very day you get this letter (presumably 72 snail hours) you, yourself, and the Union, itself, 

ARE OBLIGED:

to cooperate with the Chief-of-the-all-Chief Offices, so that to mine as many gold as you can in the next 6 months. All expenses will not be overed. All gold mined will be taken for the city's needs. The Morpork is await for the great war to being. Needs must.

Scarcely sincerely,

Lead Jarhead

on behalf of the Chief-of-the-all-Chief Offices

Lord Vetinary

'Are you snail-fucking me?! The same letter we got 2 months ago' Ms. Goldfish went furious.

'He never stepped back', mumbled De Miserly.

'If we give all the gold to him, what's left? Whats left for our little Yggy? She only went to the Mage Academy, and we needa pay the fee. They accept only gold. How is it even possible?! Vetinary is a self-righteous emperor! No more of him in Ankh-Morpork!'

'Oui, oui! Emperor!' the long pause hesitated in the air. 'We won't give him all the gold. I promise'

'But then he'll just shut us down!'

'Let me show you something before, shall oui go?'

Viktor adjusted his spectacles and led Abby toward the back of the 'Morpork Times' cellar, past the clattering printing machines and piles of damp parchment. He pulled away a heavy, grease-stained rug to reveal a circular iron hatch embedded in the floor.

'The Lord Vetinari thinks he knows every single vain of gold under this city,' Viktor whispered, his French accent being thick as onion soup. 'But he does not know the history of the mud. This is not just a cellar, ma chérie.' He heaved the hatch open. Instead of the stench of the Ankh, a strange, metallic warmth wafted up. Below them lay a shimmering, secret tunnel lined not with stones, but with thousands of discarded, gold-lettered lead typesets from the newspaper’s archives.

'The mages think they can turn lead into gold, but they are fools,' Viktor said, pointing into the glowing dark. 'We gnomes have simply been misplacing the city's gold into the Times' printing molten for years. While the tax collectors look for bars and coins, we have hidden the Gnome Union’s fortune in plain sight—in the very letters that print the news. Vetinari is reading our bank account every morning, little does he know about that'.

'So Yggy’s tuition...' gasped Abby, looking at the glittering walls.

'Is currently being used to print the headline for tomorrow’s weather report,' Viktor grinned. 'Let the Emperor have the mines. We own the alphabet'.