He ripped open the box and dragged out a blue and white apron, which he examined critically.
‘ “Kill the Cook!!!” ‘ he said, slipping it over his head. ‘Hey, this is classy stuff. I’ll have to get some –ing friends so’s they can envy me when I’m having a meal with –ing Al Fresco. How about them –ing vouchers?’
There’s never any good stuff in these things,’ said Mr Pin. ‘It’s just
141
a way of shifting stuff no one can sell. See here . . . “25% off Happy Hour Prices at Furby’s Castle of Cabbage”.’ He tossed the booklet aside.
‘Not bad, though,’ said Mr Tulip. ‘And he only had twenty dollars on him, so it’s a –ing bargain.’
I’ll be glad when we leave this place,’ said Mr Pin. ‘It’s too strange. Let’s just frighten the dead man and get out of here.’
‘Eyinnngg . . . GUT!’
The cry of the wild newspaper seller rang out across the twilit square as William set off back to Gleam Street. They were still selling well, he could see.
It was only by accident, as a citizen hurried past him, that he saw the headline:
WOMAN GIVES BIRTH TO COBRA
Surely Sacharissa hadn’t got out another edition by herself, had she? He ran back to the seller.
It wasn’t the Times. The title, in big bold type that was rather better than the stuff the dwarfs made, was:
‘What’s all this?’ he said to the seller, who was socially above Ron’s group by several layers of grime.
‘All this what?’
‘All this thisV The stupid interview with Drumknott had left William very annoyed.
‘Don’t ask me, guv. I get a penny for every one I sell, that’s all I know.’
‘ “Rain of Soup in Genua”? “Hen Lays Egg Three Times In Hurricane”? Where’d all this come from?’
‘Look, guv, if I was a readin’ man I wouldn’t be flogging papers, right?’
142
‘Someone else has started a paper!’ said William. He cast his eyes down to the small print at the bottom of the single page and, in this paper, even the small print wasn’t very small. ‘In Gleam Street?’
He recalled the workmen bustling around outside the old warehouse. How could– But the Engravers’ Guild could, couldn’t they? They already had presses, and they certainly had the money. Tuppence was ridiculous, though, even for this single sheet of . . . of rubbish. If the seller got a penny, then how in the world could the printer make any money?
Then he realized: that wouldn’t be the point, would it . . . the point was to put the Times out of business.
A big red and white sign for the Inquirer was already in place across the street from the Bucket. More carts were queueing outside.
One of Goodmountain’s dwarfs was peering around from behind the wall.
‘There’s three presses in there already,’ he said. ‘You saw what they’ve done? They got it out in half an hour!’
‘Yes, but it’s only one sheet. And it’s made-up stuff.’
‘Is it? Even the one about the snake?’
‘I’d bet a thousand dollars.’ William remembered that the smaller print had said this had happened in Lancre. He revised his estimate. ‘I’d bet at least a hundred dollars.’
‘That’s not the worst of it,’ said the dwarf. ‘You’d better come in.’
Inside the press was creaking away, but most of the dwarfs were idle.
‘Shall I give you the headlines?’ said Sacharissa, as he entered.
‘You’d better,’ said William, sitting down at his crowded desk.
‘Engravers Offer Dwarfs One Thousand Dollars For Press.’
‘Oh, no . . .’
‘Vampire Iconographer and Hard-Working Writer Tempted with 500 Dollar Salaries,’ Sacharissa went on.
‘Oh, really . . .’
‘Dwarfs Buggered For Paper.’
‘What?
‘That’s a direct quote from Mr Goodmountain,’ said Sacharissa. ‘I don’t pretend to know exactly what it means, but I understand
143
they’ve got enough for only one more edition.’
‘And if we want any more it’s five times the old price,’ said Goodmountain, coming up. ‘The Engravers are buying it up. Supply and demand, King says.’
‘King?’ William’s brow wrinkled. ‘You mean Mr King?’
‘Yeah, King of the Golden River,’ said the dwarf. ‘And, yeah, we could just about pay that but if them across the road are going to sell their sheet for 2p we’ll be working for practically nothing.’
‘Otto told the man from the Guild that he’d break his pledge if he saw him here again,’ said Sacharissa. ‘He was very angry because the man was angling to find out how he was taking printable iconographs.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m staying. I don’t trust them, especially when they’re so sneaky. They seemed very . . . low-class people,’ said Sacharissa. ‘But what are we going to do?’
William bit his thumbnail and stared at his desk. When he moved his feet a boot fetched up against the money chest with a reassuring thud.
‘We could cut down a bit, I daresay,’ said Goodmountain.
‘Yes, but then people won’t buy the paper,’ said Sacharissa. ‘And they ought to buy our paper, because it’s got real news in it.’
The news in the Inquirer looks more interesting, I have to admit,’ said Goodmountain.
That’s because it doesn’t actually have to have any facts in it!’ she snapped. ‘Now, I don’t mind going back to a dollar a day and Otto says he’d work for half a dollar if he can go on living in the cellar.’
William was still staring at nothing. ‘Apart from the truth,’ he said in a distant voice, ‘what have we got that the Guild hasn’t got? Can we print faster?’
‘One press against three? No,’ said Goodmountain. ‘But I bet we can set type faster.’
‘And that means. . . ?’
‘We can probably beat them in getting the first paper on to the street.’
‘O-kay. That might help. Sacharissa, do you know anyone who wants a job?’
144
‘Know? Haven’t you been looking at the letters?’
‘Not as such
‘Lots of people want a job! This is Ankh-Morpork!’
‘All right, find the three letters with the fewest spelling mistakes and send Rocky round to hire the writers.’
‘One of them was Mr Bendy,’ Sacharissa warned. ‘He wants more work. Not many interesting people are dying. Did you know he attends meetings for fun and very carefully writes down everything that’s said?’
‘Does he do it accurately?’
‘I’m sure he does. He’s exactly that sort of person. But I don’t think we’ve got the space–‘
Tomorrow morning we’ll go to four pages. Don’t look like that. I’ve got more stuff about Vetinari, and we’ve got, oh, twelve hours to get some paper,’
‘I told you, King won’t sell us any more paper at a decent price,’ said Goodmountain.
There’s a story right there, then,’ said William.
‘I mean–‘
‘Yes, I know. I’ve got some stuff to write, and then you and I will go to see him. Oh, and send someone to the semaphore tower, will you? I want to send a clacks to the King of Lancre. I think I met him once.’
‘Clacks cost money. Lots of money.’
‘Do it anyway. We’ll find the money somehow,’ William leaned over towards the cellar ladder. ‘Otto?’
The vampire emerged to waist height. He was holding a half-dismantled iconograph in his hand.
‘Vot can I do for you?’
‘Can you think of anything extra we can do to sell more papers?’
‘Vot do you vant now? Pictures that jump out of zer page? Pictures zat talk? Pictures vhere zer eyes follow you around zer room?’
There’s no need to take offence,’ said William. ‘It wasn’t as if I asked for colour or anything–‘
‘Colour?’ said the vampire. ‘Is that all? Colour iss easy-peasy. How soon do you vant it?’
145
‘Can’t be done,’ said Goodmountain firmly.
‘Oh, zo you say? Is there somevhere here that makes coloured glass?’
‘Yeah, I know the dwarf who runs the stained-glass works in Phedre Road,’ said Goodmountain. ‘They do hundreds of shades, but–‘
‘I vish to see samples right now. And of inks, too. You can get coloured inks alzo?’
‘That’s easy,’ said the dwarf, ‘but you’d need hundreds of different ones . . . wouldn’t you?’
‘No, ziss is not so. I vill make you a list of vot I reqvire. I cannot promise a Burleigh & Ztronginzerarm job first cat out of zer bag, off course. I mean you should not ask me for zer subtle play of light on autumn leafs or anyzing like zat. But zomething with stronk shades should be fine. Zis vill be okay?’
‘It’d be amazing.’
‘Zank you.’
William stood up. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘let’s go and see the King of the Golden River.’
‘I’ve always been puzzled why people call him that,’ said Sacharissa. ‘I mean, there’s no river of gold around here, is there?’
‘Gentlemen.’
Mr Slant was waiting in the hall of the empty house. He stood up when the New Firm entered and clutched his briefcase. He looked as if he was in an unusually bad temper.