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‘Seems a bit of a waste, though,’ said William. ‘A waste of words, I mean.’
‘Why? There’s always more of them.’ Sacharissa patted him gently on the cheek. ‘You think you’re writing words that’ll last for ever? It’s not like that. This newspaper stuff . . . that’s words that last for a day. Maybe a week.’
‘And then they get thrown away,’ said William.
‘Perhaps a few hang on. In people’s heads.’
‘That’s not where the paper ends up,’ said William. ‘Quite the reverse.’
‘What did you expect? These aren’t books, they’re . . . words that come and go. Cheer up.’
‘There’s a problem,’ said William.
‘Yes?’
‘We haven’t got enough money for a new press. Our shed has been burned down. We are out of business. It’s all over. Do you understand?’
Sacharissa looked down. ‘Yes,’ she said meekly. ‘I just hoped you didn’t.’
‘And we were so close. So close.’ William pulled out his notebook. ‘We could have run with this. I’ve got nearly the whole thing. All I can do with it now is give it to Vimes–‘
‘Where’s the lead?’
William looked across the wreckage. Boddony was crouching by the smoking press, trying to see under it.
‘There’s not a sign of the lead!’ he said.
‘It’s got to be somewhere,’ said Goodmountain. ‘In my experience twenty tons of lead does not just get up and walk away.’
It must’ve melted,’ said Boddony. There’s a few blobs on the floor
The cellar,’ said Goodmountain. ‘Give me a hand here, will you?’ He grabbed a blackened beam.
‘Here, I’ll help,’ said William, coming round the stricken desk. ‘It’s not as though I’ve got anything better to do . .-.’
He got a grip on a tangle of charred wood and pulled–
Mr Pin arose from the pit like a demon king. Smoke poured off him and he was screaming one long, incoherent scream. He rose
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and rose and knocked Goodmountain aside with a round-arm sweep and then his hands clamped around William’s neck and still his leap propelled him up.
William fell backwards. He landed on the desk and felt a stab of pain as some piece of debris went through the flesh of his arm. But there was no time to think about pain that had happened. It was imminent pain that occupied all his future. The face of the creature was inches away, eyes wide and staring through him at something horrible, but his hands were tight around William’s neck.
William would never have dreamed of using a cliche as tired as ‘vice-like grip’ but, as consciousness became a red-walled tunnel, the editor inside him said, yes, that’s what it would be like, the sheer mechanical pressures that. . .
The eyes crossed. The scream stopped. The man staggered sideways, half crouched.
As William raised his head he saw Sacharissa stepping backwards.
The editor chittered away in his head, watching him watching her. She’d kicked the man in the . . . Er, You Know. It had to be the influence of those humorous vegetables. It had to be.
And he had to get the Story.
William rose to his feet and waved frantically at the dwarfs, who were advancing with their axes at the ready.
‘Wait! Wait! Look . . . you . . . er . . . Brother Pin . . .’ He winced at the pain in his arm, looked down and saw, with horror, the evil length of the spike poking through the cloth of his jacket.
Mr Pin tried to focus on the boy grappling with his arm, but the shadows wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t certain, now, that he was still alive. Yes! That was it! He must be dead! All this smoke, people shouting, all the voices whispering in his ear, this was some kind of hell but, aha, he had a return ticket . . .
He managed to straighten up. He fished the potato of the late Mr Tulip out of his shirt. He held it aloft.
‘G’t m’ ‘tato,’ he said proudly, “m all right, okay?’
William stared at the smoke-stained, red-eyed face, with its horrible expression of triumph, and then at the shrunken vegetable on the end of its string. His grip on reality was at the moment
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almost as slippery as Mr Pin’s, and people showing him a potato seemed to mean only one thing.
‘Er . . . it’s not a very funny one, is it?’ he said, wincing as he tugged at the spike.
Mr Pin’s last train of thought jumped the rails. He let go of the potato and with a movement that owed nothing to thought and everything to instinct pulled a long dagger from inside his jacket. The figure in front of him was fading into just another shadow among many now, and he lunged madly.
William pulled the metal free, and his hand flew out in front of him–
And that, for the moment, was everything that Mr Pin ever knew.
The sleet hissed on a few remaining embers.
William stared into the puzzled face as the light in the eyes went out and the attacker sagged slowly to the ground, one hand fiercely hanging on to the potato.
‘Oh,’ said Sacharissa distantly. ‘You spiked him . . .’
Blood dripped down William’s sleeve.
‘I . . . er . . . I think I could do with a bandage,’ he said. Ice shouldn’t be hot, he knew, but shock was filling his veins with a burning chill. He was sweating ice.
Sacharissa ran forward, tearing at the sleeve of her blouse.
1 don’t think it’s bad,’ said William, trying to back away. ‘I just think it’s one of those . . . enthusiastic wounds.’
‘Vot has been happening here?’
William looked at the blood on his hand and then at Otto, standing on top of a pile of rubble with an amazed look on his face and a couple of packages in his hands.
‘I just go avay for five minutes to buy some more acids and suddenly zer whole place . . . Oh dear . . . oh dear
Goodmountain pulled a tuning fork out of his pocket and twanged it on his helmet.
‘Quick, lads!’ He waved the fork in the air. ‘ “Oh will you come to the mission–“‘
Otto waved his hand gently as the dwarfs began to sing.
‘No, I am veil on top of it, thank you all the same,’ he said. “Ve
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know vot all this is about, don’t ve? It vas a mob, yes? Zere is alvays a mob, sooner or later. Zey got my friend Boris. He showed them zer black ribbon but zey just laughed and–‘
‘I think they were after all of us,’ said William. ‘I wish I’d had a chance to ask him a few questions, even so . . .’
‘You mean like “Is this the first time you’ve strangled anyone?”‘ said Boddony. ‘Or “How old are you, Mr Killer?” ‘
Something started to cough.
It seemed to be coming from the pocket of the man’s jacket.
William looked around at the stunned dwarfs to see if anyone else had a clue about what he should do next. Then he reluctantly patted the greasy suit with extreme care and pulled out a slim, polished box.
He opened it. A small green imp peered out of its slot.
“m?’ it said.
‘What? A personal Dis-organizer?’ said William. ‘A killer with a personal Dis-organizer?’
The Things To Do Today section is going to be interesting, then,’ said Boddony.
The imp blinked at him. ‘Do you want me to reply or not?’ it said. ‘Insert Name Here requested silence, despite my range of sounds to suit any mood or occasion.’
‘Um . . . your previous owner is. . . previous,’ said William, looking down at the cooling Mr Pin.
‘You’re a new owner?’ said the imp.
‘Well . . . possibly,’
‘Congratulations!’ said the imp. ‘Warranty not applicable if said device is sold, hired, transferred, gifted or stolen unless in original packaging and extraneous materials which by then you will have thrown away and Part Two of the warranty card which you have lost has been filled in and sent to Thttv ggj, thhtfjhsssjk the Scors and quoting
the reference number which you did not in fact make a note of. DO yOU W3nt Hie tO WipC the
contents of my memory?’ It produced a cotton-wool bud and prepared to insert it into one very large ear. ‘Erase Memory Y,’N?’
‘Your . . . memory . . . ?’
‘Yes. Erase Memory Y,’N?’
‘N!’ said William. ‘And now tell me what exactly it is you are remembering,’ he added.
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‘You have to press the Recall button,’ said the imp impatiently.
‘And that will do what?’
‘A small hammer hits me on the head and I look to see what button you pressed.’
‘Why don’t you just, well, recall?’