A piece of type dropped from Goodmountain’s fingers. ‘You mean Foul Ole Ron and that bunch?’
‘–“public-spirited citizens”,’ William repeated, nodding furiously, ‘ “who kept him hidden, while”–‘
Cold winter storms had the whole of the Sto Plains in which to build up speed. By the time they hit Ankh-Morpork they were fast and heavy and laden with malice.
This time it took the form of hail. Fist-sized balls of ice smashed into tiles. They blocked gutters and filled the streets with shrapnel.
They hammered on the roof of the warehouse in Gleam Street. One or two windows smashed.
William paced up and down, shouting out his words above the force of the storm, occasionally flicking back and forth through the pages of his notebook. Otto came out and handed the dwarfs a couple of iconograph plates. The crew limped and sidled in, ready for the edition.
William stopped. The last letters clicked into place.
‘Let’s see what it looks like so far,’ said William.
Goodmountain inked the type, put a piece of paper over the story and ran a hand-roller over it. Wordlessly, he handed it to Sacharissa.
‘Are you sure of all this, William?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
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‘I mean, some bits – are you sure it’s all true?’
‘I’m sure it’s all journalism,’ said William.
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means it’s true enough for now.’
‘But do you know the names of these people?’
William hesitated. Then he said:
‘Mr Goodmountain, you can insert an extra paragraph anywhere in the story, can’t you?’
‘That’s not a problem.’
‘Right. Then set this: “The Times can reveal that the assassins were hired by a group of prominent citizens led by” . . . “The Times can reveal that” . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘Start again: “The plotters, the Times can reveal, were headed by”. . .’ William shook his head.’ “Evidence points to” . . . uh . . . “Evidence, the Times can reveal” . . . “All the evidence, the Times can reveal . . . can reveal. . .”‘ His voice trailed off.
‘This is going to be a long paragraph?’ said Goodmountain.
William stared miserably at the damp proof.
‘No,’ he said wretchedly. ‘I think that’s it. Let it go at that. Put in a line saying that the Times will be helping the Watch with its inquiries.’
‘Why? We’re not guilty of anything, are we?’ said Goodmountain.
‘Just do it, please.’ William screwed the proof into a ball, tossed it on to a bench and wandered off towards the press.
Sacharissa found him a few minutes later. A print room offers a mass of holes and corners, mostly used by those whose duties require the occasional bunk-off for a quiet smoke. William was sitting on a pile of paper, staring at nothing.
‘Is there something you want to talk about?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Do you know who the conspirators are?’
‘No.’
‘Then would it be true to say that you suspect you know who the conspirators are?’
He gave her an angry look. ‘Are you trying journalism on me?’
‘I’m just supposed to try it on everyone else, then, am I?
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Not you, then?’ she said, sitting down beside him.
William absent-mindedly pressed a button on the Dis-organizer.
‘Wheeewheedle the truth has got its boots on . . .’
‘You don’t get on very well with your father, is tha–‘ Sacharissa began.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ said William. That’s his favourite saying. He says it proves how gullible people are. Those men had the run of our house. He’s in this up to his neck!’
‘Yes, but perhaps he just did it as a favour to some other–‘
‘If my father is involved in anything, he’ll be the leader,’ said William flatly. ‘If you don’t know that you don’t know the de Wordes. We don’t join any team if we can’t be captain.’
‘But it’d be a bit silly, wouldn’t it, to let them use your own house–‘
‘No, just very, very arrogant,’ said William. ‘We’ve always been privileged, you see. Privilege just means “private law”. That’s exactly what it means. He just doesn’t believe the ordinary laws apply to him. He doesn’t really believe they can touch him, and if they do he’ll just shout until they go away. That’s the de Worde tradition, and we’re good at it. Shout at people, get your own way, ignore the rules. It’s the de Worde way. Up until me, obviously.’
Sacharissa was careful not to let her expression change.
‘And I didn’t expect this,’ William finished, turning the box over and over in his hands.
‘You said you wanted to get at the truth, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but not this! I . . . must have got something wrong. I must have. I must have. Even my father couldn’t be this . . . this stupid. I’ve got to find out what’s really been happening.’
‘You’re not going to see him, are you?’ said Sacharissa.
‘Yes. By now he’ll know it’s over.’
‘Then you ought to take someone with you!’
‘No!’ snapped William. ‘Look, you don’t know what my father’s friends are like. They are brought up to give orders, they know that they’re on the right side because if they are on it then it must be the right side, by definition, and when they feel threatened they are bare-knuckle fighters, except that they never take their gloves off. They are thugs. Thugs and bullies, bullies, and the worst kind of
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bully, because they aren ‘t cowards and if you stand up to them they only hit you harder. They grew up in a world where, if you were enough trouble, they could have you . . . disappeared. You think places like the Shades are bad? Then you don’t know what goes on in Park Lane! And my father is one of the worst. But I’m family. We . . . care about family. So I’ll be all right. You stay here and help them get the paper out, will you? Half a truth is better than nothing,’ he added bitterly.
‘Vot vas all zat about?’ said Otto, coming up as William strode out of the room.
‘Oh, he’s . . . he’s off to see his father,’ said Sacharissa, still taken aback. ‘Who is not a nice man, apparently. He was very . . . heated about him. Very upset.’
“scuse me,’ said a voice. The girl turned, but there was no one behind her.
Now the invisible speaker sighed. ‘No, down here,’ it said. She looked down at the malformed pink poodle.
‘Let’s not mess around, eh?’ it said. ‘Yeah, yeah, dogs can’t talk. Got it in one, well done. So maybe you’ve got some strange ment’l power. That’s that sorted out, then. I couldn’t help overhearin’, ‘cos I was listenin’. The lad’s heading into trouble, right? I can smell trouble–‘
‘Are you some kind of verevolf?’ said Otto.
‘Yeah, right, I get very hairy every full moon,’ said the dog dis-missively. ‘Imagine how much that interferes with my social life. Now, look–‘
‘But surely dogs can’t talk–‘ Sacharissa began.
‘Oh dear oh dear oh dear,’ said Gaspode. ‘Did I say I was talking?’
‘Well, not in so many words–‘
‘Right. Wonderful thing, phenomenology. Now, I just seen a hundred dollars walk out the door and I want to see it walk back, right? Lord de Worde is as nasty a piece of work as you’ll find in this town.’
‘You know nobility?’ said Sacharissa.
‘A cat can look at a king, right? That’s legal.’
‘I suppose so–‘
‘So it works for dogs, too. Got to work for dogs if it works for
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ratbag moggies. I know everyone, I do. Lord de Worde used to get his butler to put down poisoned meat for the street dogs.’
‘But he wouldn’t hurt William, would he?’
‘I’m not a betting man,’ said Gaspode. ‘But if he does, right, we still get the hundred dollars, yes?’
‘Ve cannot stand by and let him do zis,’ said Otto. ‘I like Villiam. He was not brought up nice but he tries to be a nice person, vithout even cocoa and a singsong to help him. It is hard to go against your nature. Ve must. . . help him.’
Death placed the final hourglass back on to the air, where it faded away. THERE, he said, WASN’T THAT INTERESTING? WHAT NEXT, MR TULIP? ARE
YOU READY TO GO?
The figure sat on the cold sand, staring at nothing. MR TULIP? Death repeated. The wind flapped his robe, so that it streamed out a long ribbon of darkness. ‘I . . . got to be really sorry . . . ?’ OH YES. IT is SUCH A SIMPLE WORD. BUT HERE . . . IT HAS MEANING. IT
HAS . . . SUBSTANCE.
‘Yeah. I know.’ Mr Tulip looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, his face puffy. ‘I reckon . . . to be that sorry, you got to take a –ing good run at it.’