‘Halve the price?’
‘People like to be in the know. Just a thought.’ The dwarf grinned again. ‘There’s a young lady in the back room.’
In the days when this place had been a laundry, back in the pre-rocking-horse age, one area had been partitioned off with some cheap panelling to waist height, to segregate the clerks and the person whose job it was to explain to customers where their socks had gone. Sacharissa was sitting primly on a stool, clutching her handbag to her with her elbows close to her sides in order to expose herself to as little of the grime as possible.
She gave him a nod.
Now, why had he asked her to come along? Oh, yes … she was sensible, more or less, and did her grandfather’s books and, frankly, William didn’t meet many literate people. He met the sort to whom a pen was a piece of difficult machinery. If she knew what an apostrophe was, he could put up with the fact that she acted as if she was living in a previous century.
‘Is this your office now?’ she whispered.
‘I suppose so.’
‘You didn’t tell me about the dwarfs!’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Oh, no. Dwarfs are very law-abiding and respectable, in my experience.’
William now realized that he was talking to a girl who had never been in certain streets when the bars were closing.
‘I’ve already got two good items for you,’ Sacharissa went on, as if imparting state secrets.
‘Er … yes?’
‘My grandfather says this is the longest, coldest winter he can remember.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, he’s eighty. That’s a long time.’
‘Oh.’
‘And the meeting of the Dolly Sisters’ Baking and Flower Circle Annual Competition had to be abandoned last night because the cake table got knocked over. I found out all about it from the secretary, and I’ve written it all down neatly.’
‘Oh? Um. Is that really interesting, do you think?’
She handed him a page torn from a cheap exercise book.
He read: ‘“The Dolly Sisters’ Baking and Flower Circle Annual Competition was held in the Reading Room in Lobbin Clout Street, Dolly Sisters. Mrs H. Rivers was the President. She welcomed all members and commented on the Sumptuous Offerings. Prizes were awarded as follows …”’
William ran his eye down the meticulous list of names and awards.
‘“Specimen in Jar”?’ he queried.
‘That was the competition for dahlias,’ said Sacharissa.
William carefully inserted the word ‘dahlia’ after the word ‘specimen’, and read on.
‘“A fine display of Loose Stool Covers”?’
‘Well?’
‘Oh … nothing.’ William carefully changed this to ‘Loose Covers for stools’, which was barely an improvement, and continued to read with the air of a jungle explorer who might expect any kind of exotic beast to spring out of the peaceful undergrowth. The story concluded:
‘However, everyone’s Spirits were Dampened when a naked man, hotly pursued by Members of the Watch, burst through the Window and ran around the Room, causing much Disarray of the Tarts before being Apprehended by the Trifles. The meeting closed at 9 p.m. Mrs Rivers thanked all Members.’
‘What do you think?’ said Sacharissa, with just a hint of nervousness.
‘You know,’ said William, in a sort of distant voice, ‘I think it is quite likely that it would be impossible to improve this piece in any way. Um … what would you say was the most important thing that happened at the meeting?’
Her hand flew to her mouth in dismay. ‘Oh, yes! I forgot to put that in! Mrs Flatter won first prize for her sponge! She’s been runner-up for six years, too.’
William stared at the wall. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I should put that in, if I was you. But you could drop in at the Watch House in Dolly Sisters and ask about the naked man—’
‘I shall do no such thing! Respectable women don’t have anything to do with the Watch!’
‘I meant, ask why he was being chased, of course.’
‘But why should I do that?’
William tried to put words around a vague idea. ‘People will want to know,’ he said.
‘But won’t the Watch mind me asking?’
‘Well, they’re our Watch. I don’t see why they should. And perhaps you could find some more really old people to ask about the weather? Who is the oldest inhabitant in the city?’
‘I don’t know. One of the wizards, I expect.’
‘Could you go to the University and ask him if he remembers it ever being colder than this?’
‘Is this where you put things in the paper?’ said a voice at the doorway.
It belonged to a small man with a beaming red face, one of those people blessed with the permanent expression of someone who has just heard a rather saucy joke.
‘Only I grew this carrot,’ he went on, ‘and I reckon it’s grown into a very interesting shape. Eh? What d’you think, eh? Talk about a giggle, eh? I took it down the pub and everyone was killin’ ’emselves! They said I should put it in your paper!’
He held it aloft. It was a very interesting shape. And William went a very interesting shade.
‘That’s a very strange carrot,’ said Sacharissa, eyeing it critically. ‘What do you think, Mr de Worde?’
‘Er … er … you go along to the University, why don’t you? And I’ll see to this … gentleman,’ said William, when he felt he could speak again.
‘My wife couldn’t stop laughin’!’
‘What a lucky man you are, sir,’ said William solemnly.
‘It’s a shame you can’t put pictures in your paper, eh?’
‘Yes, but I think I may be in enough trouble already,’ said William, opening his notebook.
When the man and his hilarious vegetable had been dealt with, William wandered out into the printing shop. The dwarfs were talking in a group, around a trapdoor in the floor.
‘Pump’s frozen again,’ said Goodmountain. ‘Can’t mix up any more ink. Old man Cheese says there used to be a well somewhere round here …’
There was a shout from below. A couple of dwarfs descended the ladder.
‘Mr Goodmountain, can you think of any reason I should put this in the paper?’ said William, handing him Sacharissa’s report of the Flowers and Cookery meeting. ‘It’s a bit … dull …’
The dwarf read the copy. ‘There’s seventy-three reasons,’ he said. ‘That’s ’cos there’s seventy-three names. I expect people like to see their names in the paper.’
‘But what about the naked man?’
‘Yeah … shame she didn’t get his name.’
There was another shout from below.
‘Shall we have a look?’ said Goodmountain.
To William’s complete lack of surprise, the little cellar under the shed was much better built than the shed itself. But then, practically everywhere in Ankh-Morpork had cellars that were once the first or even second or third floors of ancient buildings, built at the time of one of the city’s empires when men thought that the future was going to last for ever. And then the river had flooded and brought mud with it, and walls had gone higher and, now, what Ankh-Morpork was built on was mostly Ankh-Morpork. People said that anyone with a good sense of direction and a pickaxe could cross the city underground by simply knocking holes in walls.
Rusted tins and piles of timber rotted to tissue strength were piled up against one wall. And in the middle of the wall was a bricked-up doorway, the more recent bricks already looking worn and tatty compared to the ancient stone surrounding them.