‘No, sir, but there’s a young lady to see you. It’s that Miss Cripslock,’ said the overseer, wiping his hands on a rag.
Carney brightened up. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, sir. She’s in a bit of a state. And that de Worde fellow is with her.’
Carney’s smile faded a little. He’d watched the fire from his window with great glee, but he had been bright enough not to step out into the street. Those dwarfs were pretty vicious, from what he’d heard, and would be bound to blame him. In fact, he hadn’t the faintest idea why the place had caught fire, but it was hardly unexpected, was it?
‘So … it’s time for the humble pie, is it?’ he said, half to himself.
‘Is it, sir?’
‘Send them up, will you?’
He sat back and looked at the paper spread out on his desk. Damn that Dibbler! The odd thing was, though, that those things he wrote were like the wretched sausages he sold — you knew them for what they were, but nevertheless you kept on going to the end, and coming back for more. Making them up wasn’t as easy as it looked, either. Dibbler had the knack. He’d make up some story about some huge monster being seen in the lake in Hide Park and five readers would turn up swearing that they’d seen it, too. Ordinary, everyday people, such as you might buy a loaf off. How did he do it? Carney’s desk was covered with his own failed attempts. You needed a special kind of imagi—
‘Why, Sacharissa,’ he said, standing up as she crept into the room. ‘Do take the chair. I’m afraid I don’t have one for your … friend.’ He nodded at William. ‘May I say how sad I was to hear about the fire?’
‘It’s your office,’ said William coldly. ‘You can say anything you like.’ Beyond the window he could see the torches of the Watch, arriving at the ruins of the old shed. He took a step back.
‘Don’t be like that, William,’ said Sacharissa. ‘It’s because of that, you see, Ronnie, that we’ve come to you.’
‘Really?’ Carney smiled. ‘You have been a bit of a silly girl, haven’t you …?’
‘Yes, er … well, all our money was …’ Sacharissa sniffed. ‘The fact is … well, we’ve just got nothing now. We … worked so hard, so hard, and now it’s all gone …’ She started to sob.
Ronnie Carney leaned over the desk and patted her hand.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he said.
‘Well, I did hope … I wondered if … I mean, d’you think you could see your way clear to … letting us use one of your presses tonight?’
Carney rocked back. ‘You what? Are you mad?’
Sacharissa blew her nose. ‘Yes, I thought you’d probably say that,’ she said sadly.
Carney, slightly mollified, leaned forward and patted her hand again. ‘I know we used to play together when we were children—’ he began.
‘I don’t think we actually played,’ said Sacharissa, fishing in her handbag. ‘You used to chase me and I used to hit you over the head with a wooden cow. Ah, here it is …’ She dropped the bag, stood up and aimed one of the late Mr Pin’s pistol bows straight at the editor.
‘Let us use your “ing” presses or I’ll “ing” shoot your “ing” head “ing” off!’{39} she screamed. ‘I think that’s how you’re supposed to say it, isn’t it?’
‘You wouldn’t dare pull that trigger!’ said Carney, trying to crouch in his chair.
‘It was a lovely cow, and one day I hit you so hard one of the legs broke off,’ said Sacharissa dreamily.
Carney looked imploringly at William. ‘Can’t you talk some sense into her?’ he said.
‘We just need the loan of one of your presses for an hour or so, Mr Carney,’ said William, while Sacharissa kept the barrel of the bow aimed at the man’s nose with what he judged to be a very strange smile on her face. ‘And then we’ll be gone.’
‘What are you going to do?’ said Carney hoarsely.
‘Well, firstly I’m going to tie you up,’ said William.
‘No! I’ll call the overseers!’
‘I think they’re … busy at the moment,’ said Sacharissa.
Carney listened. It seemed unusually quiet downstairs.
He sagged.
The printing staff of the Inquirer were in a ring around Goodmountain.
‘Right, lads,’ said the dwarf, ‘here’s how it works. Every man who goes home early tonight ’cos of a headache gets a hundred dollars, all right? It’s an old Klatchian custom.’
‘And what happens if we don’t go?’ said the foreman, picking up a mallet.
‘Vell,’ said a voice by his ear, ‘that’s ven you get a … headache.’
There was a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. Otto punched the air triumphantly.
‘Yes!’ he shouted, as the printers ran madly towards the doors. ‘Ven you really, really need it, zere it is! Let’s try vunce more … Castle!’ The thunder rolled again. The vampire jumped up and down excitedly, vest tails flying. ‘Vow! Now ve are cooking! Vunce more mit feelink! Vot a big … castle …’ The thunder was even louder this time.
Otto did a little jig, beside himself with joy, tears running down his grey face.
‘Music viz Rocks In!’ he yelled.
In the silence after the thunder roll William pulled a velvet bag from his pocket and tipped it out on to the desk blotter.
Carney stared goggle-eyed at the jewels.
‘Two thousand dollars’ worth,’ said William. ‘At least. Our admission to the Guild. I’ll just leave them here, shall I? No need for a receipt. We trust you.’
Carney said nothing, because of the gag. He had been tied to his chair.
At this point Sacharissa pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
‘I must’ve forgotten to put the pointy arrow bit in,’ she said, as Carney fainted away. ‘What a silly girl I am. “Ing”. I feel so much better for saying that, you know? “Ing”. “Inginginginging”. I wonder what it means?’
Gunilla Goodmountain looked expectantly at William, who swayed as he tried to think.
‘All right,’ he said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Triple-decker heading, as wide as you can. First line: “Conspiracy Revealed!” Got that? Next line: “Lord Vetinari is Innocent!”’ He hesitated at that one, but let it go. People could argue about its general application later on. That wasn’t the important thing at the moment.
‘Yes?’ said Goodmountain. ‘And the next line?’
‘I’ve written it down,’ said William, passing him a page torn from the notebook. ‘Caps, please. Big caps. Big as you can. The sort the Inquirer used for elves and exploding people.’
‘This?’ said the dwarf, reaching for a case of huge black letters. ‘Is this news?’
‘It is now,’ said William. He flicked back through the pages of his notebook.
‘Are you going to write the story down first?’ said the dwarf.
‘No time. Ready? “A plot to illegally seize control of Ankh-Morpork was exposed last night after days of patient detective work by the Watch.” Paragraph. “The Times understands that two assassins, both now dead, were hired from outside the city to blacken the character of Lord Vetinari and depose him as Patrician.” Paragraph. “They used an innocent man with a remarkable resemblance to Lord Vetinari in order to trick their way into the palace. Once inside”—’
‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Goodmountain. ‘The Watch didn’t get to the bottom of this, did they? You did!’
‘I just said they’ve been working for days,’ said William. ‘That’s true. I don’t have to say they weren’t getting anywhere.’ He saw the look in the dwarf’s eye. ‘Listen, very soon I’m going to have a lot more unpleasant enemies than anyone really needs. I’d like Vimes to be angry at me for making him look good rather than for making him look bad. Okay?’