'Your afterlife,' Mr Pin corrected himself. 'Okay. What about the money?'
'As requested, thirty thousand dollars for special expenses will be included in the sum already agreed.'
'In gems. Not cash.'
'Of course. And my clients would hardly write you a cheque. It will be delivered tonight. And perhaps I should mention one other matter.' His dry fingers shuffled through the dry papers in his dry briefcase, and he handed Mr Pin a folder. ;Aha,' he said. 'Innocently taken from the overgrown ruins of a megalithic stone circle, this stone is redolent with the blood of thousands, I have no doubt, who will emerge to seek revenge, you may depend upon it.'
'It was cut specially for me by my brother,' said Gunilla. 'And I don't have to take that kind of talk, mister. Who do you think you are, coming in here and talking daft like that?'
William stepped forward at a healthy fraction of the speed of terror.
'I wonder if I might just take Mr Goodmountain aside and explain one or two things to him?' he said quickly.
The Patrician's bright, enquiring smile did not so much as flicker.
'What a good idea,' he said, as William frogmarched the dwarf to a corner. 'He will be sure to thank you for it later.'
Lord Vetinari stood leaning on his stick and looking at the press with an air of benevolent interest, while behind him William de Worde explained the political realities of Ankh-Morpork, especially those relating to sudden death. With gestures.
After thirty seconds of this, Goodmountain came back and stood foursquare in front of the Patrician, with his thumbs in his belt.
'I speak as I find, me,' he said. 'Always have done, always will--'
'And what is it that you call a spade?' said Lord Vetinari.
'What? Never use spades,' said the glowering dwarf. 'Farmers use spades. But I call a shovel a shovel.'
'Yes, I thought you would,' said Lord Vetinari.
'Young William here says you're a ruthless despot who doesn't like printing. But I say you're a fair-minded man who won't stand in the way of an honest dwarf making a bit of a living, am I right?'
Once again Lord Vetinari's smile remained in place.
'Mr de Worde, a moment, please...'
The Patrician put his arm companionably around William's shoulders and walked him gently away from the watching dwarfs.
'I only said that some people call you--' William began.
'Now, sir,' said the Patrician, waving this away. 'I think I might just be persuaded, against all experience, that we have here a little endeavour that might just be pursued without filling my streets with inconvenient occult rubbish. It is hard to imagine such a thing
in Ankh-Morpork, but I could just about accept it as a possibility. And it so happens that I feel the question of "printing" is one that might, with care, be re-opened.'
'You do?'
'Yes. So I am minded to allow your friends to proceed with their folly.'
'Er, they're not exactly--' William began.
'Of course, I should add that, in the event of there being any problems of a tentacular nature, you would be held personally responsible.'
'Me? But I--'
'Ah. You feel that I am being unfair? Ruthlessly despotic, perhaps?'
'Well, I, er--'
'Apart from anything else, the dwarfs are a very hard-working and valuable ethnic grouping in the city,' said the Patrician. 'On the whole, I wish to avoid any low-level difficulties at this time, what with the unsettled situation in Uberwald and the whole Muntab question.'