'And you took it away, just like that!'
'I didn't mean to! The dwarfs just... things just happened!'
'You're working for them?'
'Sort of... with them...' said William.
'While we starve, I suppose?'
Sacharissa stood there panting. She had a well-crafted supply of other features that never go out of fashion at all and are perfectly at home in any century. She clearly believed that severe, old-fashioned dresses toned these down. They did not.
'Look, I'm stuck with them,' said William, trying not to stare. 'I mean, stuck with the dwarfs. Lord Vetinari was very... definite about it. And it's suddenly all become very complicated--'
The Guild of Engravers is going to be livid about this, you do know that?' she demanded.
'Er... yes.' A desperate idea struck William rather harder than her hand. That's a point. You wouldn't like to, er, be official about that, would you? You know: "We are livid," says spokesm-- spokeswoman for the Guild of Engravers?'
'Why?' she said suspiciously.
'I'm desperate for things to put in my next edition,' said William desperately. 'Look, can you help me? I can give you - oh, twenty pence an item, and I could use at least five a day.'
She opened her mouth to snap a reply, but calculation cut in. 'A dollar a day?' she said.
'More, if they're nice and long,' said William wildly.
'For that letter thing you do?'
'Yes.'
'A dollar?'
'Yes.'
She eyed him with mistrust. 'You can't afford that, can you? I thought you only got thirty dollars yourself. You told grandfather.'
Things have moved on a bit. I haven't caught up with it myself, to tell you the truth.'
She was still looking at him doubtfully, but natural Ankh-Morpork interest in the distant prospect of a dollar was gaining the upper hand.
'Well, I hear things,' she began. 'And... well, writing things down? I suppose that's a suitable job for a lady, isn't it? It's practically cultural.'
'Er... close, I suppose.'
'I wouldn't like to do anything that wasn't... proper.'
'Oh, I'm sure it's proper.'
'And the Guild can't object to that, can they? You've been doing it for years, after all...'
'Look, I'm just me,' said William. 'If the Guild object, they'll have to sort it out with the Patrician.'
'Well... all right... if you're sure it's an acceptable job for a young lady
'Come down to the printing works tomorrow, then,' said William. 'I think we ought to be able to produce another paper of news in a few days.'
This was a ballroom, still plush in red and gold, but musty in the semi-darkness and ghostly with its shrouded chandeliers. The candlelight in the centre was dimly reflected from the mirrors around the walls; they had probably once brightened the place up considerably but over the years some sort of curious tarnish had blotched its way across them, so that the reflections of the candles looked like dim sub-aqueous glows through a forest of seaweed.
Mr Pin was halfway across the floor when he realized that the only footsteps he could hear were his own. Mr Tulip had veered off in .the gloom and was dragging the shroud off something that had been pushed against one wall.