'If you can put in the paper that I've lost it, maybe someone
who has found it will turn it in?' said the man, with unwarranted hopefulness. 'And I'll give you sixpence for your trouble.'
Sixpence was sixpence. William made a few notes.
The zombie was more difficult. For a start he was grey, shading to green in places, and smelled very strongly of artificial hyacinth aftershave, some of the more recent zombies having realized that their chance of making friends in their new life would be greatly improved if they smelled of flowers rather than just smelled.
'People like to know about people who are dead,' he said. His name was Mr Bendy, and he pronounced it in a way that made it clear that the 'Mr' was very much a part of the name.
'They do?'
'Yes,' said Mr Bendy emphatically. 'Dead people can be very interesting. I expect people would be very interested in reading about dead people.'
'Do you mean obituaries?'
'Well, yes, I suppose they would be. I could write them in an interesting way.'
'All right. Twenty pence each, then.'
Mr Bendy nodded. It was clear that he would have done it for nothing. He handed William a wad of yellow, crackling paper.
'Here's an interesting one to start you off,' he said.
'Oh? Whose is it?'
'Mine. It's very interesting. Especially the bit where I died.'
The next man to come in was in fact a troll. Unusually for trolls, who usually wore just enough to satisfy humanity's mysterious demands for decency, this one actually wore a suit. At least, it was largely tubes of cloth that covered his body, and 'suit' was about the only word.
' 'm Rocky,' he mumbled, looking down. Til take any job, guv.'
'What was your last job?' said William.
'Boxer, guv. But I wasn't happy wiv it. Kept getting knocked down.'
'Can you write or take pictures?' said William, wincing.
'No, guv. I can do heavy liftin'. 'n' I can'whistle tunes, guv.'
'That's... a good talent, but I don't think we--'
The door flew open and a thick-shouldered, leather-clad man burst in, flourishing an axe.
'You got no right putting that about me in the paper!' he said, waving the blade under William's nose.
'Who are you?'
'I'm Brezock the Barbarian, and I--'
The brain works fast when it thinks it is about to be cut in half.
'Oh, if it's a complaint you have, you have to take it up with the Complaints, Beheadings and Horsewhippings Editor,' said William. 'Mr Rocky here.'
'Dat's me,' boomed Rocky cheerfully, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. There was only room for three of his fingers. Brezock sagged.
'I... just... want to say,' said Brezock, slowly, 'that you put in I hit someone with a table. I never done that. What'd people think of me if they heard I go around hitting people with tables? What'd that do to my reputation?'
'I see.'