Click.
The salamander flared, etching the room with searing white light and dark shadows.
Otto screamed. He fell to the floor, clutching at his throat. He sprang to his feet, goggle-eyed and gasping, and staggered, knock-kneed and wobbly-legged, the length of the room and back again. He sank down behind a desk, scattering paperwork with a wildly flailing hand.
'Aarghaarghaaargh...'
And then there was a shocked silence.
Otto stood up, adjusted his cravat and dusted himself off. Only then did he look up at the row of shocked faces.
'Veil?' he said sternly. 'Vot are you all looking at? It is just a normal reaction, zat is all. I am vorking on it. Light in all its forms is mine passion. Light is my canvas, shadows are my brush.'
'But strong light hurts you!' said Sacharissa. 'It hurts vampires!'
'Yes. It iss a bit of a bugger, but zere you go.'
'And, er, that happens every time you take a picture, does it?' said William.
'No, sometimes it iss a lot vorse.'
'Worse?'
'I sometimes crumble to dust. But zat vich does not kill us makes us stronk.'
'Stronk?'
'Indeed!'
William caught Sacharissa's gaze. Her look said it all: we've hired him. Have we got the heart to fire him now? And don't make fun of his accent unless your Uberwaldean is really good, okay?
Otto adjusted the iconograph and inserted a fresh sheet.
'And now, shall ve try vun more?' he said brightly. 'And zis time - everybody smile!'
Mail was arriving. William was used to a certain amount, usually from clients of his news letter complaining that he hadn't told them about the double-headed giants, plagues and rains of domestic animals that they had heard had been happening in Ankh-Morpork; his father had been right about one thing, at least, when he'd asserted that lies could run round the world before the truth could get its boots on. And it was amazing how people wanted to believe them.
These were... well, it was as if he'd shaken a tree and all the nuts had fallen out. Several letters were complaining that there had been much colder winters than this, although no two of them could agree when it was. One said vegetables were not as funny as they used to be, especially leeks. Another asked what the Guild of Thieves was doing about unlicensed crime in the city. There was one saying that all these robberies were down to dwarfs who shouldn't be allowed into the city to steal the work out of honest humans' mouths. were ancient and battered and to stop them wobbling they needed, against all common sense, bits of folded cardboard under all four legs.
'I got them from the secondhand shop along the road,' said Sacharissa nervously. They weren't very expensive.'
'Yes, I can see that. Er... Miss Cripslock... I've been thinking... your grandfather can engrave a picture, can he?'
'Yes, of course. Why have you got mud all over you?'
'And if we got an iconograph and learned how to use it to take pictures,' William went on, ignoring this, 'could he engrave the picture that the imp paints?'
'I suppose so.'
'And do you know any good iconographers in the city?'
'I could ask around. What happened to you?'
'Oh, there was a threatened suicide in Welcome Soap.'
'Any good?' Sacharissa looked startled at the sound of her own voice. 'I mean, obviously I wouldn't wish anyone to die, but, er, we've got quite a lot of space
'I might be able to make something of it. He, er, saved the life of the man who climbed up to talk him down.'