The Truth (Discworld 25)

'Lose the second exclamation mark,' he said. 'Otherwise I think it's perfect. How did you hear about it?'

'Oh, Constable Fiddyment dropped in and told me,' said Sacharissa. She looked down and shuffled papers unnecessarily. 'I think he's a bit sweet on me, to tell you the truth.'

A tiny, hitherto-unregarded bit of William's ego instantly froze solid. An awful lot of young men seemed happy to tell Sacharissa things. He heard himself say: 'Vimes doesn't want any of his officers to speak to us.'

'Yes, well, I don't think telling me about a lot of smashed eggs counts, does it?'

'Yes, but--'

'Anyway, I can't help it if young men want to tell me things, can I?'

'I suppose not, but--'

'Anyway, that's it for tonight.' Sacharissa yawned. I'm going home.'

William got up so quickly he skinned his knees on the desk. I'll walk you there,' he said.

'Good grief, it's nearly a quarter to eight,' said Sacharissa, putting on her coat. 'Why do we keep on working?'

'Because the press doesn't go to sleep,' said William.

As they stepped out into the silent street he wondered if Lord Vetinari had been right about the press. There was something...compelling about it. It was like a dog that stared at you until you fed it. A slightly dangerous dog. Dog bites man, he thought. But that's not news. That's olds.

Sacharissa let him walk her to the end of her street, where she made him stop.

'It'll embarrass grandfather if you're seen with me,' she said. 'I know it's stupid, but... neighbours, you know? And all this Guild stuff

'I know. Um.'

The air hung heavy for a moment as they looked at each other.

'Er, I don't know how to put this,' said William, knowing that sooner or later it had to be said, 'but I ought to say that, though you are a very attractive girl, you're not my type.'

She gave him the oldest look he had ever seen, and then said: That took a lot of saying, and I would like to thank you.'

'I just thought that with me and you working together all the time--'

'No, I'm glad one of us said it,' she said. 'And with smooth talk like that I bet you have the girls just lining up, right? See you tomorrow.'

He watched her walk down the street to her house. After a few seconds a lamp went on in an upper window.

By running very fast he arrived back at his lodgings just late enough for a Look from Mrs Arcanum, but not so late as to be barred from the table for impoliteness; serious latecomers had to eat their supper at the table in the kitchen.

It was curry tonight. And one of the strange things about eating at Mrs Arcanum's was that you got more leftovers than you got original meals. That is, there were far more meals made up from what were traditionally considered the prudently usable remains of earlier meals - stews, bubble-and-squeak, curry - than there were meals at which those remains could have originated.

The curry was particularly strange, since Mrs Arcanum considered foreign parts only marginally less unspeakable than private parts and therefore added the curious yellow curry powder with a very small spoon, lest everyone should suddenly tear their clothes off and do foreign things. The main ingredients appeared to be swede and gritty rainwater-tasting sultanas and the remains of some cold mutton, although William couldn't remember when they'd had the original mutton, at any temperature.

This was not a problem for the other lodgers. Mrs Arcanum provided big helpings, and they were men who measured culinary achievement by the amount you got on your plate. It might not taste astonishing, but you went to bed full and that was what mattered.

At the moment, the news of the day was being discussed. Mr Mackleduff had bought the Inquirer and both editions of the Times, in his role as keeper of the fire of communication.

It was generally agreed that the news in the Inquirer was more interesting, although Mrs Arcanum ruled that the whole subject of snakes was not one for the dinner table and papers ought not to be allowed to disturb people like this. Rains of insects and so on, though, fully confirmed everyone's view of distant lands.

Olds, thought William, forensically dissecting a sultana. His lordship was right. Not news but olds, telling people that what they think they already know is true...

The Patrician, it was agreed, was a shifty one. The meeting concurred that they were all alike, the lot of them. Mr Windling said the city was in a mess and there ought to be some changes. Mr Longshaft said that he couldn't speak for the city, but from what he had heard the gemstone business had been very brisk of late. Mr Windling said that it was all right for some. Mr Prone put forth the opinion that the Watch could not find their bottom with both hands, a turn of phrase that almost earned him a place at the kitchen table to finish his meal. It was agreed that Vetinari had done it all right and should be put away. The main course adjourned at 8.45 p.m., and was followed by disintegrating plums in runny custard, Mr Prone getting slightly fewer plums as an unspoken reprimand.

William went up to his room early. He had adapted to Mrs Arcanum's cuisine, but nothing except radical surgery would make him like her coffee.