'William!' snapped Sacharissa.
'Look, times haven't been good, see?' said Dibbler. 'And I thought, this news business... well, people like to hear about stuff from a long way away, you know, like in the Almanacke--'
' "Plague of Giant Weasels in Hersheba"?' said William.
'That's the style. Well, I thought... it doesn't sort of matter if they're, you know, really true... I mean...' William's glassy grin was beginning to make Dibbler uncomfortable. 'I mean... they're nearly true, aren't they? Everyone knows that sort of thing happens
'You didn't come to me' said William.
'Well, of course not. Everyone knows you're a bit... a bit unimaginative about that sort of thing.'
'You mean I like to know that things have actually happened?'
'That's it, yes. Mr Carney says people won't notice the difference anyway. He doesn't like you very much, Mr de Worde.'
'He's got wandering hands,' said Sacharissa. 'You can't trust a man like that.'
William pulled the latest copy of the Inquirer towards him and picked a story at random.
'"Man Stolen by Demons",' he said. 'This refers to Mr Ronnie "Trust Me" Begholder, known to owe Chrysoprase the troll more than two thousand dollars, last seen buying a very fast horse?'
'Well?'
'Where do the demons fit in?'
'Well, he could'Ve been stolen by demons,' said Dibbler. 'It could happen to anybody.'
'What you mean, then, is that there is no evidence that he wasn 't stolen by demons?'
That way people can make up their own minds,' said Dibbler. 'That's what Mr Carney says. People should be allowed to choose, he said.'
To choose what's true?' 'He doesn't clean his teeth properly, either,' said Sacharissa. 'I mean, I'm not one of those people who think cleanliness is next to godliness, but there are limits.'*
Dibbler shook his head sadly. 'I'm losin' my touch,' he said. 'Imagine - me, working for someone? I must've been mad. It's the cold weather getting to me, that's what it is. Even... wages,' he said the word with a shudder, 'looked attractive. D'you know,' he added, in a horrified voice, 'he was telling me what to do? Next time I'll have a quiet lie-down until the feeling goes away.'
'You are an immoral opportunist, Mr Dibbler,' said William.
'It's worked so far.'
'Can you sell some advertising for us?' said Sacharissa.
'I'm not going to work for anyone ag--'
'On commission,' snapped Sacharissa.
'What? You want to employ him?' said William.
'Why not? You can tell as many lies as you like if it's advertising. That's allowed,' said Sacharissa. 'Please? We need the money!'
'Commission, eh?' said Dibbler, rubbing his unshaven chin. 'Like... fifty per cent for you two and fifty per cent for me, too?'
'We'll discuss it, shall we?' said Goodmountain, patting him on the shoulder. Dibbler winced. When it came to hard bargaining, dwarfs were diamond-tipped.
'Have I got a choice?' he mumbled.
Goodmountain leaned forward. His beard was bristling. He
* Classically, very few people have considered that cleanliness is next to godliness, apart from in a very sternly abridged dictionary. A rank loincloth and hair in an advanced state of matted entanglement have generally been the badges of office of prophets whose injunction to disdain earthly things starts with soap. It wasn't currently holding a weapon but Dibbler could see, as it were, the great big axe that wasn't there.