The Truth (Discworld 25)

'I said they cost a--'

'--handful of rubies, perhaps?'

Goodmountain opened his hand. 'Are these ours, then?'

'Yes!'

'Well... in the morning I could buy a dozen presses, but it's not like buying sweets--' 'I want to go to press in half an hour,' said William. 'Otto, I want pictures of Brother Pin's leg. I want quotes from everyone, even Foul Ole Ron. And a picture of Wuffles, Otto. And I want a printing press!'

'I told you, where could we get a printing press at this time of ni--'

The floor shook. The heaps of rubble shifted.

All eyes turned to the high lighted windows of the Inquirer.

Sacharissa, who had been watching William wide-eyed, breathed so heavily that Otto groaned and averted his face and started to hum frantically.

There's your press!' she shouted. 'All you have to do is get it!' 'Yeah, but just stealing a--' the dwarf began. 'Borrowing,' said William. 'And half the jewels are yours.' Goodmountain's nostrils flared. 'Let's just--' he began to yell, and then said, 'You did say half, did you?' 'Yes!' 'Let's just do it, lads!'

One of the Inquirer's overseers knocked politely on Mr Carney's door.

'Yes, Causley? Has Dibbler turned up yet?' said the Inquirer's proprietor.

'No, sir, but there's a young lady to see you. It's that Miss Cripslock,' said the overseer, wiping his hands on a rag.

Carney brightened up. 'Really?'

'Yes, sir. She's in a bit of a state. And that de Worde fellow is with her.'

Carney's smile faded a little. He'd watched the fire from his window with great glee, but he had been bright enough not to step out into the street. Those dwarfs were pretty vicious, from what he'd heard, and would be bound to blame him. In fact, he hadn't the faintest idea why the place had caught fire, but it was hardly unexpected, was it?

'So... it's time for the humble pie, is it?' he said, half to himself.

'Is it, sir?'

'Send them up, will you?'

He sat back and looked at the paper spread out on his desk. Damn that Dibbler! The odd thing was, though, that those things he wrote were like the wretched sausages he sold - you knew them for what they were, but nevertheless you kept on going to the end, and coming back for more. Making them up wasn't as easy as it looked, either. Dibbler had the knack. He'd make up some story about some huge monster being seen in the lake in Hide Park and five readers would turn up swearing that they'd seen it, too. Ordinary, everyday people, such as you might buy a loaf off. How did he do it? Carney's desk was covered with his own failed attempts.-You needed a special kind of imagi--

'Why, Sacharissa,' he said, standing up as she crept into the room. 'Do take the chair. I'm afraid I don't have one for your... friend.' He nodded at William. 'May I say how sad I was to hear about the fire?'

'It's your office,' said William coldly. 'You can say anything you like.' Beyond the window he could see the torches of the Watch, arriving at the ruins of the old shed. He took a step back.

'Don't be like that, William,' said Sacharissa. 'It's because of that, you see, Ronnie, that we've come to you.'

'Really?' Carney smiled. 'You have been a bit of a silly girl, haven't you... ?'

'Yes, er... well, all our money was...' Sacharissa sniffed. 'The fact is... well, we've just got nothing now. We... worked so hard, so hard, and now it's all gone...' She started to sob.

Ronnie Carney leaned over the desk and patted her hand.

'Is there anything I can do?' he said.

'Well, I did hope... I wondered if... I mean, d'you think you could see your way clear to... letting us use one of your presses tonight?'

Carney rocked back. 'You what? Are you mad?'

Sacharissa blew her nose. 'Yes, I thought you'd probably say that,' she said sadly.