25 The Truth by Pratchett Terry

Author:Pratchett, Terry [Terry, Pratchett,]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T22:08:32.023000+00:00

There it was again, the slight sensation of two voices.

'Hundreds,' said Mr Pin. He looked down at the paper seller's 167 dog. It looked pretty much like the one in the paper, but all terriers looked alike. Anyway, this one was on a string. 'Hundreds,' he said again, and read the short article again.

He stared. 'I think we have a plan B,' he said.

At ground level the newspaper seller's dog watched them carefully as they walked away.

'That was too close for comfort,' it said, when they'd turned the corner.

Foul Ole Ron put down his papers in a puddle and pulled a cold sausage from the depths of his hulking coat.

He broke it into three equal pieces.

THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YE FRED EXTRA! HAVE YOU SEEN THIS DOG? $25 Reward for Information

William had dithered over that, but the Watch had supplied quite a good drawing and he felt right now that a little friendly gesture in that direction would be a good idea. If he found himself in deep trouble, head downwards, he'd need someone to pull him out.

He had re-written the Patrician story, too, adding as much as he was certain of, and there wasn't much of that. He was, frankly, stuck.

Sacharissa had penned a story about the opening of the Inquirer. William had hesitated about this, too. But it was news, after all. They couldn't just ignore it, and it filled some space.

Besides, he liked the opening line, which began: 'A would-be rival to Ankh-Morpork's old-established newspaper, the Times, has opened in Gleam Street 168

'You're getting good at this,' he said, looking across the desk.

'Yes,' she said. 'I now know that if I see a naked man I should definitely get his name and address, because--'

William joined in the chorus: '--names sell newspapers.'

He sat back and drank the really horrible tea the dwarfs made. Just for a moment there was an unusual feeling of bliss. Strange word, he thought. It's one of those words that described something that does not make a noise but if it did make a noise would sound just like that. Bliss. It's like the sound of a soft meringue melting gently on a warm plate.

Here, and now, he was free. The paper was put to bed, tucked up, had its prayers listened to. It was finished. The crew were already filing back in for more copies, cursing and spitting; they'd commandeered a variety of old trolleys and prams to cart their papers out into the streets. Of course, in an hour or so the mouth of the press would be hungry again and he'd be back pushing the huge rock uphill, just like that character in mythology . . . what was his name . . . ?

'Who was that hero who was condemned to push a rock up a hill and every time he got it to the top it rolled down again?' he said.

Sacharissa didn't look up. 'Someone who needed a wheelbarrow?' she said, spiking a piece of paper with some force.

William recognized the voice of someone who still has an annoying job to do.

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