The truth: a novel of Discworld by Pratchett Terry

Author:Pratchett, Terry [Pratchett, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy - General, Investigative reporting, Journalists, working, Newspaper publishing, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Literary, Fantasy, Humorous stories, Fantasy - Series, English, General, Discworld (Imaginary place)
ISBN: 9780380818198
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2001-09-04T06:55:59.857000+00:00

Disworld 25 - The Truth

'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 . . .

170

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.

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