The Truth

“what have we got that the Guild hasn’t got? Can we print faster?”
    “One press against three? No,” said Goodmountain. “But I bet we can set type faster.”
    “And that means…?”
    “We can probably beat them in getting the first paper onto the street.”
    “Okay. That might help. Sacharissa, do you know anyone who wants a job?”
    “Know? Haven’t you been looking at the letters?”
    “Not as such…”
    “Lots of people want a job! This is Ankh-Morpork!”
    “All right, find the three letters with the fewest spelling mistakes and send Rocky around to hire the writers.”
    “One of them was Mr. Bendy,” Sacharissa warned. “He wants more work. Not many interesting people are dying. Did you know he attends meetings for fun and very carefully writes down everything that’s said?”
    “Does he do it accurately?”
    “I’m sure he does. He’s exactly that sort of person. But I don’t think we’ve got the space—”
    “Tomorrow morning we’ll go to four pages. Don’t look like that. I’ve got more stuff about Vetinari, and we’ve got, oh, twelve hours to get some paper.”
    “I told you, King won’t sell us any more paper at a decent price,” said Goodmountain.
    “There’s a story right there, then,” said William.
    “I mean—”
    “Yes, I know. I’ve got some stuff to write, and then you and me will go to see him. Oh, and send someone to the semaphore tower, will you? I want to send a clacks to the King of Lancre. I think I met him once.”
    “Clacks cost money. Lots of money.”
    “Do it anyway. We’ll find the money somehow.” William leaned over towards the cellar ladder. “Otto?”
    The vampire emerged to waist height. He was holding a half-dismantled iconograph in his hand.
    “Vot can I do for you?”
    “Can you think of anything extra we can do to sell more papers?”
    “Vot do you vant now ? Pictures that jump out of zer page? Pictures zat talk? Pictures vere zer eyes follow you around zer room?”
    “There’s no need to take offense,” said William. “It wasn’t as if I asked for color or anything—”
    “Color?” said the vampire. “Is that all? Color iss eazypeazy. How soon do you vant it?”
    “Can’t be done,” said Goodmountain firmly.
    “Oh, zo you say? Is there somevhere here that makes colored glass?”
    “Yeah, I know the dwarf who runs the stained-glass works in Phedre Road,” said Goodmountain. “They do hundreds of shades, but—”
    “I vish to see samples right now. And of inks, too. You can get colored inks alzo?”
    “That’s easy,” said the dwarf, “but you’d need hundreds of different ones…wouldn’t you?”
    “No, ziz is not so. I vill make you a list of vot I require. I cannot promise an absolutely vunderful job first cat out of zer bag, off course. I mean you should not ask me for zer subtle play of light of autumn leafs or anyzing like zat. But zomething with stronk shades should be fine. Zis vill be fine?”
    “It’d be amazing.”
    “Zank you.”
    William stood up. “And now,” he said, “let’s go and see the King of the Golden River.”
    “I’ve always been puzzled why people call him that,” said Sacharissa. “I mean, there’s no river of gold around here, is there?”

    “Gentlemen.”
    Mr. Slant was waiting in the hall of the empty house. He stood up when the New Firm entered, and clutched his briefcase. He looked as if he was in an unusually bad temper.
    “Where have you been?”
    “Getting a bite, Mr. Slant. You didn’t turn up this morning, and Mr. Tulip gets hungry.”
    “I told you to maintain a very low profile.”
    “Mr. Tulip isn’t good at low profiles. Anyway, it all went off well. You must have heard. Oh, we nearly got killed because you didn’t tell us a lot of stuff, and that’s going to cost you but, hey, who cares about us? What’s the problem?”
    Mr. Slant glared at them.
    “My time is valuable, Mr. Pin. So I will not spin this out. What did you do with the dog?”
    “No one said anything to us about that dog,” said Mr. Tulip, and Mr. Pin knew he’d got the tone wrong.
    “Ah, so you encountered the dog,” said Mr. Slant. “Where is it?”
    “Gone. Ran off. Bit our —ing legs and ran off.”
    Mr. Slant sighed. It was like the wind from an ancient tomb.
    “I did tell you that the Watch has a werewolf on the staff,” he said.
    “Well? So what?” said Mr. Pin.
    “A werewolf would have no difficulty in talking to a dog.”
    “What? You’re telling us