The Truth

badger.
    “He’s been a bit ill—”
    Sister Jennifer brought her fist down on his head.
    William winced.
    “Sister Jennifer’s order believes in tough love,” said Brother Pin. “A little correction at the right time can prevent a lost soul taking the wrong path.”
    “Vhich order is this she belongs to, please?” said Otto, as the lost soul carrying his badger staggered out, his legs trying to take several paths at once.
    Brother Pin gave him a damp smile.
    “The Little Flowers of Perpetual Annoyance,” he said.
    “Really? I had not heard of zis vun. Very…outreaching. Vell, I must go and see if the imps have done zer job properly…”
    Certainly the crowd was thinning rapidly under the stress of seeing the advancing Sister Jennifer, especially the segment of it that had brought dogs that purred or ate sunflower seeds. Many of those who had brought an actual living dog were looking nervous, as well.
    A sense of unease crept over William. He knew that some sections of the Omnian Church still believed that the way to send a soul to heaven was to give the body hell. And Sister Jennifer couldn’t be blamed for her looks, or even the size of her hands. And even if the backs of said hands were rather hairy, well, that was the sort of thing that happened out in the rural districts.
    “What exactly is she doing?” he said. There were yelps and shouts in the queue as dogs were grabbed, glared at, and thrust back with more than minimum force.
    “As I said, we’re trying to find the little dog,” said Brother Pin. “It may need ministering to.”
    “But…that wirehaired terrier there looks pretty much like the picture,” said Sacharissa. “And she’s just ignored it.”
    “Sister Jennifer is very sensitive in these matters,” said Brother Pin.
    “Oh well, this is not getting the next edition filled,” said Sacharissa, heading back to her desk.
    “I expect it would help if we could print in color,” said William, when he was left alone with Brother Pin.
    “Probably,” said the reverend brother. “It was a kind of grayish brown.”
    William knew then that he was dead. It was only a matter of time.
    “You know what color you’re looking for,” he said quietly.
    “You just get on with sorting out the words, writer boy,” said Brother Pin, for his ears only. He opened the jacket of his frock coat just enough for William to see the range of cutlery holstered there, and closed it again. “This isn’t anything to do with you, okay? Shout out, and someone gets killed. Try to be a hero, and someone gets killed. Make any kind of sudden move, and someone gets killed. In fact, we might as well kill someone anyway and save some time, eh? You know that stuff about the pen being mightier than the sword?”
    “Yes,” said William hoarsely.
    “Want to try?”
    “No.”
    William caught sight of Goodmountain, who was staring at him.
    “What’s that dwarf doing?” said Brother Pin.
    “He’s setting type, sir,” said William. It was always wise to be polite to edged weapons.
    “Tell him to get on with it,” said Pin.
    “Er…if you could just get on with it, Mr. Goodmountain,” said William, raising his voice over the growls and yelps. “Everything is fine.”
    Goodmountain nodded, and turned his back. He held up one hand theatrically, and then started to assemble type.
    William watched. It was better than semaphore, as the hand dipped from box to box.
    Hes a fawe?
    W was in the box next to K …
    “Yes indeed,” said William. Pin glanced at him. “Yes indeed, what?”
    “I, er, it was just nerves,” said William. “I’m always nervous in the presence of swords.”
    Pin glanced at the dwarfs. They all had their backs to them.
    Goodmountain’s hand moved again, flicking letter after letter from its nest.
    Armed? coff 4 yes
    “Something wrong with your throat?” said Pin, after William coughed.
    “Just nerves again…sir.”
    OK will get Otto
    “Oh no,” William muttered.
    “Where’s that dwarf going?” said Pin, his hand reaching into his coat.
    “Just into the cellar, sir. To…fetch some ink.”
    “Why? Looks like you’ve got lots of ink up here already.”
    “Er, the white ink, sir. For the spaces. And the middle of the O ’s.” William leaned towards Mr. Pin, and shuddered when the hand reached inside the jacket again. “Look, the dwarfs are all armed, too. With axes. And they get excited very easily. I’m the only person anywhere near you who hasn’t got a