TerryPratchett

THEtruth

ANovelofDiscworld®

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Therumorspread throughthecity likewildfire(whichhadquiteoftenspreadthrough Ankh-Morpork since its citizens had learned the words “fireinsurance”).

Thedwarfscanturnleadintogold…It buzzed through the fetid air of theAlchemists’ quarter,where they had

beentryingtodothesamethingforcenturieswithoutsuccessbutwerecertainthat they’dmanage itby tomorrow,ornextTuesdayat least,or theendof themonthfordefinite.

It causedspeculationamong thewizardsatUnseenUniversity,where theyknew you could turn one element into another element, provided you didn’tmindit turningbackagainnextday,andwherewas thegoodin that?Besides,mostelementswerehappywheretheywere.

It seared into the scarred,puffy, and sometimes totallymissingearsof theThieves’Guild,wherepeopleputanedgeontheircrowbars.Whocaredwherethegoldcamefrom?

Thedwarfscanturnleadintogold…ItreachedthecoldbutincrediblyacuteearsofthePatrician,anditdidthat

fairlyquickly,becauseyoudidnotstayrulerofAnkh-Morporkforlongifyouweresecondwiththenews.Hesighedandmadeanoteofit,andaddedittoalotofothernotes.

Thedwarfscanturnleadintogold…Itreachedthepointyearsofthedwarfs.“Canwe?”“DamnedifIknow.Ican’t.”“Yeah,butifyoucould,youwouldn’tsay.Iwouldn’tsay,ifIcould.”“Canyou?”“No!”“Ah-ha!”

Itcametotheearsofthenightwatchofthecityguards,astheydidgatedutyatten o’clock on an icy night. Gate duty in Ankh-Morpork was not taxing. Itconsisted mainly of waving through anything that wanted to go through,althoughtrafficwasminimalinthedarkandfreezingfog.

Theyhunchedintheshelterofthegatearch,sharingonedampcigarette.

“Youcan’tturnsomethingintosomethingelse,”saidCorporalNobbs.“TheAlchemistshavebeentryingitforyears.”

“Theyacangen’rallyturnahouseintoaholeintheground,”saidSergeantColon.

“That’swhatI’mtalkingabout,”saidCorporalNobbs.“Can’tbedone.It’sall to do with…elements. An alchemist told me. Everything’s made up ofelements, right? Earth, Water, Air, Fire, and…sunnink. Well-known fact.Everything’sgot’emallmixedupjustright.”

Hestampedhisfeetinanefforttogetsomewarmthintothem.“Ifitwaspossibletoturnleadintogold,everyone’dbedoingit,”hesaid.“Wizardscoulddoit,”saidSergeantColon.“Oh,well,magic,”saidNobbydismissively.Alargecartrumbledoutoftheyellowcloudsandenteredthearch,splashing

Colon as it wobbled through one of the puddles that were such a feature ofAnkh-Morpork’shighways.

“Bloodydwarfs,”hesaid,asitcontinuedonintothecity.Buthedidn’tsayittooloudly.

“There were a lot of them pushing that cart,” said Corporal Nobbsreflectively.Itlurchedslowlyaroundacornerandwaslosttoview.

“Prob’lyallthatgold,”saidColon.“Hah.Yeah.That’dbeit,then.”

AndtherumorcametotheearsofWilliamdeWorde,andinasenseitstoppedthere,becausehedutifullywroteitdown.

Itwashisjob.LadyMargolottaofUberwaldsenthimfivedollarsamonthtodo it.TheDowagerDuchessofQuirmalsosenthimfivedollars.SodidKingVerenceofLancre,anda fewotherRamtopnotables.Sodid theSeriphofAl-Khali,althoughinthiscasethepaymentwashalfacartloadoffigs,twiceayear.

All in all, he considered, hewasonto a good thing.All hehad to dowaswrite one letter very carefully, trace it backwards onto a piece of boxwoodprovided for him by Mr. Cripslock, the engraver in the Street of CunningArtificers, and then payMr. Cripslock twenty dollars to carefully remove thewoodthatwasn’tlettersandmakefiveimpressionsonsheetsofpaper.

Of course, it had to be done thoughtfully, with spaces left after “To myNobleClient the,”and soon,whichhehad to fill in later,but evendeductingexpenses it still left him thebest part of thirtydollars for littlemore thanoneday’sworkamonth.

A young man without too many responsibilities could live modestly in

Ankh-Morpork on thirty or forty dollars a month; he always sold the figs,becausealthoughitwaspossibletoliveonfigsyousoonwishedyoudidn’t.

Andtherewerealwaysadditionalsumstobepickeduphereandthere.Theworldof letterswasa closedbo—mysteriouspaperyobject tomanyofAnkh-Morpork’scitizens,butiftheyeverdidneedtocommit things topaperquiteafew of them walked up the creaky stairs past the sign “William de Worde:ThingsWrittenDown.”

Dwarfs,forexample.Dwarfswerealwayscomingtoseekworkinthecity,and the first thing theydidwassenda letterhomesayinghowwell theyweredoing.Thiswassuchapredictableoccurrence,evenifthedwarfinquestionwassofardownonhisluckthathe’dbeenforcedtoeathishelmet,thatWilliamhadMr. Cripslock produce several dozen stock letters which only needed a fewspacesfilledintobeperfectlyacceptable.

Fond dwarf parents all over the mountains treasured letters that lookedsomethinglikethis:

DearMume&Dad,

Well,IarrivedhereallrightandIamstaying,at109CockbillStreetTheShadesAnkh-Morpk.Everythyngisfine.IhavegotagoodejobworkingforMr.CMOTDibbler,MerchantVenturerandwillbemakingelotsofmoneyreallysoonnow.Iamrememberingealleyourgodeadvyceandamnotdrinkynge,inbarsormixsingwithTrolls.Wellthasaboutittemuƒtgoenow,lookingforwadetoseingyouandEmeliaagane,yourlovingson,

TomasBrokenbrow

…whowasusuallyswayingwhilehedictatedit.Itwastwentypenceeasilymade,andasanadditionalserviceWilliamcarefullytailoredthespellingtohisclientsandallowedthemtochoosetheirownpunctuation.

Onthisparticularevening,withthesleetgurglinginthedownspoutsoutsidehislodgings,WilliamsatinthetinyofficeovertheGuildofConjurorsandwrotecarefully,halflisteningtothehopelessbutpainstakingcatechismofthetraineeconjurorsattheireveningclassintheroombelow.

“…payattention.Areyouready?Right.Egg.Glass…”“Egg.Glass,”theclassdronedlistlessly.“…Glass.Egg…”“Glass.Egg…”“…Magicword…”

“Magicword…”“Fazammm.Justlikethat.Ahahahahaha…”“Faz-ammm.Justlikethat.Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha…”Williampulledanothersheetofpapertowardshim,sharpenedafreshquill,

staredatthewallforamoment,andthenwroteasfollows:

And finally,on the lighterSide, it isbeing said that theDwarfscanTurnLead into Gold, though no one knows whence the rumor comes, andDwarfsgoingabouttheirlawfuloccaƒionsintheCityarehailedwithcriessuch as, e.g., “Hollah, short stuff, let’s see you make some Gold then!”althoughonlyNewcomersdo thisbecauseall hereknowwhathappens ifyoucallaDwarf“shortstuff,”viz.,youareDead.

Yr.obdt.servant,WilliamdeWorde.

Healwayslikedtofinishhislettersonahappiernote.He fetched a sheet of boxwood, lit another candle, and laid the letter

facedownonthewood.Aquickrubwiththebackofaspoontransferredtheink,andthirtydollarsandenoughfigstomakeyoureallyillwereasgoodasinthebank.

He’ddropitintoMr.Cripslocktonight,pickupthecopiesafteraleisurelylunchtomorrow,andwithanyluckshouldhavethemallawaybythemiddleoftheweek.

Williamput onhis coat,wrapped thewoodblock carefully in somewaxedpaper,andsteppedoutintothefreezingnight.

Theworldismadeupoffourelements:Earth,Air,Fire,andWater.ThisisafactwellknowneventoCorporalNobbs.It’salsowrong.There’safifthelement,andgenerallyit’scalledSurprise.

Forexample,thedwarfsfoundouthowtoturnleadintogoldbydoingitthehardway. The difference between that and the easyway is that the hardwayworks.

The dwarfs dwarfhandled their overloaded, creaking cart along the street,peeringaheadinfog.Iceformedonthecartandhungfromtheirbeards.

Allitneededwasonefrozenpuddle.GoodoldDameFortune.Youcandependonher.

Thefogclosedin,makingeverylightadimglowandmufflingallsounds.Itwasclear toSergeantColonandCorporalNobbs thatnobarbarianhordewouldbeincluding the invasionofAnkh-Morpork in their travel plans for this evening.Thewatchmendidn’tblamethem.

They closed the gates. This was not the ominous activity that it mightappear, since the keys had been lost long ago and latecomers usually threwgravelat thewindowsof thehousesbuiltontopof thewalluntil theyfoundafriendtoliftthebar.Itwasassumedthatforeigninvaderswouldn’tknowwhichwindowstothrowgravelat.

Then the two watchmen trailed through the slush andmuck to theWaterGate,bywhichtheriverAnkhhadthegoodfortunetoenterthecity.Thewaterwasinvisibleinthedark,buttheoccasionalghostlyshapeofanicefloedriftedpastbelowtheparapet.

“Hangon,”saidNobby,astheylaidhandsonthewindlassoftheportcullis.“There’ssomeonedownthere.”

“Intheriver?”saidColon.Helistened.Therewasthecreakofanoar,farbelow.SergeantColoncuppedhishandsaroundhismouthandissuedthetraditional

policeman’scryofchallenge.“Oi!You!”Foramomenttherewasnosoundbutthewindandthegurglingofthewater.

Thenavoicesaid:“Yes?”“Areyouinvadingthecityorwhat?”Therewasanotherpause.Then:“What?”“Whatwhat?”saidColon,raisingthestakes.“Whatweretheotheroptions?”“Don’tmessmeabout…areyou,downthereintheboat,invadingthiscity?”“No.”“Fair enough,” said Colon, who on a night like this would happily take

someone’swordforit.“Getamoveon,then,’coswe’regoingtodropthegate.”Afterawhilethesplashoftheoarsresumed,anddisappeareddownriver.“Youreckonthatwasenough,justaskin’’em?”saidNobby.“Well,theyoughttoknow,”saidColon.“Yeah,but—”“Itwasatinylittlerowin’boat,Nobby.Ofcourse,ifyouwanttogoallthe

waydowntothemniceicystepsonthejetty—”

“No,Sarge.”“Thenlet’sgetbacktotheWatchHouse,allright?”

WilliamturneduphiscollarashehurriedtowardsCripslocktheengraver.Theusual busy streets were deserted. Only those with the most pressing businesswere out of doors. It was turning out to be a very nasty winter indeed, agazpachooffreezingfog,snow,andAnkh-Morpork’sever-present,ever-rollingsmog.

Hiseyewascaughtbya littlepoolof lightby theWatchmakers’Guild.Asmallhunchedfigurewasoutlinedintheglow.

Hewanderedover.Ahopelesssortofvoicesaid,“Hotsausages?Innabun?”“Mr.Dibbler?”saidWilliam.Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, Ankh-Morpork’s most enterprisingly

unsuccessful businessman, peered at William over the top of his portablesausage-cookingtray.Snowflakeshissedinthecongealingfat.Williamsighed.

“You’reoutlate,Mr.Dibbler,”hesaid,politely.“Ah,Mr.Worde.Timesishardinthehotsausagetrade,”saidDibbler.“Can’tmakebothendsmeat,eh?”saidWilliam.Hecouldn’thavestopped

himselfforahundreddollarsandashiploadoffigs.“Definitely in a period of slump in the comestiblesmarket,” saidDibbler,

toosunkingloomtonotice.“Don’tseemtofindanyonereadytobuyasausageinabunthesedays.”

Williamlookeddownatthetray.IfCut-Me-Own-ThroatDibblerwassellinghotsausages, itwasasuresign thatoneofhismoreambitiousenterpriseshadgonewahooni-shapedyetagain.SellinghotsausagesfromatraywasbywayofbeingthegroundstateofDibbler’sexistence,fromwhichheconstantlysoughtto extricate himself and back to which he constantly returnedwhen his latestventurewentallfruity.Whichwasashame,becauseDibblerwasanextremelygoodhotsausagesalesman.Hehadtobe,giventhenatureofhissausages.

“Ishouldhavegotapropereducationlikeyou,”saidDibblerdespondently.“Anice job indoorswithnoheavy lifting. I couldhave foundmynitch, if’n Ihavegotagoodeducation.”

“Nitch?”“Oneof thewizards toldmeabout ’em,”saidDibbler.“Everything’sgota

nitch.Youknow.Like:wheretheyoughttobe.Whattheywascutoutfor?”Williamnodded.Hewasgoodwithwords.“Niche?”hesaid.“Oneofthemthings,yes.”Dibblersighed.“Imissedoutonthesemaphore.

Just didn’t see it coming. Next thing you know, everyone’s got a clackscompany.Bigmoney.Toorichformyblood.Icould’vedoneallrightwiththeFungShooey,though.Sheerbloodybadluckthere.”

“I’vecertainlyfeltbetterwithmychairinadifferentposition,”saidWilliam.Thatadvicehadcosthimtwodollars,alongwithaninjunctiontokeepthelidontheprivydownsothattheDragonofUnhappinesswouldn’tflyuphisbottom.

“YouweremyfirstcustomerandI thankyou,”saidDibbler.“Iwasallsetup,I’dgottheDibblerwindchimesandtheDibblermirrors,itwasallgravyalltheway—Imean,everythingwaspositionedformaximumharmony,andthen…smack.Badkarmaplopsonmeoncemore.”

“ItwasaweekbeforeMr.Passmorewasable towalkagain, though,”saidWilliam. The case ofDibbler’s second customer had been very useful for hisnewsletter,whichrathermadeupforthetwodollars.

“Iwasn’ttoknowtherereallyisaDragonofUnhappiness,”saidDibbler.“I don’t think there was until you convinced him that one exists,” said

William.Dibblerbrighteneda little.“Ah,well, saywhatyou like, I’vealwaysbeen

goodatsellingideas.CanIconvinceyoutheideathatasausageinabuniswhatyoudesireatthistime?”

“Actually I’ve really got to get this along to—”William began, and thensaid,“Didyoujusthearsomeoneshout?”

“I’vegot somecoldporkpies, too, somewhere,” saidDibbler, ferreting inhistray.“Icangiveyouaconvincinglybargainpriceon—”

“I’msureIheardsomething,”saidWilliam.Dibblercockedanear.“Sortoflikearumbling?”hesaid.“Yes.”TheystaredintotheslowlyrollingcloudsthatfilledBroadWay.Which became, quite suddenly, a huge tarpaulin-covered cart, moving

unstoppablyandveryfast…And the last thingWilliam remembered, before something flewout of the

night and smacked him between the eyes, was someone shouting, “Stop thepress!”

Therumor,havingbeenpinnedtothepagebyWilliam’spenlikeabutterflytoacork, didn’t come to the ears of some people, because they had other, darkerthingsontheirmind.

Their rowboat slid through the hissing waters of the river Ankh, which

closedbehinditslowly.Two men were bent over the oars. The third sat in the pointy end.

Occasionallyitspoke.Itsaidthingslike,“Mynoseitches.”“You’lljusthavetowaittillwegetthere,”saidoneoftherowers.“Youcouldletmeoutagain.Itreallyitches.”“Weletyououtwhenwestoppedforsupper.”“Itdidn’titchthen.”Theotherrowersaid,“ShallIhithimupalongsidethe—ingheadwiththe

—ingoaragain,Mr.Pin?”“Goodidea,Mr.Tulip.”Therewasadullthumpinthedarkness.“Ow.”“Nownomorefuss,friend,otherwiseMr.Tulipwilllosehistemper.”“Too—ingright.”Thentherewasasoundlikeanindustrialpump.“Hey,goeasyonthatstuff,whydon’tyou?”“Ain’t—ingkilledmeyet,Mr.Pin.”Theboatoozedtoahaltalongsideatiny,little-usedlandingstage.Thetall

figurewho had so recently been the focus ofMr. Pin’s attentionwas bundledashoreandhustledawaydownanalley.

Amomentlatertherewasthesoundofacarriagerollingawayintothenight.It would seem quite impossible, on such a mucky night, that there could

havebeenanyonetowitnessthisscene.Buttherewas.Theuniverserequireseverythingtobeobserved,lestitcease

toexist.Afigureshuffledout fromtheshadowsof thealley,closeby.Therewasa

smallershapewobblinguncertainlybyitsside.Bothofthemwatchedthedepartingcoachasitdisappearedintothesnow.Thesmallerofthetwofiguressaid,“Well,well,well.There’safing.Manall

bundledupandhooded.Aninterestingfing,eh?”Thetallerfigurenodded.Itworeahugeoldgreatcoatseveralsizestoobig,

andafelthat thathadbeenreshapedbytimeandweatherintoasoftconethatoverhungthewearer’shead.

“Scraplit,”itsaid.“Thatchandtrouser,ablewitthegrawneyman.Itold’im.Itold’im.Millenniumhandandshrimp.Bugrit.”

After a bit of a pause it reached into its pocket and produced a sausage,whichbrokeintotwopieces.Onebitdisappearedunderthehat,andtheothergottossedtothesmallerfigurewhowasdoingmostofthetalkingor,atleast,mostofthecoherenttalking.

“Lookslikeadirtydeedtome,”saidthesmallerfigure,whichhadfourlegs.The sausagewas consumed in silence.Then thepair set off into thenight

again.Inthesamewaythatapigeoncan’twalkwithoutbobbingitshead,thetaller

figureappearedunabletowalkwithoutasortoflow-key,randommumbling:“I told ’em, I told ’em.Millenniumhandandshrimp. I said, I said, I said.

Oh,no.But theyonlyrunout, I told ’em.Sod’em.Doorsteps. Isaid, Isaid, Isaid. Teeth.Wassa name of age, I said I told ’em, not my fault, matterofact,matterofact,standtoreason…”

Therumordidcometoitsearslateron,butbythenitwaspartofit.AsforMr.PinandMr.Tulip,allthatneedbeknownaboutthematthispoint

isthattheyarethekindofpeoplewhocallyou“friend.”Peoplelikethataren’tfriendly.

Williamopenedhiseyes.I’vegoneblind,hethought.Thenhemovedtheblanket.Andthenthepainhithim.Itwas a sharp and insistent sort of pain, centered right over the eyes.He

reachedupgingerly.Thereseemedtobesomebruisingandwhatfeltlikeadentintheflesh,ifnotthebone.

Hesatup.Hewasinasloping-ceilingedroom.Abitofgrubbysnowcrustedthebottomofasmallwindow.Apartfromthebed,whichwasjustamattressandblanket,theroomwasunfurnished.

Athumpshookthebuilding.Dustdrifteddownfromtheceiling.He got up, clutching at his forehead, and staggered to the door. It opened

intoamuchlargerroomor,moreaccurately,aworkshop.Anotherthumprattledhisteeth.Williamtriedtofocus.Theroomwasfullofdwarfs, toilingoveracoupleoflongbenches.Butat

the far end several of them were clustered around something like a complexpieceofweavingmachinery.

Itwentthumpagain.Williamwinced.“What’shappening?”hesaid.Thenearestdwarf lookedupathimandnudgeda colleagueurgently.The

nudge passed itself along the rows, and the roomwas suddenly filledwall towall with a cautious silence. A dozen solemn dwarf faces looked hard toWilliam.

Noonecanlookharderthanadwarf.Perhapsit’sbecausethereisonlyquiteasmallamountoffacebetweenthestatutoryroundironhelmetand thebeard.Dwarfexpressionsaremoreconcentrated.

“Um,”hesaid.“Hello?”Oneofthedwarfsinfrontofthebigmachinewasthefirsttounfreeze.“Backtowork, lads,”hesaid,andcameandlookedWilliamsternlyin the

groin.“Youallright,YourLordship?”hesaid.Williamrubbedhisforehead.“Um…what happened?” he said. “I, uh, remember seeing a cart, and then

somethinghit…”“Itranawayfromus,”saidthedwarf.“Loadslipped,too.Sorryaboutthat.”“WhathappenedtoMr.Dibbler?”Thedwarfputhisheadononeside.“Washetheskinnymanwiththesausages?”hesaid.“That’sright.Washehurt?”“Idon’t think so,” said thedwarf carefully. “He soldyoungThunderaxe a

sausageinabun,Idoknowthat.”Williamthoughtabout this.Ankh-Morporkhadmany traps for theunwary

newcomer.“Well,thenisMr.Thunderaxeallright?”hesaid.“Probably. He shouted under the door just now that he was feeling a lot

better but would stay where he was for the time being,” said the dwarf. Hereached under a bench and solemnly handedWilliam a rectangle wrapped ingrubbypaper.

“Yours,Ithink.”William unwrapped his wooden block. It was split right across where a

wheelofthecarthadrunoverit,andthewritinghadbeensmudged.Hesighed.“’Scuseme,”saidthedwarf,“butwhatwasitmeanttobe?”“It’s ablockprepared forawoodcut,” saidWilliam.Hewonderedhowhe

could possibly explain the idea to a dwarf from outside the city. “You know?Engraving?A…a sort of very nearlymagicalway of getting lots of copies ofwriting?I’mafraidIshallhavetogoandmakeanotheronenow.”

The dwarf gave him an odd look, and then took the block from him andturneditoverandoverinhishands.

“Yousee,”saidWilliam,“theengravercutsawaybitsof—”“Haveyoustillgottheoriginal?”saidthedwarf.“Pardon?”“Theoriginal,”saidthedwarfpatiently.

“Oh,yes.”Williamreachedinsidehisjacketandproducedit.“CanIborrowitforamoment?”“Well,allright,butIshallneeditagainto—”The dwarf scanned the letter awhile, and then turned and hit the nearest

dwarfaresoundingboingonthehelmet.“Tenpointacrossthree,”hesaid.Thestruckdwarfnodded,andthenitsright

handmovedquicklyacrosstherackoflittleboxes,selectingthings.“IoughttobegettingbacksoIcan—”Williambegan.“Thiswon’ttakelong,”saidtheheaddwarf.“Justyoustepalongthisway,

willyou?Thismightbeofinteresttoamanofletterssuchasyourself.”William followed him along the avenue of busy dwarfs to the machine,

whichhadbeenthumpingawaysteadily.“Oh.It’sanengravingpress,”saidWilliamvaguely.“Thisone’sabitdifferent,”saidthedwarf.“We’ve…modifiedit.”Hetooka

largesheetofpaperoffapilebythepressandhandedittoWilliam,whoread:

“Whatdoyouthink?”saidthedwarfshyly.“AreyouGunillaGoodmountain?”“Yes.Whatdoyouthink?”“We—ell…you’vegotthelettersniceandregular,Imustsay,”saidWilliam.

“But I can’t seewhat’s so new about it. And you’ve spelled hitherto’ wrong.There shouldbeanotherH after the firstT.You’ll have to cut it all out againunlessyouwantpeopletolaughatyou.”

“Really?”saidGoodmountain.Henudgedoneofhiscolleagues.“Just give me a ninety-six-point uppercaseH, will you, Caslong? Thank

you.” Goodmountain bent over the press, picked up a spanner, and busiedhimselfsomewhereinthemechanicalgloom.

“Youmusthaveareallysteadyhandtogettheletterssoneat,”saidWilliam.Hefeltabitsorrythathe’dpointedoutthemistake.Probablynoonewouldhave

noticedinanycase.Ankh-Morporkpeopleconsideredthatspellingwasasortofoptionalextra.Theybelievedinitinthesamewaytheybelievedinpunctuation;itdidn’tmatterwhereyouputit,solongasitwasthere.

Thedwarffinishedwhateverarcaneactivityhehadbeenengagedin,dabbedwithaninkedpadatsomethinginsidethepress,andgotdown.

“I’msureitwon’t”—thump—“matteraboutthespelling,”saidWilliam.Goodmountain opened the press again and wordlessly handed William a

dampsheetofpaper.Williamreadit.TheextraHwasinplace.“How—?”hebegan.“This is averynearlymagicalwayofgetting lotsofcopiesquickly,” said

Goodmountain. Another dwarf appeared at his elbow, holding a big metalrectangle.Itwasfulloflittlemetalletters,backtofront.GoodmountaintookitandgaveWilliamabiggrin.

“Want tomakeanychangesbeforewego topress?”hesaid.“Justsay theword.Acoupleofdozenprintsbeenough?”

“Ohdear,”saidWilliam.“Thisisprinting,isn’tit…”

TheBucketwasatavern,ofsorts.Therewasnopassingtrade.Thestreetwas,ifnot adeadend, then seriouslywoundedby thearea’s change in fortunes.Fewbusinesses fronted onto it. It consisted mainly of the back ends of yards andwarehouses.No one even rememberedwhy itwas calledGleamStreet.Therewasnothingverysparklingaboutit.

Besides,callingataverntheBucketwasnotadecisiondestinedtofeatureinGreatMarketingDecisionsofHistory.ItsownerwasMr.Cheese,whowasthin,dry,andonlysmiledwhenheheardnewsofsomeseriousmurder.Traditionallyhe had sold short measure but, to make up for it, had shortchanged as well.However, the pub had been taken over by the City Watch as the unofficialpolicemen’spub, becausepolicemen like todrink inplaceswherenoone elsegoesandtheydon’thavetoberemindedthattheyarepolicemen.

Thishadbeenabenefitinsomeways.Notevenlicensedthievestriedtorobthe Bucket now. Policemen didn’t like their drinking disturbed. On the otherhand,Mr.Cheesehadneverfoundabiggerbunchofpettycriminalsthanthosewearing the Watch uniform. He saw more dud dollars and strange pieces offoreigncurrencycrosshisbarinthefirstmonththanhe’dfoundintenyearsinthe business. It made you depressed, it really did. But some of the murderdescriptionswerequitefunny.

Hemade part of his living by renting out the rat’s nest of old sheds andcellarsthatbackedontothepub.Theytendedtobeoccupiedverytemporarilybythekindof enthusiasticmanufacturerwhobelieved thatwhat theworld really,reallyneededtodaywasaninflatabledartboard.

But therewasacrowdoutside theBucketnow,readingoneof theslightlymisprintedposters thatGoodmountainhadnailedupon thedoor.He followedWilliamoutandnailedupthecorrectedversion.

“Sorry about your head,” he said. “Looks like we made a bit of animpressiononyou.Havethisoneonthehouse.”

William skulked home, keeping in the shadows in case he met Mr.Cripslock.Buthe foldedhisprinted sheets into their envelopesand took themdowntoHubGateandgavethemtothemessengers,reflectingashedidsothathewasdoingthisseveraldaysbeforehehadexpectedto.

Themessengersgavehimsomeveryoddlooks.Hewentbacktohislodgingsandhadalookathimselfinthemirroroverthe

washbasin.AlargeR,printedinbruisecolors,occupiedalotofhisforehead.Hestuckabandageoverit.Andhestillhadeighteenmorecopies.Asanafterthought,andfeelingrather

daring, he looked through his notes for the addresses of eighteen prominentcitizenswhocouldprobablyaffordit,wroteashortcoveringletter toeachoneoffering this service for…he thought for a while, and then carefully wrote“$5”…and folded the free sheets into eighteen envelopes.Of course, he couldalways have askedMr.Cripslock to domore copies aswell, but it had neverseemedright.Aftertheoldboyhadspentalldaychippingoutthewords,askinghim to sully his craftsmanship by making dozens of duplicates seemeddisrespectful. But you didn’t have to respect lumps of metal and machines.Machinesweren’talive.

That,really,waswherethetroublewasgoingtostart.Andtherewasgoingtobe trouble.Thedwarfshad seemedquiteunconcernedwhenhe’d told themhowmuchofittherewasgoingtobe.

Thecoacharrivedatalargehouseinthecity.Adoorwasopened.Adoorwasshut.Anotherdoorwasknockedon.Itwasopened.Itshut.Thecarriagepulledaway.

Oneground-floorroomwasheavilycurtained,andonlythebarestgleamoflight filtered out.Only the faintest of noises filtered out, too, but any listenerwould have heard a murmur of conversation die down. Then a chair was

knockedoverandseveralpeopleshouted,allatonce.“Thatishim!”“It’satrick…isn’tit?”“I’llbedamned!”“Ifitishim,soareweall!”Thehubbubdiedaway.Andthen,verycalmly,someonebegantotalk.“Good. Good. Take him away, gentlemen. Make him comfortable in the

cellar.”Therewerefootsteps.Adooropenedandclosed.Amorequerulousvoicesaid:“Wecouldsimplyreplace—”“No,wecouldnot.Iunderstandthatourguestis,fortunately,amanofrather

low intelligence.”Therewas thisabout the first speaker’svoice. It spokeas ifdisagreeingwasnotsimplyunthinkable,butimpossible.Itwasusedtobeinginthecompanyoflisteners.

“Buthelooksthespitandimage—”“Yes.Astonishing, isn’t it. Let us not overcomplicatematters, though.We

areabodyguardoflies,gentlemen.Weareallthatstandsbetweenthecityandoblivion,soletusmakethisonechancework.Vetinarimaybequitewillingtosee humans become aminority in their greatest city, but frankly his death byassassinationwouldbe…unfortunate.Itwouldcauseturmoil,andturmoilishardtosteer.Andweallknowthattherearepeoplewhotaketoomuchofaninterest.No.Thereisathirdway.Agentleslidefromoneconditiontoanother.”

“Andwhatwillhappentoournewfriend?”“Oh,ouremployeesareknowntobemenofresource,gentlemen.I’msure

theyknowhowtodealwithamanwhosefacenolongerfits,eh?”Therewaslaughter.

Things were a little fraught in Unseen University just at the moment. Thewizardstendedtoscuttlefrombuildingtobuilding,glancingatthesky.

The problem, of course, was the frogs. Not rains of frogs, which wereuncommon now inAnkh-Morpork, but specifically foreign treefrogs from thehumid jungles of Klatch. They were small, brightly colored, and happy littlecreatureswhosecretedsomeofthenastiesttoxinsintheworld,whichiswhythejoboflookingafterthelargevivariumwheretheyhappilypassedtheirdayswasgiven to first-year students, on the basis that if they got things wrong therewouldn’tbetoomucheducationwasted.

Very occasionally, a frog was removed from the vivarium and put into arather smaller jarwhere it briefly became a very happy frog indeed, and then

wenttosleepandwokeupinthatgreatbigjungleinthesky.And thus theuniversitygot the active ingredient that itmadeup intopills

and fed to the Bursar, to keep him sane. At least, apparently sane, becausenothingwas that simple at good oldUU. In fact hewas incurably insane andhallucinated more or less continually, but by a remarkable stroke of lateralthinkinghis fellowwizardshad reasoned, in thatcase, that thewholebusinesscould be sorted out if only they could find a formula that caused him tohallucinatethathewascompletelysane.*

Thishadworkedwell.Therehadbeenafewfalsestarts.Forseveralhours,at one point, he had hallucinated that he was a bookcase. But now he waspermanentlyhallucinatingthathewasabursar,andthatalmostmadeupforthesmallsideeffectwhichalsoledhimtohallucinatethathecouldfly.

Ofcourse,manypeople in theuniversehavealsohad themisplacedbeliefthattheycansafelyignoregravity,mostlyaftertakingsomelocalequivalentofdriedfrogpills,andthathasledtomuchextraworkforelementaryphysicsandcausedbrieftrafficjamsinthestreetbelow.Whenawizardhallucinatesthathecanfly,thingsaredifferent.

“Bursaar!Youcomedownhererightthisminute!”ArchchancellorMustrumRidcully barked through hismegaphone. “You knowwhat I said about goinghigherthanthewalls!”

TheBursarfloatedgentlydowntowardsthelawn.“Youwantedme,Archchancellor?”Ridcullywavedapieceofpaperathim.“Youweretellin’metheotherdaywewerespendin’atonofmoneywiththe

engraver,weren’tyou?”hebarked.TheBursargothisminduptosomethingapproachingthecorrectspeed.“Iwas?”hesaid.“Breakin’thebudget,yousaid.Rememberitdistinctly.”AfewcogsmeshedinthejitterygearboxoftheBursar’sbrain.“Oh, yes. Yes. Very true,” he said. Another gear clonked into place. “A

fortuneeveryyear,I’mafraid.TheGuildofEngravers—”“Chapheresays”—theArchchancellorglancedatthesheet—“hecandous

tencopiesofathousandwordseachforadollar.Isthatcheap?”“I think, uh, there must be a miscarving there, Archchancellor,” said the

Bursar,finallymanagingtogethisvoiceintothesmoothandsoothingtoneshefound best in dealing with Ridcully. “That sum would not keep him inboxwood.”

“Sayshere”—rustle—“downtoten-pointsize,”saidRidcully.TheBursarlostcontrolforamoment.

“Ridiculous!”“What?”“Sorry, Archchancellor. I mean, that can’t be right. Even if anyone could

consistently carve that fine, the wood would crumble after a couple ofimpressions.”

“Knowaboutthissortofthing,doyou?”“Well,mygreat-unclewasanengraver,Archchancellor.Andtheprintbillis

amajordrain,asyouknow.IthinkIcansaywithsomejustificationthatIhavebeenabletokeeptheGuilddowntoavery—”

“Don’ttheyinviteyoutotheirannualblowout?”“Well, as a major customer of course the University is invited to their

officialdinner,andasthedesignatedofficerInaturallyseeitaspartofmydutiesto—”

“Fifteencourses,Iheard.”“—andof course there isourpolicyofmaintaininga friendly relationship

withtheotherGui—”“Notincludingthenutsandcoffee.”The Bursar hesitated. The Archchancellor tended to combine wooden-

headedstupiditywithdistressinginsight.“Theproblem,Archchancellor,”hetried,“isthatwehavealwaysbeenvery

muchagainstusingmovabletypeprintingformagicpurposesbecause—”“Yes,yes, Iknowallabout that,” said theArchchancellor. “But there’s all

theotherstuff,moreofiteveryday…formsandchartsandgodsknowwhat.YouknowI’vealwayswantedapaperlessoffice—”

“Yes,Archchancellor, that’swhyyouhide it all in cupboards and throw itoutofthewindowatnight.”

“Cleandesk,cleanmind,”saidtheArchchancellor.HethrusttheleafletintotheBursar’shand.

“Justyoutrotdownthere,whydon’tyou,andseeifit’sjustalotofhotair.Butwalk,please.”

William felt drawnback to the sheds behind theBucket next day.Apart fromanythingelse,hehadnothingtodoandhedidn’tlikebeinguseless.

Thereare,ithasbeensaid,twotypesofpeopleintheworld.Therearethosewho,whenpresentedwithaglassthatisexactlyhalffull,say:thisglassishalffull.Andthentherearethosewhosay:thisglassishalfempty.

Theworldbelongs, however, to thosewho can look at the glass and say:What’s upwith this glass?Excuseme?Excuseme?This ismy glass? I don’t

thinkso.Myglasswasfull!Anditwasabiggerglass!Who’sbeenpinchingmybeer?

Andattheotherendofthebartheworldisfulloftheothertypeofperson,whohasabrokenglass,oraglassthathasbeencarelesslyknockedover(usuallyby one of the people calling for a larger glass), or who had no glass at all,becausehewasat thebackof thecrowdandhad failed to catch thebarman’seye.

Williamwasoneoftheglassless.Andthiswasodd,becausehe’dbeenbornintoafamilythatnotonlyhadaverylargeglassindeedbutcouldaffordtohavepeoplediscreetlystandingaroundwithbottlestokeepitfilledup.

It was self-imposed glasslessness, and it had started at a fairly early agewhenhe’dbeensentawaytoschool.

William’sbrother,Rupert,beingtheelder,hadgonetotheAssassins’SchoolinAnkh-Morpork,widelyregardedasbeingthebestschoolintheworldforthefull-glass class. William, as the less important son, had been sent toHugglestones,aboardingschoolsobleakandspartanthatonlytheupperglasseswouldsendtheirsonsthere.

Hugglestoneswas a granite buildingon a rain-soakedmoor, and its statedpurposewas tomakemen fromboys.Thepolicyemployed involvedacertainamount of wastage, and consisted, in William’s recollection at least, of verysimpleandviolentgames in thehealthyoutdoor sleet.The small, slow, fat,ormerely unpopular weremown down, as nature intended, but natural selectionoperates in many ways andWilliam found that he had a certain capacity forsurvival.AgoodwaytosurviveontheplayingfieldsofHugglestoneswastorunvery fastandshouta lotwhile inexplicablyalwaysbeinga longwayfromtheball. This had earned him, oddly enough, a reputation for being keen, andkeennesswashighlyprizedatHugglestones,ifonlybecauseactualachievementwassorare.

Hehadbeentrulykeenonanythinginvolvingwords.AtHugglestonesthishadnotcountedforagreatdeal, sincemostof itsgraduatesneverexpected tohavetodomuchmorewithapenthansigntheirnames,afeatthatmostofthemcould manage after three or four years, but it had meant long morningspeacefully reading anything that took his fancy while the hulking front-rowforwardswhowouldonedaybeat least thedeputy-leadersof the land learnedhowtoholdapenwithoutcrushingit.

Williamleftwithagoodreport,whichtendstobethecasewithpupilsthatmost of the teachers could only vaguely remember. Those who could recallWilliam had a hazy picture of someone always arriving just too late at somehuge and painful collision of bodies. A keen boy, they decided. The staff at

Hugglestonesprizedkeenness,believingthatinsufficientquantitiesitcouldtaketheplaceoflesserattributeslikeintelligence,foresight,andtraining.

Afterwards,hisfatherhadfacedtheproblemofwhattodowithhim.Hewastheyoungersoninanycase,andfamilytraditionsentyoungestsons

into some church or other, where they couldn’t do much harm on a physicallevel. But too much reading had taken its toll. William found that he nowthoughtofprayerasasophisticatedwayofpleadingwiththunderstorms.

Going into land management was just about acceptable, but it seemed toWilliamthatlandmanageditselfprettywell,onthewhole.Hewasallinfavorofthecountryside,providedthatitwasontheothersideofawindow.

Amilitarycareersomewherewasunlikely.Williamhadarootedobjectiontokillingpeoplehedidn’tknow.

Heenjoyedreadingandwriting.Helikedwords.Wordsdidn’tshoutormakeloud noises, which pretty much defined the rest of his family. They didn’tinvolve getting muddy in the freezing cold. They didn’t hunt inoffensiveanimals,either.Theydidwhathetoldthemto.So,he’dsaid,hewantedtowrite.

His father had erupted. In his personalworld, a scribewas only one stephigher thana teacher.Goodgods,man, theydidn’tevenrideahorse!SotherehadbeenWords.

Asaresult,WilliamhadgoneofftoAnkh-Morpork,theusualdestinationforthelostandtheaimless.Therehe’dmadewordshisliving,inaquietsortofway,andconsideredthathe’dgotoffeasycomparedtobrotherRupert,whowasbigandgood-naturedandaHugglestonesnaturalapartfromtheaccidentofbirth.

AndthentherehadbeenthewaragainstKlatch…Itwasaninsignificantwar,whichwasoverbeforeitstarted,thekindofwar

thatbothsidespretendedhadn’treallyhappened,butoneofthethingsthatdidhappeninthefewconfuseddaysofwretchedturmoilwasthedeathofRupertdeWorde. He had died for his beliefs; chief among them was the veryHugglestonianonethatbraverycouldreplacearmor,andthatKlatchianswouldturnandrunifyoushoutedloudenough.

William’sfather,duringtheirlastmeeting,hadgoneonatsomelengthaboutthe proud and noble traditions of the de Wordes. They had mostly involvedunpleasantdeaths,preferablyofforeigners,butsomehow,Williamgathered,thede Wordes had always considered that it was a decent second prize to diethemselves.AdeWordewasalwaystotheforewhenthecitycalled.Thatwaswhytheyexisted.Wasn’tthefamilymottoLeMotJuste?TheRightWordintheRightPlace,saidLorddeWorde.HesimplycouldnotunderstandwhyWilliamdidnotwanttoembracethisfinetraditionandhedealtwithit,inthemannerofhiskind,bynotdealingwithit.

AndnowagreatfrigidsilencehaddescendedbetweenthedeWordes,whichmadethewinterchillseemlikeasauna.

Inthisgloomyframeofmind,itwaspositivelycheeringtowanderintotheprintroomtofindtheBursararguingthetheoryofwordswithGoodmountain.

“Hold on, hold on,” said the Bursar. “Yes, indeed, figuratively a word ismadeupofindividuallettersbuttheyhaveonlya—”hewavedhislongfingersgracefully“—theoreticalexistence,ifImayputitthatway.Theyare,asitwere,wordspartisinpotentia,anditis,Iamafraid,unsophisticatedintheextremetoimagine that they have any real existence unis et separato. Indeed, the veryconcept of letters having their own physical existence is, philosophically,extremelyworrying.Indeed, itwouldbelikenosesandfingersrunningaroundtheworldallbythemselves—”

That’sthree“indeeds,”thoughtWilliam,whonoticedthingslikethis.Three“indeeds” used by a person in one brief speech generally meant an internalspringwasabouttobreak.

“Wegotwholeboxesof letters,”saidGoodmountainflatly.“Wecanmakeanywordsyouwant.”

“That’s the trouble, you see,” said the Bursar. “Supposing the metalremembers thewordsithasprinted?At leastengraversmeltdowntheirplates,andthecleansingeffectoffirewill—”

“’Scuseme,YourReverence,” saidGoodmountain.Oneof thedwarfshadtappedhimgentlyontheshoulderandhandedhimasquareofpaper.HepassedituptotheBursar.

“YoungCaslong here thought youmight like this as a souvenir,” he said.“Hetookitdowndirectlyfromthecaseandpulleditoffonthestone.He’sveryquicklikethat.”

TheBursartriedtolooktheyoungdwarfsternlyupanddown,althoughthiswasaprettypointlessintimidatorytactictouseondwarfs,sincetheyhadverylittleuptolookdownfrom.

“Really?”hesaid.“Howvery…”Hiseyesscannedthepaper.Andthenbulged.“But these are…when I said…I only just said…how did you know Iwas

goingtosay…Imean,myactualwords…”hestuttered.“Ofcoursethey’renotproperlyjustified,”saidGoodmountain.“Nowjustamoment—”theBursarbegan.William left them to it.The stonehe couldworkout—even the engravers

usedabigflatstoneasaworkbench.Andhe’dseendwarfspullingpapersheetsoffthemetalletters,sothatmadesensetoo.AndwhattheBursarsaidhadbeenunjustified.Itwasn’tasifmetalhadasoul.

Helookedovertheheadofadwarfwhowasbusilyassemblinglettersinalittlemetalhod,thestubbyfingersdartingfromboxtoboxinthebigtrayoftypeinfrontofhim.Capitallettersallinthetop,smalllettersallinthebottom.Itwasevenpossibletogetanideaofwhatthedwarfwasassembling,justbywatchingthemovementsofhishandsacrossthetray.

“M-a-k-e-$-$-$-I-n-n-Y-o-u-r-e-S-p-a-r-e-T-y-m—”hemurmured.Acertaintyformed.Heglanceddownat thesheetsofgrubbypaperbeside

thetray.They were covered with the dense spiky handwriting that identified its

ownerasananalretentivewithapoorgrip.TherewerenofliesonC.M.O.T.Dibbler.Hewouldhavechargedthemrent.Withbarelyaconsciousthought,Williampulledouthisnotebook,lickedhis

pencil,andwrote,verycarefully,inhisprivateshorthand:“AmzgsceneshvocrdintheCtwiththeOpengotPrntgEngnattheSgnot

BucketbyG.Goodmountain,Dwf,whichhscausdmch intereƒtamngallprtsinc.chfsofcomerƒe.”

He paused. The conversation at the other end of the roomwas definitelytakingamoreconciliatoryturn.

“Howmuchathousand?”saidtheBursar.“Even cheaper for bulk rates,” said Goodmountain. “Small runs no

problem.”TheBursar’s face had thatwarmglaze of someonewhodeals in numbers

andcanseeonehugeandinconvenientnumbergettingsmallerintheverynearfuture,and in thosecircumstancesphilosophydoesn’tstandmuchofachance.And what was visible of Goodmountain’s face had the cheerful scowl ofsomeonewho’sworkedouthowtoturnleadintostillmoregold.

“Well, of course, a contract of this size would have to be ratified by theArchchancellor himself,” said theBursar, “but I can assureyou that he listensverycarefullytoeverythingIsay.”

“I’msurehedoes,YourLordship,”saidGoodmountaincheerfully.“Uh,bytheway,”saidtheBursar,“doyoupeoplehaveanAnnualDinner?”“Oh,yes.Definitely,”saidthedwarf.“Whenisit?”“Whenwouldyoulikeit?”Williamscribbled:“MchbusinƒssmsliklywthaCertainEducationalBody

intCt,”andthen,becausehehadatrulyhonestnature,headded,“wehear.”Well,thatwasprettygoodgoing.He’dgotoneletterawayonlythismorning

andalreadyhehadanimportantnoteforthenextone——except,ofcourse,thecustomersweren’texpectinganotheroneforalmost

a month. He had another certain feeling that by then no one would be veryinterested.Ontheotherhand,ifhedidn’ttellthemaboutit,someonewouldbebound to complain. There had been all that trouble with the rain of dogs inTreacleMineRoadlastyear,anditwasn’tasifthathadevenhappened.

Butevenifhegotthedwarfstomakethetypereallybig,oneitemofgossipwasn’treallygoingtogoveryfar.

Blast.He’dhavetoscuttlearoundabitandfindsomemore.Onanimpulse,hewanderedovertothedepartingBursar.“Excuseme,sir,”hesaid.TheBursar,whowasfeelinginaverycheerfulmood,raisedaneyebrowina

good-humoredway.“Hmm?”hesaid.“It’sMr.deWorde,isn’tit?”“Yes,sir.I—”“I’m afraid we do all our own writing down at the University,” said the

Bursar.“IwonderifIcouldjustaskyouwhatyouthinkofMr.Goodmountain’snew

printingengine,sir?”saidWilliam.“Why?”“Er…BecauseI’dquiteliketoknow?AndI’dliketowriteitdownformy

newsletter. You know? Views of a leading member of Ankh-Morpork’sthaumaturgicalestablishment?”

“Oh?” The Bursar hesitated. “This is the little thing you send out to theDuchessofQuirmandtheDukeofStoHelitandpeoplelikethat,isn’tit?”

“Yes,sir,”saidWilliam.Wizardswereterriblesnobs.“Er.Well,then…youcansaythatIsaiditisastepintherightdirectionthat

will…er…bewelcomed by all forward-thinking people andwill drag the citykickingandscreamingintotheCenturyoftheFruitbat.”Hewatchedeagle-eyedasWilliamwrotethisdown.“AndmynameisDr.A.A.Dinwiddie,D.M.(7th),D.Thau.,B.Occ.,M.Coll.,B.F.That’sDinwiddiewithanO.”

“Yes, Dr. Dinwiddie. Er…the Century of the Fruitbat is nearly over, sir.WouldyoulikethecitytobedraggedkickingandscreamingoutoftheCenturyoftheFruitbat?”

“Indeed.”Williamwrote thisdown.Itwasapuzzlewhythingswerealwaysdragged

kickingandscreaming.Nooneeverseemedtowantto,forexample,leadthemgentlybythehand.

“AndI’msureyouwillsendmeacopywhenitcomesout,ofcourse,”saidtheBursar.

“Yes,Dr.Dinwiddie.”“Andifyouwantanythingfrommeatanyothertime,don’thesitatetoask.”“Thankyou,sir.ButI’dalwaysunderstood,sir,thatUnseenUniversitywas

againsttheuseofmovabletype?”“Oh,Ithinkit’stimetoembracetheexcitingchallengespresentedtousby

theCenturyoftheFruitbat,”saidtheBursar.“We…that’stheonewe’rejustabouttoleave,sir.”“Thenit’shightimeweembracedthem,don’tyouthink?”“Goodpoint,sir.”“AndnowImustfly,”saidtheBursar.“ExceptthatImustn’t.”

LordVetinari, thePatricianofAnkh-Morpork,pokedat the ink inhis inkwell.Therewasiceinit.

“Don’tyouevenhaveaproperfire?”saidHughnonRidcully,HighPriestofBlind Io and unofficial spokesman for the city’s religious establishment. “Imean,I’mnotoneforstuffyrooms,butit’sfreezinginhere!”

“Brisk,certainly,”saidLordVetinari.“It’sodd,but the ice isn’tasdarkastherestoftheink.Whatcausesthat,doyouthink?”

“Science, probably,” said Hughnon vaguely. Like his wizardly brother,Archchancellor Mustrum, he didn’t like to bother himself with patently sillyquestions.Bothgodsandmagic required solid, sensiblemen, and thebrothersRidcullyweresolidasrocks.And,insomerespects,assensible.

“Ah.Anyway…youweresaying?”“Youmustputastoptothis,Havelock.Youknowthe…understanding.”Vetinariseemedengrossedintheink.“Must,YourReverence?”hesaidcalmly,withoutlookingup.“Youknowwhywe’reallagainstthismovabletypenonsense!”“Remindmeagain…look,itbobsupanddown…”Hughnonsighed. “Wordsare too important tobe left tomachinery.We’ve

got nothing against engraving, you know that. We’ve nothing against wordsbeingnaileddownproperly.Butwordsthatcanbetakenapartandusedtomakeotherwords…well, that’s downright dangerous.And I thought youweren’t infavor,either?”

“Broadly,yes,”saidthePatrician.“Butmanyyearsofrulingthiscity,YourReverence, have taught me that you cannot apply brakes to a volcano.Sometimesitisbesttoletthesethingsruntheircourse.Theygenerallydiedownagainafterawhile.”

“You have not always taken such a relaxed approach, Havelock,” said

Hughnon.The Patrician gave him a cool stare thatwent on for a couple of seconds

beyondthecomfortbarrier.“Flexibilityandunderstandinghavealwaysbeenmywatchwords,”hesaid.“Mygod,havethey?”“Indeed.Andwhat Iwould like you and your brother to understand now,

YourReverence,inaflexibleway,isthatthisenterpriseisbeingundertakenbydwarfs.Anddoyouknowwherethelargestdwarfcityis,YourReverence?”

“What?Oh…let’ssee…there’sthatplacein—”“Yes,everyonestartsbysayingthat.Butit’sAnkh-Morpork,infact.There

aremorethanfiftythousanddwarfsherenow.”“Surelynot?”“I assure you.We have currently very good relationships with the dwarf

communitiesinCopperheadandUberwald.Indealingswiththedwarfs,Ihaveseen to it that the city’s hand of friendship is permanently outstretched in aslightlydownwarddirection.AndinthiscurrentcoldsnapIamsureweareallverygladthatbargeloadsofcoalandlampoilarecomingdownfromthedwarfmineseveryday.Doyoucatchmymeaning?”

Hughnonglancedatthefireplace.Againstallprobability,onelumpofcoalwassmolderingallbyitself.

“Andofcourse,”thePatricianwenton,“itisincreasinglyhardtoignorethisnewtype,aha,ofprintingwhenvastprinteriesnowexistintheAgateanEmpireand,asIamsureyouareaware, inOmnia.AndfromOmnia,asyounodoubtknow, theOmnians import vast amounts of their holyBook ofOm and thesepamphletsthey’resokeenon.”

“Evangelicalnonsense,”saidHughnon.“Youshouldhavebannedthemlongago.”

Onceagainthestarewentonagooddealtoolong.“Banareligion,YourReverence?”“Well,whenIsayban,Imean—”“I’m sure no one could call me a despot, Your Reverence,” said Lord

Vetinariseverely.Hughnon Ridcully made a misjudged attempt to lighten the mood. “Not

twiceatanyanyrate,ahaha.”“I’msorry?”“Isaid…nottwiceatanyrate…ahaha.”“Idoapologize,butyouseemtohavelostmethere.”“Itwas,uh,aminorwitticism,Hav—mylord.”“Oh.Yes.Ahah,”saidVetinari,andthewordswitheredintheair.“No,I’m

afraidyouwillfindthattheOmniansarequitefreetodistributetheirgoodnewsaboutOm.Buttakeheart!SurelyyouhavesomegoodnewsaboutIo.”

“What?Oh.Yes,ofcourse.Hehadabitofacoldlastmonth,buthe’supandaboutagain.”

“Capital.Thatisgoodnews.Nodoubttheseprinterswillhappilyspreadthewordonyourbehalf.I’msuretheywillworktoyourexactingrequirements.”

“Andtheseareyourreasons,mylord?”“DoyouthinkIhaveothers?”saidLordVetinari.“Mymotives,asever,are

entirelytransparent.”Hughnonreflectedthat“entirelytransparent”meanteitherthatyoucouldsee

rightthroughthemorthatyoucouldn’tseethematall.Lord Vetinari shuffled through a file of paper. “However, the Guild of

Engravershasputitsratesupthreetimesinthepastyear.”“Ah.Isee,”saidHughnon.“A civilization runs on words, Your Reverence. Civilization is words.

Which, on the whole, should not be too expensive. The world turns, YourReverence, andwemust spinwith it.”He smiled. “Once upon a time nationsfoughtlikegreatgruntingbeastsinaswamp.Ankh-Morporkruledalargepartofthatswampbecauseithadthebestclaws.Buttodaygoldhastakentheplaceofsteeland,mygoodness, theAnkh-Morporkdollar seems tobe thecurrencyofchoice.Tomorrow…perhapstheweaponrywillbejustwords.Themostwords,thequickestwords, the lastwords.Lookoutof thewindow.Tellmewhatyousee.”

“Fog,”saidtheHighPriest.Vetinari sighed. Sometimes the weather had no sense of narrative

convenience.“If itwasa fineday,” he said sharply, “youwould see thebig semaphore

towerontheothersideoftheriver.Wordsflyingoutandbackfromeverycornerof the continent.Not long ago itwould takeme the better part of amonth toexchange letters with our ambassador in Genua. Now I can have a replytomorrow. Certain things become easier, but this makes them harder in otherways.Wehave tochange thewaywe think.Wehave tomovewith the times.Haveyouheardofc-commerce?”

“Certainly.Themerchantshipsarealways—”“ImeanthatyoumaynowsendaclacksallthewaytoGenuatoordera…a

pintofshrimps,ifyoulike.Isthatnotanotablething?”“Theywouldbeprettyhighwhentheygothere,mylord!”“Certainly.Thatwasjustanexample.Butnowthinkofaprawnasmerelyan

assemblageofinformation!”saidLordVetinari,hiseyessparkling.

“Areyousuggestingthatprawnscouldtravelbysemaphore?”saidtheHighPriest.“Isupposethatyoumightbeabletoflickthemfrom—”

“Iwasendeavoringtopointupthefactthatinformationisalsoboughtandsold,”saidLordVetinari.“Andalsothatwhatwasonceconsideredimpossibleisnowquiteeasilyachieved.Kingsandlordscomeandgoandleavenothingbutstatuesinadesert,whileacoupleofyoungmentinkeringinaworkshopchangethewaytheworldworks.”

Hewalkedover toa tableonwhichwasspreadoutamapof theworld. Itwasaworkman’smap;thisistosay,itwasamapusedbysomeonewhoneededtorefertoitalot.Itwascoveredwithnotesandmarkers.

“We’ve always looked beyond the walls for the invaders,” he said. “Wealwaysthoughtchangecamefromoutside,usuallyonthepointofasword.Andthen we look around and find that it comes from the inside of the head ofsomeoneyouwouldn’t notice in the street. In certain circumstances itmaybeconvenient to remove the head, but there seem to be such a lot of them thesedays.”

Hegesturedtowardsthebusymap.“A thousand years agowe thought theworldwas a bowl,” he said. “Five

hundredyearsagoweknewitwasaglobe.Todayweknowitisflatandroundandcarriedthroughspaceonthebackofaturtle.”HeturnedandgavetheHighPriest another smile. “Don’t you wonder what shape it will turn out to betomorrow?”

But a family trait of all the Ridcullys was not to let go of a thread untilyou’veunraveledthewholegarment.

“Besides,theyhavetheselittlepincerthings,youknow,andwouldprobablyhangonlike—”

“Whatdo?”“Prawns.They’dhangonto—”“You are taking me rather too literally, Your Reverence,” said Vetinari

sharply.“Oh.”“Iwasmerelyendeavoringtoindicatethat ifwedonotgrabeventsbythe

collartheywillhaveusbythethroat.”“It’llend in trouble,mylord,”saidRidcully.He’dfounditagoodgeneral

commentinpracticallyanydebate.Besides,itwassooftentrue.Lord Vetinari sighed. “Inmy experience, practically everything does,” he

said.“Thatisthenatureofthings.Allwecandoissingaswego.”Hestoodup.“However,Iwillpayapersonalvisittothedwarfsinquestion.”

Hereachedouttoringabellonhisdesk,stopped,andwithasmileatthepriest

movedhishandinsteadtoabrass-and-leathertubethathadhungfromtwobrasshooks.Themouthpiecewasintheshapeofadragon.

Hewhistledintoit,andthensaid:“Mr.Drumknott?Mycoach,please.”“Is it me,” said Ridcully, giving the newfangled speaking tube a nervous

glance,“oristhereaterriblesmellinhere?”LordVetinarigavehimaquizzicallookandglanceddown.Therewasabasketjustunderneathhisdesk.Initwaswhatappearedtobe,

atfirstglanceandcertainlyatfirstsmell,adeaddog.Itlaywithallfourlegsintheair.Onlytheoccasionalgentleexpulsionofwindsuggestedthatsomelivingprocesswasgoingon.

“It’shisteeth,”hesaidcoldly.ThedogWufflesturnedoverandregardedthepriestwithonebalefulblackeye.

“He’sdoingverywell foradogofhisage,” saidHughnon, inadesperateattempttoclimbasuddenlytiltingslope.“Howoldwouldhebenow?”

“Sixteen,”saidthePatrician.“That’soverahundredindogyears.”Wufflesdraggedhimselfintoasittingpositionandgrowled,releasingagust

ofstaleodorsfromthedepthsofhisbasket.“He’sveryhealthy,”saidHughnon,whiletryingnottobreathe.“Forhisage,

Imean.Iexpectyougetusedtothesmell.”“Whatsmell?”saidLordVetinari.“Ah.Yes.Indeed,”saidHughnon.

AsLordVetinari’s coach rattledoff through the slush towardsGleamStreet itmayhavesurpriseditsoccupanttoknowthat,inacellarquitenearby,someonelookingverymuchlikehimwaschainedtothewall.

Itwasquitealongchain,givinghimaccesstoatableandchair,abed,andaholeinthefloor.

Currently,hewasatthetable.OntheothersideofitwasMr.Pin.Mr.Tulipwas leaningmenacinglyagainst thewall. Itwouldbeclear toanyexperiencedpersonthatwhatwasgoingonherewas“goodcop,badcop”withthepeculiardrawbackthattherewerenocops.TherewasjustanapparentlyendlesssupplyofMr.Tulip.

“So…Charlie,”saidMr.Pin,“howaboutit?”“It’snotillegal,isit?”saidthemanaddressedasCharlie.Mr.Pinspreadhishands.“What’slegality,Charlie?Justwordsonpaper.But

youwon’tbedoinganythingwrong.”Charlienoddeduncertainly.

“Buttenthousanddollarsdoesn’tsoundlikethekindofmoneyyougetfordoingsomethingright,”hesaid.“Notforjustsayingafewwords.”

“Mr.Tuliphereoncegotevenmoremoney than that forsaying justa fewwords,Charlie,”saidMr.Pinsoothingly.

“Yeah,Isaid,‘Givemeallthe—ingcashorthegirlgetsit,’”saidMr.Tulip.“Was that right?” said Charlie, who seemed toMr. Pin to have a highly

developeddeathwish.“Absolutelyrightforthatoccasion,yes,”hesaid.“Yes, but it’s not often people make money like that,” said the suicidal

Charlie. His eyes kept straying to themonstrous bulk ofMr. Tulip, whowasholdingapaperbaginonehandand,intheotherhand,aspoon.Hewasusingthespoontoferryafinewhitepowdertohisnose,hismouth,andonce,Charliewouldhavesworn,hisear.

“Well,youareaspecialman,Charlie,”saidMr.Pin.“Andafterwardsyouwillhavetostayoutofsightforalongtime.”

“Yeah,” saidMr. Tulip, in a spray of powder. Therewas a sudden strongsmellofmothballs.

“All right, but why did you have to kidnapme, then? Oneminute I waslockingupforthenight,nextminute—bang!Andyou’vegotmechainedup.”

Mr.Pindecidedtochangetack.CharliewasarguingtoomuchforamaninthesameroomasMr.Tulip,especiallyaMr.Tulipwhowashalfwaythroughabagofpowderedmothballs.Hegavehimabigfriendlysmile.

“There’s no point in dwelling on the past, my friend,” he said. “This isbusiness.Allwewant isa fewdaysofyour time,and thenyouendupwithafortune and—and I believe this is important, Charlie—a lifetime in which tospendit.”

Charliewasturningouttobeverystupidindeed.“ButhowdoyouknowIwon’ttellsomeone?”heinsisted.Mr.Pinsighed.“Wetrustyou,Charlie.”ThemanhadrunaclothesshopinPseudopolis.Smallshopkeepershadtobe

smart,didn’tthey?Theywereusuallysharpaskniveswhenitcametomakingjusttherightamountofwrongchange.Somuchforphysiognomy,thoughtMr.Pin.ThismancouldpassforthePatricianeveninagoodlight,butwhilebyallaccountsLordVetinariwould have alreadyworked out all the nastyways thefuturecouldgo,CharliewasactuallyentertainingtheideathathewasgoingtocomeoutofthisaliveandmightevenoutsmartMr.Pin.Hewasactuallytryingtobecunning!HewassittingafewfeetawayfromMr.Tulip,amantryingtosnortcrushedmothrepellent,andhewastryingguile.Youalmosthadtoadmiretheman.

“I’ll need tobebackbyFriday,” saidCharlie. “It’ll all beoverbyFriday,willit?”

Theshedthatwasnowleasedbythedwarfshadinthecourseofitsricketylifebeenaforgeandalaundryandadozenotherenterprises,andhadlastbeenusedasarockinghorsefactorybysomeonewhohadthoughtsomethingwastheNextBigThingwhenitwasbythenonedayawayfrombecomingtheLastBigThing.Stacksofhalf-finished rockinghorses thatMr.Cheesehadbeenunable to sellforthebackrentstillfilledonewallallthewaytothetinroof.Therewasashelfofcorrodingpainttins.Brusheshadfossilizedintheirjars.

The press occupied the center of the floor, with several dwarfs at work.William had seen presses. The engravers used them. This one had an organicquality, though.Thedwarfsspentasmuchtimechanging thepressas theydidusingit.Extrarollersappeared,endlessbeltswerethreadedintotheworks.Thepressgrewbythehour.

Goodmountainwasworking in front of several of the large sloped boxes,eachoneofwhichdividedintoseveraldozencompartments.

Williamwatchedthedwarf’shandflyoverthelittleboxesofleadenletters.“Why’sthereabiggerboxfortheE’s?”“’Costhat’stheletterweusemostof.”“Isthatwhyit’sinthemiddleofthebox?”“Right.E’sthenT’sthenA’s…”“Imean,peoplewouldexpecttoseeAinthemiddle.”“WeputE.”“Butyou’vegotmoreN’sthanU’s.AndUisavowel.”“PeopleusemoreN’sthanyouthink.”Ontheothersideoftheroom,Caslong’sstubbydwarffingersdancedacross

hisownboxesofletters.“Youcanalmostreadwhathe’sworkingon—”Williambegan.Goodmountainglancedup.Hiseyesnarrowedforamoment.“‘…Make…more…money…inn…youre…Spare…Time…’” he said.

“SoundslikeMr.Dibblerhasbeenback.”William stared down at the box of letters again. Of course, a quill pen

potentiallycontainedanythingyouwrotewithit.Hecouldunderstandthat.Butitdidsoinaclearlytheoreticalway,asafeway.Whereasthesedullgrayblockslooked threatening. He could understand why they worried people. Put ustogetherintherightway,theyseemedtosay,andwecanbeanythingyouwant.We could even be something you don’twant.We can spell anything.We can

certainlyspelltrouble.Thebanonmovabletypewasn’texactlya law.Butheknewtheengravers

didn’tlikeit,becausetheyhadtheworldoperatingjustastheywantedit,thankyou verymuch. And LordVetinari was said not to like it, because toomanywordsonlyupsetpeople.Andthewizardsandthepriestsdidn’tlikeitbecausewordswereimportant.

Anengravedpagewasanengravedpage,completeandunique.But ifyoutooktheleadenlettersthathadpreviouslybeenusedtosetthewordsofagod,andthenusedthemtosetacookerybook,whatdidthatdototheholywisdom?Forthatmatter,whatwoulditdotothepie?Asforprintingabookofspells,andthenusing thesametypeforabookofnavigation—well, thevoyagemightgoanywhere.

On cue, because history likes neatness, he heard the sound of a carriagedrawing up in the street outside. A few moments later Lord Vetinari steppedinsideandstoodleaningheavilyonhisstickandsurveyingtheroomwithmildinterest.

“Why…LorddeWorde,”hesaid,lookingsurprised.“Ihadnoideathatyouwereinvolvedinthisenterprise…”

Williamcoloredashehurriedovertothecity’ssupremeruler.“It’sMisterdeWorde,mylord.”

“Ah,yes.Ofcourse.Indeed.”LordVetinari’sgazetraversedtheinkyroom,pausedamomentonthepileofmadlysmilingrockinghorses,andthentookinthetoilingdwarfs.“Yes.Ofcourse.Andareyouincharge?”

“No one is, my lord,” said William. “But Mr. Goodmountain over thereseemstodomostofthetalking.”

“Sowhatexactlyisyourpurposehere?”“Er…”William paused,which he knewwas never a good tacticwith the

Patrician. “Frankly, sir, it’s warm, my office is freezing, and…well, it’sfascinating.Look,Iknowit’snotreally—”

LordVetinarinoddedandraisedahand.“BesogoodastoaskMr.Goodmountaintocomeoverhere,willyou?”WilliamtriedtowhisperafewinstructionsintoGunilla’searashehustled

himovertothetallfigureofthePatrician.“Ah, good,” said thePatrician. “Now, Iwould just like to ask one or two

questions,ifImay?”Goodmountainnodded.“Firstly, isMr.Cut-My-Own-ThroatDibbler involved in this enterprise in

anysignificantmanagerialcapacity?”“What?”saidWilliam.Hehadn’tbeenexpectingthis.

“Shiftyfellow,sellssausages—”“Oh,him.No.Justthedwarfs.”“Isee.Andisthisbuildingbuiltonacrackinspace-time?”“What?”saidGunilla.ThePatriciansighed.“WhenonehasbeenrulerofthiscityaslongasIhave,”hesaid,“onegetsto

knowwithasadcertaintythatwheneversomewell-meaningsoulbeginsanovelenterprisetheyalways,withsomekindofuncannyforesight,siteitatthepointwhere itwill domaximum harm to the fabric of reality. Therewas thatHolyWoodmovingpicturefiascoafewyearsago,yes?AndthatMusicwithRocksbusinessnot longafter,wenevergot to thebottomof that.Andof course thewizardsseemtobreakintotheDungeonDimensionssooftentheymightaswellinstallarevolvingdoor.AndI’msureIdon’thavetoremindyouwhathappenedwhenthelateMr.HongchosetoopenhisThreeJollyLuckTake-AwayFishBarinDagonStreetduringthelunareclipse.Yes?Yousee,gentlemen,itwouldbenice to think thatsomeone, somewhere in thiscity, is engaged in somesimpleenterprise that is not going to end up causing tentacled monsters and dreadapparitionstostalkthestreetseatingpeople.So…”

“What?”saidGoodmountain.“Wehaven’tnoticedanycracks,”saidWilliam.“Ah,butpossiblyon this very site a strange cult once engaged in eldritch

rites, theveryessenceofwhichpermeated theneighborhood,andwhichseeksonly the rite, ahaha, circumstances toonceagainariseandwalkaroundeatingpeople?”

“What?”saidGunilla.HelookedhelplesslyatWilliam,whocouldonlyadd:“Theymaderockinghorseshere.”“Really? I’ve always thought there was something slightly sinister about

rockinghorses,”saidLordVetinari,buthelookedsubtlydisappointed.Thenhebrightenedup.Hepointedtothebigstoneonwhichthetypewasarranged.

“Aha,”hesaid.“Innocentlytakenfromtheovergrownruinsofamegalithicstonecircle,thisstoneisredolentwiththebloodofthousands,Ihavenodoubt,whowillemergetoseekrevenge,youmaydependuponit.”

“Itwascutspeciallyformebymybrother,”saidGunilla.“AndIdon’thavetotakethatkindoftalk,mister.Whodoyouthinkyouare,cominginhereandtalkingdaftlikethat?”

Williamsteppedforwardatahealthyfractionofthespeedofterror.“Iwonder if Imight just takeMr.Goodmountainasideandexplainoneor

twothingstohim?”hesaidquickly.ThePatrician’sbright,enquiringsmiledidnotsomuchasflicker.

“Whatagoodidea,”hesaid,asWilliamfrog-marchedthedwarftoacorner.“Hewillbesuretothankyouforitlater.”

LordVetinaristoodleaningonhisstickandlookingatthepresswithanairof benevolent interest, while behind him William de Worde explained thepolitical realities of Ankh-Morpork, especially those relating to sudden death.Withgestures.

Afterthirtysecondsofthis,GoodmountaincamebackandstoodfoursquareinfrontofthePatrician,withhisthumbsinhisbelt.

“IspeakasIfind,me,”hesaid.“Alwayshavedone,alwayswill—”“Andwhatisitthatyoucallaspade?”saidLordVetinari.“What?Neverusespades,”saidthegloweringdwarf.“Farmersusespades.

ButIcallashovelashovel.”“Yes,Ithoughtyouwould,”saidLordVetinari.“YoungWilliamheresaysyou’rearuthlessdespotwhodoesn’tlikeprinting.

But I say you’re a fair-mindedmanwhowon’t stand in thewayof an honestdwarfmakingabitofaliving,amIright?”

Onceagain,LordVetinari’ssmileremainedinplace.“Mr.deWorde,amoment,please…”ThePatricianputhisarmcompanionablyaroundhisshouldersandwalked

Williamgentlyawayfromthewatchingdwarfs.“Ionlysaidthatsomepeoplecallyou—”Williambegan.“Now, sir,” said the Patrician, waving this away, “I think I might just be

persuaded,againstallexperience,thatwehaveherealittleendeavorthatmightjustbepursuedwithoutfillingmystreetswithinconvenientoccultrubbish.ItishardtoimaginesuchathinginAnkh-Morpork,butIcouldjustaboutacceptitasapossibility.AnditsohappensthatIfeel thequestionof‘printing’isonethatmight,withcare,bereopened.”

“Youdo?”“Yes.SoIammindedtoallowyourfriendstoproceedwiththeirfolly.”“Er,they’renotexactly—”Williambegan.“Ofcourse,Ishouldaddthat,intheeventoftherebeinganyproblemsofa

tentacularnature,youwouldbeheldpersonallyresponsible.”“Me?ButI—”“Ah.YoufeelthatIambeingunfair?Ruthlesslydespotic,perhaps?”“Well,I,er—”“Apartfromanythingelse,thedwarfsareaveryhardworkingandvaluable

ethnicgrouping in thecity,”said thePatrician.“Onthewhole, Iwish toavoidany low-level difficulties at this time, what with the unsettled situation inUberwaldandthewholeMuntabquestion.”

“Where’sMuntab?”saidWilliam.“Exactly.HowisLorddeWorde,bytheway?Youshouldwritetohimmore

often,youknow.”Williamsaidnothing.“I always think it is a very sad thing when families fall out,” said Lord

Vetinari.“Thereisfartoomuchmutton-headedillfeelingintheworld.”HegaveWilliam a companionable pat. “I’m sure you will see to it that the printingenterprisestaysfirmlyintherealmsofthecult,thecanny,andthescrutable.DoImakemyselfclear?”

“ButIdon’thaveanycontrolov—”“Hmm?”“Yes,LordVetinari,”saidWilliam.“Good. Good!” The Patrician straightened up, turned, and beamed at the

dwarfs.“Jollygood,”hesaid.“Myword.Lotsoflittleletters,allscrewedtogether.

Possiblyan ideawhose timehascome. Imayevenhaveanoccasional job foryoumyself.”

WilliamwavedfranticallyatGunillafrombehindthePatrician’sback.“Specialrateforgovernmentjobs,”thedwarfmuttered.“Oh,butIwouldn’tdreamofpayinganylessthanothercustomers,”saidthe

Patrician.“Iwasn’tgoingtochargeyoulessthan—”“Well,I’msurewe’veallbeenverypleasedtoseeyouhere,YourLordship,”

saidWilliambrightly, swiveling thePatrician in thedirectionof thedoor.“Welookforwardtothepleasureofyourcustom.”

“AreyouquitesureMr.Dibblerisn’tinvolvedinthisconcern?”“Ithinkhe’shavingsomethingsprinted,butthat’sall,”saidWilliam.“Astonishing.Astonishing,”saidLordVetinari,gettingintohiscoach.“Ido

hopeheisn’till.”Twofigureswatchedhisdeparturefromtherooftopopposite.Oneofthemsaid,very,veryquietly,“—!”Theothersaid,“Youhaveapointofview,Mr.Tulip?”“Andhe’sthemanwhorunsthecity?”“Yeah.”“Sowhere’shis—ingbodyguards?”“If we wanted to scrag him, here and now, how useful would, say, four

bodyguardsbe?”“Asa—ingchocolatekettle,Mr.Pin.”“Thereyouare,then.”

“ButIcouldknockhimoverfromherewitha—ingbrick!”“Igather therearemanyorganizationswhoholdViewson that,Mr.Tulip.

Peopletellmethisdumpisthriving.Themanatthetophasalotoffriendswheneverythingisgoingwell.Youwouldsoonrunoutofbricks.”

Mr.Tuliplookeddownatthedepartingcoach.“FromwhatIhearhemostlydoesn’tdoa—ingthing!”hecomplained.“Yeah,”saidMr.Pinsmoothly.“Oneofthehardestthingstodoproperly,in

politics.”BothMr.TulipandMr.Pinbroughtdifferentthingstotheirpartnership,and

in this instancewhatMr.Pinbroughtwaspolitical savvy.Mr.Tulip respectedthis,evenifhedidn’tunderstandit.Hecontentedhimselfwithmuttering,“It’dbesimplerto—ingkillhim.”

“Oh,fora—ingsimpleworld,”saidMr.Pin.“Look,layofftheHonk,eh?Thatstuff’sfortrolls.It’sworsethanSlab.Andtheycutitwithgroundglass.”

“’schemical,”saidMr.Tulipsullenly.Mr.Pinsighed.“ShallItryagain?”hesaid.“Listencarefully.Drugsequalschemicals,but,

andpleaselisten to thispart, sheesh,chemicalsdonotequaldrugs.Rememberall that trouble with the calcium carbonate? When you paid the man fivedollars?”

“Mademefeelgood,”mutteredMr.Tulip.“Calciumcarbonate?”saidMr.Pin.“Evenforyou, Imean…look,youput

upyouractualnoseenoughchalkthatsomeonecouldprobablycutyourheadoffandwriteonablackboardwithyourneck.”

ThatwasthemajorproblemwithMr.Tulip,he thoughtas theymadetheirwaytotheground.Itwasn’tthathehadadrughabit.Hewantedtohaveadrughabit. What he had was a stupidity habit, which cut in whenever he foundanything being sold in little bags, and this had resulted inMr. Tulip seekingheaven in flour, salt, baking powder, and pickled beef sandwiches. In a streetwhere furtive people were selling Clang, Slip, Chop, Rhino, Skunk, Triplin,Floats,Honk,DoubleHonk,Gongers,andSlack,Mr.Tuliphadanunerringwayof finding themanwhowas retailingcurrypowder atwhatworkedout as sixhundreddollarsapound.Itwasso—ingembarrassing.

Currently he was experimenting with the whole range of recreationalchemicalsavailable toAnkh-Morpork’s trollpopulation,becauseat leastwhendealingwithtrollsMr.Tuliphadamoderatechanceofoutsmartingsomebody.IntheorySlabandHonkshouldn’thaveanyeffectonthehumanbrain,apartfrommaybedissolvingit.Mr.Tulipwashanginginthere.He’dtriednormalityonce,andhadn’tlikedit.

Mr.Pinsighedagain.“Comeon,”hesaid.“Let’sfeedthegeek.”InAnkh-Morporkitisveryhardtowatchwithoutbeingwatchedinturn,and

thetwobarelyvisibleheadswereindeedunderobservation.Theywere beingwatched by a small dog, variously colored butmainly a

rustygray.Occasionally itscratched itself,withanoise likesomeone trying toshaveawirebrush.

Therewasapieceofstringarounditsneck.Itwasattachedtoanotherpieceof string or, rather, to a lengthmade up of pieces of string inexpertly knottedtogether.

The stringwas being held in the hand of aman. At least, suchmight bededucedfromthefactthatitdisappearedintothesamepocketofthegrubbycoatasonesleeve,whichpresumablyhadanarminit,andtheoreticallythereforeahandontheend.

Itwasastrangecoat.Itstretchedfromthepavementalmost tothebrimofthe hat above it, which was shaped rather like a sugarloaf. There was asuggestion of gray hair around the join. One arm burrowed in the suspiciousdepthsofapocketandproducedacoldsausage.

“Twomenspyin’onthePatrician,”saidthedog.“Aninterestin’fing.”“Bug’rem,”saidthemanandbrokethesausageintotwodemocratichalves.

WilliamwroteashortparagraphaboutPatricianVisitsTheBucketandexaminedhisnotebook.

Amazing,really.He’dfoundnolessthanadozenitemsforhisnewsletterinonlyaday.Itwasastonishingwhatpeoplewouldtellyouifyouaskedthem.

Someone had stolen one of the golden fangs of the statue of Offler theCrocodileGod;he’dpromisedSergeantColonadrinkfortellinghimthat,butinanycasehadgotsomewaytowardspaymentbyappendingtohisparagraphthephrase: “The Watch Are Mightily in Pursuit of the Wrongdoer, and AreConfidentofApprehenƒionatanEarlyJuncture.”

He was not entirely sure about this, although Sergeant Colon had lookedverysincerewhenhesaidit.

ThenatureoftruthalwaysbotheredWilliam.Hehadbeenbroughtuptotellitor,morecorrectly, to“ownup”andsomehabitsarehardtobreakif they’vebeenbeateninhardenough.AndLorddeWordehadinclinedtotheoldproverbthatasyoubendthetwig,sogrowsthetree.Williamhadnotbeenaparticularlyflexibletwig.LorddeWordehadnot,himself,beenaviolentman.He’dmerelyemployed them. Lord deWorde, as far asWilliam could recall, had no greatenthusiasmforanythingthatinvolvedtouchingpeople.

Anyway,Williamalwaystoldhimself,hewasnogoodatmakingthingsup;anything thatwasn’t the truth simplyunraveled forhim.Even littlewhite lies,like“Ishalldefinitelyhavethemoneybytheendoftheweek,”alwaysendedintrouble.Thatwas“tellingstories,”asininthedeWordecompendiumthatwasworse than lying; itwas trying tomake lies interesting. SoWilliamdeWordetoldthetruth,outofcosmicself-defense.He’dfoundahardtruthlesshardthananeasylie.

TherehadbeenratheragoodfightintheMendedDrum.Williamwasverypleasedwiththatone:“WhereuponBrezocktheBarbarianpickedupatableanddelivered a blow to Moltin the Snatcher, who in his turn seized hold of theChandeliersandswungthereon,thewhilecrying,‘Takethat, thouB*st*rdthatyou are!!!’ at which juncture, a ruckus commenced and 5 or 6 people werehurt…”

HetookitalldowntotheBucket.Gunillareaditwithinterest;itseemedtotakeverylittletimeforthedwarfs

tosetitupintype.And it was odd, but……once it was in type, all the letters so neat and

regular……itlookedmorereal.Boddony,whoseemedtobesecondincommandoftheprintroom,squinted

atthecolumnsoftypeoverGoodmountain’sshoulder.“Hmm,”hesaid.“Whatdoyouthink?”saidWilliam.“Looksabit…gray,”saidthedwarf.“Allthetypebunchedup.Lookslikea

book.”“Well,that’sallright,isn’tit?”saidWilliam.Lookslikeabooksoundedlike

agoodthing.“Maybeyouwantitmoresortofspacedout?”saidGunilla.William stared at the printed page. An idea crept over him. It seemed to

evolvefromthepageitself.“Howabout,”hesaid,“ifweputalittletitleoneachpiece?”Hepickedupascrapofpaperanddoodled:5/6HurtinTavernBrawl.Boddonyreaditsolemnly.“Yes,” he said eventually. “That looks…suitable.” He passed the paper

acrossthetable.“Whatdoyoucallthisnewssheet?”hesaid.“Idon’t,”saidWilliam.“You’vegot to call it something,” saidBoddony. “Whatdoyouput at the

top?”

“Generally something like ‘TomyLordThe…’”Williambegan.Boddonyshookhishead.

“Youcan’tputthat,”hesaid.“Youwantsomethingabitmoregeneral.Moresnappy.”

“How about ‘Ankh-Morpork Items,’” said William. “Sorry, but I’m notmuchgoodatnames.”

Gunillapulledhislittlehodoutofhisapronandselectedsomelettersfromoneofthecasesonthetable.Hescrewedthemtogether,inkedthem,androlledasheetofpaperoverthem.

Williamread:Ankh-MorporktImes.“Messedthatupabit.Wasn’tpayingattention,”mutteredGunilla,reaching

forthetype.Williamstoppedhim.“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.“Er.Leaveitasitis…justmakeitabiggerTanda

smalleri.”“That’s it, then,”saidGunilla.“Alldone.Allright, lad?Howmanycopies

doyouwant?”“Er…twenty?Thirty?”“Howaboutacoupleofhundred?”Gunillanoddedatthedwarfs,whosetto

work.“It’shardlyworthgoingtopressforless.”“Goodgrief!Ican’timaginethere’senoughpeopleinthecitythat’dpayfive

dollars!”“Allright,charge’emhalfadollar.Thenit’llbeafiftydollarsforusandthe

sameforyou.”“Myword,really?”Williamstaredatthebeamingdwarf.“ButI’vestillgottosellthem,”hesaid.“It’snotasthoughthey’recakesina

shop.It’snotlike—”Hesniffed.Hiseyesbegantowater.“Ohdear,”hesaid.“We’regoingtohaveanothervisitor.Iknowthatsmell.”“Whatsmell?”saidthedwarf.Thedoorcreakedopen.There was this to be said about the Smell of Foul Ole Ron, an odor so

intense that it took on a personality of its own and fully justified the capitalletter:aftertheinitialshocktheorgansofsmelljustgaveupandshutdown,asifnomoreabletocomprehendthethingthananoystercancomprehendtheocean.After someminutes in its presence,waxwould start to trickle out of people’searsandtheirhairwouldbegintobleach.

Ithaddevelopedtosuchadegreethatitnowledasemi-independentlifeofitsown,andoftenwenttothetheaterbyitself,orreadsmallvolumesofpoetry.

Ronwasoutclassedbyhissmell.Foul Ole Ron’s hands were thrust deeply into his pockets, but from one

pocketissuedalengthofstring,orratheragreatmanylengthsofstringtiedintoonelength.Theotherwasattachedtoasmalldogof thegrayishpersuasion.Itmay have been a terrier. It walkedwith a limp and also in a kind of obliquefashion,asthoughitwastryingtoinsinuateitswaythroughtheworld.Itwalkedlikeadogwhohaslongagolearnedthattheworldcontainsmorethrownbootsthanmeatybones.Itwalkedlikeadogthatwasprepared,atanymoment,torun.

ItlookedupatWilliamwithcrustedeyesandsaid:“Woof.”Williamfeltthatheoughttostandupformankind.“Sorryaboutthesmell,”hesaid.Thenhestaredatthedog.“What’s this smell you keep on about?” said Gunilla. The rivets on his

helmetwerebeginningtotarnish.“It, er, belongs to Mr…. er…Ron,” said William, stillgiving the dog a

suspiciouslook.“Peoplesayit’sglandular.”Hewas sure he’d seen the dog before. Itwas always in the corner of the

picture, as it were—ambling through the streets, or just sitting on a corner,watchingtheworldgoby.

“What does he want?” said Gunilla. “D’you think he wants us to printsomething?”

“Shouldn’tthinkso,”saidWilliam.“He’sasortofbeggar.Onlytheywon’tlethimintheBeggars’Guildanymore.”

“Heisn’tsayinganything.”“Well, usually he just stands there until people give him something to go

away. Er…you heard of things like the Welcome Wagon, where variousneighborsandtradersgreetnewcomerstoanarea?”

“Yes.”“Well,thisisthedarkside.”FoulOleRonnodded,andheldoutahand.“’S’right,MisterPush.Don’ttry

theblarneygobbleonme,juggins,Itold’em,Iain’tslangingthegentry,bugrit.Millenniumhandandshrimp.Dang.”

“Woof.”Williamglaredatthedogagain.“Growl,”itsaid.Gunillascratchedsomewhereintherecessesofhisbeard.“OnethingIalreadynoticedaboutthisheretown,”hesaid,“isthatpeople’ll

buypracticallyanythingoffamaninthestreet.”Hepickedupahandfulofthenewssheets,stilldampfromthepress.“Canyouunderstandme,mister?”hesaid.

“Bugrit.”Gunilla nudged William in the ribs. “Does that mean yes or no, d’you

think?”“Probablyyes.”“Okay.Well,seeherenow,ifyousellthesethingsat,oh,twentypenceeach,

youcankeep—”“Hey,youcan’tsellitthatcheap,”saidWilliam.“Whynot?”“Why? Because…because…because, well, anyone will be able to read it,

that’swhy!”“Good,’costhatmeansanyone’llbeabletopaytwentypence,”saidGunilla

calmly.“There’slotsmorepoorfolkthanrichfolkandit’seasiertogetmoneyoutof’em.”HegrimacedatFoulOleRon.“Thismayseemastrangequestion,”hesaid,“buthaveyougotanyfriends?”

“Itold’em!Itold’em!Bug’rem!”“Probably yes,” said William. “He hangs out with a bunch of…er…

unfortunates that live under one of the bridges.Well, not exactly ‘hangs out.’More‘droops.’”

“Well,now,”saidGunilla,waving thecopyof theTimesatRon,“youcantellthemthatiftheycansellthesetopeoplefortwentypenceeach,I’llletyoukeeponeniceshinypenny.”

“Yeah?Andyoucanputyerniceshinypennywhere thesundon’tshine,”saidRon.

“Oh,soyou—”Gunillabegan.Williamlaidahandonhisarm.“Sorry,justaminute—Whatwasthatyousaid,Ron?”hesaid.“Bugrit,”saidFoulOleRon.IthadsoundedlikeRon’svoiceandithadseemedtocomefromthegeneral

areaofRon’s face, itwas just that ithaddemonstratedacoherenceyoudidn’toftenget.

“Youwantmorethanapenny?”saidWilliamcarefully.“Gottobeworthfivepenceatime,”saidRon.Moreorless.ForsomereasonWilliam’sgazewasdraggeddowntothesmallgraydog.It

returneditamiablyandsaid“Woof?”Helookedbackupagain.“Areyouallright,FoulOleRon?”hesaid.“Gottleo’geer,gottleo’geer,”saidRonmysteriously.“Allright…twopence,”saidGunilla.“Four,”Ronseemedtosay.“Butlet’snotmessabout,okay?Onedollarper

thirty?”

“It’sadeal,”saidGoodmountain,whospatonhishandandwouldhavehelditouttosealthecontractifWilliamhadn’tgrippediturgently.

“Don’t.”“What’swrong?”Williamsighed.“Haveyougotanyhorriblydisfiguringdiseases?”“No!”“Doyouwantsome?”“Oh.”Gunilla lowered his hand. “You tell your friends to get round here

rightnow,okay?”hesaid.HeturnedtoWilliam.“Trustworthy,arethey?”“Well…sortof,”saidWilliam.“It’sprobablynotagoodideatoleavepaint

thinnersaround.”Outside,FoulOleRonandhisdogambleddownthestreet.Andthestrange

thingwas thataconversationwasgoingon,eventhoughtherewas technicallyonlyonepersonthere.

“See?Itoldyou.Youjustletmedothetalkin’,allright?”“Bugrit.”“Right.Youstickwithmeandyouwon’tgofarwrong.”“Bugrit.”“Really?Well,Isposethat’llhavetodo.Bark,bark.”

TwelvepeoplelivedundertheMisbegotBridgeandinalifeofluxury,althoughluxuryisnothardtoachievewhenyoudefineitassomethingtoeatatleastonceadayandespeciallywhen you have such a broad definition of “something toeat.”Technicallytheywerebeggars,althoughtheyseldomhadtobeg.Possiblytheywerethieves,althoughtheyonlytookwhathadbeenthrownaway,usuallyby people hurrying to be out of their presence. Outsiders considered that theleaderofthegroupwasCoffinHenry,whowouldhavebeenthecity’schampionexpectorator if anyone else had wanted the title. But the group had the truedemocracyofthevoteless.TherewasArnoldSideways,whoselackoflegsonlyservedtogivehimanextraadvantageinanypubfight,whereamanwithgoodteethatgroinheighthaditallhisownway.Andifitwasn’tfortheduckwhosepresence on his head he consistently denied, theDuckManwould have beenviewedaswell-spokenandeducatedandassaneasthenextman.Unfortunately,thenextmanwasFoulOleRon.

TheothereightpeoplewereAltogetherAndrews.AltogetherAndrewswasonemanwithconsiderablymorethanonemind.In

areststate,whenhehadnoparticularproblemtoconfront,therewasnosignof

this except a sort of background twitch and flicker as his features passedrandomlyunder the control of, variously, Jossi,LadyHermione,LittleSidney,Mr.Viddle,Curly,theJudge,andTinker;therewasalsoBurke,butthecrewhadonly ever seen Burke once and never wanted to again, so the other sevenpersonalities kept him buried. Nobody in the body answered to the name ofAndrews. In the opinion of theDuckMan,whowas probably the best in thecrewat thinking in a straight line,Andrewshadprobablybeen some innocentand hospitable person of a psychic disposition who had simply beenoverwhelmedbythecolonizingsouls.

OnlyamongthegentlecrewunderthebridgecouldaconsensuspersonlikeAndrewsfindanaccommodatingniche.They’dwelcomedhim,orthem,tothefraternityaroundthesmokyfire.Someonewhowasn’tthesamepersonformorethanfiveminutesatatimecouldfitrightin.

Oneotherthingthatunitedthecrew—althoughprobablynothingcoulduniteAltogether Andrews—was a readiness to believe that a dog could talk. Thegroup around the smoldering fire believed they had heard a lot of things talk,suchaswalls.Adogwaseasybycomparison.Besides, theyrespectedthefactthat Gaspode had the sharpest mind of the lot and never drank anything thatcorrodedthecontainer.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he said. “If you sell thirty of the things,you’llgetadollar.Awholedollar.Gotthat?”

“Bugrit.”“Quack.”“Haaargghhh…gak!”“Howmuchisthatinoldboots?”Gaspodesighed.“No,Arnold.Youcanuse themoney tobuyasmanyold

—”TherewasarumblefromAltogetherAndrews,andtherestofthecrewwent

verystill.WhenAltogetherAndrewswasquietforawhile,youneverknewwhohewasgoingtobe.

TherewasalwaysthepossibilitythatitwouldbeBurke.“CanIaskaquestion?”saidAltogetherAndrews,inaratherhoarsetreble.Thecrewrelaxed.ThatsoundedlikeLadyHermione.Shewasn’taproblem.“Yes…YourLadyship?”saidGaspode.“Thiswouldn’tbe…work,wouldit?”Thementionofthewordsenttherestofthecrewintoafugueofstressand

bewilderedpanic.“Haaaruk…gak!”“Bugrit!”

“Quack!”“No,no,no,”saidGaspodehurriedly.“It’shardlywork,isit?Justhanding

outstuffandtakin’money?Doesn’tsoundlikeworktome.”“I ain’tworking!” shoutedCoffinHenry. “I am socially inadequate in the

wholeareaofdoinganything!”“Wedonotwork,”saidArnoldSideways.“Weisgentlemenofles-u-are.”“Ahem,”saidLadyHermione.“Gentlemenandladiesofles-u-are,”saidArnoldgallantly.“Thisisaverynastywinter.Extramoneywouldcertainlycomeinhandy,”

saidtheDuckMan.“Whatfor?”saidArnold.“Wecouldlivelikekingsonadollaraday,Arnold.”“What,youmeansomeone’dchopourheadsoff?”“No,I—”“Someone’dclimbupinsidetheprivywithared-hotpokerand—”“No!Imeant—”“Someone’ddrownusinabuttofwine?”“No,that’sdyinglikekings,Arnold.”“Ishouldn’treckonthereisabuttofwinebigenoughthatyoucouldn’tdrink

yourway out of it,”mutteredGaspode. “So,what about it,masters?Oh, andmistress,o’course.ShallI—shallRontellthatladwe’reupforit?”

“Indeed.”“Okay.”“Gawwwark…pt!”“Bugrit!”TheylookedatAltogetherAndrews.Hislipsmoved,hisfaceflickered.Then

heheldupfivedemocraticfingers.“Theayeshaveit,”saidGaspode.

Mr.Pinlitacigar.Smokingwashisonevice.Atleast,itwashisonlyvicethathethoughtofasavice.Theotherswerejustjobskills.

Mr.Tulip’sviceswerealso limitless,butheownedup tocheapaftershavebecauseamanhastodrinksomething.Thedrugsdidn’tcount, ifonlybecausetheonlytimehe’devergotrealoneswaswhenthey’drobbedahorsedoctorandhe’dtakenacoupleofbigpillsthathadmadeeveryveinonhisbodystandoutlikeapurplehosepipe.

Thepairwerenotthugs.Atleast,theydidnotseethemselvesasthugs.Norwere they thieves.At least, theynever thoughtof themselvesas thieves.They

didnotthinkofthemselvesasassassins.Assassinswereposh,andhadrules.PinandTulip—theNewFirm,asMr.Pinlikedtorefertothem—didnothaverules.

Theythoughtofthemselvesasfacilitators.Theyweremenwhomadethingshappen,menwhoweregoingplaces.

It has to be added that when one says “they thought” it means “Mr. Pinthought.”Mr.Tulipusedhishead all the time, from a distance of about eightinches,buthewasnot,exceptinoneortwounexpectedareas,amangivenmuchtousinghisbrain.Onthewhole,heleftMr.Pintodothepolysyllabiccogitation.

Mr. Pin, on the other hand, was not very good at sustained, mindlessviolence, and admired the fact that Mr. Tulip had an apparently bottomlesssupply.Whentheyhadfirstmet,andhadrecognizedineachotherthequalitiesthatwouldmaketheirpartnershipgreaterthanthesumofitsparts,he’dseenthatMr.Tulipwasnot,asheappearedtotherestoftheworld,justanothernutjob.Somenegativequalitiescanreachapitchofperfection thatchanges theirverynature,andMr.Tuliphadturnedangerintoanart.

It was not anger at anything. It was just pure, platonic anger fromsomewhereinthereptiliandepthsofthesoul,afountainofnever-endingred-hotgrudge;Mr.Tuliplivedhislifeonthatthinlinemostpeopleoccupyjustbeforetheyhaul off andhit someone repeatedlywith awrench.ForMr.Tulip, angerwas the ground state of being. Pin had occasionally wondered what hadhappened to theman tomake him as angry as that, but toTulip the pastwasanothercountrywithvery,verywellguardedborders.SometimesMr.Pinheardhimscreamingatnight.

ItwasquitehardtohireMr.TulipandMr.Pin.Youhadtoknowtherightpeople.Tobemoreaccurate,youhadtoknowthewrongpeople,andyougottoknow thembyhangingaroundacertainkindofbar and surviving,whichwaskindofafirsttest.Thewrongpeople,ofcourse,wouldnotknowMr.TulipandMr.Pin.Buttheywouldknowaman.Andthatmanwould,inageneralsense,expresstheguardedopinionthathemayknowhowtogetintouchwithmenofaPin-likeorTulipoliticdisposition.Hecouldnotexactly recallmuchmore thanthat at themoment, due tomemory loss brought on by lack of money. Oncecured, he may indicate in a general kind of way another address where youwouldmeet,inadarkcorner,amanwhowouldtellyouemphaticallythathehadneverheardofanyonecalledTuliporPin.Hewouldalsoaskwhereyouwouldbeat,say,nineo’clocktonight.

AndthenyouwouldmeetMr.TulipandMr.Pin.Theywouldknowyouhadmoney,theywouldknowyouhadsomethingonyourmind,and,ifyouhadbeenreallystupid,theynowknewyouraddress.

And it had therefore come as a surprise to theNew Firm that their latest

clienthadcomestraighttothem.Thiswasworrying.Itwasalsoworryingthathewasdead.GenerallytheNewFirmhadnoproblemwithcorpses,buttheydidn’tlikethemtospeak.

Mr.Slantcoughed.Mr.Pinnoticed that thiscreatedasmallcloudofdust.ForMr.Slantwasazombie.

“Imustreiterate,”saidMr.Slant,“thatIamamerefacilitatorinthismatter—”

“Justlikeus,”saidMr.Tulip.Mr.Slantindicatedwithalookthathewouldneverinathousandyearsbe

justlikeMr.Tulip,buthesaid:“Quiteso.Myclientswishedmetofindsome…experts.Ifoundyou.Igaveyousomesealedinstructions.Youhaveacceptedthecontract. And I understand that as a result of this you have made certain…arrangements.Idonotknowwhatthosearrangementsare.Iwillcontinuenottoknowwhatthosearrangementsare.Myrelationshipwithyouis,astheysay,onthelongfinger.Doyouunderstandme?”

“What—ing finger is that?” saidMr. Tulip.Hewas getting jittery in thepresenceofthedeadlawyer.

“Weseeeachotheronlywhennecessary,wesayaslittleaspossible.”“Ihate—ingzombies,”saidMr.Tulip.Thatmorninghe’dtriedsomething

he’dfoundinaboxunderthesink.Ifitcleaneddrains,he’dreasoned,thatmeantitwaschemical.Nowhewasgettingstrangemessagesfromhislargeintestine.

“Iamsurethefeelingismutual,”saidMr.Slant.“Iunderstandwhatyou’resaying,”saidMr.Pin.“You’resayingthatifthis

goesbadyou’veneverseenusinyourlife—”“Ahem…”Mr.Slantcoughed.“Yourafterlife,”Mr.Pincorrectedhimself.“Okay.Whataboutthemoney?”“Asrequested,thirtythousanddollarsforspecialexpenseswillbeincluded

inthesumalreadyagreed.”“Ingems.Notcash.”“Of course. And my clients would hardly write you a check. It will be

delivered tonight. And perhaps I should mention one other matter.” His dryfingersshuffledthroughthedrypapersinhisdrybriefcase,andhehandedMr.Pinafolder.

Mr.Pinreadit