The Truth (33 page)

“The old pavements,” said Sacharissa. “It’s like this all round this area, I think. After the big floods they built up the sides of the road with timber and filled it in, but they left the pavements on either side because not all the properties had built up yet and people objected.”

“What?” said Boddony. “You mean the roads were higher than the pavements?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sacharissa, following him into the gap.

“What happens if a horse pi…if a horse made water on the street?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” sniffed Sacharissa.

“How did people cross the street?”

“Ladders.”

“Oh, come on, miss!”

“No, they used ladders. And a few tunnels. It wasn’t going to be for very long. And then it was simpler just to put heavy slabs over the old pavements. And so there’s these—well, forgotten spaces.”

“There’s rats up here,” said Dozy, who was wandering into the distance.

“Hot damn!” said Boddony. “Anyone brought the cutlery? Only joking, miss. Hey, what do we have here…?”

He hacked at some planks, which crumbled away under the blows.

“Someone didn’t want to use a ladder,” he said, peering into another hole.

“It goes right
under
the street?” said Sacharissa.

“Looks like it. Must have been allergic to horses.”

“And…er…you can find your way?”

“I’m a dwarf. We are underground.
Dwarf. Underground
. What was your question again?”

“You’re not proposing to hack through to the cellars of the
Inquirer
, are you?” said Sacharissa.

“Who, us?”

“You are, aren’t you.”

“We wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Yes, but you are, aren’t you.”

“That’d be tantamount to breaking in, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, and that’s what you’re planning to do, isn’t it.”

Boddony grinned. “Well…a little bit. Just to have a look round. You know.”

“Good.”

“What? You don’t mind?”

“You’re not going to kill anyone, are you?”

“Miss, we don’t do that sort of thing!”

Sacharissa looked a little disappointed. She’d been a respectable young woman for some time. In certain people, that means there’s a lot of dammed-up disreputability just waiting to burst out.

“Well…perhaps just make them a bit sorry, then?”

“Yes, we can probably do that.”

The dwarfs were already creeping along the tunnel at the other side of the buried street. By the light of their torches she saw old frontages, bricked-up doors, windows filled with rubble.

“This should be about the right place,” said Boddony, pointing to a faint rectangle filled with more low-grade brick.

“You’re just going to break in?” said Sacharissa.

“We’ll say we were lost,” said Boddony.

“Lost underground? Dwarfs?”

“All right, we’ll say we’re drunk. People’ll believe
that
. Okay, lads…”

The rotten bricks fell away. Light streamed out. In the cellar beyond, a man looked up from his desk, mouth open.

Sacharissa squinted through the dust.

“You?”
she said.

“Oh, it’s you, miss,” said Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler. “Hello, boys. Am I glad to see you…”

The canting crew were just leaving when Gaspode arrived at the gallop. He took one look at the other dogs that were huddled around the fire, then dived under the trailing folds of Foul Ole Ron’s dreadful coat and whined.

It took some time for the whole of the crew to understand what was going on. These were, after all, people who could argue and expectorate and creatively misunderstand their way through a three-hour argument after someone says “Good morning.”

It was the Duck Man who finally got the message.

“These men are hunting terriers?” he said.

“Right! It was the bloody newspaper! You can’t bloody trust people who write in newspapers!”

“They threw these doggies in the river?”

“Right!” said Gaspode. “It’s all gone fruit-shaped!”

“Well, we can protect you too.”

“Yeah, but
I’ve
got to be out and about! I’m a figure in this town! I can’t lie low! I need a disguise! Look, we could be looking at fifty dollars here, right? But you need me to get it!”

The crew were impressed with this. In their cashless economy, fifty dollars was a fortune.

“Blewitt,” said Foul Ole Ron.

“A dog’s a dog,” said Arnold Sideways. “On account of bein’ called a dog.”

“Gaarck!” crowed Coffin Henry.

“That’s true,” said the Duck Man. “A false beard isn’t going to work.”

“Well, your huge brains had better come up with
somethin’
, ’cos I’m staying put until you do,” said Gaspode. “I’ve
seen
these men. They are not nice.”

There was a rumble from Altogether Andrews. His face flickered as the various personalities reshuffled themselves, and then settled into the waxy bulges of Lady Hermione.

“We
could
disguise him,” she said.

“What could you disguise a dog as?” said the Duck Man. “A cat?”

“Ae dog is not
just
ae dog,” said Lady Hermione. “Ai think Ai have an idea…”

The dwarfs were in a huddle when William got back. The epicenter of the huddle, its huddlee, turned out to be Mr. Dibbler, who looked just like anyone would look if they’re being harangued. William had never seen anyone to whom the word “harangued” could be so justifiably applied. It meant someone who had been talked at by Sacharissa for twenty minutes.

“Is there a problem?” he said. “Hello, Mr. Dibbler…”

“Tell me, William,” said Sacharissa, while pacing slowly around Dibbler’s chair, “if stories were food, what kind of food would be Goldfish Eats Cat?”

“What?” William stared at Dibbler. Realization dawned. “I think it would be a sort of long, thin kind of food,” he said.

“Filled with rubbish of suspicious origin?”

“Now, there’s no need for anyone to take that tone—” Dibbler began, and then subsided under Sacharissa’s glare.

“Yes, but rubbish that’s sort of attractive. You’d keep on eating it even though you wished you didn’t,” said William. “What’s going on here?”

“Look, I didn’t
want
to do it,” Dibbler protested.

“Do
what?
” said William.

“Mr. Dibbler’s been writing those stories for the
Inquirer
,” said Sacharissa.

“I mean, no one
believes
what they read in the paper, right?” said Dibbler.

William pulled up a chair and sat straddling it, resting his arms on the back.

“So, Mr. Dibbler…when did you
start
pissing in the fountain of Truth?”

“William!” snapped Sacharissa.

“Look, times haven’t been good, see?” said Dibbler. “And I thought, this news business…well, people like to hear about stuff from a long way away, you know, like in the Almanacke—”

“‘Plague of Giant Weasels in Hersheba’?” said William.

“That’s the style. Well, I thought…it doesn’t sort of
matter
if they’re, you know,
really
true…I mean…” William’s glassy grin was beginning to make Dibbler uncomfortable. “I mean…they’re
nearly
true, aren’t they? Everyone knows that sort of thing happens…”

“You didn’t come to
me,
” said William.

“Well, of
course
not. Everyone knows you’re a bit…a bit unimaginative about that sort of thing.”

“You mean I like to know that things have
actually
happened?”

“That’s it, yes. Mr. Carney says people won’t notice the difference
anyway.
He doesn’t like you very much, Mr. de Worde.”

“He’s got
wandering hands,
” said Sacharissa. “You can’t trust a man like that.”

William pulled the latest copy of the
Inquirer
towards him and picked a story at random.

“‘Man Stolen by Demons,’” he said. “This refers to Mr. Ronnie ‘Trust Me’ Begholder, known to owe Chrysoprase the troll more than two thousand dollars, last seen buying a very fast horse?”

“Well?”

“Where do the demons fit in?”

“Well, he
could’ve
been stolen by demons,” said Dibbler. “It could happen to anybody.”

“What you mean, then, is that there is no evidence that he
wasn’t
stolen by demons?”

“That way people can make up their own minds,” said Dibbler. “That’s what Mr. Carney says. People should be allowed to choose, he said.”

“To choose what’s true?”

“He doesn’t clean his teeth properly, either,” said Sacharissa. “I mean, I’m not one of those people who think cleanliness is next to godliness, but there are
limits.
”
*

Dibbler shook his head sadly. “I’m losin’ my touch,” he said. “Imagine…me, working for someone? I must’ve been mad. It’s the cold weather getting to me, that’s what it is. Even…
wages
”—he said the word with a shudder—“looked attractive. D’you know,” he added, in a horrified voice, “he was telling me what to do? Next time I’ll have a quiet lie-down until the feeling goes away.”

“You are an immoral opportunist, Mr. Dibbler,” said William.

“It’s worked so far.”

“Can you sell some advertising for us?” said Sacharissa.

“I’m not going to work for anyone ag—”

“On commission,” snapped Sacharissa.

“What? You want to
employ
him?” said William.

“Why not? You can tell as many lies as you like if it’s
advertising
. That’s allowed,” said Sacharissa. “Please? We need the money!”

“Commission, eh?” said Dibbler, rubbing his unshaven chin. “Like…fifty percent for you two and fifty percent for me, too?”

“
We’ll
discuss it, shall we?” said Goodmountain, patting him on the shoulder. Dibbler winced. When it came to hard bargaining, dwarfs were diamond-tipped.

“Have I got a choice?” he mumbled.

Goodmountain leaned forward. His beard was bristling. He wasn’t currently holding a weapon but Dibbler could see, as it were, the great big ax that wasn’t there.

“
Absolutely
,” he said.

“Oh,” said Dibbler. “So…what would I be selling, exactly?”

“Space,” said Sacharissa.

Dibbler beamed again. “Just space?
Nothing?
Oh, I can do
that
. I can sell nothing like
anything!
” He shook his head sadly. “It’s only when I try to sell
something
that everything goes wrong.”

“How did you come to be here, Mr. Dibbler?” William asked.

He was not happy with the answer.

“That sort of thing could work both ways,” he said. “You can’t just dig into other people’s property!” He glared at the dwarfs. “Mr. Boddony, I want that hole blocked up right now, understand?”

“We only—”

“Yes, yes, you did it for the best. And now I want it bricked up, properly. I want the hole to look as though it had never been there, thank you. I don’t want anyone coming up the cellar ladder that didn’t climb down it. Right now, please!”

“I think I’m onto a real story,” said William, as the disgruntled dwarfs filed away. “I
think
I’m going to see Wuffles. I’ve got—”

As he pulled out his notebook something dropped onto the floor with a tinkle.

“Oh, yes…and I got the key to our town house,” he said. “You wanted a dress…”

“It’s a bit late,” said Sacharissa. “I’d forgotten all about it, to tell the truth.”

“Why not go and have a look while everyone else is busy? You could take Rocky, too. You know…to be on the safe side. But the place is empty. My father stays at his club if he has to come to town. Go on. There’s got to be more to life than correcting copy.”

Sacharissa looked uncertainly at the key in her hand.

“My sister has quite a
lot
of dresses,” said William. “You want to go to the ball, don’t you?”

“I
suppose
Mrs. Hotbed could adjust it for me if I take it to her in the morning,” said Sacharissa, expressing mildly peeved reluctance while her body language begged to be persuaded.

“That’s right,” said William. “And I’m sure you can find someone to do your hair properly.”

Sacharissa’s eyes narrowed. “It’s true, you know, you
have
got an amazing way with words,” she said. “What are
you
going to do?”

“I’m going,” said William, “to see a dog about a man.”

Sergeant Angua peered up at Vimes through the steam from the bowl in front of her.

“Sorry about this, sir,” she said.

“His feet won’t touch the ground,” said Vimes.

“You can’t arrest him, sir,” said Captain Carrot, putting a fresh towel over Angua’s head.

“Oh? Can’t arrest him for assaulting an officer, eh?”

“Well, that’s where it gets tricky, doesn’t it, sir,” said Angua.

“You’re an officer, Sergeant, whatever shape you happen to be currently in!”

“Yes, but…it’s always been a bit convenient to let the werewolf thing stay a rumor, sir,” said Carrot. “Don’t you think so? Mr. de Worde writes things down. Angua and I aren’t particularly keen on that. Those who need to know, know.”

“Then I’ll ban him from doing it!”

“How, sir?”

Vimes looked a little deflated.

“You can’t tell me that as commander of police I can’t stop some little ti—some idiot from writing down
anything
he likes?”

“Oh, no, sir. Of course you can. But I’m not sure you can stop him writing down that you stopped him writing things down,” said Carrot.