William closed his mouth. 'All right, I understand--'

'No, I don't think you do,' she snapped. 'I looked you up in Twurp's Peerage. Your family have never had to worry about the small stuff, have they? They've been some of the people who really run things. This... paper is a kind of hobby for you, isn't it? Oh, you believe in it, I'm sure you do, but if it all goes wahoonie-shaped you'll still have money. I won't. So if the way it can be kept going is by filling it with what you sneer at as olds, then that's what I'll do.'

'I don't have money! I make my own living!'

'Yes, but you were able to choose! Anyway, aristocrats don't like to see other toffs starving. They find them silly jobs to do for serious wages--'

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She stopped, panting, and pushed some hair out of her eyes. Then she looked at him like someone who has lit the fuse and is now wondering if the barrel at the other end is bigger than they thought.

William opened his mouth, went to shape a word, and stopped. He did it again. Finally, a little hoarsely, he said: 'You're more or less right--'

The next word's going to be "but", I just know it,' said Sacharissa.

William was aware that the printers were all watching. 'Yes, it is--'

'Aha!'

'But it's a big but. Do you mind? It's important! Someone has to care about the... the big truth. What Vetinari mostly does not do is a lot of harm. We've had rulers who were completely crazy and very, very nasty. And it wasn't that long ago, either. Vetinari might not be "a very nice man", but I had breakfast today with someone who'd be a lot worse if he ran the city, and there are lots more like him. And what's happening now is wrong. And as for your damn parrot fanciers, if they don't care about anything much beyond things that go squawk in cages then one day there'll be someone in charge of this place who'll make them choke on their own budgies. You want that to happen? If we don't make an effort all they'll get is silly... stories about talking dogs and Elves Ate My Gerbil, so don't give me lectures on what's important and what's not, understand?'

They glared at one another.

'Don't you talk to me like that.'

'Don't you talk to me like that.'

'We're not getting enough advertising. The Inquirer's getting huge adverts from the big Guilds,' said Sacharissa. 'That's what'll keep us going, not stories about how much gold weighs.'

'What am I supposed to do about it?'

'Find a way of getting more ads!'

'That's not my job!' William shouted.

'It's part of saving your job! We're just getting penny-a-line advertisements from people wanting to sell surgical supports and backache cures!'

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'So? The pennies add up!'

'So you want us to be known as The Paper You Can Put Your Truss In?'

'Er... excuse me, but are we producing an edition?' said Goodmountain. 'Not that we aren't enjoying all this, but the colour's going to take a lot of extra time.'

William and Sacharissa looked round. They were the focus of attention.

'Look, I know this means a lot to you,' said Sacharissa, lowering her voice, 'but all this... political stuff, this is the Watch's job, not ours. That's all I'm saying.'

They're stuck. That's what Vimes was telling me.'

Sacharissa stared at his frozen expression. Then she leaned over and, to his shock, patted his hand.

'Perhaps you are having an effect, then.'

'Hah!'

'Well, if they're going to pardon Vetinari, maybe it's because they're worried about you.'

'Hah! Anyway, who are "they"?'

'Well... you know... them. The people who run things. They notice things. They probably read the paper.'

William gave her a wan smile. Tomorrow we'll find someone to get more ads,' he said. 'And we'll definitely need those extra staff. Er... I'm going to go for a little walk,' he added. 'And I'll get you that key.'

'Key?'

'You wanted a dress for the ball?'

'Oh. Yes. Thank you.'

'And I don't think those men will be back,' said William. 'I've got a feeling that there isn't a shed anywhere in town that's as well guarded as this one right at the moment.'

Because Vimes is waiting to see who tries to get at us next, he thought. But he decided not to say so.

'What exactly are you going to do?' said Sacharissa.

'First, I'm going to the nearest apothecary,' said William, 'and then I'm going to drop in at my lodgings for that key, and then... I'm going to see a man about a dog.'

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The New Firm hurtled through the door of the empty mansion and bolted it behind them.

Mr Tulip ripped off the bride of innocence outfit and hurled it on to the floor.

'I told you --ing clever plans never work!' he said.

'A vampire,' said Mr Pin. 'This is a sick city, Mr Tulip.'

'What was that he --ing did to us?'

'He took some kind of picture,' said Mr Pin. He closed his eyes for a moment. His head was aching.

'Well, I was in disguise,' said Mr Tulip.

Mr Pin shrugged. Even with a metal bucket over his head, which would probably begin to corrode after a few minutes, there would be something recognizable about Mr Tulip.

'I don't think that will do any good,' he said.

'I --ing hates pictures,' snarled Mr Tulip. 'Remember that time in Mouldavia? All them posters they did? It's bad for a man's health, seeing his --ing phiz on every wall with "Dead or Alive" under it. It's like they can't --ing decide.'

Mr Tulip fished out a small bag of what he had been assured was primo Smudge, but which would turn out to be sugar and powdered pigeon guano.

'Anyway, we must've got the --ing dog,' he said.

'We can't be sure,' said Mr Pin. He winced again. The headache was getting quite strong.

'Look, we done the --ing job,' said Mr Tulip. 'I don't recall no one telling us about --ing werewolves and vampires. That's their --ing problem! I say we scrag the geek, take the money and head for Pseudopolis or someplace!'

'You mean quit on a contract?'

'Yeah, when it's got small print you can't --ing see!'

'Someone'll recognize Charlie, though. Seems it's hard for the dead to stay dead around here.'

'I reckon I could help in that --ing respect,' said Mr Tulip.

Mr Pin chewed his lip. He knew better than Mr Tulip that men in their business needed a certain... reputation. Things didn't get written down. But the word got about. The New Firm sometimes

218

dealt with very serious players, and they were people who took a lot of notice of the word...

But Tulip did have a point. This place was getting to Mr Pin. It jarred his sensibilities. Vampires and werewolves... springing that sort of thing on a body, that wasn't according to the rules. That was taking liberties. Yes...

... there was more than one way to keep a reputation.

'I think we should go and explain things to our lawyer friend,' he said slowly.

'Right!' said Mr Tulip. 'And then I'll rip his head off.'

'That doesn't kill zombies.'

'Good, 'cos then he'll be able to see where I'm gonna --ing shove it.'

'And then... we'll pay another visit to that newspaper. When it's dark.'

To get that picture, he thought. That was a good reason. It was a reason that you could tell the world. But there was another reason. That... burst of darkness had frightened Mr Pin to his shrivelled soul. A lot of memories had come pouring back, all at once.

Mr Pin had made a lot of enemies, but that hadn't worried him until now because all his enemies were dead. But the dark light had fired off bits of his mind and it had seemed to him that those enemies had not vanished from the universe but had merely gone a long way away, from which point they were watching him. And it was a long way away only from his point of view - from their point of view they could reach out and touch him.

What he wouldn't say, even to Mr Tulip, was this: they'd need all the money from this job because, in a flash of dark, he'd seen that it was time to retire.