Terry Pratchett - The Truth

'He came running out of the palace straight under Ron's coat,' said Deep Bone.

'Which is, as you point out, the last place anyone would look,' said William.

'You'd better believe it,'

'And not even a werewolf would find him there.' William took out his notebook, turned to a fresh page, and wrote: 'Wuffles,' He said, 'How old is he?'

Wuffles barked.

'Sixteen,' said Deep Bone. 'Is that important?'

'It's a newspaper thing,' said William. He wrote: 'Wuffles (16), formerly of The Palace, Ankh-Morpork,'

I'm interviewing a dog, he thought. Man Interviews Dog. That's nearly news.

'So... er, Wuffles, what happened before you ran out of the palace?' he said.

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Deep Bone, from his hiding place, whined and growled. Wuffles cocked an ear and then growled back.

'He woke up and experienced a moment of horrible philosophical uncertainty,' said Deep Bone.

'I thought you said--'

'I'm translating right? And this was on account of there being two Gods in the room. That's two Lord Vetinaris, Wuffles being an old-fashioned kind of dog. But he knew one was wrong because he smelled wrong. And there were two other men. And then--'

William scribbled furiously.

Twenty seconds later Wuffles bit him hard on the ankle.

The clerk in Mr Slant's front office looked down from his high desk at the two visitors, sniffed and carried on with his laborious copperplate. He did not have a lot of time for the notion of customer service. The Law could not be hurried--

A moment later his head was rammed into the desktop and held down by some enormous weight.

Mr Pin's face appeared in his limited vision.

'I said,' said Mr Pin, 'that Mr Slant wants to see us...'

'Sngh,' said the clerk. Mr Pin nodded and the pressure was relieved slightly.

'Sorry? You were saying?' said Mr Pin, watching the man's hand creep along the edge of the desk.

'He's... not... seeing... anyone...' The words ended in a muffled yelp.

Mr Pin leaned down. 'Sorry about the fingers,' he said, 'but we can't have them naughty little things creeping to that little lever there, can we? No telling what might happen if you pulled that lever. Now... which one's Mr Slant's office?'

'Second... door... on... left...' the man groaned.

'See? It's so much nicer when we're polite. And in a week, two at the outside, you'll be able to pick up a pen again.' Mr Pin nodded to Mr Tulip, who let the man go. He slithered to the floor.

'You want I should --ing scrag him?'

'Leave him,' said Mr Pin. 'I think I'm going to be nice to people today.'

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He had to hand it to Mr Slant. When the New Firm stepped into his office the lawyer looked up and his expression barely flickered.

'Gentlemen?' he said.

'Don't press a --ing thing,' said Mr Tulip.

'There's something you should know,' said Mr Pin, pulling a box out of his jacket.

'And what is that?' said Mr Slant.

Mr Pin flicked a catch on the side of the box.

'Let's hear about yesterday,' he said.

The imp blinked.

'... nyip... nyapnyip... nyapdit... nyip...' it said.

'It's just working its way backwards,' said Mr Pin.

'What is this?' said the lawyer.

'... nyapnyip... sipnyap... nip... is valuable, Mr Pin. So I will not spin this out. What did you do with the dog? Mr Pin's finger touched another lever. '... wheedlewheedle whee... My... clients have long memories and deep pockets. Other killers can be hired. Do you understand me?

There was a tiny 'Ouch' as the Off lever hit the imp on the head.

Mr Slant got up and walked across to an ancient cabinet.

'Would you like a drink, Mr Pin? I am afraid I have only embalming fluid

'Not yet, Mr Slant.'

'... and I think I probably have a banana somewhere

Mr Slant turned, smiling beatifically, at the sound of the smack of Mr Pin catching Mr Tulip's arm.

'I told you I'm gonna --ing kill him--'

'Too late, alas,' said the lawyer, sitting down again. 'Very well, Mr Pin. This is about money, is it?'

'All we're owed, plus another fifty thousand.'

'But you haven't found the dog.'

'Nor have the Watch. And they've got a werewolf. Everyone's looking for the dog. The dog's gone. But that doesn't matter. This little box matters.'

'That is very little in the way of evidence

'Really? You asking us about the dog? Talking about killers? I reckon that Vimes character will niggle away at something like

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that. He doesn't sound like the sort to let things go.' Mr Pin smiled humourlessly. 'You've got stuff on us but, well, between you and me,' he leaned closer, 'some of the things we've done might be considered, well, tantamount to crimes--'

'All them --ing murders, for a start,' said Mr Tulip, nodding.

'Which, since we are criminals, could be called typical behaviour. Whereas,' Pin went on, 'you're a respectable citizen. Doesn't look good, respectable citizens getting involved in this sort of thing. People talk.'

'To save... misunderstandings,' said Mr Slant, 'I will do you a draft of--'

'Jewels,' said Mr Pin.

'We like jewels,' said Mr Tulip.

'You have made copies of that... thing?' said Slant.

'I'm not saying anything,' said Mr Pin, who hadn't and didn't even know how. But he took the view that Mr Slant was in no position to be other than cautious, and it looked as though Mr Slant thought so too.

'I wonder if I can trust you?' said Mr Slant, as if to himself.

'Well, you see, it's like this,' said Mr Pin, as patiently as he could. His head was feeling worse. 'If news got around that we'd shopped a client, that wouldn't be good. People would say, you can't trust a person of that kind of ilk. They do not know how to behave. But if the people we deal with heard we'd scragged a client because the client had not played fair, then they would say to themselves, these are businessmen. They are businesslike. They do business

He stopped and looked at the shadows in the corner of the room.

'And?' said Mr Slant.

'And... and... the hell with this,' said Mr Pin, blinking and shaking his head. 'Give us the jewels, Slant, or Mr Tulip'll do the asking, understand? We're getting out of here, with your damn dwarfs and vampires and trolls and dead men walking. This city gives me the creeps! So give me the diamonds! Right now!'

'Very well,' said Mr Slant. 'And the imp?'

'It goes with us. We get caught, it gets caught. We die mysteriously, then... some people find out about things. When we are

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safely away... you're in no position to argue, Slant.' Mr Pin shuddered. 1 am not having a good day!'

Mr Slant pulled open a desk drawer and tossed three small velvet bags on to the leather top. Mr Pin mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

'Take a look at 'em, Mr Tulip.'

There was a pause while both men watched Mr Tulip pour the gems into one enormous palm. He scrutinized several through an eyeglass. He sniffed at them. He gingerly licked one or two.

Then he picked four out of the heap and tossed them back to the lawyer.

'You think I'm some kind of a --ing idiot?' he said.

'Don't even think of arguing,' said Mr Pin.

'Perhaps the jewellers made a mistake,' said Mr Slant.

'Yeah?' said Mr Pin. His hand darted into his jacket again, but this time came out holding a weapon.

Mr Slant looked into the muzzle of a spring-gonne. It was technically and legally a crossbow, in that human strength compressed the spring, but it had been reduced by patient technology to a point where it was more or less a pipe with a handle and a trigger. Anyone caught with one by the Assassins' Guild, it was rumoured, would find its ability to be hidden on the human body tested to extremes; any city watch that found one used against them would see to it that the offender's feet did not touch the ground but instead swung gently as the breeze pushed them around.