Terry Pratchett - The Truth

There must have been a switch in this desk, too. A door flew open and two men burst in, one armed with two long knives, one with a crossbow.

It was quite horrible, what Mr Tulip did to them.

It was, in its way, a kind of skill. When an armed man runs into a room in the knowledge that there is trouble he needs a fraction of a second to assess, to decide, to calculate, to think. Mr Tulip didn't need a fraction of a second. He didn't think. His hands moved by themselves.

It required, even for the calculating eyes of Mr Slant, a mental action replay. And even in the slow-mo of horror, it was hard to see Mr Tulip grab the nearest chair and swing it. At the end of the blur

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two men lay unconscious, one with an arm twisted in a disconcerting way, and a knife was shuddering in the ceiling.

Mr Pin hadn't turned round. He kept the gonne pointed at the zombie. But he produced from a pocket a small cigarette lighter in the shape of a dragon, and then Mr Slant... Mr Slant, who crackled when he walked and smelled of dust... Mr Slant saw, wrapped around the evil little bolt that just projected from the tube, a wad of cloth.

Without taking his eyes off the lawyer Mr Pin applied the flame. The cloth flared. And Mr Slant was very dry indeed.

This is a bad thing I'm about to do,' Pin said, as if hypnotized. 'But I've done so many bad things, this one'll hardly count. It's like... a killing is a big thing, but another killing, that's kind of half the size. You know? So it's, like, when you've done twenty killings, they barely notice, on average. But... it's a nice day today, the birds is singing, there's stuff like... kittens and stuff, and the sun is shining off the snow, bringin' the promise of spring to come, with flowers, and fresh grass, and more kittens and hot summer days an' the gentle kiss of the rain and wonderful clean things which you won't ever see if you don't give us what's in that drawer 'cos you'll burn like a torch you double-dealing twisty dried-up cheating son of a bitch!'

Mr Slant scrabbled in the drawer and threw down another velvet bag. Glancing nervously at his partner, who'd never even mentioned kittens before except in the same sentence as 'water barrel', Mr Tulip took it and examined the contents.

'Rubies,' he said. '--ing good ones.'

'Now go away from here,' rasped Mr Slant. 'Right away. Never come back. I've never heard of you. I've never seen you.'

He stared at the spluttering flame.

Mr Slant had faced many bad things in the last few hundred years, but right now nothing seemed more menacing than Mr Pin. Or more erratically deranged, either. The man was swaying, and his gaze kept flickering into the shadowy corners of the room.

Mr Tulip shook his partner's shoulder. 'Let's --ing scrag him and go?' he suggested.

Pin blinked. 'Right,' he said, appearing to return to his own head. 'Right.' He glanced at the zombie. 'I think I shall let you live today,'

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he said, blowing out the flame. 'Tomorrow... who knows?'

It wasn't a bad threat, but somehow his heart wasn't in it.

Then the New Firm had gone.

Mr Slant sat down and stared at the closed door. It was clear to him, and a dead man has experience in these matters, that his two armed clerks, veterans of many a legal battle, were beyond help. Mr Tulip was an expert.

He took a sheet of writing paper from a drawer, wrote a few words in block letters, sealed it in an envelope and sent for another clerk.

'Have arrangements made,' he said, when the man stared at his fallen colleagues, 'and then take this to de Worde.'

'Which one, sir?'

For a moment Mr Slant had forgotten that point.

'Lord de Worde,' he said. 'Definitely not the other one.'

William de Worde turned a page in his notebook and continued to scribble. The crew were watching him as if he was a public entertainment.

That's a grand gift you have there, sur,' said Arnold Sideways. 'It does the heart good to see the pencil waggling like that. I wish I had the knowing of it, but I've never been mechanical.'

'Would you care for a cup of tea?' said the Duck Man.

'You drink tea down here?'

'Of course. Why not? What kind of people do you think we are?' The Duck Man held up a blackened teapot and a rusty mug with an inviting smile.

It was probably a good moment to be polite, thought William. Besides, the water would have been boiled, wouldn't it?

'... no milk, though,' he said quickly. He could imagine what the milk would be like.

'Ah, I said you were a gentleman,' said the Duck Man, pouring a tarry brown liquid into the mug. 'Milk in tea is an abomination.' He picked up, with a dainty gesture, a plate and pair of tongs. 'Slice of lemon?' he added.

'Lemon? You have lemon?'

'Oh, even Mr Ron here would rather wash under his arms than

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have anything but lemon in his tea,' said the Duck Man, plopping a slice into William's mug.

'And four sugars,' said Arnold Sideways.

William took a deep draught of the tea. It was thick and stewed, but it was also sweet and hot. And slightly lemony. All in all, he considered, it could have been much worse.

'Yes, we're very fortunate when it comes to slices of lemon,' said the Duck Man, busily fussing over the tea things. 'Why, it is indeed a bad day when we can't find two or three slices floating down the river.'

William stared fixedly at the river wall.

Spit or swallow, he thought, the eternal conundrum.

'Are you all right, Mr de Worde?'

'Mmf.'

'Too much sugar?'

'Mmf,'

'Not too hot?'

William gratefully sprayed the tea in the direction of the river.

'Ah!' he said. 'Yes! Too hot! That's what it was! Too hot! Lovely tea but - too hot! I'll just put the rest down here by my foot to cool down, shall I?'

He snatched up his pencil and pad.

'So... er, Wuffles, which man was it that you bit on the leg?'

Wuffles barked.

'He bit all of them,' said the voice of Deep Bone. 'When you're biting, why stop?'

'Would you know them if you bit them again?'

'He says he would. He says the big man tasted of... you know...' Deep Bone paused, 'like a... wossname... big, big bowl with hot water and soap in it.'

'A bath?'

Wuffles growled.

'That'd... be the word,' said Deep Bone. 'An' the other one smelled of cheap hair oil. And the one who looked like G-- like Lord Vetinari, he smelled of wine,'

'Wine?'

'Yes. Wuffles also says he'd like to apologize for biting you just

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now, but he got carried away with the recollection. We-- that is to say, dogs have very physical memories, if you see what I mean,'

William nodded and rubbed his leg. The description of the invasion of the Oblong Office had been carried out in a succession of yelps, barks and growls, with Wuffles running around in circles and snapping at his own tail until he bumped into William's ankle.

'And Ron's been carrying him around in his coat ever since?'

'No one bothers Foul Ole Ron,' said Deep Bone.

'I believe you,' said William. He nodded at Wuffles.

'I want to get an iconograph of him,' he said. This is... amazing stuff. But we must have a picture to prove I've really talked to Wuffles. Well... via an interpreter, obviously. I wouldn't want people to think this is one of the Inquirer's stupid "talking dog" stories...'

There was some muttering amongst the crew. The request was not being favourably received.

This is a select neighbourhood, you know,' said the Duck Man. 'We don't allow just anybody down here,'

'But there's a path running right under the bridge!' said William. 'Anyone could walk right past!'

'Werll, yerss,' said Coffin Henry. They could.' He coughed and spat with great expertise into the fire. 'Only they don't no more.'

'Bugrit,' explained Foul Ole Ron. 'Choking a tinker? Garn! I told 'em. Millennium hand and shrimp!'