Terry Pratchett - The Truth

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The wardrobe, when she found it, was simply a room full of rails and hangers.

Things glittered in the gloom. The dresses also smelled strongly of mothballs.

'Dat's interestin',' said Rocky, behind her.

'Oh, it's just to keep the moths away,' said Sacharissa.

'I'm lookin' at all the footprints,' said the troll. 'Dey were in the hall, too.'

She tore her gaze away from the rows of dresses and looked down. The dust was certainly disturbed.

'Er... cleaning lady?' she said. 'Someone must come in to keep an eye on things?'

'What she do, kick der dust to death?'

'I suppose there must be... caretakers and things?' said Sacharissa uncertainly. A blue dress was saying: wear me, I'm just your type. See me shimmer.

Rocky prodded a box of mothballs that had spilled out across a dressing table and rolled into the dust.

'Looks like dem moths are really keen on dese things,' he said.

'You don't think a dress like this would be a bit... forward, do you?' said Sacharissa, holding the dress against herself.

Rocky looked worried. He hadn't been hired for his dress sense, and certainly not for his grasp of colloquial Middle Class.

'You're quite a lot forward already,' he opined.

'I meant make me look like a fast woman!'

'Ah, right,' said Rocky, getting there. 'No. Def'nitly not.'

'Really?'

'Sure. No one could run much in a dress like dat.'

Sacharissa gave up. 'I suppose Mrs Hotbed could let it out a bit,' she said, reflectively. It was tempting to stay, because some of the racks were quite full, but she felt like a trespasser here and part of her was certain that a woman with hundreds of dresses was more likely to miss one than a woman with a dozen or so. In any case, the empty darkness was getting on her nerves. It was full of other people's ghosts. 'Let's get back.'

When they were halfway across the hall someone started to sing. The words were incoherent and the tune was being modulated by

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alcohol, but it was singing of a sort and it was under their feet.

Rocky shrugged when Sacharissa glanced at him.

'Maybe all dem moths is having a ball?' he said.

There must be a caretaker, mustn't there? Maybe we'd better just, you know, mention we've been here?' Sacharissa agonized. It hardly seems polite, just taking things and running

She headed for a green door tucked away beside the staircase and pushed it open. The singing went louder for a moment but stopped as soon as she said, 'Excuse me?' into the darkness.

After a few moments' silence a voice said: 'Hello! How are you? I'm fine!'

'It's only, er, me? William said it was all right?' She presented the statement like a question, in the voice of someone who was apologizing to a burglar for discovering him.

'Mr Mothball Nose? Whoops!' said the voice in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

'Er... are you all right?'

'Can't get... it's a... hahaha... it's all chains... hahaha...'

'Are you... ill?'

'No, I'm fine, not ill at all, jus' had a few too many

'Few too many what?' said Sacharissa, speaking from a sheltered upbringing.

'... wazza... things you put drink in... barrels?'

'You're drunk!'

'Tha's right! Tha's the word! Drunk as a... thing... smellything... ahahaha...'

There was a tinkle of glass.

The lantern's weak glow showed what looked like a wine cellar, but a man was slumped on a bench against one wall and a chain ran from his ankle to a ring set in the floor.

'Are you... a prisoner?' said Sacharissa.

'Ahaha

'How long have you been down here?' She crept down.

'Years...

'Years?'

'Got lots of years...' The man picked up a bottle and peered at it. 'Now... Year of the Amending Camel... that was

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bloodigoodyear... and this one... Year of the Translated Rat... another bloodigoodyear... bloodigoodyears, the lot of them. Could do with a biscuit, though.'

Sacharissa's knowledge of vintages extended just as far as knowing that Chateau Maison was a very popular wine. But people didn't have to be chained up to drink wine, even the stuff from Ephebe that stuck the glass to the table.

She moved a little closer and the light fell on the man's face. It was locked in the grin of the seriously drunk, but it was very recognizable. She saw it every day, on coins.

'Er... Rocky,' she said. 'Er... can you come down here a minute?'

The door burst open and the troll came down the steps at speed. Unfortunately, it was because he was rolling.

Mr Tulip appeared at the top of the stairs, massaging his fist.

'It's Mr Sneezy!' said Charlie, raising a bottle. The gang's all here! Whoopee!'

Rocky got up, weaving slightly. Mr Tulip strolled down the steps, ripping out the doorpost as he passed. The troll raised his fists in the classic boxer's pose, but Mr Tulip didn't bother with niceties of that kind and hit him hard with the length of ancient wood. Rocky went over like a tree.

Only then did the huge man with the revolving eyes try to focus them on Sacharissa.

'Who the --ing hell are you?'

'Don't you dare swear at me!' she said. 'How dare you swear in the presence of a lady!'

This seemed to nonplus him. 'I don't --ing swear!'

'Here, I've seen you before, you're that-- I knew you weren't a proper virgin!' said Sacharissa triumphantly.

There was the click of a crossbow. Some tiny sounds carry well and have considerable stopping power.

'There are some thoughts too dreadful to think,' said the skinny man looking at her from the top of the steps and down the length of a pistol bow. 'What are you doing here, lady?'

'And you were Brother Pin! You haven't got any right here! I've got a key!' Some areas of Sacharissa's mind that dealt with things like death and terror were signalling to be heard at this point, but,

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being part of Sacharissa, they were trying to do it in a ladylike way, and so she ignored them.

'A key?' said Brother Pin, advancing down the stairs. The bow stayed pointing at her. Even in his current state of mind, Mr Pin knew how to aim. 'Who'd give you a key?'

'Don't you come near me! Don't you dare come near me! If you come near me I'll - I'll write it down!'

'Yeah? Well, one thing I know is, words don't hurt,' said Mr Pin. 'I've heard lots of--'

He stopped and grimaced, and for a moment it looked as if he'd fall to his knees. He righted himself and focused on her again.

'You are coming with us,' he said. 'An' don't say you're going to scream, because we're all alone here and I've... heard... lots... of... screams...'

Once again he seemed to run down, and again he recovered. Sacharissa stared in horror at the weaving crossbow. Those parts of her advocating silence as a survival aid had finally made themselves heard.

'What about these two?' said Mr Tulip. 'We're scragging 'em now?'

'Chain them up and leave them.'

'But we always--'

'Leave them!'

'You sure you feel all right?' said Mr Tulip.

'No! I don't! Just leave them, okay? We haven't got time!'

'We've got lots of--'

'I haven't!' Mr Pin strode up to Sacharissa. 'Who gave you that key?'

'I'm not going to--'

'Do you want Mr Tulip here to say goodbye to our drunken friends?' In his buzzing head, and with his shaky grasp of how things were supposed to work in a moral universe, Mr Pin reckoned that this was all right. After all, their shadows would follow Mr Tulip, not him...

'This house belongs to Lord de Worde and his son gave me the key!' said Sacharissa triumphantly. 'There! He was the one you met at the newspaper! Now you know what you've got yourself into, eh?'

Mr Pin stared at her.

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Then he said, 'I'm going to find out. Don't run. Really don't scream. Walk normally and everything--' He paused. I was going to say it will be all right,' he said. 'But that would be silly, wouldn't it... ?'