The Truth Read Free

so recently been the focus of Mr. Pin’s attention was bundled ashore and hustled away down an alley.
    A moment later there was the sound of a carriage rolling away into the night.
    It would seem quite impossible, on such a mucky night, that there could have been anyone to witness this scene.
    But there was. The universe requires everything to be observed, lest it cease to exist.
    A figure shuffled out from the shadows of the alley, close by. There was a smaller shape wobbling uncertainly by its side.
    Both of them watched the departing coach as it disappeared into the snow.
    The smaller of the two figures said, “Well, well, well. There’s a fing. Man all bundled up and hooded. An interesting fing, eh?”
    The taller figure nodded. It wore a huge old greatcoat several sizes too big, and a felt hat that had been reshaped by time and weather into a soft cone that overhung the wearer’s head.
    “Scraplit,” it said. “Thatch and trouser, a blewit the grawney man. I told ’im. I told ’im. Millennium hand and shrimp. Bugrit.”
    After a bit of a pause it reached into its pocket and produced a sausage, which broke into two pieces. One bit disappeared under the hat, and the other got tossed to the smaller figure who was doing most of the talking or, at least, most of the coherent talking.
    “Looks like a dirty deed to me,” said the smaller figure, which had four legs.
    The sausage was consumed in silence. Then the pair set off into the night again.
    In the same way that a pigeon can’t walk without bobbing its head, the taller figure appeared unable to walk without a sort of low-key, random mumbling:
    “I told ’em, I told ’em. Millennium hand and shrimp. I said, I said, I said. Oh, no. But they only run out, I told ’em. Sod ’em. Doorsteps. I said, I said, I said. Teeth. Wassa name of age, I said I told ’em, not my fault, matterofact, matterofact, stand to reason…”
    The rumor did come to its ears later on, but by then it was part of it.
    As for Mr. Pin and Mr. Tulip, all that need be known about them at this point is that they are the kind of people who call you “friend.” People like that aren’t friendly.

    William opened his eyes. I’ve gone blind, he thought.
    Then he moved the blanket.
    And then the pain hit him.
    It was a sharp and insistent sort of pain, centered right over the eyes. He reached up gingerly. There seemed to be some bruising and what felt like a dent in the flesh, if not the bone.
    He sat up. He was in a sloping-ceilinged room. A bit of grubby snow crusted the bottom of a small window. Apart from the bed, which was just a mattress and blanket, the room was unfurnished.
    A thump shook the building. Dust drifted down from the ceiling.
    He got up, clutching at his forehead, and staggered to the door. It opened into a much larger room or, more accurately, a workshop.
    Another thump rattled his teeth.
    William tried to focus.
    The room was full of dwarfs, toiling over a couple of long benches. But at the far end several of them were clustered around something like a complex piece of weaving machinery.
    It went thump again.
    William winced.
    “What’s happening?” he said.
    The nearest dwarf looked up at him and nudged a colleague urgently. The nudge passed itself along the rows, and the room was suddenly filled wall to wall with a cautious silence. A dozen solemn dwarf faces looked hard to William.
    No one can look harder than a dwarf. Perhaps it’s because there is only quite a small amount of face between the statutory round iron helmet and the beard. Dwarf expressions are more concentrated .
    “Um,” he said. “Hello?”
    One of the dwarfs in front of the big machine was the first to unfreeze.
    “Back to work, lads,” he said, and came and looked William sternly in the groin.
    “You all right, Your Lordship?” he said.
    William rubbed his forehead.
    “Um…what happened?” he said. “I, uh, remember seeing a cart, and then something hit…”
    “It ran away from