The Truth

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.

Theology was not a field in which Mr Pin had much knowledge, despite accompanying Mr Tulip to a number of the more well-designed temples and chapels, on one occasion to scrag a High Priest who'd tried to double-cross Frank 'Nutboy' Nabbs, but the little he had absorbed was suggesting to him that this might be the very best time to take a bit of an interest. He could send them some money, maybe, or at least return some of the stuff he'd taken. Hell, maybe he could start not eating beef on Tuesdays or whatever it

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was you had to do. Maybe that would stop this feeling that the back of his head had just been unscrewed.

He knew that would have to be later, though. Right now, the code allowed them to do one of two things: they could follow Slant's instructions to the letter, which would mean they'd maintain a reputation for efficiency, or they could scrag Slant and maybe a few bystanders and leave, perhaps setting fire to a few things on the way out. That was also news that got around. People would understand how upset they were.

'But first we'll...' Mr Pin stopped, and in a strangled voice said: 'Is someone standing behind me?'

'No,' said Mr Tulip.

'I thought I heard... footsteps.'

'No one here but us.'

'Right. Right.' Mr Pin shuddered, straightened his jacket and then looked Mr Tulip up and down.

'Clean yourself up a bit, will you? Sheesh, you're leaking dust!'

'I can handle it,' said Mr Tulip. 'Keeps me sharp. Keeps me alert.'

Pin sighed. Mr Tulip had amazing faith in the contents of the next bag, whatever it was. And it was usually cat flea powder cut with dandruff.

'Force isn't going to work on Slant,' he said.

Mr Tulip cracked his knuckles. 'Works on everyone,' he said.

'No. A man like him will have a lot of muscle to call on,' said Pin. He patted his jacket. 'It's time Mr Slant said hello to my little friend.'

A plank thumped down on to the crusted surface of the river Ankh. Shifting his weight with care, and gripping the rope tightly in his teeth, Arnold Sideways swung himself on to it. It sank a little in the ooze, but stayed - for want of a better word - afloat.

A few feet away the depression that had been left by the first sack landing in the river was already filling up with - for want of a better word - water.

He reached the end of the plank, steadied himself and managed to lasso the remaining sack. It was moving.

'He's got it,' shouted the Duck Man, who was watching

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from under the bridge. 'Heave away, everybody!'

The sack came out of the muck with a sucking sound, and Arnold pulled himself aboard as it was dragged back to the bank.

'Oh, very well done, Arnold,' said the Duck Man, helping him off the sodden sack and back on to his trolley. 'I really doubted if the surface would support you at this stage of the tide!'

'Bit of luck for me, eh, when that cart ran over my legs all them years ago!' said Arnold Sideways. 'I'd have drowned, else!'

Coffin Henry slit the sacking with his knife and tipped the second lot of little terriers on to the ground, where they coughed and sneezed.

'One or two of the little buggers look done for,' he said. I'll give 'em mouth to mouth respiritoriation, shall I?'

'Certainly not, Henry,' said the Duck Man. 'Have you no idea of hygiene?'

'Jean who?'

'You can't kiss dogs!' said the Duck Man. They could catch something dreadful.'