A.N.
I don´t know if anyone is interested in this story, given that I don´t have much experience with the DiscFanWorld. But I recently read Pratchett´s The Truth and thought to myself, "Why, I wouldn´t mind reading some more!" And then reality set in when I remembered that there is little else to find on this particular set of characters. Thus, I started this piece. Gods know if I have the patience to finish it.
The story will mainly revolve around William de Worde, Sacharissa Cripslock and Otto Chriek and will also feature other well-known Discworld characters. I personally don´t mind OCs, but they will only be included in small doses when it suits the development of this piece of fiction.
Warnings: Minor swearing, speciesism, occasional violence.
"I come here to Ankh-Morpork, zey tell me things are different, but really it is alvays the same." (Otto Chriek, in: Terry Pratchett, The Truth)
History, as some scholars are fond of reiterating, is best described as a circle, although an argument could be made for its even closer resemblance to a buzz saw that gently grinds time into oblivion. The principle, probably invented by an Agatean philosopher with too much time on his hands and too little imagination, given that the world was (rather too perfectly) shaped like the thesis in question, was sound if one were fond of painting in broad strokes. However, some successfully argued that this could not possibly be true – after all, the little things above all counted, and surely there would have been a mention of the invention of cheese cake if it had happened in a previous age. Therefore, it had not happened yet, ergo history could not be a circle, or at least not the same one.
An obstinate observer would unfailingly point out the intangible quality of time, after which rational discussion generally fell out of favour. But if one truly wanted to get to the bottom of things, the idea had to be picked apart with surgical precision, a laborious procedure complicated infinitely by the fact that memory diluted over time.
Fortunately, William de Worde was nothing if not persistent. The notion had come to him on a muzzy morning after weeks of nothing but paperwork left there by his employees.
"The Times" he had insisted into a cup of mud-thick coffee, "should branch out." Before anyone could dissuade him from what looked like another of his hare-brained schemes, he had sprung up, stumbled successfully over two dwarfs and the door stopper and disappeared into his study. He returned twenty minutes later, bearing a thick volume with the rotund Unseen University emblem* and another beverage.
*Every book bearing the UU mark catered to its Latation slogan (NUNC IT VIDES – NUNC NE VIDES) via an enchantment that erased it from existence at random intervals. Instead of draining the wizard who had finished the incantation, the spell drew the power necessary to uphold the magic from its environment. In some cases, said environment consisted of its unfortunate proprietor who, after a certain amount of proud ownership, perished under mysterious circumstances. The problem could be averted through the ancient ritual of placing the book on a shelf and not touching it more than once a year, which happened to occur naturally in most buyers anyway.
"Alright, William" Sacharissa Cripslock ventured, seeing as no one seemed especially keen to encourage the chief editor. "What´s this new idea of yours?"
"Funny you should mention it" said William smugly, having anticipated the question. He set the book onto the breakfast table amidst honey and oatmeal, and it was nigh impossible to ascertain whose sigh was greater: William´s relieved burst of breath or the table´s despairing groan under the new strain.
"Mention vot, please?" The Times´ chief iconographer had lifted the hatch to the cellar, clutching a steaming cup of cocoa and eyeing them with apprehension.
"Ah, yes" William brightened noticeably, "come join us, Otto. I could use your opinion." This earned him a distrustful glare from Sacharissa*.
*Given the nature of their relationship, William, blessed with boundless ideas and little compunctions, could never be sure of Sacharissa´s approval. To add weight to his endeavours, he mostly relied on their resident vampire to support his schemes. Otto was not only enthusiastic about unprecedented experiments, but also served as a cushion between the wily journalist and his enraged partner once an idea blew up in their faces.
Otto Chriek shuffled towards them, holding the cocoa in front of his chest as a not-so-subtle shield against Sacharissa´s disdain.
"Sales have been decreasing steadily over the past two months, right? We´ve got a lot more competition now, yes? And it´s getting more difficult to find good stories, true stories, every day, isn´t it? These are all rhetorical questions, Otto, you don´t have to nod every time."
"We know all that" Sacharissa interrupted him, impeccably groomed fingers drumming on wood. Tactactactac. Tactactactac. "What´s your point?"
"The point, my dear, is that we don´t reach the customer. Our stories are tailored to the news that occur in this city. But who´s to say everyone is interested in the broad spectrum? What we should do is writing columns specifically for certain types of people."
"Such as?"
"Well, ah… Well. Gardeners, for instance."
Sacharissa´s eyebrows gave an imperceptible twitch. "Gardeners."
"Exactly! I´m willing to bet a month´s wages – which has been diminishing, in case I haven´t mentioned it yet – that there are dozens, nay, hundreds of people out there who never even heard of the trade discussions currently dominating the city´s political debate. Instead, they may think about the best way to get their crops and plantations through the winter months. Think about the knowledge they could share, like, for instance, how to correctly prune their celery, or-"
"You know, William, they don´t prune those" said Sacharissa almost pityingly.
"Well, it´s not a perfect metaphor. The point, however, still stands."
"And you zink" Otto ventured slowly, "zat zer people vill vrite about zese things instead of goink to zer clubs zat already exist."
"Not everyone has the time to go to these kinds of meetings" huffed William, "but everyone has time to spend a penny on their way home. Our salesmen are practically everywhere."
He risked a careful glance at his female co-editor. To his surprise, she merely shrugged and resumed the preparation of her cereal. "It´s not the worst idea you´ve had. We could put a note in tomorrow´s edition, find out if anyone´s interested."
"That´s settled then. Wonderful! Otto, see if you can´t find a nice image to go with the ad. Two people shaking hands, or maybe an assortment of arranged tools, something like that."
"Alright, but it might take some time" said Otto apologetically. "My iconograph got broken yesterday. I have been vorking on it, but I still need to replace zer lens."
"Do that first, then. Sacharissa, why don´t we work on the finer details in my study?"
"We´ll see about that. Why don´t you explain the giant book on our breakfast table first."
"Oh, that." William opened the tome reverently. "The pages! Look at them." Lovingly leafing through the gossamer sheets, he completely failed to notice the look between Sacharissa and Otto. "This, my dear colleagues, is our future."
"Vot, handvritten chapters? Bad grammar? Or are you referring to the contents?" The vampire´s spidery fingers etched the title into the air. "Zer small Compendium of All Zinks foule and fylzy, viz annotations by His Honour Ze Venerable Edgith Ambonos, Volume Zirty-Zree", you mean zis?"
"What? No! I mean z-… this!" He shook the page between his fingertips. "Don´t you see? Text on both sides, that´s what it´s all about, I´m telling you. Double-sided printing!"
Proving that some things could be relied upon regardless of what happened, Sacharissa rolled her eyes. "Take it up with Gunilla, then. Honestly, is it too much to ask for a peaceful breakfast? Without business proposals or spontaneous outbreaks of fire in the general vicinity upon which we must of course investigate immediately, lest the fire has already been lain to waste and, oh no, we wouldn´t possibly get good iconographs in that case." Deeming both her co-workers properly chastened, she returned her full attention to the combination of fruits and grains in her bowl. Even though the novelty of good food brought on by her new job´s wages had worn off after a while, she still considered it a crime not to show at least a little appreciation.
William recognised a cause lost and nudged Otto who had been staring into his cocoa like it contained a valid alternative to Riffel´s Theorem of Prismatic Splicing. "Come on. I still need to get the Thieve Guild´s statement about rising rates, and they always like more than one person to show up. Makes them feel important."
"Oh, alright." Otto perked up, cup all but forgotten. "I suppose I could take my spare iconograph wiz me. Although I haven´t taught zer imp to paint in colour yet."
"Fine by me. Sacharissa, we´ll see you in a few hours." She gave them a dismissive wave which prompted William to back out of the room. Otto retrieved his equipment and followed after him. "Vell" he observed, safely out of hearing distance, "she certainly is a cheery vun today."
"Can´t blame her for not being a morning person. But I suppose you know all about that, eh?" That comment, delivered with a hefty dose of manic humour and the awkward smile of someone out of his depth hoping he has avoided making a horse´s arse (or any arse, really) of himself, earned him an anticlimactic shrug from the vampire. "I cannot say I do, alzhough I get vhere you are comink from."
Their walk to the city centre took them at least half an hour longer than it would anyone else, not least because a number of shady characters took them aside to grant them glimpses of various oddities that they felt ought to be made known to the public, amusingly-shaped groceries being only a small number of said articles. Still, William felt that too much of a (questionably) good thing made any follow-ups stale, and so he mostly put the prospectors off with vague apologies*.
*Apart from one memorable sheep doing things no sheep should be capable of, things of the sort that would have made any assassin´s instructor blink and nod in cool approval, and therefore warranted the inevitable fame. Some things you just could not get around in the big wahoonie.
One string of briefly-lived encounters later, as they crossed a narrow bridge arching desperately away from what passed as water provided by the River Ankh, William´s brain finally caught up with the past few minutes. "Hang on. Didn´t some of these guys act suspicious to you?"
He half-expected a careless dismissal from his colleague, but was instead taken aback by the shifty look that suddenly took hold of the vampire´s grey features. "Vut? No. I don´t zink so. Vhy vould you say zat?"
"Otto." He fixated on the iconographer with stern eyes. "That was the most pathetic attempt at a disavowal I´ve seen all week. If I didn´t know better, I´d say you have something to hide."
"Oh."
"That last man was practically stabbing you with his eyeballs."
"Really? I did not notice."
"Now tell me, why would these men react to your presence like you personally insulted their ancestry, although I cannot declare the notion wholly unfounded?"
"It´s nothing much, really-… oh, vait a moment, please." He busied himself with securing the iconograph on his shoulder that had precariously shifted. "You know how it iz. Vun day, people greet you on zer street, and zer next day, zey greet you wiz pitchforks. People are funny like zat."
"And you are sure you haven´t affronted them in any way? I don´t know, given them a reason to treat you like dirt?"
The vampire shot him an odd look. "You zink zey need a reason?
"But surely they wouldn´t-…" William began before remembering the headlines of the past weeks. The recollection sent, if not a full-blown shiver, then at least a vaguely uncomfortable sensation crawling down his spine. There had been an awful lot of violent infringements between species lately. The property damage alone had sent a considerable amount of insurance agencies flourishing to new heights of financial progress with the plethora of new contracts that were commissioned as a consequence. And speaking of damage…
"How exactly did your iconograph get broken?" William asked suspiciously.
"Vell, zhere vas an incident wiz some dwarfs, but I don´t zink zey really meant to damage my eqvipment."
And there it is, William thought bitterly. Another little sign that society is doomed to fracture and fall apart. Not only did the human´s assumption of inherent superiority lend itself to some awkward publicly voiced and paper-printed opinions, but many members of other species had come to Ankh-Morpork with their business ventures, their dreams and hopes for a better future and the deeply ingrained prejudices of their people. Those firmly attuned to the flow of transactions found a way to set the worst preconceptions aside, but apparently, the behavioural pattern had shifted from wary to hostile. William´s excitement about the journalistic potential was, to his credit, tinged with a healthy dose of shame.
"Anyvay" Otto interrupted his self-admonishment, "do you see zat?"
As they peered around a grubby corner, the first thing that grabbed the eye was the collection of strategically placed rocks. On second thought, the sight revealed itself to be the gathering of a number of trolls. Even a single troll can block most traffic on the average street, and currently, cart pushers and carriage owners were all but ready to start a riot.
"Let´s see if we can get a closer look" William murmured to the vampire who had already begun to unfold the tripod enfolded in the square iconographic box. "Might be material for tomorrow´s front page."
They pushed closer which was no easy feat given that the street was all but completely sealed off, courtesy of the giant beings that currently resembled their natural outward appearance even closer than normally. They embodied stone. In a way, it was almost picturesque, William mused and nodded towards Otto who looked about as ecstatic as a vampire could look in the face of an impending challenge; in other words, very*.
*It was the teeth. It had to be the teeth. Vampires were capable of a full range of facial gestures that stymied the ingenuous observer. Any being gifted with that kind of dental prowess had to be commended for pulling off even one subtle expression, which explained why so many vampires pulled off "subtle" perfectly; it was a given, considering the amount of practice necessary to walk in public without being assaulted by terrified bystanders.
"I´m not sayin´ nuffin´ more, and I´m not movin´ either till dey´ve paid" came a great avalanche of tumbling rock and pebble matter which turned out to be the voice of their spokesperson.
"Ex-, excuse me" William had finally squeezed through the worst of the throng, "but what is this commotion all about?"
The nearest bystanders turned, and a man scratched his scraggly head. "Aren´t ye that scribbler wot collects funny carrots?"
"… Close enough. I don't suppose you could tell me more about the situation…"
"I know exactly what´s going on", another interjected, and William turned towards the helpful voice. The man it belonged to shook his fist at the trolls. "They´re being bloody nuisances, is what they are. Blocking access to the streets, sitting around all day doing nothing productive, that´s just typical. Typical, I say!"
"Yes, yes, right" William´s quill, having been raised shortly before in anticipation, drooped dejectedly. "Still, it stands to reason they´re here for a purpose." The journalist raised his voice. "CAN ANYBODY TELL ME WHY THERE ARE SO MANY TROLLS AROUND?"
"Zere´s somevun vanting to talk to zer press" said Otto who had been held up and was now walking towards the group that had gathered around William. This time, the writer did not miss the collective recoil that was brought on by the vampire´s approach. Otto paid it no notice. "Maybe you vould like to conduct zer interview…?"
"Thank you, Otto, I´ll be with you momentarily." The iconographer bustled off, presumably to get some more pictures of the light reflecting off the troll´s sharper edges. The journalist turned back towards the apprehensive assembly. "Would anyone else like to make a statement? The press rarely discriminates, and the public voice will be heard, I assure you."
"Ye workin´ with that vamp?" Scraggly Head stared at him.
"He´s employed by the Times. Why do you ask?"
"It ain´t right." Bolstered by the murmurs of agreement around him, he spat out the next remark. "Givin´ that goshdarned sucker an ´onest job. Dat´s jus´ askin´ fer trouble. It´ll never be anythin´ else than scum. A killer, I´m tellin´ ya!"
"Sir" William said sternly (and generously, given the general appearance of the man in front of him), "if you question the integrity of one of my employees, you may do so in form of a written complaint addressed to the Times´ office. Otherwise, I must ask you not to throw around baseless accusations. Now if you will excuse me!" He left the breathless crowd behind, finally spotting Otto between two cabbage carts, meticulously lining up his next shot. The pedestrians gave him a wide berth.
"Of all the impudent, insolent-… Why, I ought to-… The shame of it!" William´s outrage seemed to jar the vampire from his concentration.
"Vot did zey do to you?" he asked curiously.
"I-… nothing. It´s what they said about you. Honestly, it´s as if you attacked them in broad daylight."
The iconographer was taken aback. "But zey did not tell it to me. And vhat´s more, zey are only vords. Vhy are you so upset?"
William thought about saving face, then the truth decided to make itself known once more. "I guess it just irks me how people treat you like a felon when I know you don´t deserve it. You are a good m-… person, Otto. Hell, I´ve seen you apologise for sneezing. That´s just, just-… bad judgement!"
"Zis may be so, but it iss not a valid judgement of my character. How can it be when zey don´t even know me? Zey are merely frightened. I cannot blame zem. Zhere are many of my species zat do not have ze same restraint vhen it comes to b-… bl-… zer b-vord."
"That doesn´t mean I have to like it" grumbled William, but he let the matter rest. Bigoted as some people had revealed themselves to be, finer contemplation could wait until he had jotted down the delicious piece of journalistic matter on hand.
"Well. You´ve been busy" said Sacharissa when they trudged through the entrance of the Times´ headquarters*. William barely had the strength to hold his quill anymore, and even Otto managed to look somewhat bedraggled as he folded himself into a chair.
*Perhaps the "only quarters" would be a more fitting description. Still, to keep up appearances, all affiliated members had been instructed to add a certain amount of grandeur to the unique blend that made up what William liked to call the truth but was, aptly speaking, three-quarters of carefully tailored honesty and one-quarter of pretence with a dash of wishful thinking.
"At least we have a story for tomorrow´s print-out" William said wearily as he joined the others at the table, "and I think we might even have some pictures to go with it. Trolls don´t really need the colour, do they, Otto?"
"Not strictly speaking, no. Most of zer shades are fabricated as grisaille, anyvay, so ve should be alright for now-…"
"There you go." The writer stretched and barely avoided knocking over the inkpot sitting innocuously next to an assortment of drying sheets. "Now, what are you?" The paper, being of a decidedly non-living conviction, failed to answer. On a more unexpected note, Sacharissa turned a lovely shade of rouge.
"My day´s work. I thought about your suggestion, and I have some of my own. These new columns have to be designed after all, you know. If you´d like I could let you take a look…?"
This blushy proposition put William in a predicament, because everything that did not involve him getting shouted at, hit or otherwise physically inconvenienced had to be counted on the plus side. On the other hand, there was a reason why the newspaper was better off with Sacharissa sticking to the distribution of words, sentences and grammar. Some people were gifted in the arts. They had the eye and the coordination to pull off visuals that imps with their lack of imagination could never hope to create. Sacharissa firmly belonged to the other spectrum.
"That would be… lovely. Thank you for your hard work, Sacharissa. I´m sure you are just as exhausted as we are, isn´t that right? Otto?" As the vampire slowly inclined his head in bemused confirmation, William pressed onwards. "Why don´t we call it a day, hmm? Let´s reconvene tomorrow with a fresh outlook. In any case, I should probably give Gunilla a heads-up regarding that earlier two-sides printing prospect. Let the dwarfs rack their brains about that one."
His departure was halted by Otto´s abrupt exclamation. "Villiam, vait!" He was once more fiddling with his iconograph. "I thought you might like a picture taken. Somezink you could put up on zer wall, to mark zer successful times of the Times." He chuckled weakly and vanished behind the cape of his device, only to reappear a moment later. "I can vill fill in zer colours later. So, vot do you say?"
"Uh, yes! That is an excellent idea, actually. It could boost the team morale, I´m sure of it. Why, we could even start a tradition. Keeping track, wonderful! But right now…?" His indecision created an opening for Sacharissa who linked arms with him, beaming into the bright round window neatly obscuring the imp behind it.
"Splendid. Fire away, Otto!"
"Now, zink of zer cheddar, please!"
Click.
WHOOMPH.
"Aarghaarghaargh…"
The flash had not been bright enough for Otto to disintegrate, but it still took him a few moments to compose himself. After his obvious distress had faded, he fingered the iconograph with bright eyes.
"Is it possible for you to take a picture of yourself?" asked William, the query bobbing up from the murky depths of his ever-busy mind.
"No" said Otto shortly, and after a few seconds of silence added, "I am a vampire. Zer flash of light vould crumble me to dust faster zan zer imp could paint." It struck William as regrettable, and because he could not help himself, he tacked on another question. "So how do you know what you look like?"
"William" hissed Sacharissa, "show some respect."
"It´s alright" Otto reassured her quickly, "I don´t mind zer question. Surely you are asking because you know zat vampires do not have reflections. But zhere are options. Ve mostly commission portraits, alzhough some prefer detailed poetry. I´ve had a painting done back in zer old country, but I zink it vas lost vhen I vas-…. Vhen I left. But I´m not sure vot I look like now."
"Oh." William wished he could take back the question. "I´m sorry."
"I can imagine, zhough" the vampire continued, strangely unperturbed. "Ze vay people react to me sometimes, I zink zat´s somezink zat vill never change."
"Well, maybe it should!" Once again, William was painfully reminded of every observation he had filed away throughout the day. Angrily, he pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, grabbed his quill and notebook and furiously began to scratch the first black lines onto the virginal expanse of a flimsy page. "All that mindless panic and bigotry! This is exactly what I´ve been brought up to be like, and I can´t stand it! And I certainly will not stand for it!"
"Not that I disagree with you" said Sacharissa, "but how are you going to change something that´s been poisoning, no, defining our society for centuries?"
"Like this." The writer´s hand flinched in a last flourish. "We´ll make a public appeal."