The Truth

'Wouldn't want dem interested in me. Good job you got a key...'

The lock clicked. The door opened at a push.

Sacharissa had been in a number of Ankh-Morpork's great houses, when the owners had thrown parts of them open to the public in aid of some of the more respectable charities. She hadn't realized how a building could change when people no longer wanted to live in it. It felt threatening and out of scale. The doorways were too big, the ceilings too high. The musty, empty atmosphere descended on her like a headache.

Behind her Rocky lit a couple of lanterns. But even their light left her surrounded by shadows.

At least the main staircase wasn't hard to find, and William's hasty directions led her to a suite of rooms bigger than her house.

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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?'