Hogfather - Terry Pratchett [90]
“Where’re we going to get that from, sir?”
“Mud mousse in a basket of shoe pastry. Get the idea? It’s not our fault if even Quirmians don’t understand restaurant Quirmian. It’s not like lying, after all.”
“Well, it’s a bit like—” the waiter began. He’d been cursed with honesty at an early stage.
“Then there’s Brodequin rôti Façon Ombres…” The manager sighed at the head waiter’s panicky expression. “Soldier’s boot done in the Shades fashion,” he translated.
“Er…Shades fashion?”
“In mud. But if we cook the tongues separately we can put on Languette braisée, too.”
“There’s some ladies’ shoes, sir,” said an underchef.
“Right. Add to the menu…Let’s see now…Sole d’une Bonne Femme…and…yes…Servis dans un Coulis de Terre en l’Eau. That’s mud, to you.”
“What about the laces, sir?” said another underchef.
“Good thinking. Dig out that recipe for Spaghetti Carbonara.”
“Sir?” said the head waiter.
“I started off as a chef,” said the manager, picking up a knife. “How do you think I was able to afford this place? I know how it’s done. Get the look and the sauce right and you’re three-quarters there.”
“But it’s all going to be old boots!” said the waiter.
“Prime aged beef,” the manager corrected him. “It’ll tenderize in no time.”
“Anyway…anyway…we haven’t got any soup—”
“Mud. And a lot of onions.”
“There’s the puddings—”
“Mud. Let’s see if we can get it to caramelize, you never know.”
“I can’t even find the coffee…Still, they probably won’t last till the coffee…”
“Mud. Café de Terre,” said the manager firmly. “Genuine ground coffee.”
“Oh, they’ll spot that, sir!”
“They haven’t up till now,” said the manager darkly.
“We’ll never get away with it, sir. Never.”
In the country of the sky on top, Medium Dave Lilywhite hauled another bag of money down the stairs.
“There must be thousands here,” said Chickenwire.
“Hundreds of thousands,” said Medium Dave.
“And what’s all this stuff?” said Catseye, opening a box. “’s just paper.” He tossed it aside.
Medium Dave sighed. He was all for class solidarity, but sometimes Catseye got on his nerves.
“They’re title deeds,” he said. “And they’re better than money.”
“Paper’s better’n money?” said Catseye. “Hah, if you can burn it you can’t spend it, that’s what I say.”
“Hang on,” said Chickenwire. “I know about them. The Tooth Fairy owns property?”
“Got to raise money somehow,” said Medium Dave. “All those half-dollars under the pillow.”
“If we steal them, do they become ours?”
“Is that a trick question?” said Catseye, smirking.
“Yeah, but…ten thousand each doesn’t sound such a lot, when you see all this.”
“He won’t miss a—”
“Gentlemen…”
They turned. Teatime was in the doorway.
“We were just…we were just piling up the stuff,” said Chickenwire.
“Yes. I know. I told you to.”
“Right. That’s right. You did,” said Chickenwire gratefully.
“And there’s such a lot,” said Teatime. He gave them a smile. Catseye coughed.
“’s got to be thousands,” said Medium Dave. “And what about all these deeds and so on? Look, this one’s for that pipe shop in Honey Trap Lane! In Ankh-Morpork! I buy my tobacco there! Old Thimble is always moaning about the rent, too!”
“Ah. So you opened the strongboxes,” said Teatime pleasantly.
“Well…yes…”
“Fine. Fine,” said Teatime. “I didn’t ask you to, but…fine, fine. And how did you think the Tooth Fairy made her money? Little gnomes in some mine somewhere? Fairy gold? But that turns to trash in the morning!”
He laughed. Chickenwire laughed. Even Medium Dave laughed. And then Teatime was on him, pushing him irresistibly backward until he hit the wall.
There was a blur and he tried to blink and his left eyelid was suddenly a rose of pain.
Teatime’s good eye was close to him, if you could call it good. The pupil was a dot. Medium Dave could just make out his hand, right by Medium Dave’s face.
It was holding