Truckers by Terry Pratchett Page A

Ltd. includes Bonded Outlets Ltd., the Blackbury Dye and Paint Company, Kwik-Kleen Mechanical Sweepers Ltd., and—and—and—’”
    â€œSomething wrong?”
    â€œâ€˜â€”Arnold Bros (est. 1905).’” Gurder looked up. “What do you think it all means? Bargains Galore preserve us !”
    There was a light. It skewered down on the two of them, white and searing, so that they stood over a black pool of their own shadows.
    Gurder looked up in terror at the brilliant globe that had appeared above them.
    â€œSorry, I think that was me,” said Masklin’s voice from the shadows. “I found this sort of lever thing, and when I pushed it, it went click. Sorry.”
    â€œAhaha,” said Gurder mirthlessly. “An electric light. Of course. Ahaha. Gave me quite a start for a moment.”
    Masklin appeared in the circle of brightness and looked at the paper.
    â€œI heard you reading,” he said. “Anything interesting?”
    Gurder pored over the print again.
    â€œâ€˜Notice to all Staff,’” he read. “‘I am sure we are all aware of the increasingly poor financial performance of the store in recent years. This rambling old building, while quite suitable for the leisured shopper of 1905, is not appropriate in the exciting world of the twenty-first century, and as we all know, there have unfortunately been marked stock losses and a general loss of custom following the opening of newer major outlets in the town. I am sure our sorrow at the closure of Arnold Bros, which as you know was the foundation of the Arnco fortunes, will be lessened by the news of plans by the Group to replace it with an Arnco Super Saverstore in the Neil Armstrong Shopping Mall. To this end, the store will close at the end of the month, and will shortly be demolished to make way for an exciting new Arnco Leisure Complex. . . .’”
    Gurder fell silent, and put his head in his hands.
    â€œThere’s those words again,” said Masklin slowly. “Closure. Demolished.”
    â€œWhat’s leisure?” said Grimma.
    The Stationeri ignored her.
    Masklin took her gently by the arm.
    â€œI think he wants to be alone for a while,” he said. He pulled the tip of his spear across the broad sheet of paper, creasing it, and folded it up until it was small enough to carry.
    â€œI expect the Abbot will want to see it,” he said. “He’ll never believe us if we—”
    He stopped. Grimma was staring over his shoulder. He turned and looked out through the glass part of the great door into the corridor beyond. There was a shadow out there. Human shaped. And growing bigger.
    â€œWhat is it?” she said.
    Masklin gripped the spear. “I think,” he said, “it may be Prices Slashed.”
    They turned and hurried over to Gurder.
    â€œThere’s someone coming,” Masklin whispered. “Get down to the floor, quickly!”
    â€œDemolished!” moaned Gurder, hugging himself and rocking from side to side. “Everything Must Go! Final Reductions! We’re all doomed!”
    â€œYes, but do you think you could go and be doomed on the floor?” said Masklin.
    â€œHe’s not himself—you can see that,” said Grimma. “Come on,” she added in a horribly cheerful voice. “Upsy-daisy.”
    She lifted him up bodily and helped him toward the rope of clips. Masklin followed them, walking backward with his eye on the door.
    He thought: He has seen the light. It should be dark in here now, and he has seen the light. But I’ll never get it off in time, and anyway it won’t make any difference. I don’t believe in any demon called Prices Slashed, and now here he comes. What a strange world.
    He sidled into the shade of a pile of paper and waited.
    He could hear Gurder’s feeble protests, down around floor level, suddenly stop. Perhaps Grimma had hit him with something. She had a way of