The Truth

[The news] reached the cold but incredibly accurate ears of the Patrician, and it did that fairly quickly, because you did not stay ruler of Ankh-Morpork for long if you were second with the news. He sighed and made a note of it, and added it to a lot of other notes.

Lord Vetinari, the patrician of Ankh-Morpork, poked at the ink in his inkwell. There was ice in it.
'Don't you even have a proper fire?' said Hughnon Ridcully, Chief Priest of Blind Io and unofficial spokesman for the city's religious establishment. 'I mean, I'm not one for stuffy rooms, but it's freezing in here!'
'Brisk, certainly,' said Lord Vetinari. 'It's odd, but the ice isn't as dark as the rest of the ink. What causes that, do you think?'
'Science, probably,' said Hughnon vaguely (…)
'Ah. Anyway…you were saying?'
'You must put a stop to this, Havelock. You know the…understanding.'
Vetinari seemed engrossed in the ink. 'Must, your reverence?' he said calmly, without looking up.
'You know why we're all against this moveable type nonsense!'
'Remind me again…Look, it bobs up and down…'
Hughnon sighed. 'Words are too important to be left to machinery. We've got nothing against engraving, you know that. We've nothing against words being nailed down properly. But words that can be taken apart and used to make other words…well that's downright dangerous. And I thought you weren't in favour, either?'
'Broadly, yes,' said the Patrician. 'But many years of ruling this city, your reverence, have taught me that you cannot apply brakes to a volcano. Sometimes it is best to let these things run their course. They generally die down again after a while.'
'You have not always taken such a relaxed approach, Havelock,' said Hughnon.
The Patrician gave him a cool stare that went on for a couple of seconds beyond the comfort barrier.
'Flexibility and understanding have always been my watchwords,' he said.
'My god, have they?'
'Indeed. And what I would like you and your brother to understand now, your reverence, in a flexible way, is that this enterprise is being undertaken by dwarfs. And do you know where the largest dwarf city is, your reverence?'
'What? Oh…let's see… there's that place in-'
'Yes, everyone starts by saying that. But it's Ankh-Morpork, in fact. There are more than fifty thousand dwarfs here now.'
'Surely not?'
'I assure you. We have currently very good relationships with the dwarf communities in Copperhead and Uberwald. In dealings with the dwarfs I have seen to it that the city's hand is of friendship is permanently outstretched in a slightly downward direction. And in this current cold snap I am sure we are all very glad that barge loads of coal and lamp oil are coming down from the dwarf mines every day. Do you catch my meaning?'
Hughnon glanced at the fireplace. Against all probability, one lump of coal was smouldering all by itself.
'And of course,' the Patrician went on, 'it is increasingly hard to ignore this type, aha, of printing when vast printeries now exist in the Agatean Empire and, as I am sure you are aware, in Omnia. And from Omnia, as you no doubt know, the Omnians export huge amounts of their holy book of Om and these pamphlets they are so keen on.'
'Evangelical nonsense,' said Hughnon. 'You should have banned them long ago.'
Once again the stare went on a good deal too long.
'Ban a religion, your reverence?'
'Well, when I say ban, I mean-'
'I'm sure no one could call me a despot, your reverence,' said Lord Vetinari severely.
Hughnon Ridcully made a misjudged attempt to lighten the mood. 'Not twice at any rate, ahaha.'
'I'm sorry?'
'I said… not twice at any rate … ahaha.'
'I do apologise, but you seem you have lost me there.'
'It was a minor witticism, Hav- my lord.'
'Oh. Yes. Ahah,' said Vetinari, and the words withered in the air.

'And these are your reasons, my lord?'
'Do you think I have others?' said Lord Vetinari. 'My motives, as ever, are entirely transparent.'
Hughnon reflected that 'entirely transparent' meant either that you could see right through them or that you couldn't see them at all.

'…Have you heard of c-commerce?' [Said Lord Vetinari]
'Certainly. The merchant ships are always-'
'I mean that you may now send a clacks all the way to Genua to order a…a pint of prawns, if you like. Is that not a notable thing?'
'They would be pretty high when they got here, my lord!'
'Certainly, that was just an example. But now think of a prawn as merely an assemblage of information!' said Lord Vetinari, his eyes sparkling.

'I was merely endeavouring to indicate that if we do not grab events by the collar they will have us by the throat,' said Lord Vetinari.

He reached out to ring a bell on his desk, stopped, and with a smile at the priest moved his hand instead to a brass and leather tube that hung from two brass hooks. The mouthpiece was in the shape of a dragon.
He whistled into it, and then said, 'Mr Drumknott? My coach, please.'
'Is it me,' said Ridcully, giving the new-fangled speaking tube a nervous glance, or is there a terrible smell in here?'
Lord Vetinari gave him a quizzical look and glanced down.
There was a basket underneath his desk. In it was what appeared to be, at first glance and certainly at first smell, a dead dog. It lay with al four legs in the air. Only the occasional gentle expulsion of wind suggested that some living process was going on.
'It's his teeth,' he said coldly. The dog Wuffles turned over and regarded the priest with one baleful black eye.
'He's doing very well for a dog of his age,' said Hughnon, in a desperate attempt to climb a suddenly tilting slope. 'How old would he be now?'
'Sixteen,' said the Patrician. 'That's over a hundred in dog years.'
Wuffles dragged himself into a sitting position and growled, releasing a gust of stale odours from the depths of his basket.
'He's very healthy,' said Hughnon while trying not to breathe. 'For his age, I mean. I expect you get used to the smell.'
'What smell?' said Lord Vetinari.
'Ah. Yes. Indeed,' said Hughnon.

On cue, because history likes neatness, he heard the sound of a carriage drawing up in the street outside. A few moments later Lord Vetinari stepped inside and stood leaning heavily on his stick and surveying the room with mild interest.
'Why… Lord de Worde,' he said, looking surprised. 'I had no idea that you were involved in this enterprise…'
William coloured as he hurried over to the city's supreme ruler. 'It's Mister de Worde, my lord.'
'Ah, yes. Of course. Indeed.' Lord Vetinari's gaze traversed the inky room, paused for a moment on the pile of madly smiling rocking horses, and then took in the toiling dwarfs. 'Yes. Of course. And are you in charge?'
'No one is, my lord,' said William. 'But Mr. Goodmountain over there seems to do most of the talking.'
'So what exactly is your purpose here?'
'Er…' William paused, which he knew was never a good tactic with the Patrician. 'Frankly, sir, it's warm, my office is freezing, and … well, it's fascinating. Look, I know it's not really- '
Lord Vetinari nodded and raised a hand. 'Be so good as to ask Mr. Goodmountain to come over here, will you?'
William tried to whisper a few instructions into Gunilla's ear as he hustled him over to the tall figure of the Patrician.
'Ah, good,' said the Patrician. 'Now, I would just like to ask one or two questions, if I may?'
Goodmountain nodded.
'Firstly, is Mr Cut-My-Own-Throat Dibbler involved in this enterprise in any significant managerial capacity?'
'What?' said William. He hadn't been expecting this.
'Shifty fellow, sells sausages-'
'Oh, him. No. Just the Dwarfs.'
'I see. And is this building built on a crack in space-time?'
'What?' said Gunilla.
The Patrician sighed. 'When one has been ruler of this city as long as I have,' he said, 'one gets to know with a sad certainty that whenever some well-meaning soul begins a novel enterprise they always, with some kind of uncanny foresight, site it at the point where it will do maximum harm to the fabric of reality. There was that Holy Wood moving picture fiasco a few years ago, yes? And that music with rocks in business not long after, we never got to the bottom of that. And of course the wizards seem to break into the Dungeon Dimensions so often they might as well install a revolving door. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you what happened when the elate Mr. Hong chose to open his Three Jolly Luck Take-Away Fish Bar in Dagon street during the lunar eclipse. Yes? You see, gentlemen, it would be nice to think that someone, somewhere in this city, is engaged in some simple enterprise that is not going to end up causing tentacled monsters and dread apparitions to stalk the streets eating people. So…?'
'What?' said Goodmountain.
'We haven't noticed any cracks,' said William.
'Ah, but possibly on this very site a strange cult once engaged in eldritch rites, the every essence of which permeated the neighbourhood, and which seeks only the rite, ahah, circumstances to once again arise and walk around eating people?'
'What?' said Gunilla. He looked helplessly at William, who could only add:
'They made rocking horses here.'
'Really? I've always thought there was something slightly sinister about rocking horses,' said Lord Vetinari, but he looked subtly disappointed. Then he brightened up. He pointed to the big stone on which the type was arranged.
'Aha,' he said. 'Innocently taken from the overgrown ruins of a megalithic stone circle, this stone is redolent with the blood of thousands, I have no doubt, who will emerge to seek revenge, you may depend upon it.'
'It was cut specially for me by my brother,' said Gunilla. 'And I don't have to take that type of talk, mister. Who do you think you are, coming in here and talking daft like that?'
William stepped forward at a healthy fraction of the speed of terror.
'I wonder if I might just take Mr. Goodmountain aside and explain one or two things to him?' he said quickly.
The Patrician's bright, inquiring smile did not so much as flicker.
'What a good idea,' he said, as William frogmarched the dwarf to a corner. 'He will be sure to thank you for it later.'
Lord Vetinari stood leaning on his stick and looking at the press with an air of benevolent interest, while behind him William de Worde explained the political realities of Ankh-Morpork, especially those relating to sudden death. With gestures.
After thirty seconds of this, Goodmountain came back and stood foursquare in front of the Patrician, with his thumbs in his belt.
'I speak as I find, me,' he said. 'Always have done, always will-'
'And what is you call a spade?' said Lord Vetinari.
'What? Never use spades,' said the glowering dwarf,' farmers use spades. But I call a shovel a shovel.'
'Yes I thought you would,' said Lord Vetinari.
'Young William here says you're a ruthless despot who doesn't like printing. But I say you're a fair-minded man who won't stand in the way of an honest dwarf making a bit of a living, am I right?'
Once again Lord Vetinari's smile remained in place.
'Mr de Worde, a moment please…'
The Patrician put his arm companionably around William's shoulders and walked him gently away from the watching dwarfs.
'I only said that some people call you-' William began.
'Now, sir' said the Patrician, waving this away. 'I think I might just be persuaded, against all experience, that we have here a little endeavour that might just be pursued without filling my streets with inconvenient occult rubbish. It is hard to imagine such a thing in Ankh-Morpork, but I could just about accept it as a possibility. And it so happens that I feel the question of "printing" is one that might, with care, be re-opened.'
'You do?'
'Yes. So I am minded to allow your friends to proceed with their folly.'
'Er, they're not exactly-' William began.
'Of course, I should add that, in the event of there being any problems of a tentacular nature, you would be held personally responsible.'
'Me? But I-'
'Ah. You feel that I am being unfair? Ruthlessly despotic perhaps?'
'Well, I, er-'
'Apart from anything else, the dwarfs are a very hard-working and valuable ethnic grouping in this city,' said the Patrician. 'On the whole, I wish to avoid any low-level difficulties at this time, what with the unsettled situation in Uberwald and the whole Muntab Question.'
'Where's Muntab?' said William.
'Exactly. How is Lord de Worde, by the way? You should write to him more often, you know.'
William said nothing.
'I always think it is a very sad thing when families fall out,' said Lord Vetinari. 'There is far too much mutton-headed ill-feeling in the world.' He cane William a companionable pat. 'I'm sure you will see to it that the printing enterprise stays firmly in the realms of the cult, the canny and the scrutable. Do I make myself clear?'
'But I don't have any control over-'
'Hmm?'
'Yes, lord Vetinari,' said William.
'Good. Good!' The Patrician straightened up, turned, and beamed at the dwarfs.
'Jolly good,' he said. 'My word. Lots of little letters, all screwed together. Possible an idea whose time has come. I may even have an occasional job for you myself.'
William waved frantically at Gunilla from behind the Patrician's back.
'Special rate for government jobs,' the dwarf muttered.
'Oh, but I wouldn't dream of paying any less that other customers,' said the Patrician.
'I wasn't going to charge you less that-'
'Well, I'm sure we've all been very pleased to see you here, your lordship,' said William brightly, swivelling the Patrician in the direction of the door. 'We look forward to the pleasure of your custom.'
'Are you quite sure Mr Dibbler isn't involved in this concern?'
'I think he's having some things printed, but that's all,' said William.
'Astonishing. Astonishing,' said Lord Vetinari, getting into his coach. 'I do hope he isn't ill.'

Lord Vetinari by habit rose so early that bedtime was merely an excuse to change his clothes.
He liked the time just before a winter's dawn. It was generally foggy, which made it hard to see the city, and for a few hours there was no sound but the occasional brief scream.
But the tranquillity was broken this morning by a cry just outside the palace gates.
'Hoinarylup!'
He went to the window.
'Squidaped-oyt!'
The Patrician walked back to his desk and rang the bell for his clerk, Drumknott, who was despatched to the walls to investigate.
'It is the beggar known as Foul Ole Ron, sir,' Drumknott reported five minutes later. 'Selling this… paper full of things.' He held it between two fingers as though expecting it to explode.
Lord Vetinari took it and read thorough it. He then reads through it again.
'Well, well,' he said. '"the Ankh-Morpork Times". Was anyone else buying this?'
'A number of people, my lord. People coming off the night shifts, market people and so on.'
'I see no mention of Hoinarylup or Squiaped-oyt.'
'No, my lord.'
'How very strange.' Lord Vetinari read for a moment and said, 'Hm-hm. Clear my appointments this morning, will you? I will see the guild of towncriers at nine o' clock and the Guild of engravers at ten past.'
'I wasn't aware they had appointments, sir.'
'They will have,' said Lord Vetinari. 'When they see this, they will have. Well, well… I see fifty-six people were hurt in a tavern brawl.'
'That seems rather a lot, my lord.'
'It must be true, Drumknott,' said the Patrician. 'It's in the paper. Oh and send a message to that nice Mr de Worde, too. I will see him at nine-thirty.'
He ran his eye down the grey type again. 'And please put out the word that I wish to see no harm coming to Mr de Worde, will you?'
Drumknott, usually so adept in his understanding of his master's requirements, hesitated a moment.
'My lord, do you mean that you want no harm to come to Mr de Worde, or that you want no harm to come to Mr de Worde?'
'Did you wink at me, Drumknott?'
'No, sir!'
'Drumknott, I believe it is the right of every citizen of Ankh-Morpork to walk the streets unmolested.'
'Good gods, sir! Is it?'
'Indeed.'
'But I thought you were very much against moveable type, sir. You said that it would make printing too cheap and people would-'
'Sheearna-plp"' shouted the newspaper seller, down by the gates.
'Are you poised for the exited new millennium that lies before us, Drumknott? Are you ready to grasp the future with a willing hand?'
'I don't know, my lord. Is special clothing required?'

'… You wouldn't entertain the idea, would you, that a state is, say, rather like one of those old rowing galleys? The ones which had banks of oarsmen down below, and a helmsman and so on above? It is certainly in everyone's interest that the ship does not founder but, I put it to you, it is perhaps not in the interest of the rowers that they know of every shoal avoided, every collision fended off. It would only serve to worry them and put them off their stroke. What the rowers need to know is how to row, hmm?'
'And that the helmsman is a good one,' said William. He couldn't stop the sentence. It said itself. It was out there, hanging in the air.
Lord Vetinari gave him a stare that went on for several seconds beyond the necessary time. Then his face instantly broke into a broad smile.

It was six in the morning. Freezing fog held the city in its breathless grip.
Through the mists they came, and into the press room behind the bucket they lurched, and out into the mists they went again, on a variety of legs, crutches and wheels.
'Mrpikeerah-tis!'
Lord Vetinari heard the cry and sent the overnight clerk down to the gate again. [transcriber's note: overnight clerk? That means Drumknott, and what the hell is Vetinari doing with him all night? The winking was enough…]
(…Lord Vetinari reads the newspaper…)
And Lord Vetinari smiled.
And someone knocked gently at the door.
And he glanced at the clock.
'Come,' he said.
Nothing happened. After a few seconds, the soft knock came again.
'Come in.'
And there was the pregnant silence again.
And Lord Vetinari touched an apparently ordinary part of his desktop.
And a long drawer appeared out of what had seemed to be solid the solid walnut of the desk, sliding forward as though on oil. It contained a number of slim devices on a bed of black velvet, and a description of any one of them would certainly involve the word 'sharp'.
And he chose one, held it casually by his side, crossed soundlessly towards the door and turned the handle, stepping back quickly in case of a sudden rush.
No one pushed.
And the door, yielding to an unevenness in the hinges, swung inwards.

'Lord Vetinari was seen by three cleaning maids of the household staff, all respectable ladies, after they were alerted by the barking of his lordship's dog at about seven o' clock this morning. He said' - here Vimes consulted his own notebook - '"I've killed him, I've killed him, I'm sorry." They saw what very much looked like a body on the floor. Lord Vetinari was holding a knife. They ran downstairs to fetch someone. On their return they found his lordship missing. The body was that of Rufus Drumknott, the Patrician's personal secretary. He had been stabbed and is seriously ill. A search of the buildings located Lord Vetinari in the stables. He was unconscious on the floor. A horse was saddled. The saddlebags contained… seventy thousand dollars… Captain this is damn stupid!'
'I know, sir. I can't imagine his lordship trying to kill anyone.'
'Are you mad?' said Vimes. 'I can't imagine him saying sorry!'
'Why was his lordship unconscious, sir?' asked William.
Vimes shrugged. 'It looks as though he was trying to get on the horse. He's got a game leg. Maybe he slipped - I can't believe I'm saying this…'

'And how come the -ing zombie never told us the [Patrician] was so -ing fast? If he hadn't been staring at the geek he'd have -ing got me!'
Mr Pin shrugged. But he'd made a note of that. Mr Slant had failed to tell the New Firm quite a lot of things, and one of them was that Vetinari moved like a snake.

Mrs Arcanum patted her hair. 'I've always thought Lord Vetinari was a most handsome man,' she said, and then looked flustered when they all stared at her. 'I meant, I'm a little surprised there isn't a Lady Vetinari. As it were. Ahem.'
'Oh well, you know what they say,' said Mr Windling.
(…)
'They say he's got some sort of a lady friend who's very important in Uberwald.'

'His lordship comes and goes. The guards don't ask him where and why.'

'Does [Lord Vetinari] drink?'
'Not so's you'd notice.'
'He's got a drinks cabinet in his office.'
Vimes smiled. 'You noticed that? He likes other people to drink.'

He stood up. Everyone turned around to see why.
'Please don't bother,' said Lord Vetinari from the doorway. 'This is meant to be an informal visit. Taking on new staff, I see?'
The Patrician walked across the floor, followed by Drumknott.
'Er, yes,' said William. 'Are you all right, sir?'
'Oh, yes. Busy, of course. Such a lot of reading to catch up on. But I thought I should take a moment to come and see this "free press" Commander Vimes has told me about at considerable length.' He tapped one of the iron pillars of the press with his cane. 'However, it appears to be firmly bolted down.'
'Er, no, sir. I mean "free" in the sense of what is printed, sir,' said William.
'But surely you charge money?'
'Yes, but-'
'Oh, I see. You meant you should be free to print what you like?'
There was no escape. 'Well…broadly, yes, sir.'
'Because that's in the, what was the other interesting term? Ah, yes…the public interest?' Lord Vetinari picked up a piece of type and inspected it carefully.
'I think so, sir.'
'These stories about man-eating goldfish and people's husbands disappearing in big silver dishes?'
'No, sir. That's what the public is interested in. We do the other stuff, sir.'
'Amusingly shaped vegetables?'
'Well, a bit of that, sir. Sacharissa calls them human interest stories.'
'About vegetables and animals?'
'Yes, sir. But at least they're real vegetables and animals.'
'So…we have what the people are interested in, and human interest stories, which is what humans are interested in, and the public interest, which no one is interested in.'
'Except the public, sir,' said William, trying to keep up.
'Which isn't the same as people and humans?'
'I think it's more complicated than that, sir.'
'Obviously. Do you mean that the public is a different thing from the people you just see walking around the place? The public thinks big, sensible, measured thought while people run around doing silly things?'
'I think so. I may have to work on that idea too, I admit.'
'Hmm. Interesting. I have certainly noticed that groups of clever and intelligent people are capable of really stupid ideas,' said Lord Vetinari. He gave William a look, which said 'I can read you mind, even the small print', and then gazed around the press room again. 'Well I can see you have an eventful future ahead of you, and I wouldn't wish to make it any more difficult than it is clearly going to be. I notice you have work going on…?'
'We're putting up a semaphore post,' said Sacharissa proudly. 'We'll be able to get a clacks straight from the big trunk tower. And we're opening offices in Sto Lat and Pseudopolis!'
Lord Vetinari raised his eyebrows. 'My word,' he said. 'Many new deformed vegetables will become available. I shall look forward with interest to seeing them.'
William decided not to rise to this one.
'It amazes me how the news you have so neatly fits the space available,' Lord Vetinari went on, staring down at the page Boddony was working on. 'No little gaps anywhere. And everyday something happens that is important enough to be at the top of the first page, too. How strange- Oh, "receive" takes an e after the c…'
Boddony looked up. Lord Vetinari's cane swung around with a hiss and hovered in the middle of a densely packed column. The dwarf looked closer and nodded, and took out a small tool.
It's upside down to him, and back to front, thought William. And the word's in the middle of the text. And he spotted it.
'Things that are back to front are often easier to comprehend if they are upside down as well,' said Lord Vetinari, tapping his chin with the silver knob of his cane in an absent-minded way. 'In life as in politics.'

'Hmm?' said Vetinari. William had thought that Vimes had a blank look, but he'd been wreathed in smiles compared to his lordship when Lord Vetinari wanted to look blank.

[The Patrician] nodded to them and walked out of the building.
'Why is everyone still here?' William demanded, when the spell had broken.