Truth

by Pratchett, Terry

  ‘Not from me.’

  ‘Come on, Mr de Worde. We’re on the same side here!’

  ‘No. We’re just on two different sides that happen to be side by side.’

  ‘Mr de Worde, earlier today you assaulted one of my officers. Do you know how much trouble you are in already?’

  ‘I expected better of you than that, Mister Vimes,’ said William. ‘Are you saying I assaulted an officer in uniform? An officer who identified themself to me?’

  ‘Be careful, Mr de Worde.’

  ‘I was being followed by a werewolf, Commander. I took steps to … inconvenience it so that I could get away. Would you like to debate this publicly?’

  I’m being an arrogant, lying, supercilious bastard, thought William. And I’m good at it.

  ‘Then you give me no choice but to arrest you for concealing—’

  ‘I demand a lawyer,’ said William.

  ‘Really? And who did you have in mind at this time of night?’

  ‘Mr Slant.’

  ‘Slant? You think he’ll come out for you?’

  ‘No. I know he’ll come out. Believe me.’

  ‘Oh, he will, will he?’

  ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Come now,’ said Vimes, smiling. ‘Do we need this? It’s the duty of every citizen to help the Watch, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I know the Watch think it is. I’ve never seen it written down,’ said William. ‘There again, I never knew it was the right of the Watch to spy on innocent people.’

  He saw the smile freeze.

  ‘It was for your own good,’ Vimes growled.

  ‘I didn’t know it was your job to decide what was good for me.’

  This time Vimes won a small prize. ‘I’m not going to be led, either,’ he said. ‘But I have reason to believe that you are withholding information about a major crime, and that is an offence. That’s against the law.’

  ‘Mr Slant will come up with something. There’s some precedent, I’ll bet. He’ll go back hundreds of years. The Patricians have always set great store by precedent. Mr Slant will dig and dig. For years if necessary. That’s how he got where he is today, by digging.’

  Vimes leaned forward. ‘Between you and me, and without your notebook,’ he muttered, ‘Mr Slant is a devious dead bastard who can bend such law as we have into a puzzle ring.’

  ‘Yep,’ said William. ‘And he’s my lawyer. I guarantee it.’

  ‘Why would Mr Slant speak up on your behalf?’ said Vimes, staring at William.

  William matched him eyeball for eyeball. It’s true, he thought. I’m my father’s son. All I have to do is use it.

  ‘Because he’s a very fair man?’ he said. ‘Now, are you going to send a runner to fetch him? Because if you’re not you’ve got to let me go.’

  Without taking his gaze off William, Vimes reached down and unhooked the speaking tube from the side of his desk. He whistled into it and then put it to his ear. There was a sound like a mouse pleading for mercy at the other end of a drainpipe.

  ‘Yata whipsie poitl swup?’

  Vimes put the tube to his mouth. ‘Sergeant, send someone up to take Mr de Worde down to the cells, will you?’

  ‘Swyddle yumyumpwipwipwip?’

  Vimes sighed and replaced the pipe. He got up and opened the door.

  ‘Fred, send someone to take Mr de Worde down to the cells, will you?’ he yelled. ‘I’m calling it protective custody for now,’ he added, turning to William.

  ‘Protecting me from whom?’

  ‘Well, I personally have an overwhelming urge to give you a ding alongside the ear,’ said Vimes. ‘And I suspect there are others out there without my self-control.’

  It was in fact quite peaceful in the cells. The bunk was comfortable. The walls were covered with graffiti, and William passed the time correcting the spelling.

  The door was unlocked again. A stony-faced constable escorted William back up to Vimes’s office.

  Mr Slant was there. He gave William an impassive nod. Commander Vimes was sitting in front of a small yet significant pile of paper and had the look of a beaten man.

  ‘I believe Mr de Worde can go free,’ said Mr Slant.

  Vimes shrugged. ‘I’m only amazed you aren’t asking me to give him a gold medal and an illuminated scroll of thanks. But I’m setting bail at one thou—’

  ‘Ah?’ said Mr Slant, raising a grey finger.

  Vimes glowered. ‘One hun—’

  ‘Ah?’

  Vimes grunted and reached into his pocket. He tossed William a dollar. ‘Here,’ he said, with extensive sarcasm. ‘And if you aren’t in front of the Patrician at ten o’clock tomorrow you’ve got to give it back. Satisfied?’ he said to Slant.

  ‘Which Patrician?’ said William.

  ‘Thank you for that smart answer,’ said Vimes. ‘Just you be there.’

  Mr Slant was silent as he walked out into the night air with his new client, but after a while he said: ‘I have presented a writ of exeo carco cum nihil pretii on the basis of olfacere violarum and sini plenis piscis. Tomorrow I shall move that you are ab hamo, and in the event of this not working I—’

  ‘Smelling of violets?’ said William, who had been translating in his head, ‘and pockets full of fish?’

  ‘Based on a case some six hundred years ago when the defendant successfully pleaded that, although he had indeed pushed the victim into a lake, the man came out with his pockets full of fish, to his net benefit,’ said Mr Slant crisply. ‘In any case, I shall argue that if withholding information from the Watch is a crime, every person in the city is guilty.’

  ‘Mr Slant, I do not wish to have to say how and where I got my information,’ said William. ‘If I have to, I shall have to reveal all of it.’

  The light from the distant lamp over the Watch House door, behind its blue glass, illuminated the lawyer’s face. He looked ill.

  ‘You really believe those two men had … accomplices?’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ said William. ‘I’d say it’s a matter of … record.’

  At that point he almost felt sorry for the lawyer. But only almost.

  ‘That might not be in the public interest,’ said Mr Slant slowly. ‘This ought to be a time for … reconciliation.’

  ‘Absolutely. So I’m sure you will see to it that I don’t have to pour all those words into Commander Vimes’s ear.’

  ‘Strangely enough, there was a precedent in 1497 when a cat successfully—’

  ‘Good. And you will have one of your special quiet words with the Engravers’ Guild. You are good at quiet words.’

  ‘Well, of course I will do my best. The bill, however—’

  ‘—won’t exist,’ said William.

  Only then did Mr Slant’s parchment features really crease up in pain.

  ‘Pro bono publico?’ he croaked.

  ‘Oh, yes. You will certainly be working for the public good,’ said William. ‘And what is good for the public, of course, is good for you. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Mr Slant, ‘perhaps it would be in the interests of everyone to put this sorry affair behind us, and I will be, uh, happy to donate my services.’

  ‘Thank you. Mr Scrope is now Lo— is now the Patrician?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By the vote of the Guilds?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘The unanimous vote?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell—’

  William raised a finger. ‘Ah?’ he said.

  Mr Slant squirmed. ‘The Beggars and the Seamstresses voted to adjourn,’ he said. ‘So did the Launderers and the Guild of Exotic Dancers.’

  ‘So … that would be Queen Molly, Mrs Palm, Mrs Manger and Miss Dixie Voom,’ said William. ‘What an interesting life Lord Vetinari must have led.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And would you say Mr Scrope is looking forward to getting to grips with the manifold problems of running the city?’

&nb
sp; Mr Slant considered this one. ‘I think that may be the case,’ he conceded.

  ‘Not least of which is the fact that Lord Vetinari is, in fact, completely innocent? And that therefore there is a very large question mark over the appointment? Would you advise that he takes up his duties with several spare pairs of underpants? You don’t have to answer that last one.’

  ‘It is not my job to instruct the assembly of Guilds to reverse a legitimate decision, even if it turns out to have been based on … erroneous information. Nor is it my responsibility to advise Mr Scrope on his choice of undergarments.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, Mr Slant,’ said William.

  * * *

  William barely had time to undress and lie down before it was time to get up again. He washed as best he could, changed his shirt and went cautiously down to breakfast. He was in fact the first at the table.

  There was the usual stolid silence as the other guests gathered. Most of Mrs Arcanum’s boarders didn’t bother to talk unless they had something to say. But when Mr Mackleduff sat down he pulled out a copy of the Times from his pocket.

  ‘Couldn’t get the paper,’ said Mr Mackleduff, shaking it open. ‘So I got the other one.’

  William coughed. ‘Anything much in it?’ he said. He could see his headline from where he sat, in huge bold caps:

  DOG BITES MAN!

  He’d made it news.

  ‘Oh … Lord Vetinari got away with it,’ said Mr Mackleduff.

  ‘Well, of course he would,’ said Mr Prone. ‘Very clever man, whatever they say.’

  ‘And his dog’s all right,’ said Mr Mackleduff. William wanted to shake the man for reading so slowly.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Mrs Arcanum, pouring out the tea.

  ‘Is that it?’ said William.

  ‘Oh, there’s a lot of political stuff,’ said Mr Mackleduff. ‘It’s all a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘Any good vegetables today?’ said Mr Cartwright.

  Mr Mackleduff carefully inspected the other pages.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘My firm are thinking of approaching that man to see if he’d let us sell his seeds for him,’ Mr Cartwright went on. ‘It’s just the sort of thing people like.’ He caught Mrs Arcanum’s eye. ‘Only those vegetables suitable for a family environment, of course,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Aye, it does you good to laugh,’ said Mr Mackleduff solemnly.

  It crossed William’s mind to wonder if Mr Wintler could grow an obscene pea. But of course he could.

  ‘I would have thought it’s quite important,’ he said, ‘if Lord Vetinari isn’t guilty.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I daresay, to them as has to deal with these things,’ said Mr Mackleduff. ‘I don’t quite see where we come into it, though.’

  ‘But surely—’ William began.

  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 just a little surprised there isn’t a Lady Vetinari. As it were. Ahem.’

  ‘Oh well, you know what they say,’ said Mr Windling.

  A pair of arms shot out across the table, grabbed the surprised man by the lapels and pulled him up so that his face was a few inches from William’s.

  ‘I don’t know what they say, Mr Windling!’ he shouted. ‘But you know what they say, Mr Windling! Why don’t you tell us what they say, Mr Windling! Why don’t you tell us who told you, Mr Windling?’

  ‘Mr de Worde! Really!’ said Mrs Arcanum. Mr Prone pulled the toast out of the way.

  ‘I’m very sorry about this, Mrs Arcanum,’ said William, still holding the struggling man, ‘but I want to know what everyone knows and I want to know how they know it. Mr Windling?’

  ‘They say he’s got some sort of a lady friend who’s very important in Uberwald,’ said Mr Windling. ‘And I’ll thank you to let go of me!’

  ‘And that’s it? What’s so sinister about that? It’s a friendly country!’

  ‘Yes, but, yes, but they say—’

  William let go. Windling rocked back into his chair, but William stayed standing, breathing heavily.

  ‘Well, I wrote the article in the Times!’ he snapped. ‘And what’s in there is what I say! Me! Because I found things out, and checked things, and people who say “ing” a lot tried to kill me! I’m not the man that’s the brother of some man you met in the pub! I’m not some stupid rumour put about to make trouble! So just remember that, before you try any of that “everyone knows” stuff! And in an hour or so I’ve got to go up to the palace and see Commander Vimes and whoever is the Patrician and a lot of other people, to get this whole thing sorted out! And it’s not going to be very nice, but I’m going to have to do it, because I wanted you to know things that are important! Sorry about the teapot, Mrs Arcanum, I’m sure it can be mended.’

  In the ensuing silence Mr Prone picked up the paper and said: ‘You write this?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘I … er … I thought they had special people …’

  All heads turned back to William.

  ‘There isn’t a they. There’s just me and a young lady. We write it all!’

  ‘But … who tells you what to put in?’

  The heads turned back to William.

  ‘We just … decide.’

  ‘Er … is it true about big silver discs kidnapping people?’

  ‘No!’

  To William’s surprise Mr Cartwright actually raised his hand.

  ‘Yes, Mr Cartwright?’

  ‘I’ve got quite an important question, Mr de Worde, what with you knowing all this stuff …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you got the address of the funny vegetable man?’

  William and Otto arrived at the palace at five minutes to ten. There was a small crowd around the gates.

  Commander Vimes was standing in the courtyard, talking to Slant and some of the Guild leaders. He smiled in a humourless way when he saw William.

  ‘You’re rather late, Mr de Worde,’ he said.

  ‘I’m early!’

  ‘I meant that things have been happening.’

  Mr Slant cleared his throat. ‘Mr Scrope has sent a note,’ he said. ‘It appears that he is ill.’

  William pulled out his notebook.

  The civic leaders focused on it. He hesitated. And then uncertainty evaporated. I’m a de Worde, he thought, don’t you dare look down your noses at me! You’ve got to move with the Times. Oh well … here goes …

  ‘Was it signed by his mother?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t follow your meaning,’ said the lawyer, but several of the Guild leaders turned their heads away.

  ‘What’s happening now, then?’ said William. ‘We don’t have a ruler?’

  ‘Happily,’ said Mr Slant, who looked like a man in a private hell, ‘Lord Vetinari is feeling very much better and expects to resume his duties tomorrow.’

  ‘Excuse me, is he allowed to write that down?’ said Lord Downey, head of the Assassins’ Guild, as William made a note.

  ‘Allowed by who?’ said Vimes.

  ‘Whom,’ said William, under his breath.

  ‘Well, he can’t just write down anything, can he?’ said Lord Downey. ‘Supposing he writes down something we don’t want him to write down?’

  Vimes looked William firmly in the eye.

  ‘There’s no law against it,’ he said.

  ‘Lord Vetinari is not going to go on trial, then, Lord Downey?’ said William, holding Vimes’s gaze for a second.

  Downey, baffled, turned to Slant.

  ‘Can he ask me that?’ he said. ‘Just come out with a question, just like that?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Do I have to answer it?’

  ‘It is a reasonable question in the circumstances, my lord, but you don’t have to.’

  ‘Do you have a message for the people of Ankh-Morpork?’ said William sweetly.

  ‘Do we, Mr
Slant?’ said Lord Downey.

  Mr Slant sighed. ‘It may be advisable, my lord, yes.’

  ‘Oh, well, then – no, there won’t be a trial. Obviously.’

  ‘And he’s not going to be pardoned?’ said William.

  Lord Downey turned to Mr Slant, who gave a little sigh.

  ‘Again, my lord, it is—’

  ‘All right, all right … No, he’s not going to be pardoned because it is quite clear that he is quite guiltless,’ said Downey testily.

  ‘Would you say that this has become clear because of the excellent work done by Commander Vimes and his dedicated band of officers, aided in a small way by the Times?’ said William.

  Lord Downey looked blank. ‘Would I say that?’ he said.

  ‘I think you possibly would, yes, my lord,’ said Slant, sinking further in gloom.

  ‘Oh. Then I would,’ said Downey. ‘Yes.’ He craned his neck to see what William was writing down. Out of the corner of his eye William saw Vimes’s expression; it was a strange mixture of amusement and anger.

  ‘And would you say, as spokesman for the Guild Council, that you are commending Commander Vimes?’ said William.

  ‘Now see here—’ Vimes began.

  ‘I suppose we would, yes.’

  ‘I expect there’s a Watch Medal or a commendation in the offing?’

  ‘Now look—’ Vimes said.

  ‘Yes, very probably. Very probably,’ said Lord Downey, now thoroughly buffeted by the winds of change.

  William painstakingly wrote this down, too, and closed his notebook. This caused a general air of relief among the others.

  ‘Thank you very much, my lord, and ladies and gentlemen,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Oh, Mister Vimes … do you and I have anything to discuss?’

  ‘Not right at this moment,’ growled Vimes.

  ‘Oh, that’s good. Well, I must go and get this written up, so thank you once—’

  ‘You will of course show this … article to us before you put it in the paper,’ said Lord Downey, rallying a little.

  William wore his haughtiness like an overcoat. ‘Um, no, I don’t think I will, my lord. It’s my paper, you see.’

  ‘Can he—’

  ‘Yes, my lord, he can,’ said Mr Slant. ‘I’m afraid he can. The right to free speech is a fine old Ankh-Morpork tradition.’

  ‘Good heavens, is it?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’