The Truth (Discworld 25)

'Shall we have a look?' said Goodmountain.

To William's complete lack of surprise, the little cellar under the shed was much better built than the shed itself. But then, practically everywhere in Ankh-Morpork had cellars that were once the first or even second or third floors of ancient buildings, built at the time of one of the city's empires when men thought that the future was going to last for ever. And then the river had flooded and brought mud with it, and walls had gone higher and, now, what Ankh-Morpork was built on was mostly Ankh-Morpork. People said that anyone with a good sense of direction and a

pickaxe could cross the city underground by simply knocking holes in walls.

Rusted tins and piles of timber rotted to tissue strength were piled up against one wall. And in the middle of the wall was a bricked-up doorway, the more recent bricks already looking worn and tatty compared to the ancient stone surrounding them.

'What's through there?' said Boddony.

The old street, probably,' said William.

The street has a cellar? What does it keep there?'

'Oh, when parts of the city get badly flooded people just keep building on up,' said William. This was probably a ground-floor room once, you see. People just bricked up the doors and windows and built on another storey. In some parts of the city, they say, there's six or seven levels underground. Mostly full of mud. And that's choosing my words with care--'

'I am looking for Mister William der Worde,' rumbled a voice above them.

An enormous troll was blocking out the light from the cellar trapdoor.

That's me,' said William.

'Der Patrician will see you now,' said the troll.

'I don't have an appointment with Lord Vetinari!'

'Ah, well,' said the troll, 'you'd be amazed at how many people has appointments wid der Patrician an' dey don't know it. So you'd better hurry. I would hurry, if I was you.'

There was no sound but the ticking of the clock. William watched in apprehension as, apparently forgetting his presence, Lord Vetinari read his way through the Times again.

'What a very... interesting document,' said the Patrician, suddenly laying it aside. 'But I'm forced to ask... Why?

'It's just my news sheet,' said William, 'but bigger. Er... people like to know things.'

'Which people?'

'Well... everyone, really.'

'Do they? Did they tell you this?'

William swallowed. 'Well... no. But you know I've been writing my news letter for some time now--'

'For various foreign notables and similar people.' Lord Vetinari nodded. 'People who need to know. Knowing things is part of their profession. But you are selling this to anyone in the street, is that correct?'

'I suppose so, sir.'

'Interesting. Then 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.

'To be sure. And so they should, so they should. This is the age of words, after all. Fifty-six hurt in tavern brawl, eh? Astounding. What further news do you have for us, sir?'

'Well, er... it's been very cold

'Has it? Has it, indeed? My word!' On his desk the tiny iceberg bumped against the side of Lord Vetinari's inkwell.

'Yes, and there was a bit of a... fracas... at some cookery meeting last night...'