The Truth (Discworld 25)

A icongrapher with thier own equipptment vanted by this publication. Apply at the Times office. The sign of the Bucket.

A miscreatn stole $200 worth of silver from H. Hogland and Son, Jewllrs., of Nonsuch Street yesterday p.m. Mr Hogland, (32) who was threatened at knifepoint, told the Times: 'I shall recognise the man if I should see him again because not many people have a ftocking on their head.'

And Lord Vetinari smiled.

And someone knocked softly 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 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.

Mr Mackleduff smoothed out the paper. It was already accepted by all around the breakfast table that, as the man who bought the paper, he was not simply its owner but, as it were, its priest, relaying its contents to the appreciative masses.

'It says here a man in Martlebury Street has grown a vegetable that's a funny shape,' he said.

'I should very much like to see that,' said Mrs Arcanum. There was a choking noise from further down the table. 'Are you all right, Mr de Worde?' she added, as Mr Prone thumped him on the back.

'Yes, yes, really,' gasped William. 'S-sorry. Some tea went down the wrong way.'

'There's good soil in that part of the city,' opined Mr Cartwright, travelling seed salesman.

William concentrated desperately on his toast, while over his head every news item was presented with the care and veneration of a blessed relic.

'Someone held up a shopkeeper at knifepoint,' Mr Mackleduff went on.

'Soon we will not be safe in our beds,' said Mrs Arcanum.

'I don't think this is the coldest winter for more than a hundred years, though,' said Mr Cartwright. I'm sure that one we had ten years ago was worse. Hit my sales something cruel.'

'It's in the paper,' said Mr Mackleduff, in the quiet voice of someone laying down an ace.

'It was a very strange obituary that you read out, too,' said Mrs Arcanum. William nodded silently over his boiled egg. I'm sure it's not usual to talk about the things someone's done since they died.'

Mr Longshaft, who was a dwarf and something in the jewellery business, helped himself to another slice of toast.

'I suppose it takes all sorts,' he said calmly.

The city is getting rather crowded, though,' said Mr Windling, who had some unspecified clerical job. 'Still, at least zombies are human. No offence meant, of course.'

Mr Longshaft smiled faintly as he buttered the toast, and William wondered why he always disliked people who said 'no offence meant'. Maybe it was because they found it easier to say 'no offence meant' than actually refrain from giving offence.

'Well, I suppose we have to move with the times,' said Mrs Arcanum. 'And I hope that other poor man finds his watch.'