The Truth (Discworld 25)

* In many ways William de Worde had quite a graphic imagination.

iconograph and looked at it again. Then he scratched it with a long pale finger, as if trying to remove something.

'Strange...' he said.

The imp hadn't imagined it, he knew. Imps had no imagination whatsoever. They didn't know how to lie.

He looked around the bare cellar suspiciously.

'Is zere anyvun zere?' he said. 'Is anyvun playink zer silly buggers?'

Thankfully there was no answer.

Dark light. Oh dear. There were lots of theories about dark light...

'Otto!'

He glanced up, shoving the picture into his pocket.

'Yes, Mr Villiam?'

'Get your stuff together and come with me! Lord Vetinari's murdered someone! Er, it is alleged,' William added. 'And it can't possibly be true.'

It sometimes seemed to William that the whole population of Ankh-Morpork was simply a mob waiting to happen. It was mostly spread thin, like some kind of great amoeba, all across the city. But when something happened somewhere it contracted around that point, like a cell around a piece of food, filling the streets with people.

It was growing around the main gates to the palace. It came together apparently at random. A knot of people would attract other people, and become a bigger, more complicated knot. Carts and sedan chairs would stop to find out what was going on. The invisible beast grew bigger.

There were watchmen on the gate instead of the palace guard. This was a problem. 'Let me in, I'm nosy,' was not a request likely to achieve success. It lacked a certain authority.

'Vy are ve stoppink?' said Otto.

'That's Sergeant Detritus on the gate,' said William.

'Ah. A troll. Very stupid,' opined Otto.

'But hard to fool. I'm afraid I shall have to try the truth.'

'Vy vill zat vork?'

'He's a policeman. The truth usually confuses them. They don't often hear it.'

The big troll sergeant watched William impassively as he approached. It was a proper policeman's stare. It gave nothing away. It said: I can see you, now I'm waiting to see what you're going to do that's wrong.

'Good morning, sergeant,' said William.

A nod from the troll indicated that he was prepared to accept, on available evidence, that it was morning and, in certain circumstances, by some people, it might be considered good.

'I urgently need to see Commander Vimes.'

'Oh, yes?'

'Yes. Indeed.'

'And does he urgently need to see you?' The troll leaned closer. 'You're Mr de Worde, right?'

'Yes. I work for the Times.'

'I don't read dat,' said the troll.