The Truth (Discworld 25)

'You have no honour, do you?' said his father, still in the voice of infuriating calm. 'Well, publish and be damned to you. And to the Watch. We gave no order to--'

'I expect you didn't,' said William. 'I expect you said "make it so" and left the details to people like Pin and Tulip. Bloody hands at arm's length.'

'As your father I order you to cease this... this

'You used to order me to tell the truth,' said William.

Lord de Worde drew himself up. 'Oh, William, Williaml Don't be so naive.'

William shut his notebook. The words came easier now. He'd leapt from the building and found that he could fly.

'And which one is this?' he said. The truth that is so precious it must be surrounded by a bodyguard of lies? The truth that is stranger than fiction? Or the truth that is still putting on its boots when a lie is running round the world?' He stepped forward. 'That's your little phrase, isn't it? It doesn't matter any more. I think Mr Pin was going to try blackmail and, you know, so am I, naive as I am. You're going to leave the city, right now. That shouldn't be too hard for you. And you had better hope that nothing happens to me, or anyone I work with, or anyone I know.'

'Really?'

'Right now!' screamed William, so loud that Lord de Worde rocked backwards. 'Have you gone deaf as well as insane? Right now and don't come back, because if you do I'll publish every damn word you've just said!' William pulled the Dis-organizer out of his pocket. 'Every damn word! D'you hear me? And not even Mr Slant will be able to grease your way out of that! You even had the arrogance, the stupid arrogance, to use our house! How dare you! Get out of the city! And either draw that sword or take . , . your... hand... off... it!'

He stopped, red-faced and panting.

The truth has got its boots on,' he said. 'It's going to start kicking.' His eyes narrowed. 'I told you to take your hand off that sword!'

'So silly, so silly. And I believed you were my son

'Ah, yes. I nearly forgot that,' said William, now rocketing on rage. 'You'know one of the customs of the dwarfs? No, of course you don't, because they're not really people, are they? But I know one or two of them, you see, and so...' He pulled a velvet bag out of his pocket and threw it down in front of his father. ;I want to go to press in half an hour,' said William. 'Otto, I want pictures of Brother Pin's leg. I want quotes from everyone, even Foul Ole Ron. And a picture of Wuffles, Otto. And I want a printing press!'

'I told you, where could we get a printing press at this time of ni--'

The floor shook. The heaps of rubble shifted.

All eyes turned to the high lighted windows of the Inquirer.

Sacharissa, who had been watching William wide-eyed, breathed so heavily that Otto groaned and averted his face and started to hum frantically.

There's your press!' she shouted. 'All you have to do is get it!' 'Yeah, but just stealing a--' the dwarf began. 'Borrowing,' said William. 'And half the jewels are yours.' Goodmountain's nostrils flared. 'Let's just--' he began to yell, and then said, 'You did say half, did you?' 'Yes!' 'Let's just do it, lads!'

One of the Inquirer's overseers knocked politely on Mr Carney's door.

'Yes, Causley? Has Dibbler turned up yet?' said the Inquirer's proprietor.

'No, sir, but there's a young lady to see you. It's that Miss Cripslock,' said the overseer, wiping his hands on a rag.

Carney brightened up. 'Really?'

'Yes, sir. She's in a bit of a state. And that de Worde fellow is with her.'

Carney's smile faded a little. He'd watched the fire from his window with great glee, but he had been bright enough not to step out into the street. Those dwarfs were pretty vicious, from what he'd heard, and would be bound to blame him. In fact, he hadn't the faintest idea why the place had caught fire, but it was hardly unexpected, was it?

'So... it's time for the humble pie, is it?' he said, half to himself.

'Is it, sir?'

'Send them up, will you?'

He sat back and looked at the paper spread out on his desk. Damn that Dibbler! The odd thing was, though, that those things he wrote were like the wretched sausages he sold - you knew them for what they were, but nevertheless you kept on going to the end, and coming back for more. Making them up wasn't as easy as it looked, either. Dibbler had the knack. He'd make up some story about some huge monster being seen in the lake in Hide Park and five readers would turn up swearing that they'd seen it, too. Ordinary, everyday people, such as you might buy a loaf off. How did he do it? Carney's desk was covered with his own failed attempts.-You needed a special kind of imagi--

'Why, Sacharissa,' he said, standing up as she crept into the room. 'Do take the chair. I'm afraid I don't have one for your... friend.' He nodded at William. 'May I say how sad I was to hear about the fire?'

'It's your office,' said William coldly. 'You can say anything you like.' Beyond the window he could see the torches of the Watch, arriving at the ruins of the old shed. He took a step back.