The Truth (Discworld 25)

He had a new desk, too. In fact it was better than a new desk; it was a genuine antique one, made of genuine walnut, inlaid with leather, and with two inkwells, lots of drawers and genuine woodworm. At a desk like that a man could write.

They hadn't brought the spike.

William was pondering over a letter from the Ankh-Morpork League of Decency when the sense that someone was standing nearby made him look up.

Sacharissa had ushered in a small group of strangers, although after a second or two he recognized one of them as the late Mr Bendy, who was merely strange.

'You remember you said we ought to get more writers?' she said. 'You know Mr Bendy, and this is Mrs Tilly' - a small white-haired woman bobbed a curtsey to William - 'who likes cats and really nasty murders, and Mr O'Biscuit' - a rangy young man - 'who's all the way from Fourecks and looking for a job before he goes home.'

'Really? What did you do in Fourecks, Mr O'Biscuit?'

I was at Bugarup University, mate.'

'You're a wizard?'

'No, mate. They threw me out, 'cos of what I wrote in the student magazine.'

'What was that?'

'Everything, really.'

'Oh. And... Mrs Tilly, I think you wrote a lovely well-spelled and grammatical letter to us suggesting that everyone under the age of eighteen should be flogged once a week to stop them being so noisy?'

'Once a day, Mr de Worde,' said Mrs Tilly. 'That'll teach 'em to go around being young!'

William hesitated. But the press needed feeding, and he and Sacharissa needed time off. Rocky was supplying some sports news, and while it was unreadable to William he put it in on the basis that anyone keen on sport probably couldn't read. There had to be more staff. It was worth a try.

'Very well, then,' he said. 'We'll give you all a trial, starting right-- Oh.'

He stood up. Everyone turned round to see why.

'Please don't bother,' said Lord Vetinari from the doorway. 'This is meant to be an informal visit. Taking on new staff, I see?'

The Patrician walked across the floor, followed by Drumknott.

'Er, yes,' said William. 'Are you all right, sir?'

'Oh, yes. Busy, of course. Such a lot of reading to catch up on. But I thought I should take a moment to come and see this "free press" Commander Vimes has told me about at considerable length.' He tapped one of the iron pillars of the press with his cane. 'However, it appears to be firmly bolted down.'

'Er, no, sir. I mean "free" in the sense of what is printed, sir,' said William.

'But surely you charge money?'

'Yes, but--'

'Oh, I see. You meant you should be free to print what you like?'

There was no escape. 'Well... broadly, yes, sir.'

'Because that's in the, what was the other interesting term? Ah, yes... the public interest?' Lord Vetinari picked up a piece of type and inspected it carefully.

'I think so, sir.'

'These stories about man-eating goldfish and people's husbands disappearing in big silver dishes?'

'No, sir. That's what the public is interested in. We do the other stuff, sir.'

'Amusingly shaped vegetables?'