'It was, uh, a minor witticism, Hav-- my lord.'
'Oh. Yes. Ahah,' said Vetinari, and the words withered in the air. 'No, I'm afraid you will find that the Omnians are quite free to distribute their good news about Om. But take heart! Surely you have some good news about Io?'
'What? Oh. Yes, of course. He had a bit of a cold last month, but he's up and about again.'
'Capital. That is good news. No doubt these printers will happily spread the word on your behalf. I'm sure they will work to your exacting requirements.'
'And these are your reasons, my lord?'
'Do you think I have others?' said Lord Vetinari. 'My motives, as ever, are entirely transparent.'
Hughnon reflected that 'entirely transparent' meant either that you could see right through them or that you couldn't see them at all.
Lord Vetinari shuffled through a file of paper. 'However, the Guild of Engravers has put its rates up three times in the past year.'
'Ah. I see,' said Hughnon.
'A civilization runs on words, your reverence. Civilization is words. Which, on the whole, should not be too expensive. The world turns, your reverence, and we must spin with it.' He smiled. 'Once upon a time nations fought like great grunting beasts in a swamp. Ankh-Morpork ruled a large part of that swamp because it had the best claws. But today gold has taken the place of steel and, my goodness, the Ankh-Morpork dollar seems to be the currency of choice. Tomorrow... perhaps the weaponry will be just words. The most words, the quickest words, the last words. Look out of the window. Tell me what you see.'
'Fog,' said the Chief Priest.
Vetinari sighed. Sometimes the weather had no sense of narrative convenience.
'If it was a fine day,' he said sharply, 'you would see the big semaphore tower on the other side of the river. Words flying back and forth from every corner of the continent. Not long ago it would take me the better part of a month to exchange letters with our ambassador in Genua. Now I can have a reply tomorrow. Certain things become easier, but this makes them harder in other ways. We have to change the way we think. We have to move with the times. Have you heard of c-commerce?'
'Certainly. The merchant ships are always--'
'I mean that you may now send a clacks all the way to Genua to order a... a pint of prawns, if you like. Is that not a notable thing?'
They would be pretty high when they got here, my lord!'
'Certainly. That was just an example. But now think of a prawn as merely an assemblage of information!' said Lord Vetinari, his eyes sparkling.
'Are you suggesting that prawns could travel by semaphore?' said the Chief Priest. I suppose that you might be able to flick them from--'
'I was endeavouring to point out the fact that information is also bought and sold,' said Lord Vetinari. 'And also that what was once considered impossible is now quite easily achieved. Kings and lords come and go and leave nothing but statues in a desert, while a couple of young men tinkering in a workshop change the way the world works.'
He walked over to a table on which was spread out a map of the world. It was a workman's map; this is to say, it was a map used by someone who needed to refer to it a lot. It was covered with notes and markers.
'We've always looked beyond the walls for the invaders,' he said. 'We always thought change came from outside, usually on the point of a sword. And then we look around and find that it comes from the inside of the head of someone you wouldn't notice in the street. In certain circumstances it may be convenient to remove the head, but there seem to be such a lot of them these days.'
He gestured towards the busy map.
'A thousand years ago we thought the world was a bowl,' he said. 'Five hundred years ago we knew it was a globe. Today we know it is flat and round and carried through space on the back of a turtle.' He turned and gave the High Priest another smile. 'Don't you wonder what shape it will turn out to be tomorrow?'
But a family trait of all the Ridcullys was not to let go of a thread until you've unravelled the whole garment.
'Besides, they have these little pincer things, you know, and would probably hang on like--'
'What do?'
'Prawns. They'd hang on to--'
'You are taking me rather too literally, your reverence,' said Vetinari sharply.
'Oh.'
'I was merely endeavouring to indicate that if we do not grab events by the collar they will have us by the throat.'