The Truth

'I've... heard rumours,' said William. He'd seen the sergeant in the streets. She had a habit of staring a bit too sharply at people, he'd considered.



'And?'



'Look, I can see this is worrying you,' said William. 'Please let me assure you that Corporal Nobbs's secret is safe with me.'



No one spoke. William congratulated himself. It had been a shot in the dark, but he could tell by Sergeant Angua's face that he'd won this one. It seemed to have shut down, locking away all expression.



'We don't often talk about Corporal Nobbs's species,' said Vimes, after a while. 'I would deem it a small favour if you would take the same approach.'



'Yes, sir. So could I ask you why you're having me watched?'



'I am?'



The gargoyles. Everyone knows a lot of them work for the Watch these days.'



'We're not watching you. We're watching to see what happens to you,' said Sergeant Angua.



'Because of this,' said Vimes, slapping the newspaper.



'But I'm not doing anything wrong,' said William.



'No, it may just be you're not doing anything illegal,' said Vimes. 'Although you're coming damn close. Other people do not have my kind and understanding disposition, though. All I ask is that you try not to bleed all over the street.'



'I'll try.'



'And don't write that down.'



'Fine.'



'And don't write down that I said don't write that down.'



'Okay. Can I write down that you said that I shouldn't write down that you said--' William stopped. The mountain was rumbling. 'Only joking.'



'Haha. And no tapping my officers for information.'



'And no giving dog biscuits to Corporal Nobbs,' said Sergeant Angua. She walked around behind Vimes and peered over his shoulder. "The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret"?'



'Printer's error,' said William shortly. 'Anything else I shouldn't do, commander?'



'Just don't get in the way.'



'I'll make a-- I'll remember,' said William. 'But, if you don't mind my asking, what's in it for me?'



Tm Commander of the Watch and I'm asking you politely.'



'And that's it?'



'I could ask you impolitely, Mr de Worde.' Vimes sighed. 'Look, can you see things my way? A crime has been committed. The Guilds are in an uproar. You've heard of too many chiefs? Well, right now there's a hundred many chiefs. I've Captain Carrot and a lot of men I really can't spare guarding the Oblong Office and the rest of the clerks, which means I'm short-handed everywhere else. I've got to deal with all this and... actively pursue & state of non-bafflement. I've got Vetinari in the cells. And Drumknolt, too--'



'But wasn't he the victim, sir?'



'One of my men is tending him.'



'Not one of the city doctors?'



Vimes stared fixedly at the notebook. 'The doctors of this city are a fine body of men,' he said in a level tone, 'and I would not see a word written against them. One of my staff just happens to have... special skills.'



'You mean he can tell someone else's arse from their elbow?'



Vimes was a fast learner. He sat with his hands folded and a completely impassive expression.



'Can I ask another question?' said William.



'Nothing will stop you, will it?'



'Have you found Lord Vetinari's dog?'



Again, total blankness. But this time William had the impression that behind it several dozen wheels had begun to spin.



'Dog?' said Vimes.



'Wuffles, I believe he's called,' said William.



Vimes sat watching him impassively.



'A terrier, I think,' said William.



Vimes failed to move a muscle.



'Why was there a crossbow bolt sticking in the floor?' said William. 'That doesn't make sense to me, unless there was someone else in the room. And it had gone in a long way. That's not a rebound. Someone was firing at something on the floor. Dog-sized, perhaps?'



Not a feature twitched on the commander's face.



'And then there's the peppermint,' William went on. 'There's a. puzzle. I mean, why peppermint? And then I thought, maybe someone didn't want to be traced by their smell? Perhaps they'd heard about your werewolf too? A few jars of peppermint oil thrown down would confuse things a bit?'



There it was, a faint flicker as Vimes glanced momentarily at some paperwork in front of him. Lotto! thought William.*



At last, like some oracle that speaks once a year, Vimes said, 'I don't trust you, Mr de Worde. And I've just realized why. It's not just that you're going to cause trouble. Dealing with trouble is my



* At this point Bingo had not been introduced to Ankh-Morpork.



job, it's what I'm paid for, that's why they give me an armour allowance. But who are you responsible to? I have to answer for what I do, although right now I'm damned if I know who to. But you? It seems to me you can do what the hell you like.'



'I suppose I'm answerable to the truth, sir.'



'Oh, really? How, exactly?'



'Sorry?'



'If you tell lies, does the truth come and smack you in the face? I'm impressed. Ordinary everyday people like me are responsible to other people. Even Vetinari always had-- has one eye on the Guilds. But you... you are answerable to the truth. Amazing. What's its address? Does it read the paper?'



'She, sir,' said Sergeant Angua. There's a goddess of truth, I believe.'



'Can't have many followers, then,' said Vimes. 'Except our friend here,' He stared at William again over the top of his fingers, and once again the wheels turned.



'Supposing... just supposing... you came into possession of a little drawing of a dog,' he said. 'Could you print it in your paper?'



'We are talking about Wuffles, are we?' said William.



'Could you?'



'I'm sure I could.'



'We would be interested in knowing why he barked just before the... event,' said Vimes.



'And if you could find him Corporal Nobbs could speak to him in dog language, yes?' said William.



Once again Vimes did his impression of a statue. 'We could get a drawing of the dog to you in an hour,' he said.



Thank you. Who is running the city at the moment, commander?'



'I'm just a copper,' said Vimes. They don't tell me these things. But I imagine a new Patrician will be elected. It's all laid down in the city statutes.'



'Who can tell me more about them?' said William, mentally adding 'Just a capper' my bum!



'Mr Slant is your man there,' said Vimes, and thif time he smiled. 'Very helpful, I believe. Good afternoon, Mr de Worde. Sergeant, show Mr de Worde out, will you?'



1 want to see Lord Vetinari,' said William.



'You what?'



'It's a reasonable request, sir.'



'No. Firstly, he is still unconscious. Secondly, he is my prisoner.'



'Aren't you even letting a lawyer see him?'



'I think his lordship is in enough trouble already, lad.'



'What about Drumknott? He isn't a prisoner, is he?'



Vimes glanced up at Sergeant Angua, who shrugged.



'All right. There's no law against that, and we can't have people saying he's dead,' he said. He unhooked a speaking tube from a brass and leather construction on his desk and hesitated.



'Have they got that problem sorted out, sergeant?' he said, ignoring William.



'Yes, sir. The pneumatic message system and the speaking tubes are definitely separated now.'



'Are you sure? You do know Constable Keenside had all his teeth knocked out yesterday?'



They say it can't happen again, sir.'



'Well, obviously it can't. He hasn't got any more teeth. Oh, well...' Vimes picked up the tube, held it away from him for a moment and then spoke into it.



Tut me through to the cells, will you?'



'Wizzip? Wipwipwip?'



'Say again?'



'Sneedle flipsock?'



'This is Vimes!'



'Scitscrit?'



Vimes put the tube back on its cradle and stared at Sergeant Angua.



'They're still working on it, sir,' she said. 'They say rats have been nibbling at the tubes.'



'Rats?'



'I'm afraid so, sir.'



Vimes groaned and turned to William. 'Sergeant Angua will take you to the cells,' he said.



And then William was on the other side of the door.



'Come on,' said the sergeant.



'How did I do?' said William.



'I've seen worse.'



'Sorry to mention Corporal Nobbs, but--'



'Oh, don't worry about it,' said Sergeant Angua. 'Your powers of observation will be the talk of the station. Look, he's being kind to you because he hasn't worked out what you are yet, okay? Just be careful, that's all.'



'And you have worked out what I am, have you?' said William.



'Let's just say I don't rely on first impressions. Mind the step.'



She led the way down into the cells. William noted, without being so crass as to write it down, that there were two watchmen on duty at the bottom.



'Are there usually guards down here? I mean, the cells have locks, don't they?'



'I hear you've got a vampire working for you,' said Sergeant Angua.



'Otto? Oh, yes. Well, we're not prejudiced about that sort of thing



The sergeant did not answer. Instead she opened a door off the main cell corridor and called out: 'Visitor for the patients, Igor.'



'Right with you, thargent.'



The room within was brightly lit by an uncanny, flickering blue light. Jars lined shelves on one wall. Some had strange things moving in them - very strange things. Other things just floated. Blue sparks sizzled on some complex machine, all copper balls and glass rods, in the corner. But what mainly drew William's attention was the great big eye. ^



Before he could actually scream a hand reached up and what he'd thought was a huge eyeball was revealed as the largest magnifying glass he'd ever seen, swivelling up on a metal bracket attached to the forehead of its owner. But the face it revealed was barely an improvement, when it came to mouth-desiccating horror.



The eyes were on different levels. One ear was larger than the other. The face was a network of scars. But that was nothing compared to the deformed hairstyle; Igor's greasy black hair had been



brushed forward into an overhanging quiff in the manner of some of the city's noisier young musicians, but to a length that could take out the eye of any innocent pedestrian. By the looks of the... organic nature of Igor's work area, he would then be able to help



put it back.



There was a fish tank bubbling on one bench. Inside it some potatoes were idly swimming backwards and forwards.



'Young Igor here is part of our forensic department,' said Sergeant Angua. 'Igor, this is Mr de Worde. He wants to see the



patients.'



William saw the quick glance Igor gave the sergeant, who added,



'Mister Vimes says it's okay.'



'Right this way, then,' said Igor, lurching past William into the corridor. 'Always nice to get visitors down here, Mr de Worde. You will find we keep a very relaxed thell down here. I'll just go and get the keys.'



'Why does he only lisp the occasional s?' said William, as Igor limped towards a cupboard.



'He's trying to be modern. You never met an Igor before?'



'Not one like that, no! He's got two thumbs on his right hand!'



'He's from Uberwald,' said the sergeant. 'Igors are very much into self-improvement. Fine surgeons, though. Just don't shake hands with one in a thunderstorm--'



'Here we are, then,' said Igor, lurching back. 'Who first?'



'Lord Vetinari?' said William.



'He's still athleep,' said Igor.



'What, after all this time?'



'Not surprithing. It was a nasty blow he had--'



Sergeant Angua coughed loudly.



'I thought he fell off a horse,' said William.



'Well, yes... and caught himthelf a blow when he hit the floor, I've no doubt,' said Igor, glancing at Angua.



He turned the key.



Lord Vetinari lay on a narrow bed. His face looked pale but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.



'He's not woken up at all?' said William.



'No. I look in on him every fifteen minutes or tho. It can



be like that. Sometimeth the body just says: thleep.'



'I heard he hardly ever sleeps,' said William.



'Maybe he's taking the opportunity,' said Igor, gently closing the door.



He unlocked the next cell.



Drumknott was sitting up in bed, his head bandaged. He was drinking some soup. He looked startled when he saw them, and nearly spilled it.



'And how are we?' said Igor, as cheerfully as a face full of stitches can allow.



'Er, I'm feeling much better...' The young man looked from one face to another, uncertain.



'Mr de Worde here would like to talk to you,' said Sergeant Angua. 'I'll go and help Igor sort out his eyeballs. Or something.'



William was left in an awkward silence. Drumknott was one of those people with no discernible character.



'You're Lord de Worde's son, aren't you?' said Drumknott. 'You write that news sheet.'



'Yes,' said William. It seemed he'd always be his father's son. 'Um. They say Lord Vetinari stabbed you.'



'So they say,' said the clerk.



'You were there, though.'



'I knocked on the door to take him his copy of the paper as he'd requested, his lordship opened it, I walked into the room... and the next thing I know I was waking up here with Mr Igor looking at me.'



That must have come as a shock,' said William, with a momentary flash of pride that the Times had figured in this in some small way.



'They say I'd have lost the use of my arm if Igor hadn't been so good with a needle,' said Drumknott earnestly.



'But your head's bandaged, too,' said William.



'I think I must have fallen over when... when whatever it was happened,' said Drumknott.



My gods, thought William, he's embarrassed.



'I have every confidence that there has been a mistake,' Drumknott went on.



'Has his lordship been preoccupied lately?'



'His lordship is always preoccupied. It's his job,' said the clerk.



'Do you know that three people heard him say that he'd killed



you?'



'I cannot explain that. They must have been mistaken.'



The words were clipped sharp. Any moment now, William told himself... 'Why do you think--' he began, and was proved right.



'I think I don't have to talk to you,' said Drumknott. 'Do I?'



'No, but--'



'Sergeant!' Drumknott shouted.



There were swift footsteps and the cell door opened.



'Yes?' said Sergeant Angua.



'I have finished talking to this gentleman,' said Drumknott. 'And I am tired.'



William sighed and put his notebook away. 'Thank you,' he said. 'You've been very... helpful.'



As he walked along the corridor he said, 'He doesn't want to believe his lordship might have attacked him.'



'Really,' said the sergeant.



'Looks like quite a bang he had on his head,' William went on.



'Does it?'



'Look, even I can see this smells funny.'



'Can you?'



'I see,' said William. 'You went to the Mister Vimes School of Communication, yes?'



'Did I?' said Sergeant Angua.



'Loyalty is a wonderful thing.'



'Is it? The way out is this way--'



After she had carefully ushered William into the street Sergeant Angua went back upstairs into Vimes's office and quietly shut the door behind her.



'So he only spotted the gargoyles?' said Vimes, who was watching William walk down the street.



'Apparently. But I wouldn't underestimate him, sir. He notices things. He was dead right about the peppermint bomb. And how



many officers would have noticed how deeply that arrow went into the floor?'



'That's unfortunately true.'



'And he spotted Igor's second thumb, and hardly anyone else has noticed the swimming potatoes.'



'Igor hasn't got rid of them yet?'



'Noi sir. He believes that instant fish and chips are only a generation away.'



Vimes sighed. 'All right, sergeant. Forget the potatoes. What are the odds?'



'Sir?'



'I know what goes on in the duty room. They wouldn't be watchmen if someone wasn't running a book.'



'On Mr de Worde?'



'Yes.'



'Well... six'll get you ten that he'll be dead by next Monday, sir.'



'You might just spread the word that I don't like that sort of thing, will you?'



'Yes, sir.'



'Find out who's running the book, and when you have found out that it is Nobby, take it off him.'



'Right, sir. And Mr de Worde?'



Vimes stared at the ceiling. 'How many officers are watching him?' he said.



'Two.'



'Nobby's usually good at judging odds. Think that'll be enough?'



'No.'



'Me neither. But we're stretched. He's going to have to learn the hard way. And the trouble with the hard way is you only get one lesson.'



Mr Tulip emerged from the alleyway where he had just negotiated the purchase of a very small packet of what would shortly prove to be rat poison cut with powdered washing crystals.



He found Mr Pin reading a large piece of paper. 'What's that?' he said.



"Trouble, I expect,' said Mr Pin, folding it up and putting it in his pocket. 'Yes, indeed.'



This city is getting on my --ing nerves,' said Mr Tulip, as they continued down the street. 'I got a --ing headache. And my leg hurts,'



'So? It bit me, too. You made a big mistake with that dog,' 'Are you saying I shouldn't've shot at it?' 'No, I'm saying you shouldn't've missed. It got away,' 'It's only a dog,' Mr Tulip grumbled. 'What's such a problem about a dog? It's not like it's a reliable --ing witness. They never told us about no --ing dog,' His ankle was beginning to get that hot, dark sensation that suggested that someone hadn't been brushing their teeth lately. 'You just try carrying a guy with a --ing dog snapping at your legs! And how come the --ing zombie never told us the guy was so --ing fasti If he hadn't been staring at the geek he'd have --ing gotmel'



Mr Pin shrugged. But he'd made a note of that. Mr Slant had failed to tell the New Firm quite a lot of things, and one of them was that Vetinari moved like a snake.



This was going to cost the lawyer a lot of money. Mr Pin had nearly got cut.



But he was proud of stabbing the clerk and shoving Charlie out on the landing to babble to the stupid servants. That hadn't been in the script. That was the kind of service you got from the New Firm. He snapped his fingers as he walked. Yeah! They could react, they could extemporize, they could get creative... 'Excuse me, gentlemen?'



A figure had stepped out of the alleyway ahead of them, a knife in each hand.



'Thieves' Guild,' it said. 'Excuse me? This is an official robbery,' To the surprise of the thief, Mr Pin and Mr Tulip seemed neither shocked nor frightened, despite the size of the knives. Instead they looked like a pair of lepidopterists who'd stumbled across an entirely new kind of butterfly and found it trying to wave a tiny little net.



'Official robbery?' said Mr Tulip slowly.



'Ah, you're visitors to our fair city?' said the thief. Then this is



your lucky day, sir and... sir. A theft of twenty-five dollars entitles you to immunity from further street theft for a period of a full six months plus, for this week only, the choice of this handsome box of crystal wine glasses or a useful set of barbecue tools which will be the envy of your friends,'



'You mean... you're legal?' said Mr Pin.



'What --ing friends?' said Mr Tulip.



'Yes, sir. Lord Vetinari feels that since there'll always be some crime in the city, it might as well be organized,'



Mr Tulip and Mr Pin looked at one another.



'Well, "Legal" is my middle name,' said Mr Pin, shrugging. 'Over to you, Mr Tulip,'



'And since you are newcomers I can offer you an introductory hundred-dollar theft, which will give you subsequent immunity for a full twenty-six months plus this booklet of restaurant, livery hire, clothing and entertainment vouchers worth a full twenty-five dollars at today's prices. Your neighbours will admire--'



Mr Tulip's arm moved in a blur. One banana-bunch hand caught the thief around the neck and slammed his head against the wall.



'Unfortunately, Mr Tulip's middle name is "Bastard",' said Mr Pin, lighting a cigarette. The meaty sounds of his colleague's permanent anger continued behind him as he picked up the wine glasses and examined them critically.



Teh... cheap paste, not crystal at all,' he said. 'Who can you trust these days? It makes you despair,'



The body of the thief slumped to the ground.



'I think I'll go for the --ing barbecue set,' said Mr Tulip, stepping over it. 'I see here where it contains a number of oh-so-useful skewers and spatulas that will add a --ing new dimension of enjoyment to those al fresco patio meals,'



He ripped open the box and dragged out a blue and white apron, which he examined critically.



' "Kill the Cook!!!" ' he said, slipping it over his head. 'Hey, this is classy stuff. I'll have to get some --ing friends so's they can envy me when I'm having a meal with --ing Al Fresco. How about them --ing vouchers?'



There's never any good stuff in these things,' said Mr Pin. 'It's just



a way of shifting stuff no one can sell. See here... "25% off Happy Hour Prices at Furby's Castle of Cabbage".' He tossed the booklet aside.



'Not bad, though,' said Mr Tulip. 'And he only had twenty dollars on him, so it's a --ing bargain.'



I'll be glad when we leave this place,' said Mr Pin. 'It's too strange. Let's just frighten the dead man and get out of here.'



'Eyinnngg... GUT!'



The cry of the wild newspaper seller rang out across the twilit square as William set off back to Gleam Street. They were still selling well, he could see.



It was only by accident, as a citizen hurried past him, that he saw the headline:



WOMAN GIVES BIRTH TO COBRA



Surely Sacharissa hadn't got out another edition by herself, had she? He ran back to the seller.



It wasn't the Times. The title, in big bold type that was rather better than the stuff the dwarfs made, was:



'What's all this?' he said to the seller, who was socially above Ron's group by several layers of grime.



'All this what?'



'All this thisV The stupid interview with Drumknott had left William very annoyed.



'Don't ask me, guv. I get a penny for every one I sell, that's all I know.'



' "Rain of Soup in Genua"? "Hen Lays Egg Three Times In Hurricane"? Where'd all this come from?'



'Look, guv, if I was a readin' man I wouldn't be flogging papers, right?'



'Someone else has started a paper!' said William. He cast his eyes down to the small print at the bottom of the single page and, in this paper, even the small print wasn't very small. 'In Gleam Street?'



He recalled the workmen bustling around outside the old warehouse. How could-- But the Engravers' Guild could, couldn't they? They already had presses, and they certainly had the money. Tuppence was ridiculous, though, even for this single sheet of... of rubbish. If the seller got a penny, then how in the world could the printer make any money?



Then he realized: that wouldn't be the point, would it... the point was to put the Times out of business.



A big red and white sign for the Inquirer was already in place across the street from the Bucket. More carts were queueing outside.



One of Goodmountain's dwarfs was peering around from behind the wall.



'There's three presses in there already,' he said. 'You saw what they've done? They got it out in half an hour!'



'Yes, but it's only one sheet. And it's made-up stuff.'



'Is it? Even the one about the snake?'



'I'd bet a thousand dollars.' William remembered that the smaller print had said this had happened in Lancre. He revised his estimate. 'I'd bet at least a hundred dollars.'



'That's not the worst of it,' said the dwarf. 'You'd better come in.'



Inside the press was creaking away, but most of the dwarfs were idle.