The Science of Discworld IV

interloper reached him; he held out his hand in welcome.
    ‘Pastor Oats! fn1 I thought that my envoys hadn’t been able to track you down. Do please take a seat.’
    ‘You know me, Havelock; I travel at the speed of an ass, and thank you, but I will stand – I’ve spent far too much time on my ass as it is.’
    Nobody tittered, nobody laughed; Pastor Oats held the floor, and when he began speaking you could
hear
the listening.
    He looked around the room and said, ‘The Church of the Latter-Day Omnians has, in my opinion, no claim whatsoever to the orb known as Roundworld, and neither do the sapient species on Roundworld itself. After all, however unlikely,
they
didn’t make it;
it
made
them
, with a little deference to the multiple, tireless and curiously inventive processes that altogether made it what it is today – a decent paradise for those who approach it in the right state of mind, and ultimately a charnel house for those who do not.’
    Marjorie sat back and listened intently. She wasn’t sure about being described as a ‘sapient species’, but you didn’t argue with a man with an axe, no matter how wise he seemed. Not if you wanted to continue to have fingers to turn the pages of the books you loved, anyway.
    ‘Intelligence helps,’ Pastor Oats continued, ‘but it must be informed intelligence and I am sorry to say that the Latter-Day Omnians possess neither. The turtle moves! And that is a truth, but certainly not the whole of the truth, because it doesn’t move for Roundworld, a world that more or less moves for itself. It will take
real
stupidity to stop it doing so, and that kind of stupidity begins when facts are denied.’
    This was food and drink to Marjorie. She
liked
facts.
    ‘Lord Vetinari, you sent for me to ask my advice, and I have given it to you,’ the pastor concluded. ‘Allow the wizards to be stewards of Roundworld. Admittedly, they are often proud, and wrong, but ultimately they search for the truth, by trial and error, and this is how it should be. The search for truth might be flawed, but the search itself is
priceless
!’
    Vetinari nodded and reached for his gavel.
    ‘My Lord!’ Stackpole objected. ‘That is merely one man’s opinion. I can call a dozen expert witnesses to refute it. Among thempersons of the highest—’ Dramatically, he fell to his knees in an attitude of prayer and continued, ‘As Om is my witness! I call upon the great god …’
    There was a ripple in the world, followed by the appearance of an imposing figure in full morning dress and sporting an exquisite hairstyle. He glanced at Mister Stackpole and said, ‘Oh, it’s you …
again
. I am indeed your witness, Mister Stackpole, but you don’t call me –
I
call
you
. There are rules, you know.’
    Later, there was some discussion as to whether the appearance of the great god in, as it were, the flesh, caused a kerfuffle or merely a very large stir. A small, but pernicious argument about this point continued for some considerable time among the audience.
    Mister Slant, raising his voice over the hubbub, or possibly tumult, said, ‘For the record, I ask the witness to state his name, address, and profession.’
    The great god raised an eyebrow at Mister Slant.
    Mister Slant returned the raised eyebrow and said, ‘As you say, sir, there
must
be rules.’
    ‘Oh, all right,’ said Om. ‘Om. No fixed abode. Great god. Now get on with the questions – I have a swanky dinner to attend in Valhalla.’
    Mister Stackpole spluttered in anger. ‘Mister Slant can’t ask him questions! It’s
my
job to interpret the ways of God to Man! We’d all be out of a job if He just comes down here and tells us all what to do – talks to
anyone
!’
    ‘I can do
anything
I want,’ said the great god. ‘The agent cannot transcend the principal. Now, what’s all this nonsense about the Disc being round?
Roundworld
is round. The Disc is flat. Believe me, I know. I know
everything
, for a given value of everything and, if it comes to that, a given value of
know
.’
    Vetinari again reached for his gavel.
    Stackpole, dredging up a shred of resistance, said, ‘It is a test of my faith … I must … My Lord, what concerns the court is not truth. It is belief. And once there is no belief, there is nothing.’
    ‘Since when should belief trump truth, Mister Stackpole?’ asked Vetinari.
    ‘This case does not depend upon the
actual
shape of the so-called Disc, my Lord. The substance of the Church’s case