The Truth

this, Havelock. You know the…understanding.”
    Vetinari seemed engrossed in the ink.
    “Must, Your Reverence?” he said calmly, without looking up.
    “You know why we’re all against this movable type nonsense!”
    “Remind me again…look, it bobs up and down…”
    Hughnon sighed. “Words are too important to be left to machinery. We’ve got nothing against engraving, you know that. We’ve nothing against words being nailed down properly. But words that can be taken apart and used to make other words…well, that’s downright dangerous. And I thought you weren’t in favor, either?”
    “Broadly, yes,” said the Patrician. “But many years of ruling this city, Your Reverence, have taught me that you cannot apply brakes to a volcano. Sometimes it is best to let these things run their course. They generally die down again after a while.”
    “You have not always taken such a relaxed approach, Havelock,” said Hughnon.
    The Patrician gave him a cool stare that went on for a couple of seconds beyond the comfort barrier.
    “Flexibility and understanding have always been my watchwords,” he said.
    “My god, have they?”
    “Indeed. And what I would like you and your brother to understand now, Your Reverence, in a flexible way, is that this enterprise is being undertaken by dwarfs. And do you know where the largest dwarf city is, Your Reverence?”
    “What? Oh…let’s see…there’s that place in—”
    “Yes, everyone starts by saying that. But it’s Ankh-Morpork, in fact. There are more than fifty thousand dwarfs here now.”
    “Surely not?”
    “I assure you. We have currently very good relationships with the dwarf communities in Copperhead and Uberwald. In dealings with the dwarfs, I have seen to it that the city’s hand of friendship is permanently outstretched in a slightly downward direction. And in this current cold snap I am sure we are all very glad that bargeloads of coal and lamp oil are coming down from the dwarf mines every day. Do you catch my meaning?”
    Hughnon glanced at the fireplace. Against all probability, one lump of coal was smoldering all by itself.
    “And of course,” the Patrician went on, “it is increasingly hard to ignore this new type, aha, of printing when vast printeries now exist in the Agatean Empire and, as I am sure you are aware, in Omnia. And from Omnia, as you no doubt know, the Omnians import vast amounts of their holy Book of Om and these pamphlets they’re so keen on.”
    “Evangelical nonsense,” said Hughnon. “You should have banned them long ago.”
    Once again the stare went on a good deal too long.
    “ Ban a religion, Your Reverence?”
    “Well, when I say ban, I mean—”
    “I’m sure no one could call me a despot, Your Reverence,” said Lord Vetinari severely.
    Hughnon Ridcully made a misjudged attempt to lighten the mood. “Not twice at any any rate, ahaha.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “I said…not twice at any rate…ahaha.”
    “I do apologize, but you seem to have lost me there.”
    “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