The Truth

WAS ANYONE ELSE.

    William, ducking from doorway to doorway, realized that he was taking the long way round. Otto would have said that it was because he didn’t want to arrive.
    The storm had abated slightly, although stinging hail still bounced off his hat. The much bigger balls from the initial onslaught filled the gutters and covered the roads. Carts had skidded, pedestrians were hanging onto the walls.
    Despite the fire in his head, he took out his notebook and wrote: hlstns bggr than golf blls? and made a mental note to check one against a golf ball, just in case. Part of him was beginning to understand that his readers might have a very relaxed attitude about the guilt of politicians, but were red-hot on the things like the size of weather.
    He stopped on the Brass Bridge and sheltered in the lee of one of the giant hippos. Hail peppered the surface of the river with a thousand tiny sucking noises.
    The rage was cooling now.
    For most of William’s life Lord de Worde had been a distant figure staring out of his study window, in a room lined with books that never got read, while William stood meekly in the middle of acres of good but threadbare carpet and listened to…well, viciousness mostly, now that he thought about it, the opinions of Mr. Windling dressed up in more expensive words.
    The worst part, the worst part, was that Lord de Worde was never wrong. It was not a position he understood in relation to his personal geography. People who took an opposing view were insane, or dangerous, or possibly even not really people. You couldn’t have an argument with Lord de Worde. Not a proper argument. An argument, from arguer, meant to debate and discuss and persuade by reason. What you could have with William’s father was a flaming row.
    Icy water dripped off one of the statues and ran down William’s neck.
    Lord de Worde used words with a tone and a volume that made them as good as fists, but he’d never used actual violence.
    He had people for that.
    Another drop of thawed hail coursed down William’s spine.
    Surely even his father couldn’t be this stupid?
    He wondered if he should turn over everything to the Watch right now. But whatever they said about Vimes, in the end the man had a handful of men and a lot of influential enemies who had families going back a thousand years and the same amount of honor that you’d find in a dogfight.
    No. He was a de Worde. The Watch was for other people, who couldn’t sort out their problems their own way. And what was the worst that could happen?
    So many things, he thought as he set out again, that it would be hard to decide which one was the worst.

    A galaxy of candles burned in the middle of the floor. In the corroded mirrors around the room they looked like the lights of a shoal of deep-sea fishes.
    William walked past overturned chairs. There was one upright, though, behind the candles.
    He stopped.
    “Ah…William,” said the chair. Then Lord de Worde slowly unfolded his lanky form from the embracing leather and stood up in the light.
    “Father,” said William.
    “I thought you’d come here. Your mother always liked the place, too. Of course, it was…different in those days.”
    William said nothing. It had been.
    “I think this nonsense has got to stop now, don’t you?” said Lord de Worde.
    “I think it is stopping, Father.”
    “But I don’t think you mean what I mean,” said Lord de Worde.
    “I don’t know what you think you mean,” said William. “I just want to hear the truth from you.”
    Lord de Worde sighed. “The truth? I had the best interests of the city at heart, you know. You’ll understand, one day. Vetinari is ruining the place.”
    “Yes…well…that’s where it all becomes difficult, doesn’t it?” said William, amazed that his voice hadn’t even begun to shake yet. “I mean, everyone says that sort of thing, don’t they? ‘I did it for the best,’ ‘the end justifies the means’…the same words, every time.”
    “Don’t you agree, then, that it’s time for a ruler who listens to the people?”
    “Maybe. Which people did you have in mind?”
    Lord de Worde’s mild expression changed. William was surprised it had survived this long.
    “You are going to put this in your rag of a newspaper, aren’t you?”
    William said nothing.
    “You can’t prove anything. You know that.”
    William stepped into the light, and Lord de Worde saw the notebook.
    “I can prove enough,” said William. “That’s