The Truth

you tell us what they say, Mr. Windling! Why don’t you tell us who told you , Mr. Windling?”
    “Mr. de Worde! Really!” said Mrs. Arcanum. Mr. Prone pulled the toast out of the way.
    “I’m very sorry about this, Mrs. Arcanum,” said William, still holding the struggling man, “but I want to know what everyone knows and I want to know how they know it. Mr. Windling?”
    “They say he’s got some sort of a lady friend who’s very important in Uberwald,” said Mr. Windling. “And I’ll thank you to let go of me!”
    “And that’s it? What’s so sinister about that? It’s a friendly country!”
    “Yes, but, yes, but they say—”
    William let go. Windling rocked back into his chair, but William stayed standing, breathing heavily.
    “Well, I wrote the article in the Times !” he snapped. “And what’s in there is what I say! Me! Because I found things out, and checked things, and people who say ‘ing’ a lot tried to kill me! I’m not the man that’s the brother of some man you met in the pub! I’m not some stupid rumor put about to make trouble! So just remember that, before you try any of that ‘everyone knows’ stuff! And in an hour or so I’ve got to go up to the Palace and see Commander Vimes and whoever is the Patrician and a lot of other people, to get this whole thing sorted out! And it’s not going to be very nice, but I’m going to have to do it, because I wanted you to know things that are important! Sorry about the teapot, Mrs. Arcanum, I’m sure it can be mended.”
    In the ensuing silence Mr. Prone picked up the paper and said: “ You write this?”
    “Yes!”
    “I…er…I thought they had special people…”
    All heads turned back to William.
    “There isn’t a they. There’s just me and a young lady. We write it all!”
    “But…who tells you what to put in?”
    The heads turned back to William again.
    “We just…decide.”
    “Er…is it true about big silver discs kidnapping people?”
    “No!”
    To William’s surprise, Mr. Cartwright actually raised his hand.
    “Yes, Mr. Cartwright?”
    “I’ve got quite an important question, Mr. de Worde. What with you knowing all this stuff…”
    “Yes?”
    “Have you got the address of the funny vegetable man?”

    William arrived at the Palace at five minutes to ten, with Otto. There was a small crowd around the gates.
    Commander Vimes was standing in the courtyard, talking to Slant and some of the Guild leaders. He smiled in a humorless way when he saw William.
    “You’re rather late, Mr. de Worde,” he said.
    “I’m early!”
    “I meant that things have been happening.”
    Mr. Slant cleared his throat. “Mr. Scrope has sent a note,” he said. “It appears that he is ill.”
    William pulled out his notebook.
    The city’s leaders focused on it. He hesitated. And then uncertainty evaporated. I’m a de Worde, he thought, don’t you dare look down your nose at me! You’ve got to move with the Times . Oh well…here goes…
    “Was it signed by his mother?” he said.
    “I don’t follow your meaning,” said the lawyer, but several of the Guild leaders turned their heads away.
    “What’s happening now, then?” said William. “We don’t have a ruler?”
    “Happily,” said Mr. Slant, who looked like a man in a private hell, “Lord Vetinari is feeling very much better and expects to resume his duties tomorrow.”
    “Excuse me, is he allowed to write that down?” said Lord Downey, head of the Assassins’ Guild, as William made a note.
    “Allowed by who?” said Vimes.
    “Whom,” said William, under his breath.
    “Well, he can’t just write down anything, can he?” said Lord Downey. “Supposing he writes down something we don’t want him to write down?”
    Vimes looked William firmly in the eye.
    “There’s no law against it,” he said.
    “Lord Vetinari is not going to go on trial, then, Lord Downey?” said William, holding Vimes’s gaze for a second.
    Downey, baffled, turned to Slant.
    “Can he ask me that?” he said. “Just come out with a question, just like that?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Do I have to answer it?”
    “It is a reasonable question in the circumstances, my lord, but you don’t have to.”
    “Do you have a message for the people of Ankh-Morpork?” said William sweetly.
    “Do we, Mr. Slant?” said Lord Downey.
    Mr. Slant sighed. “It may be advisable, my lord, yes.”
    “Oh well, then—no, there won’t be a trial. Obviously.”
    “And he’s not