The Truth

going to be pardoned?” said William.
    Lord Downey turned to Mr. Slant, who gave a little sigh.
    “Again, my lord, it is—”
    “All right, all right…no, he’s not going to be pardoned because it is quite clear that he is quite guiltless,” said Downey testily.
    “Would you say that this has become clear because of the excellent work done by Commander Vimes and his dedicated band of officers, aided in a small way by the Times ?” said William.
    Lord Downey looked blank. “ Would I say that?” he said.
    “I think you possibly would, yes, my lord,” said Slant, sinking further in gloom.
    “Oh. Then I would,” said Downey. “Yes.” He craned his neck to see what William was writing down. Out of the corner of his eye William saw Vimes’s expression; it was a strange mixture of amusement and anger.
    “And would you say, as spokesman for the Guild council, that you are commending Commander Vimes?” said William.
    “Now see here—” Vimes began.
    “I suppose we would, yes.”
    “I expect there’s a Watch Medal or a commendation in the offing?”
    “Now look —” Vimes said.
    “Yes, very probably. Very probably,” said Lord Downey, now thoroughly buffeted by the winds of change.
    William painstakingly noted this down, too, and closed his notebook. This caused a general air of relief among the others.
    “Thank you very much, my lord, and ladies and gentlemen,” he said cheerfully. “Oh, Mister Vimes…do you and I have anything to discuss?”
    “Not right at this moment,” growled Vimes.
    “Oh, that’s good. Well, I must go and get this written up, so thank you once—”
    “You will of course show this…article to us before you put it in the paper,” said Lord Downey, rallying a little.
    William wore his haughtiness like an overcoat.
    “Um, no, I don’t think I will, my lord. It’s my paper, you see.”
    “Can he—”
    “ Yes, my lord, he can,” said Mr. Slant. “I’m afraid he can. The right to free speech is a fine old Ankh-Morpork tradition.”
    “Good heavens, is it?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “How did that one survive?”
    “I couldn’t say, my lord,” said Slant. “But Mr. de Worde,” he added, staring at William, “is, I believe, a young man who would not go out of his way to upset the smooth running of the city.”
    William smiled at him, politely, nodded to the rest of the company, and walked back across the courtyard and out into the street. He waited until he was some distance away before he burst out laughing.

    A week went past. It was notable because of the things that didn’t happen. There was no protest from Mr. Carney or the Engravers’ Guild. William wondered if he had been carefully moved into the “to be left alone” file. After all, people may be thinking, Vetinari probably owed the Times a favor, and no one would want to be that favor, would they? There was no visit from the Watch, either. There had been rather more street cleaners around than usual, but after William sent a hundred dollars to Harry King, plus a bouquet for Mrs. King, Gleam Street was no longer gleaming.
    They’d moved to another shed while the old one was being rebuilt. Mr. Cheese had been easy to deal with. He just wanted money. You know where you stand with simple people like that, even if it is with your hand in your wallet.
    A new press had been rolled in, and once again money had made the effort almost frictionless. It had already been substantially redesigned by the dwarfs.
    This shed was smaller than the old one, but Sacharissa had contrived to partition off a tiny editorial space. She’d put a potted plant and a coatrack in it, and talked excitedly of the space they’d have when the new building was finished, but William reckoned that however big it was it would never be neat. Newspaper people thought the floor was a big flat filing cabinet.
    He had a new desk, too. In fact it was better than a new desk; it was a genuine antique one, made of genuine walnut, inlaid with leather, and with two inkwells, lots of drawers, and genuine woodworm. At a desk like that, a man could write.
    They hadn’t brought the spike.
    William was pondering over a letter from the Ankh-Morpork League of Decency when the sense that someone was standing nearby made him look up.
    Sacharissa had ushered in a small group of strangers, although after a second or two he recognized one of them as the late Mr. Bendy, who was merely strange.
    “You remember you said we ought to get more