The Truth

was a closed bo—mysterious papery object to many of Ankh-Morpork’s citizens, but if they ever did need to commit things to paper quite a few of them walked up the creaky stairs past the sign “William de Worde: Things Written Down.”
    Dwarfs, for example. Dwarfs were always coming to seek work in the city, and the first thing they did was send a letter home saying how well they were doing. This was such a predictable occurrence, even if the dwarf in question was so far down on his luck that he’d been forced to eat his helmet, that William had Mr. Cripslock produce several dozen stock letters which only needed a few spaces filled in to be perfectly acceptable.
    Fond dwarf parents all over the mountains treasured letters that looked something like this:
Dear Mume & Dad,
Well, I arrived here all right and I am staying, at 109 Cockbill Street The Shades Ankh-Morpk. Everythyng is fine. I have got a goode job working for Mr. CMOT Dibbler, Merchant Venturer and will be makinge lots of money really soon now. I am rememberinge alle your gode advyce and am not drinkynge, in bars or mixsing with Trolls. Well thas about itte muƒt goe now, looking forwade to seing you and Emelia agane, your loving son,
Tomas Brokenbrow
    …who was usually swaying while he dictated it. It was twenty pence easily made, and as an additional service William carefully tailored the spelling to his clients and allowed them to choose their own punctuation.
    On this particular evening, with the sleet gurgling in the downspouts outside his lodgings, William sat in the tiny office over the Guild of Conjurors and wrote carefully, half listening to the hopeless but painstaking catechism of the trainee conjurors at their evening class in the room below.
    “…pay attention. Are you ready? Right. Egg. Glass…”
    “ Egg. Glass, ” the class droned listlessly.
    “…Glass. Egg…”
    “ Glass. Egg…”
    “…Magic word…”
    “ Magic word… ”
    “Fazammm. Just like that. Ahahahahaha…”
    “ Faz-ammm. Just like that. Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha… ”
    William pulled another sheet of paper towards him, sharpened a fresh quill, stared at the wall for a moment, and then wrote as follows:
And finally, on the lighter Side, it is being said that the Dwarfs can Turn Lead into Gold, though no one knows whence the rumor comes, and Dwarfs going about their lawful occaƒions in the City are hailed with cries such as, e.g., “Hollah, short stuff, let’s see you make some Gold then!” although only Newcomers do this because all here know what happens if you call a Dwarf “short stuff,” viz., you are Dead.
Yr. obdt. servant, William de Worde.
    He always liked to finish his letters on a happier note.
    He fetched a sheet of boxwood, lit another candle, and laid the letter facedown on the wood. A quick rub with the back of a spoon transferred the ink, and thirty dollars and enough figs to make you really ill were as good as in the bank.
    He’d drop it in to Mr. Cripslock tonight, pick up the copies after a leisurely lunch tomorrow, and with any luck should have them all away by the middle of the week.
    William put on his coat, wrapped the woodblock carefully in some waxed paper, and stepped out into the freezing night.

    The world is made up of four elements: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. This is a fact well known even to Corporal Nobbs. It’s also wrong. There’s a fifth element, and generally it’s called Surprise.
    For example, the dwarfs found out how to turn lead into gold by doing it the hard way. The difference between that and the easy way is that the hard way works.

    The dwarfs dwarfhandled their overloaded, creaking cart along the street, peering ahead in fog. Ice formed on the cart and hung from their beards.
    All it needed was one frozen puddle.
    Good old Dame Fortune. You can depend on her.

    The fog closed in, making every light a dim glow and muffling all sounds. It was clear to Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs that no barbarian horde would be including the invasion of Ankh-Morpork in their travel plans for this evening. The watchmen didn’t blame them.
    They closed the gates. This was not the ominous activity that it might appear, since the keys had been lost long ago and latecomers usually threw gravel at the windows of the houses built on top of the wall until they found a friend to lift the bar. It was assumed that foreign invaders wouldn’t know which windows to throw gravel at.
    Then the two watchmen trailed through the slush and