The Truth

Trifles.
    “The meeting closed at 9 P.M. Mrs. Rivers thanked all Members.”
    “What do you think?” said Sacharissa, with just a hint of nervousness.
    “You know,” said William, in a sort of distant voice, “I think it is quite likely that it would be impossible to improve this piece in any way. Um…what would you say was the most important thing that happened at the meeting?”
    Her hand flew to her mouth in dismay.
    “Oh, yes! I forgot to put that in! Mrs. Flatter won first prize for her sponge! She’s been runner-up for six years, too.”
    William stared at the wall.
    “Well done,” he said. “I should put that in, if I was you. But you could drop in at the Watch House in Dolly Sisters and ask about the naked man—”
    “I shall do no such thing! Respectable women don’t have anything to do with the Watch!”
    “I meant, ask why he was being chased, of course.”
    “But why should I do that?”
    William tried to put words around a vague idea.
    “People will want to know,” he said.
    “But won’t the Watch mind me asking?”
    “Well, they’re our Watch. I don’t see why they should. And perhaps you could find some more really old people to ask about the weather. Who is the oldest inhabitant in the city?”
    “I don’t know. One of the wizards, I expect.”
    “Could you go to the university and find him and ask him if he ever remembers it being colder than this?”
    “Is this where you put things in the paper?” said a voice at the doorway.
    It belonged to a small man with a beaming red face, one of those people blessed with the permanent expression of someone who has just heard a rather saucy joke.
    “Only I grew this carrot,” he went on, “and I reckon it’s grown into a very interesting shape. Eh? What d’you think, eh? Talk about a giggle, eh? I took it down to the pub and everyone was killin’ ’emselves! They said I should put it in your paper!”
    He held it aloft. It was a very interesting shape. And William went a very interesting shade.
    “That’s a very strange carrot,” said Sacharissa, eyeing it critically. “What do you think, Mr. de Worde?”
    “Er…er…you go along to the university, why don’t you? And I’ll see to this…gentleman,” said William, when he felt he could speak again.
    “My wife couldn’t stop laughin’!”
    “What a lucky man you are, sir,” said William, solemnly.
    “It’s a shame you can’t put pictures in your paper, eh?”
    “Yes, but I think I may be in enough trouble already,” said William, opening his notebook.
    When the man and his hilarious vegetable had been dealt with, William wandered out into the printing shop. The dwarfs were talking in a group, around a trapdoor in the floor.
    “Pump’s frozen again,” said Goodmountain. “Can’t mix up any more ink. Old man Cheese says there used to be a well somewhere round here…”
    There was a shout from below. A couple of dwarfs descended the ladder.
    “Mr. Goodmountain, can you think of any reason I should put this in the paper?” said William, handing him Sacharissa’s report of the Flowers and Cookery meeting. “It’s a bit…dull…”
    The dwarf read the copy.
    “There’s seventy-three reasons,” he said. “That’s ’cos there’s seventy-three names. I expect people like to see their names in the paper.”
    “But what about the naked man?”
    “Yeah…shame she didn’t get his name.”
    There was another shout from below.
    “Shall we have a look?” said Goodmountain.
    To William’s complete lack of surprise, the little cellar under the shed was much better built than the shed itself. But then, practically everywhere in Ankh-Morpork had cellars that were once the first or even second or third floors of ancient buildings, built at the time of one of the city’s empires when men thought that the future was going to last forever. And then the river had flooded and brought mud with it, and walls had gone higher and, now, what Ankh-Morpork was built on was mostly Ankh-Morpork. People said that anyone with a good sense of direction and a pickax could cross the city underground by simply knocking holes in walls.
    Rusted tins and piles of timber rotted to tissue strength were piled up against one wall. And in the middle of the wall was a bricked-up doorway, the more recent bricks already looking worn and tatty compared to the ancient stone surrounding them.
    “What’s through there?” said Boddony.
    “The old street, probably,” said