The Truth

ve do not zink about the b-word all day in any way at all,” said Otto, fiddling with the iconograph. He looked hard at the picture the imp had painted, and then glanced up at William. “Oh vell, back to zer drawink board,” he said.
    “Can I see?”
    “It vould embarrass me,” said Otto, putting the square of cardboard down on his makeshift bench. “All the time I am doing things wronk.”
    “Oh, but I’d—”
    “Mister de Worde, dere’s something happening!”
    The bellow came from Rocky, whose head eclipsed the hole.
    “What is it?”
    “Something at der Palace. Someone’s been killed!”
    William sprang up the ladder. Sacharissa was sitting at her desk, looking pale.
    “Someone’s assassinated Vetinari?” said William.
    “Er…no,” said Sacharissa. “Not…exactly.”
    Down in the cellar, Otto Chriek picked up the dark light iconograph and looked at it again. Then he scratched it with a long pale finger, as if trying to remove something.
    “Strange…” he said.
    The imp hadn’t imagined it, he knew. Imps had no imagination whatsoever. They didn’t know how to lie.
    He looked around the bare cellar suspiciously.
    “Is there anyvun zere?” he said. “Is anyvun playink the silly buggers?”
    Thankfully, there was no answer. He looked at the picture again.
    Dark light. Oh, dear. There were lots of theories about dark light…
    “Otto!”
    He glanced up, shoving the picture into his pocket.
    “Yes, Mr. Villiam?”
    “Get your stuff together and come with me! Lord Vetinari’s murdered someone! Er, it is alleged,” William added. “And it can’t possibly be true.”

    It sometimes seemed to William that the whole population of Ankh-Morpork was simply a mob waiting to happen. It was mostly spread thin, like some kind of great amoeba, all across the city. But when something happened somewhere, it contracted around that point, like a cell around a piece of food, filling the streets with people.
    It was growing around the main gates to the Palace. It came together apparently at random. A knot of people would attract other people and become a bigger, more complicated knot. Carts and sedan chairs would stop to find out what was going on. The invisible beast grew bigger.
    There were watchmen on the gate, instead of the Palace Guard. This was a problem. “Let me in, I’m nosy” was not a request likely to achieve success. It lacked a certain authority.
    “Vy are ve stoppink?” said Otto.
    “That’s Sergeant Detritus on the gate,” said William.
    “Ah. A troll. Very stupid,” opined Otto.
    “But hard to fool. I’m afraid I shall have to try the truth.”
    “Vy vill that vork?”
    “He’s a policeman. The truth usually confuses them. They don’t often hear it.”
    The big troll sergeant watched William impassively as he approached. It was a proper policeman’s stare. It gave nothing away. It said: I can see you, now I’m waiting to see what you’re going to do that’s wrong.
    “Good morning, sergeant,” said William.
    A nod from the troll indicated that he was prepared to accept, on available evidence, that it was morning and, in certain circumstances, by some people, might be considered good.
    “I urgently need to see Commander Vimes.”
    “Oh yes?”
    “Yes. Indeed.”
    “And does he urgently need to see you?” The troll leaned closer. “You’re Mr. de Worde, right?”
    “Yes. I work for the Times .”
    “I don’t read dat,” said the troll.
    “Really? We’ll bring out a large-print edition,” said William.
    “Dat was a very funny joke,” said Detritus. “Fing is, fick though I am, I am der one that’s sayin’ you can stay outside, so—what’s dat vampire doing?”
    “Hold it just vun second!” said Otto.
    WHOOMPH.
    “—damndamndamn!”
    Detritus watched Otto roll around on the cobbles, screaming.
    “What was dat about?” he said, eventually.
    “He’s taken a picture of you not letting me into the Palace,” said William.
    Detritus, although born above the snow line on some distant mountain, a troll who had never seen a human until he was five years old, nevertheless was a policeman to his craggy, dragging fingertips and reacted accordingly.
    “He can’t do dat,” he said.
    William pulled out his notebook and poised his pencil.
    “Could you explain to my readers exactly why not?” he said.
    Detritus looked around, a little worried.
    “Where are dey?”
    “No, I mean I’m going to write down what you say.”
    Basic policing rushed to