The Truth

“permission.” And William was good with words. Truth was what he told. Honesty was sometimes not the same thing.
    He picked up the bag and found his way to the back stairs and the kitchen, from whence came a hubbub.
    Staff were wandering around with the bewildered air of people with nothing to do who were nevertheless still being paid to do it. William sidled over to a maid who was sobbing into a grubby handkerchief.
    “Excuse me, miss, but could you let me have a drop of blood—Yes, perhaps that wasn’t the right moment,” he added nervously, as she fled shrieking.
    “’Ere, what did you say to our Mary?” said a thickset man, putting down a tray of hot loaves.
    “Are you the baker?” said William.
    The man gave him a look.
    “What does it look like?”
    “I can see what it looks like,” said William. There was another look, but this time there was just a measure of respect in it. “I’m still asking the question,” he went on.
    “I’m the butcher, as it happens,” said the man. “Well done. The baker’s off sick. And who are you, askin’ me questions?”
    “Commander Vimes sent me down here,” said William. He was appalled at the ease with which the truth so easily turned into something that was almost a lie, just by being positioned correctly. He opened his notebook. “I’m from the Times . Did you—”
    “What, the paper?” said the butcher.
    “That’s right. Did you—”
    “Hah! You got it completely up your bum about the winter, y’know. You should’ve said it was the Year of the Ant, that was the worst. You should’ve arsked me. I could’ve put you right.”
    “And you are—?”
    “Sidney Clancy and Son, aged thirty-nine, Eleven Long Hogmeat, Purveyors of Finest Cat and Dog Meats to the Gentry…why aren’t you writing it down?”
    “Lord Vetinari eats pet food?”
    “He doesn’t eat much of anything from what I hear. No, I delivers for his dog. Finest stuff. Prime. We sell only the best at Eleven Long Hogmeat, open every day from six A.M. to mid—”
    “Oh, his dog. Right,” said William. “Er…” He looked around at the throng. Some of those people could tell him things, and he was talking to a dogsmeat man. Still…
    “Could you let me have a tiny piece of meat?” he said.
    “Are you going to put it in the paper?”
    “Yes. Sort of. In a way.”

    William found a quiet alcove hidden from the general excitement, and gingerly let the piece of meat dribble one drop of blood onto the little gray pile.
    The dust mushroomed up into the air, became a mass of colored flecks, became Otto Chriek.
    “How was that vun?” he said. “Oh…”
    “I think you got the picture,” said William. “Er…your jacket…”
    Part of the sleeve of the vampire’s jacket was now the color and texture of the stair carpet in the big hall, a rather dull pattern of red and blue.
    “Carpet dust got mixed in, I expect,” said Otto. “Do not be alarmed. Happens all zer time.” He sniffed the sleeve. “Finest steak? Thank you!”
    “It was dog food,” said William the Truthful.
    “Dog food?”
    “Yes. Grab your stuff and follow me—”
    “ Dog food?”
    “You did say it was finest steak. Lord Vetinari is kind to his dog. Look, don’t complain to me . If this sort of thing happens a lot, then you ought to carry a little bottle of emergency blood! Otherwise people will do the best they can!”
    “Vell, yes, fine, zank you anyvay,” the vampire mumbled, trailing behind him. “Dog food, dog food, oh dear me…vere are we goink now?”
    “To the Oblong Office to see where the attack was made,” said William. “I just hope it isn’t being guarded by someone clever.”
    “Ve will get into a lot off trouble.”
    “Why?” said William. He’d been thinking the same thing, but: why? The Palace belonged to the city, more or less. The Watch probably wouldn’t like him going in there, but William felt in his bones that you couldn’t run a city on the basis of what the Watch liked. The Watch would probably like it if everyone spent their time indoors, with their hands on the table where people could see them.
    The door to the Oblong Office was open. Guarding it, if you could truly be said to be on guard whilst leaning against the wall staring at the opposite wall, was Corporal Nobbs. He was smoking a surreptitious cigarette.
    “Ah, just the man I was looking for!” said William. That was true. Nobby was more than he’d hoped for.
    The cigarette disappeared by