The Truth

first, because even when they’re standing at the back, a group of four big trolls is metaphorically to the fore of any picture. The two humans in front of them were a mere detail, and in any case one of them was only human by tradition. He had the pale gray pallor of a zombie and the expression of one who, while not seeking to be unpleasant in himself, was the cause of much unpleasantness in other people.
    “Mr. de Worde? I believe you know me. I am Mr. Slant of the Guild of Lawyers,” said Mr. Slant, bowing stiffly. “This”—he indicated the slight young man next to him—“is Mr. Ronald Carney, the new chairman of the Guild of Engravers and Printers. The four gentlemen behind me do not belong to any guild, as far as I am aware—”
    “Engravers and Printers?” said Goodmountain.
    “Yes,” said Carney. “We have expanded our charter. Guild membership is two hundred dollars a year—”
    “I’m not—” William began, but Goodmountain laid a hand on his arm. “This is the shakedown, but it isn’t as bad as I thought it might be,” he whispered. “We haven’t got time to argue and at this rate we’ll make it back in a few days. End of problem!”
    “ However, ” said Mr. Slant, in his special lawyer’s voice that sucked in money at every pore, “in this instance, in view of the special circumstances, there will also be a one-off payment of, say, two thousand dollars.”
    The dwarfs went quiet. Then there was a metallic chorus. Each dwarf had laid down his type, reached under the stone, and pulled out a battle-ax.
    “That’s agreed, then, is it?” said Mr. Slant, stepping aside. The trolls were straightening up. It didn’t take a major excuse for trolls and dwarfs to fight; sometimes, being on the same world was enough.
    This time it was William who restrained Goodmountain. “Hold on, hold on, there must be a law against killing lawyers.”
    “Are you sure? ”
    “There’re still some around, aren’t there? Besides, he’s a zombie. If you cut him in half, both bits will sue you.” William raised his voice. “We can’t pay, Mr. Slant.”
    “In that case, accepted law and practice allows me—”
    “I want to see your charter!” Sacharissa snapped. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Ronnie Carney, and you’re always up to something…”
    “Good afternoon, Miss Cripslock,” said Mr. Slant. “As a matter of fact we thought someone might ask, so I brought the new charter with me…I hope we are all law-abiding here.”
    Sacharissa snatched the impressive-looking scroll, with its large dangling seal, and glared at it as if trying to burn the words off the parchment by the mere friction of reading.
    “Oh,” she said. “It…seems to be in order.”
    “Quite so.”
    “Except for the Patrician’s signature,” Sacharissa added, handing back the scroll.
    “That is a mere formality, my dear.”
    “I’m not your dear and it’s not on there, formal or not. So this isn’t legal, is it?”
    Mr. Slant twitched. “ Clearly we cannot get a signature from a man in prison on a very serious charge,” he said.
    Aha, that’s a wallpaper word, thought William. When people say clearly something, that means there’s a huge crack in their argument and they know things aren’t clear at all.
    “Then who is running the city?” he said.
    “I don’t know,” said Mr. Slant. “That is not my concern. I—”
    “Mr. Goodmountain?” said William. “Large type, please.”
    “Got you,” said the dwarf. His hand hovered over a fresh case.
    “In caps, size to fit, ‘Who Runs Ankh-Morpork?’” said William. “Now into body type, upper and lowercase, across two columns: ‘Who is governing the city while Lord Vetinari is imprisoned? Asked for an opinion today, a leading legal figure said he did not know and it was no concern of his. Mr. Slant of the Lawyers’ Guild went on to say—’”
    “You can’t put that in your newspaper!” barked Slant.
    “Set that directly, please, Mr. Goodmountain.”
    “Setting it already,” said the dwarf, the leaden slugs clicking into place. Out of the corner of his eye William saw Otto emerging from the cellar and looking puzzled at the noise.
    “‘Mr. Slant went on to say…’?” said William, glaring at the lawyer.
    “You will find it very hard to print that,” said Mr. Carney, ignoring the lawyer’s frantic hand signals, “with no damn press!”
    “‘…was the view of Mr. Carney of the Guild of Engravers,’ spelled with