The Truth

said William. It seemed he’d always be his father’s son. “Um. They say Lord Vetinari stabbed you.”
    “So they say,” said the clerk.
    “You were there, though.”
    “I knocked on the door to take him his copy of the paper as he’d requested, His Lordship opened it, I walked into the room…and the next thing I know I was waking up here with Mr. Igor looking at me.”
    “That must have come as a shock,” said William, with a momentary flash of pride that the Times had figured in this in some small way.
    “They say I’d have lost the use of my arm if Igor hadn’t been so good with a needle,” said Drumknott earnestly.
    “But your head’s bandaged, too,” said William.
    “I think I must have fallen over when…when whatever it was happened,” said Drumknott.
    My gods, thought William, he’s embarrassed .
    “I have every confidence that there has been a mistake,” Drumknott went on.
    “Has His Lordship been preoccupied lately?”
    “His Lordship is always preoccupied. It’s his job,” said the clerk.
    “Do you know that three people heard him say that he’d killed you?”
    “I cannot explain that. They must have been mistaken.”
    The words were clipped sharp. Any moment now, William thought…
    “Why do you think—” he began, and was proved right.
    “I think I don’t have to talk to you,” said Drumknott. “Do I?”
    “No, but—”
    “Sergeant!” Drumknott shouted.
    There were swift footsteps and the cell door opened.
    “Yes?” said Sergeant Angua.
    “I have finished talking to this gentleman,” said Drumknott. “And I am tired.”
    William sighed, and put his notebook away.
    “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been very…helpful.”
    As he walked along the corridor he said, “He doesn’t want to believe His Lordship might have attacked him.”
    “Really,” said the sergeant.
    “Looks like quite a bang he had on his head,” William went on.
    “Does it?”
    “Look, even I can see this smells funny.”
    “Can you?”
    “I see ,” said William. “You went to the Mister Vimes School of Communication, yes?”
    “Did I?” said Sergeant Angua.
    “Loyalty is a wonderful thing.”
    “Is it? The way out is this way—”
    After the sergeant had ushered William into the street she went back upstairs into Vimes’s office and quietly shut the door behind her.
    “So he only spotted the gargoyles?” said Vimes, who was watching William walk down the street.
    “Apparently. But I wouldn’t underestimate him, sir. He notices things. He was dead right about the peppermint bomb. And how many officers would have noticed how deeply that arrow went into the floor?”
    “That’s unfortunately true.”
    “And he spotted Igor’s second thumb, and hardly anyone else has noticed the swimming potatoes.”
    “Igor hasn’t got rid of them yet?”
    “No, sir. He believes that instant fish and chips is only a generation away.”
    Vimes sighed.
    “All right, Sergeant. Forget the potatoes. What are the odds?”
    “Sir?”
    “I know what goes on in the duty room. They wouldn’t be watchmen if someone wasn’t running a book.”
    “On Mr. de Worde?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well…six’ll get you ten that he’ll be dead by next Monday, sir.”
    “You might just spread the word that I don’t like that sort of thing, will you?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Find out who’s running the book, and when you have found out that it is Nobby, take it off him.”
    “Right, sir. And Mr. de Worde?”
    Vimes stared at the ceiling.
    “How many officers are watching him?” he said.
    “Two.”
    “Nobby’s usually good at judging odds. Think that’ll be enough?”
    “No.”
    “Me neither. But we’re stretched. He’s going to have to learn the hard way. And the trouble with the hard way is, you only get one lesson.”

    Mr. Tulip emerged from the alleyway where he had just negotiated the purchase of a very small packet of what would later prove to be rat poison cut with powdered washing crystals.
    He found Mr. Pin reading a large piece of paper.
    “What’s that?” he said.
    “Trouble, I expect,” said Mr. Pin, folding it up and putting it in his pocket. “Yes, indeed.”
    “This city is getting on my —ing nerves,” said Mr. Tulip, as they continued down the street. “I got a —ing headache . And my leg hurts.”
    “So? It bit me, too. You made a big mistake with that dog.”
    “Are you saying I shouldn’t’ve shot at it?”
    “No, I’m saying you shouldn’t’ve