The Truth

has been kidnapped by elves,” said Mr. Mackleduff, holding up the Inquirer . The heading was very clear on the subject:

    ELVES STOLE MY HUSBAND!

    “That’s made up!” said William.
    “Can’t be,” said Mackleduff. “There’s the lady’s name and address, right there. They wouldn’t put that in the paper if they were telling lies, would they?”
    William looked at the name and address. “I know this lady,” he said.
    “There you are, then!”
    “ She was the one last month who said her husband had been carried off by a big silver dish that came out of the sky,” said William, who had a good memory for this sort of thing. He’d nearly put it in his newsletter as an “On a lighter note” but had thought better of it. “And you, Mr. Prone, said everyone knew her husband had carried himself off with a lady called Flo who used to work as a waitress in Harga’s House of Ribs.”
    Mrs. Arcanum gave William a sharp look which said that the whole subject of nocturnal kitchenware theft could be reopened at any time, extra egg or no.
    “I am not partial to that kind of talk at the table,” she said coldly.
    “Well then, it’s obvious,” said Mr. Cartwright. “He must’ve come back.”
    “From the silver dish or from Flo?” said William.
    “Mr. de Worde!”
    “I was only asking,” said William. “Ah, I see they’re revealing the name of the man who broke into the jeweler’s the other day. Shame it’s Done It Duncan, poor old chap.”
    “A notorious criminal, by the sound of it,” said Mr. Windling. “It’s shocking that the Watch won’t arrest him.”
    “Especially since he calls on them every day,” said William.
    “Whatever for?”
    “A hot meal and a bed for the night,” said William. “Done It Duncan confesses to everything, you see. Original sin, murders, minor thefts…everything. When he’s desperate he tries to turn himself in for the reward.”
    “Then they ought to do something about him,” said Mrs. Arcanum.
    “I believe they generally give him a mug of tea,” said William. He paused, and then ventured: “Is there anything in the other paper?”
    “Oh, they’re still trying to say that Vetinari didn’t do it,” said Mr. Mackleduff. “And the King of Lancre says women in Lancre don’t give birth to snakes.”
    “Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?” said Mrs. Arcanum. “Vetinari must’ve done something, ” said Mr. Windling. “Otherwise why would he be helping the Watch with their inquiries? That’s not the action of an innocent man, in my humble opinion.” *
    “I believe there’s plenty of evidence that throws doubt on his guilt,” said William.
    “Really,” said Mr. Windling, making the word suggest that William’s opinion was considerably more humble than his. “Anyway, I understand the Guild leaders are meeting today.” He sniffed. “It’s time for a change. Frankly, we could do with a ruler who is a little more responsive to the views of ordinary people.”
    William glanced at Mr. Longshaft, the dwarf, who was peacefully cutting some toast into soldiers. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. Perhaps there was nothing to notice and William was being overly sensitive. But years of listening to Lord de Worde’s opinions had given him a certain ear. It told him when phrases like “the views of ordinary people,” innocent and worthy in themselves, were being used to mean that someone should be whipped.
    “How do you mean?” he said.
    “The…city is getting too big,” said Mr. Windling. “In the old days the gates were kept shut, not left open to all and sundry. And people could leave their doors unlocked.”
    “We didn’t have anything worth stealing,” said Mr. Cartwright.
    “That’s true. There’s more money around,” said Mr. Prone.
    “It doesn’t all stay here, though,” said Mr. Windling. That was true, at least. “Sending money home” was the major export activity of the city, and dwarfs were right at the front of it. William also knew that most of it came back again, because dwarfs bought from the best dwarf craftsmen and, mostly, the best dwarf craftsmen worked in Ankh-Morpork these days. And they sent money back home. A tide of gold coins rolled back and forth, and seldom had a chance to go cold. But it upset the Windlings of the city.
    Mr. Longshaft quietly picked up his boiled egg and inserted it into an eggcup.
    “There’s just too many people in the city,” Mr. Windling repeated. “I’ve nothing