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closed at 9 p.m. Mrs Rivers thanked all Members.”‘
‘What do you think?’ said Sacharissa, with just a hint of nervousness.
‘You know,’ said William, in a sort of distant voice, ‘I think it is quite likely that it would be impossible to improve this piece in any way. Um . . . what would you say was the most important thing that happened at the meeting?’
Her hand flew to her mouth in dismay. ‘Oh, yes! I forgot to put that in! Mrs Flatter won first prize for her sponge! She’s been runner-up for six years, too.’
William stared at the wall. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I should put that in, if I was you. But you could drop in at the Watch House in Dolly Sisters and ask about the naked man–‘
‘I shall do no such thing! Respectable women don’t have anything to do with the Watch!’
‘I meant, ask why he was being chased, of course.’
‘But why should I do that?’
William tried to put words around a vague idea. ‘People will want to know,’ he said.
‘But won’t the Watch mind me asking?’
‘Well, they’re our Watch. I don’t see why they should. And perhaps you could find some more really old people to ask about the weather? Who is the oldest inhabitant in the city?’
‘I don’t know. One of the wizards, I expect.’
‘Could you go to the University and ask him if he remembers it ever being colder than this?’
‘Is this where you put things in the paper?’ said a voice at the doorway.
It belonged to a small man with a beaming red face, one of those people blessed with the permanent expression of someone who has just heard a rather saucy joke.
‘Only I grew this carrot,’ he went on, ‘and I reckon it’s grown into a very interesting shape. Eh? What d’you think, eh? Talk about a giggle, eh? I took it down the pub and everyone was killin’ ’emselves! They said I should put it in your paper!’
He held it aloft. It was a very interesting shape. And William went a very interesting shade.
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‘That’s a very strange carrot,’ said Sacharissa, eyeing it critically. ‘What do you think, Mr de Worde?’
‘Er . . . er . . . you go along to the University, why don’t you? And I’ll see to this . . . gentleman,’ said William, when he felt he could speak again.
‘My wife couldn’t stop laughin’!’
‘What a lucky man you are, sir,’ said William solemnly.
‘It’s a shame you can’t put pictures in your paper, eh?’
‘Yes, but I think I may be in enough trouble already,’ said William, opening his notebook.
When the man and his hilarious vegetable had been dealt with, William wandered out into the printing shop. The dwarfs were talking in a group, around a trapdoor in the floor.
‘Pump’s frozen again,’ said Goodmountain. ‘Can’t mix up any more ink. Old man Cheese says there used to be a well somewhere round here . . .’
There was a shout from below. A couple of dwarfs descended the ladder.
‘Mr Goodmountain, can you think of any reason I should put this in the paper?’ said William, handing him Sacharissa’s report of the Flowers and Cookery meeting. It’s a bit . . . dull. . .’
The dwarf read the copy. There’s seventy-three reasons,’ he said. ‘That’s ‘cos there’s seventy-three names. I expect people like to see their names in the paper.’
‘But what about the naked man?’
‘Yeah . . . shame she didn’t get his name.’
There was another shout from below.
‘Shall we have a look?’ said Goodmountain.
To William’s complete lack of surprise, the little cellar under the shed was much better built than the shed itself. But then, practically everywhere in Ankh-Morpork had cellars that were once the first or even second or third floors of ancient buildings, built at the time of one of the city’s empires when men thought that the future was going to last for ever. And then the river had flooded and brought mud with it, and walls had gone higher and, now, what Ankh-Morpork was built on was mostly Ankh-Morpork. People said that anyone with a good sense of direction and a
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pickaxe could cross the city underground by simply knocking holes in walls.
Rusted tins and piles of timber rotted to tissue strength were piled up against one wall. And in the middle of the wall was a bricked-up doorway, the more recent bricks already looking worn and tatty compared to the ancient stone surrounding them.
‘What’s through there?’ said Boddony.
The old street, probably,’ said William.
The street has a cellar? What does it keep there?’
‘Oh, when parts of the city get badly flooded people just keep building on up,’ said William. This was probably a ground-floor room once, you see. People just bricked up the doors and windows and built on another storey. In some parts of the city, they say, there’s six or seven levels underground. Mostly full of mud. And that’s choosing my words with care–‘
‘I am looking for Mister William der Worde,’ rumbled a voice above them.
An enormous troll was blocking out the light from the cellar trapdoor.
That’s me,’ said William.
‘Der Patrician will see you now,’ said the troll.
‘I don’t have an appointment with Lord Vetinari!’
‘Ah, well,’ said the troll, ‘you’d be amazed at how many people has appointments wid der Patrician an’ dey don’t know it. So you’d better hurry. I would hurry, if I was you.’
~blk~
There was no sound but the ticking of the clock. William watched in apprehension as, apparently forgetting his presence, Lord Vetinari read his way through the Times again.
‘What a very . . . interesting document,’ said the Patrician, suddenly laying it aside. ‘But I’m forced to ask . . . Why?
‘It’s just my news sheet,’ said William, ‘but bigger. Er . . . people like to know things.’
‘Which people?’
‘Well . . . everyone, really.’
‘Do they? Did they tell you this?’
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William swallowed. ‘Well . . . no. But you know I’ve been writing my news letter for some time now–‘
‘For various foreign notables and similar people.’ Lord Vetinari nodded. ‘People who need to know. Knowing things is part of their profession. But you are selling this to anyone in the street, is that correct?’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
‘Interesting. Then you wouldn’t entertain the idea, would you, that a state is, say, rather like one of those old rowing galleys? The ones which had banks of oarsmen down below, and a helmsman and so on above? It is certainly in everyone’s interest that the ship does not founder but, I put it to you, it is perhaps not in the interest of the rowers that they know of every shoal avoided, every collision fended off. It would only serve to worry them and put them off their stroke. What the rowers need to know is how to row, hmm?’
‘And that the helmsman is a good one,’ said William. He couldn’t stop the sentence. It said itself. It was out there, hanging in the air.
Lord Vetinari gave him a stare that went on for several seconds beyond the necessary time. Then his face instantly broke into a broad smile.
‘To be sure. And so they should, so they should. This is the age of words, after all. Fifty-six hurt in tavern brawl, eh? Astounding. What further news do you have for us, sir?’
‘Well, er . . . it’s been very cold
‘Has it? Has it, indeed? My word!’ On his desk the tiny iceberg bumped against the side of Lord Vetinari’s inkwell.
‘Yes, and there was a bit of a . . . fracas . . . at some cookery meeting last night. . .’
‘A fracas, eh?’
‘Well, probably more of a rumpus, really.* And someone has grown a funny-shaped vegetable.’
~blk~~foot~
* Words resemble fish in that some specialist ones can survive only in a kind of reef, where their curious shapes and usages are protected from the hurly-burly of the open sea. ‘Rumpus’ and ‘fracas’ are found only in certain newspapers (in much the same way that ‘beverages’ are found only in certain menus). They are never used in normal conversation.
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That’s the stuff. What shape?’
‘A . . . an amusing shape, sir.’
‘Could I give you a little bit of advice, Mr de Worde?’
‘Please do, sir.’
‘Be careful. People like to be told what they already know. Remember that. They get uncomfortable when you tell them new things. New things . . . well, new things aren’t what they expect. They like to know that, say, a dog will bite a man. That is what dogs do. They don’t want to know that a man bites a dog, because the world is not supposed to happen like that. In short, what people think they want is news, but what they really crave is olds. I can see you’ve got the hang of it already.’