‘Strangely enough, there was a precedent in 1497 when a cat successfully–‘
‘Good. And you will have one of your special quiet words with the Engravers’ Guild. You are good at quiet words.’
‘Well, of course I will do my best. The bill, however–‘
‘–won’t exist,’ said William.
Only then did Mr Slant’s parchment features really crease up in pain.
‘Pro bono publico?’ he croaked.
‘Oh, yes. You will certainly be working for the public good,’ said William. ‘And what is good for the public, of course, is good for you. Isn’t that nice?’
‘On the other hand,’ said Mr Slant, ‘perhaps it would be in the interests of everyone to put this sorry affair behind us, and I will be, uh, happy to donate my services.’
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Thank you. Mr Scrope is now Lo– is now the Patrician?’
‘Yes.’
‘By the vote of the Guilds?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
The unanimous vote?’
‘I don’t have to tell–‘
William raised a finger. ‘Ah?’ he said.
Mr Slant squirmed. The Beggars and the Seamstresses voted to adjourn,’ he said. ‘So did the Launderers and the Guild of Exotic Dancers.’
‘So . . . that would be Queen Molly, Mrs Palm, Mrs Manger and Miss Dixie Voom,’ said William. ‘What an interesting life Lord Vetinari must have led.’
‘No comment.’
‘And would you say Mr Scrope is looking forward to getting to grips with the manifold problems of running the city?’
Mr Slant considered this one. ‘I think that may be the case,’ he conceded.
‘Not least of which is the fact that Lord Vetinari is, in fact, completely innocent? And that therefore there is a very large question mark over the appointment? Would you advise that he takes up his duties with several spare pairs of underpants? You don’t have to answer that last one.’
‘It is not my job to instruct the assembly of Guilds to reverse a legitimate decision, even if it turns out to have been based on . . . erroneous information. Nor is it my responsibility to advise Mr Scrope on his choice of undergarments.’
‘See you tomorrow, Mr Slant,’ said William.
William barely had time to undress and lie down before it was time to get up again. He washed as best he could, changed his shirt and went cautiously down to breakfast. He was in fact the first at the table.
There was the usual stolid silence as the other guests gathered. Most of Mrs Arcanum’s boarders didn’t bother to talk unless they had something to say. But when Mr Mackleduff sat down he pulled out a copy of the Times from his pocket.
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‘Couldn’t get the paper,’ said Mr Mackleduff, shaking it open. ‘So I got the other one,’
William coughed. ‘Anything much in it?’ he said. He could see his headline from where he sat, in huge bold caps:
DOG BITES MAN!
He’d made it news.
‘Oh . . . Lord Vetinari got away with it,’ said Mr Mackleduff.
‘Well, of course he would,’ said Mr Prone. ‘Very clever man, whatever they say,’
‘And his dog’s all right,’ said Mr Mackleduff. William wanted to shake the man for reading so slowly.
‘That’s nice,’ said Mrs Arcanum, pouring out the tea.
‘Is that it?’ said William.
‘Oh, there’s a lot of political stuff,’ said Mr Mackleduff. ‘It’s all a bit far-fetched.’
‘Any good vegetables today?’ said Mr Cartwright.
Mr Mackleduff carefully inspected the other pages.
‘No,’ he said.
‘My firm are thinking of approaching that man to see if he’d let us sell his seeds for him,’ Mr Cartwright went on. ‘It’s just the sort of thing people like,’ He caught Mrs Arcanum’s eye. ‘Only those vegetables suitable for a family environment, of course,’ he added quickly.
‘Aye, it does you good to laugh,’ said Mr Mackleduff solemnly.
It crossed William’s mind to wonder if Mr Wintler could grow an obscene pea. But of course he could.
‘I would have thought it’s quite important,’ he said, ‘if Lord Vetinari isn’t guilty,’
‘Oh, yes, I daresay, to them as has to deal with these things,’ said Mr Mackleduff. ‘I don’t quite see where we come into it, though.’
‘But surely–‘ William began.
Mrs Arcanum patted her hair. ‘I’ve always thought Lord Vetinari was a most handsome man,’ she said, and then looked flustered when they all stared at her. ‘I meant, I’m just a little surprised there isn’t a Lady Vetinari. As it were. Ahem.’
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‘Oh well, you know what they say,’ said Mr Windling.
A pair of arms shot out across the table, grabbed the surprised man by the lapels and pulled him up so that his face was a few inches from William’s.
7 don’t know what they say, Mr Windling!’ he shouted. ‘But you know what they say, Mr Windling! Why don’t you tell us what they say, Mr Windling! Why don’t you tell us who told you, Mr Windling?’
‘Mr de Worde! Really!’ said Mrs Arcanum. Mr Prone pulled the toast out of the way.
I’m very sorry about this, Mrs Arcanum,’ said William, still holding the struggling man, ‘but I want to know what everyone knows and I want to know how they know it. Mr Windling?’
They say he’s got some sort of a lady friend who’s very important in Uberwald,’ said Mr Windling. ‘And I’ll thank you to let go of me!’
‘And that’s it? What’s so sinister about that? It’s a friendly country!’
‘Yes, but, yes, but they say–‘
William let go. Windling rocked back into his chair, but William stayed standing, breathing heavily.
‘Well, I wrote the article in the TimesV he snapped. ‘And what’s in there is what ,’ say! Me! Because I found things out, and checked things, and people who say “ing” a lot tried to kill me! I’m not the man that’s the brother of some man you met in the pub! I’m not some stupid rumour put about to make trouble! So just remember that, before you try any of that “everyone knows” stuff! And in an hour or so I’ve got to go up to the palace and see Commander Vimes and whoever is the Patrician and a lot of other people, to get this whole thing sorted out! And it’s not going to be very nice, but I’m going to have to do it, because I wanted you to know things that are important. Sorry about the teapot, Mrs Arcanum, I’m sure it can be mended.’
In the ensuing silence Mr Prone picked up the paper and said: ‘You write this?’
‘Yes!’
‘I . . . er . . . I thought they had special people . . .’
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All heads turned back to William.
There isn’t a they. There’s just me and a young lady. We write it all!’ ‘But . . . who tells you what to put in?’ The heads turned back to William. ‘We just. . . decide.’
‘Er . . . is it true about big silver discs kidnapping people?’ ‘No!’
To William’s surprise Mr Cartwright actually raised his hand. ‘Yes, Mr Cartwright?’
I’ve got quite an important question, Mr de Worde, what with you knowing all this stuff ‘Yes?’ ‘Have you got the address of the funny vegetable man?’
William and Otto arrived at the palace at five minutes to ten. There was a small crowd around the gates.
Commander Vimes was standing in the courtyard, talking to Slant and some of the Guild leaders. He smiled in a humourless way when he saw William.
‘You’re rather late, Mr de Worde,’ he said.
‘I’m early!’
‘I meant that things have been happening.’
Mr Slant cleared his throat. ‘Mr Scrope has sent a note,’ he said. ‘It appears that he is ill.’
William pulled out his notebook.
The civic leaders focused on it. He hesitated. And then uncertainty evaporated. I’m a de Worde, he thought, don’t you dare look down your noses at me! You ‘ve got to move with the Times. Oh well . . . here goes. . .
‘Was it signed by his mother?’ he said.
‘I don’t follow your meaning,’ said the lawyer, but several of the Guild leaders turned their heads away.
‘What’s happening now, then?’ said William. ‘We don’t have a ruler?’
‘Happily,’ said Mr Slant, who looked like a man in a private hell, ‘Lord Vetinari is feeling very much better and expects to resume his duties tomorrow.’
‘Excuse me, is he allowed to write that down?’ said Lord Downey, head of the Assassins’ Guild, as William made a note.
‘Allowed by who?’ said Vimes.
‘Whom,’ said William, under his breath.
‘Well, he can’t just write down anything, can he?’ said Lord Downey. ‘Supposing he writes down something we don’t want him to write down?’
Vimes looked William firmly in the eye.
There’s no law against it,’ he said.
‘Lord Vetinari is not going to go on trial, then, Lord Downey?’ said William, holding Vimes’s gaze for a second.
Downey, baffled, turned to Slant.
‘Can he ask me that?’ he said. ‘Just come out with a question, just like that?’