‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Do I have to answer it?’
‘It is a reasonable question in the circumstances, my lord, but you don’t have to.’
‘Do you have a message for the people of Ankh-Morpork?’ said William sweetly.
‘Do we, Mr Slant?’ said Lord Downey.
Mr Slant sighed. ‘It may be advisable, my lord, yes.’
‘Oh, well, then – no, there won’t be a trial. Obviously.’
‘And he’s not going to be pardoned?’ said William.
Lord Downey turned to Mr Slant, who gave a little sigh.
‘Again, my lord, it is–‘
‘All right, all right . . . No, he’s not going to be pardoned because it is quite clear that he is quite guiltless,’ said Downey testily.
‘Would you say that this has become clear because of the excellent work done by Commander Vimes and his dedicated band of officers, aided in a small way by the Times!’ said William.
Lord Downey looked blank. ‘Would I say that?’ he said.
‘I think you possibly would, yes, my lord,’ said Slant, sinking further in gloom.
‘Oh. Then I would,’ said Downey. ‘Yes.’ He craned his neck to see what William was writing down. Out of the corner of his eye
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William saw Vimes’s expression; it was a strange mixture of amusement and anger.
‘And would you say, as spokesman for the Guild Council, that you are commending Commander Vimes?’ said William.
‘Now see here–‘ Vimes began.
‘I suppose we would, yes.’
‘I expect there’s a Watch Medal or a commendation in the offing?’
‘Now look–‘ Vimes said.
‘Yes, very probably. Very probably,’ said Lord Downey, now thoroughly buffeted by the winds of change.
William painstakingly wrote this down, too, and closed his notebook. This caused a general air of relief among the others.
‘Thank you very much, my lord, and ladies and gentlemen,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Oh, Mister Vimes . . . do you and I have anything to discuss?’
‘Not right at this moment,’ growled Vimes.
‘Oh, that’s good. Well, I must go and get this written up, so thank you once–‘
‘You will of course show this . . . article to us before you put it in the paper,’ said Lord Downey, rallying a little.
William wore his haughtiness like an overcoat. ‘Um, no, I don’t think I will, my lord. It’s my paper, you see.’
‘Can he–?’
‘Yes, my lord, he can,’ said Mr Slant. ‘I’m afraid he can. The right to free speech is a fine old Ankh-Morpork tradition.’
‘Good heavens, is it?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘How did that one survive?’
‘I couldn’t say, my lord,’ said Slant. ‘But Mr de Worde,’ he added, staring at William, ‘is, I believe, a young man who would not go out of his way to upset the smooth running of the city.’
William smiled at him politely, nodded to the rest of the company and walked back across the courtyard and out into the street. He waited until he was some distance away before he burst out laughing.
A week went past. It was notable because of the things that didn ‘t happen. There was no protest from Mr Carney or the Engravers’ Guild. William wondered if he had been carefully moved into the ‘to be left alone’ file. After all, people might be thinking, Vetinari probably owed the Times a favour, and no one would want to be that favour, would they? There was no visit from the Watch, either. There had been rather more street cleaners around than usual, but after William sent a hundred dollars to Harry King, plus a bouquet for Mrs King, Gleam Street was no longer gleaming.
They’d moved to another shed while the old one was being rebuilt. Mr Cheese had been easy to deal with. He just wanted money. You know where you stand with simple people like that, even if it is with your hand in your wallet.
A new press had been rolled in, and once again money had made the effort almost frictionless. It had already been substantially redesigned by the dwarfs.
This shed was smaller than the old one, but Sacharissa had contrived to partition off a tiny editorial space. She’d put a potted plant and a coat rack in it, and talked excitedly of the space they’d have when the new building was finished, but William reckoned that however big it was it would never be neat. Newspaper people thought the floor was a big flat filing cabinet.
He had a new desk, too. In fact it was better than a new desk; it was a genuine antique one, made of genuine walnut, inlaid with leather, and with two inkwells, lots of drawers and genuine woodworm. At a desk like that a man could write.
They hadn’t brought the spike.
William was pondering over a letter from the Ankh-Morpork League of Decency when the sense that someone was standing nearby made him look up.
Sacharissa had ushered in a small group of strangers, although after a second or two he recognized one of them as the late Mr Bendy, who was merely strange.
‘You remember you said we ought to get more writers?’ she said. ‘You know Mr Bendy, and this is Mrs Tilly’ – a small white-haired woman bobbed a curtsey to William – ‘who likes cats and really nasty murders, and Mr O’Biscuit’ – a rangy young man – ‘who’s all
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the way from Fourecks and looking for a job before he goes home.’
‘Really? What did you do in Fourecks, Mr O’Biscuit?’
I was at Bugarup University, mate.’
‘You’re a wizard?’
‘No, mate. They threw me out, ‘cos of what I wrote in the student magazine.’
‘What was that?’
‘Everything, really.’
‘Oh. And . . . Mrs Tilly, I think you wrote a lovely well-spelled and grammatical letter to us suggesting that everyone under the age of eighteen should be flogged once a week to stop them being so noisy?’
‘Once a day, Mr de Worde,’ said Mrs Tilly. ‘That’ll teach ’em to go around being young!’
William hesitated. But the press needed feeding, and he and Sacharissa needed time off. Rocky was supplying some sports news, and while it was unreadable to William he put it in on the basis that anyone keen on sport probably couldn’t read. There had to be more staff. It was worth a try.
‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘We’ll give you all a trial, starting right– Oh.’
He stood up. Everyone turned round to see why.
‘Please don’t bother,’ said Lord Vetinari from the doorway. ‘This is meant to be an informal visit. Taking on new staff, I see?’
The Patrician walked across the floor, followed by Drumknott.
‘Er, yes,’ said William. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘Oh, yes. Busy, of course. Such a lot of reading to catch up on. But I thought I should take a moment to come and see this “free press” Commander Vimes has told me about at considerable length.’ He tapped one of the iron pillars of the press with his cane. ‘However, it appears to be firmly bolted down.’
‘Er, no, sir. I mean “free” in the sense of what is printed, sir,’ said William.
‘But surely you charge money?’
‘Yes, but–‘
‘Oh, I see. You meant you should be free to print what you like?’
There was no escape. ‘Well . . . broadly, yes, sir.’
‘Because that’s in the, what was the other interesting term? Ah, yes . . . the public interest?’ Lord Vetinari picked up a piece of type and inspected it carefully.
‘I think so, sir.’
‘These stories about man-eating goldfish and people’s husbands disappearing in big silver dishes?’
‘No, sir. That’s what the public is interested in. We do the other stuff, sir.’
‘Amusingly shaped vegetables?’
‘Well, a bit of that, sir. Sacharissa calls them human interest stories.’
‘About vegetables and animals?’
‘Yes, sir. But at least they’re real vegetables and animals.’
‘So . . . we have what the people are interested in, and human interest stories, which is what humans are interested in, and the public interest, which no one is interested in.’
‘Except the public, sir,’ said William, trying to keep up.
‘Which isn’t the same as people and humans?’
‘I think it’s more complicated than that, sir.’
‘Obviously. Do you mean that the public is a different thing from the people you just see walking about the place? The public thinks big, sensible, measured thoughts while people run around doing silly things?’
‘I think so. I may have to work on that idea too, I admit.’
‘Hmm. Interesting. 7 have certainly noticed that groups of clever and intelligent people are capable of really stupid ideas,’ said Lord Vetinari. He gave William a look which said ‘I can read your mind, even the small print’, and then gazed around the press room again. ‘Well, I can see you have an eventful future ahead of you, and I wouldn’t wish to make it any more difficult than it is clearly going to be. I notice you have work going on . . . ?’