‘We’re putting up a semaphore post,’ said Sacharissa proudly. ‘We’ll be able to get a clacks straight from the big trunk tower. And we’re opening offices in Sto Lat and Pseudopolis!’
Lord Vetinari raised his eyebrows. ‘My word,’ he said. ‘Many new deformed vegetables will become available. I shall look forward with interest to seeing them.’
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William decided not to rise to this one.
‘It amazes me how the news you have so neatly fits the space available,’ Lord Vetinari went on, staring down at the page Boddony was working on. ‘No little gaps anywhere. And every day something happens that is important enough to be at the top of the first page, too. How strange– Oh, “receive” takes an e after the c . . .’
Boddony looked up. Lord Vetinari’s cane swung around with a hiss and hovered in the middle of a densely packed column. The dwarf looked closer and nodded, and took out a small tool.
It’s upside down to him, and back to front, thought William. And the word’s in the middle of the text. And he spotted it.
Things that are back to front are often easier to comprehend if they are upside down as well,’ said Lord Vetinari, tapping his chin with the silver knob of his cane in an absent-minded way. ‘In life as in politics.’
‘What have you done with Charlie?’ said William.
Lord Vetinari looked at him in nothing but innocent surprise. ‘Why, nothing. Should I have done something?’
‘Have you locked him up,’ said Sacharissa suspiciously, ‘in a deep cell, and made him wear a mask all the time and have all his meals brought by a deaf and dumb jailer?’
‘Er . . . no, I don’t think so,’ said Lord Vetinari, giving her a smile. ‘Although it would make a very good story, I’ve no doubt. No, I understand he’s enrolled in the Guild of Actors, though of course I realize that there are those who would consider a deep dungeon a preferred alternative. I foresee a happy career for him, nevertheless. Children’s parties, and so on.’
‘What. . . as being you?’
‘Indeed. Very risible.’
‘And perhaps when you have some boring duty to perform, or have to sit for an oil painting, you’ll have a little job for him?’ said William.
‘Hmm?’ said Vetinari. William had thought that Vimes had a blank look, but he’d been wreathed in smiles compared to his lordship when Lord Vetinari wanted to look blank. ‘Do you have any more questions, Mr de Worde?’
‘I will have a lot,’ said William, pulling himself together. The Times will be taking a very close interest in civic affairs.’
‘How commendable,’ said the Patrician. ‘If you contact Drumknott here I’m sure I will find time to grant you an interview.’
The Right Word in the Right Place, William thought. Unpleasant though the knowledge was, his ancestors had always been amongst the first to get to grips in any conflict. In every siege, every ambush, every stricken dash against fortified emplacements, some de Worde had galloped towards death or glory and sometimes both. No enemy was too strong, no wound was too deep, no sword was too heavy for a de Worde. No grave was too deep, either. As his instincts wrestled with his tongue, he could feel his ancestors behind him, pushing him into the fray. Vetinari was too obviously playing with him. Oh well, at least let’s die for something decent. . . Onward to death or glory or both!
‘I am sure, my lord, that whenever you wish for an interview, the Times will be quite prepared to grant you one,’ he said. ‘If space allows.’
He hadn’t realized how much background noise there was until it stopped. Drumknott had closed his eyes. Sacharissa was staring straight ahead. The dwarfs stood like statues.
Finally, Lord Vetinari broke the silence.
The Times? You mean you, and this young lady here?’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Oh, I see. It’s like the Public. Well, if I can be of any help to the Times–‘
‘We won’t be bribed, either,’ said William. He knew he was galloping in among the sharpened stakes here, but he’d be damned before he’d be patronized.
‘Bribed?’ said Vetinari. ‘My dear sir, seeing what you’re capable of for nothing, I’d hesitate to press even a penny in your hand. No, I have nothing to offer you except thanks, which of course are notorious for their evaporative tendencies. Ah, a little idea occurs. I shall be having a small dinner on Saturday. Some of the Guild leaders, a few ambassadors . . . all rather dull, but perhaps you and your very bold young lady . . . I do beg your pardon, I meant of course the Times . . . would like to attend?’
‘I don’t–‘ William began, and stopped suddenly. A shoe scraping down your shin can do that.
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‘The Times would be delighted,’ said Sacharissa, beaming.
‘Capital. In that case–‘
There is a favour I need to ask, to tell the truth,’ said William.
Vetinari smiled. ‘Of course. If I can do anything for the Ti–‘
‘Will you be going to Harry King’s daughter’s wedding on Saturday?’
To his secret delight, the look that Vetinari gave him seemed to be blank because the man hadn’t got anything to fill it with. But Drumknott leaned towards him and there were a few whispered words.
‘Ah?’ said the Patrician. ‘Harry King. Ah, yes. A positive incarnation of the spirit that has made our city what it is today. Haven’t I always said that, Drumknott?’
‘Yes indeed, sir.’
‘I shall certainly attend. I expect a lot of other civic leaders will be there?’
The question was left delicately spinning in the air.
‘As many as possible,’ said William.
‘Fine carriages, tiaras, stately robes?’ said Lord Vetinari, to the knob of his cane.
‘Lots.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they will be there,’ said Lord Vetinari, and William knew that Harry King would walk his daughter past more top nobs than he could count, and while the world of Mr King did not have a lot of space for letters he could count very carefully indeed. Mrs King was going to have joyful hysterics out of sheer passive snobbery.
‘In return, however,’ said the Patrician, ‘I must ask you not to upset Commander Vimes.’ He gave a little cough. ‘More than necessary.’
‘I’m sure we can pull together, sir.’
Lord Vetinari raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, I do hope not, I really do hope not. Pulling together is the aim of despotism and tyranny. Free men pull in all kinds of directions.’ He smiled. ‘It’s the only way to make progress. That and, of course, moving with the times. Good day to you.’
He nodded to them and walked out of the building.
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1
‘Why is everyone still here?’ William demanded, when the spell had broken.
‘Er . . . we still don’t know what we should be doing,’ said Mrs Tilly hopelessly.
‘Go and find out things that people want to put in the paper,’ said Sacharissa.
‘And things that people don’t want put in the paper,’ William added.
‘And interesting things,’ said Sacharissa.
‘Like that rain of dogs there was a few months ago?’ said O’Biscuit.
There was no rain of dogs two months ago!’ William snapped.
‘But–‘
‘One puppy is not a rain. It fell out of a window. Look, we are not interested in pet precipitation, spontaneous combustion, or people being carried off by weird things from out of the sky–‘
‘Unless it happens,’ said Sacharissa.
‘Well, obviously we are if it does happen,’ said William. ‘But when it doesn’t, we’re not. Okay? News is unusual things happening–‘
‘And usual things happening,’ said Sacharissa, screwing up a report from the Ankh-Morpork Funny Vegetable Society.
‘And usual things, yes,’ said William. ‘But news is mainly what someone somewhere doesn’t want you to put in the paper–‘
‘Except that sometimes it isn’t,’ said Sacharissa again.
‘News is–‘ said William, and stopped. They watched him politely as he stood with his mouth open and one finger raised.
‘News,’ he said, ‘all depends. But you’ll know it when you see it. Clear? Right. Now go and find some.’
That was a bit abrupt,’ said Sacharissa after they’d filed out.
‘Well, I was thinking,’ said William. ‘I mean, it’s been a . . . a funny old time all round, what with one thing and another–‘
‘–people trying to kill us, your being imprisoned, a plague of dogs, the place catching on fire, your being cheeky to Lord Vetinari–‘ said Sacharissa.
‘Yes, well. . . so would it really matter if you and I, you know . . . you and I . . . took the afternoon off? I mean,’ he added
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desperately, ‘it doesn’t say anywhere that we have to publish every day, does it?’
‘Except at the top of the newspaper,’ said Sacharissa.
‘Yes, but you can’t believe everything you read in the newspapers.’