Truth

by Pratchett, Terry

  ‘Well, I did hope … I wondered if … I mean, d’you think you could see your way clear to … letting us use one of your presses tonight?’

  Carney rocked back. ‘You what? Are you mad?’

  Sacharissa blew her nose. ‘Yes, I thought you’d probably say that,’ she said sadly.

  Carney, slightly mollified, leaned forward and patted her hand again. ‘I know we used to play together when we were children—’ he began.

  ‘I don’t think we actually played,’ said Sacharissa, fishing in her handbag. ‘You used to chase me and I used to hit you over the head with a wooden cow. Ah, here it is …’ She dropped the bag, stood up and aimed one of the late Mr Pin’s pistol bows straight at the editor.

  ‘Let us use your “ing” presses or I’ll “ing” shoot your “ing” head “ing” off!’ she screamed. ‘I think that’s how you’re supposed to say it, isn’t it?’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare pull that trigger!’ said Carney, trying to crouch in his chair.

  ‘It was a lovely cow, and one day I hit you so hard one of the legs broke off,’ said Sacharissa dreamily.

  Carney looked imploringly at William. ‘Can’t you talk some sense into her?’ he said.

  ‘We just need the loan of one of your presses for an hour or so, Mr Carney,’ said William, while Sacharissa kept the barrel of the bow aimed at the man’s nose with what he judged to be a very strange smile on her face. ‘And then we’ll be gone.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ said Carney hoarsely.

  ‘Well, firstly I’m going to tie you up,’ said William.

  ‘No! I’ll call the overseers!’

  ‘I think they’re … busy at the moment,’ said Sacharissa.

  Carney listened. It seemed unusually quiet downstairs.

  He sagged.

  The printing staff of the Inquirer were in a ring around Goodmountain.

  ‘Right, lads,’ said the dwarf, ‘here’s how it works. Every man who goes home early tonight ’cos of a headache gets a hundred dollars, all right? It’s an old Klatchian custom.’

  ‘And what happens if we don’t go?’ said the foreman, picking up a mallet.

  ‘Vell,’ said a voice by his ear, ‘that’s ven you get a … headache.’

  There was a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. Otto punched the air triumphantly.

  ‘Yes!’ he shouted, as the printers ran madly towards the doors. ‘Ven you really, really need it, zere it is! Let’s try vunce more … Castle!’ The thunder rolled again. The vampire jumped up and down excitedly, vest tails flying. ‘Vow! Now ve are cooking! Vunce more mit feelink! Vot a big … castle …’ The thunder was even louder this time.

  Otto did a little jig, beside himself with joy, tears running down his grey face.

  ‘Music viz Rocks In!’ he yelled.

  In the silence after the thunder roll William pulled a velvet bag from his pocket and tipped it out on to the desk blotter.

  Carney stared goggle-eyed at the jewels.

  ‘Two thousand dollars’ worth,’ said William. ‘At least. Our admission to the Guild. I’ll just leave them here, shall I? No need for a receipt. We trust you.’

  Carney said nothing, because of the gag. He had been tied to his chair.

  At this point Sacharissa pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

  ‘I must’ve forgotten to put the pointy arrow bit in,’ she said, as Carney fainted away. ‘What a silly girl I am. “Ing”. I feel so much better for saying that, you know? “Ing”. “Inginginginging”. I wonder what it means?’

  Gunilla Goodmountain looked expectantly at William, who swayed as he tried to think.

  ‘All right,’ he said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Triple-decker heading, as wide as you can. First line: “Conspiracy Revealed!” Got that? Next line: “Lord Vetinari is Innocent!”’ He hesitated at that one, but let it go. People could argue about its general application later on. That wasn’t the important thing at the moment.

  ‘Yes?’ said Goodmountain. ‘And the next line?’

  ‘I’ve written it down,’ said William, passing him a page torn from the notebook. ‘Caps, please. Big caps. Big as you can. The sort the Inquirer used for elves and exploding people.’

  ‘This?’ said the dwarf, reaching for a case of huge black letters. ‘Is this news?’

  ‘It is now,’ said William. He flicked back through the pages of his notebook.

  ‘Are you going to write the story down first?’ said the dwarf.

  ‘No time. Ready? “A plot to illegally seize control of Ankh-Morpork was exposed last night after days of patient detective work by the Watch.” Paragraph. “The Times understands that two assassins, both now dead, were hired from outside the city to blacken the character of Lord Vetinari and depose him as Patrician.” Paragraph. “They used an innocent man with a remarkable resemblance to Lord Vetinari in order to trick their way into the palace. Once inside”—’

  ‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Goodmountain. ‘The Watch didn’t get to the bottom of this, did they? You did!’

  ‘I just said they’ve been working for days,’ said William. ‘That’s true. I don’t have to say they weren’t getting anywhere.’ He saw the look in the dwarf’s eye. ‘Listen, very soon I’m going to have a lot more unpleasant enemies than anyone really needs. I’d like Vimes to be angry at me for making him look good rather than for making him look bad. Okay?’

  ‘Even so—’

  ‘Don’t argue with me!’

  Goodmountain didn’t dare. There was a look in William’s face. The boy had frozen when he was listening to the box, and now he’d unfrozen into … someone else.

  Someone a lot more touchy and a lot less patient. He looked as though he was running a fever.

  ‘Now … where was I?’

  ‘“Once inside”…’ said the dwarf.

  ‘Okay … “Once inside” … no … Make it: “The Times understands that Lord Vetinari was” – Sacharissa, you said the man in the cellar looked just like Vetinari?’

  ‘Yes. Haircut and everything.’

  ‘Right. “The Times understands that Lord Vetinari was overwhelmed in the moment of shock on seeing himself entering his office”—’

  ‘Do we understand that?’ said Sacharissa.

  ‘Yes. It makes sense. Who’s going to argue? Where was I … “Their plan was foiled by Lord Vetinari’s dog, Wuffles (16), who attacked both men.” Paragraph. “The noise of this attracted the attention of Lord Vetinari’s clerk, Rufus Drumknott” – damn, I forgot to ask him how old he was – “who was then knocked unconscious.” Paragraph. “The attackers tried to put the interruption to good use in their” – what’s the good word? Oh, yes – “their dastardly plan and stabbed Drumknott with one of Lord Vetinari’s own daggers in an attempt to make it look as if he was insane or murderous.” Paragraph. “Acting with vicious cunning”—’

  ‘You’re getting really good at this,’ said Sacharissa.

  ‘Don’t interrupt him,’ hissed Boddony. ‘I want to find out what the dastards did next!’

  ‘—“with vicious cunning they forced the bogus Lord Vetinari”—’

  ‘Good word, good word,’ said Goodmountain, setting furiously.

  ‘Are you certain about “forced”?’ said Sacharissa.

  ‘They aren’t— they weren’t the kind of men who ask nicely,’ said William brusquely. ‘Er … “forced the bogus Lord Vetinari … to make a false confession to some servants who were attracted by the noise. Then all three, carrying the unconscious Lord Vetinari and harried by the dog, Wuffles (16), took the stairs to the stables.” Paragraph. “There they had set up a scene to suggest that Lord Vetinari had been trying to rob the city, as already reported in”—’

  ‘“Exclusively in”,’ Sacharissa said.

  ‘Right, “exclusively in the Times.” Paragraph. “However, the dog Wuffles escaped and began a citywide search by Watch and criminals alike. He was found by a group of public-spirited
citizens, who”—’

  A piece of type dropped from Goodmountain’s fingers. ‘You mean Foul Ole Ron and that bunch?’

  ‘—“public-spirited citizens”,’ William repeated, nodding furiously, ‘“who kept him hidden, while”—’

  Cold winter storms had the whole of the Sto Plains in which to build up speed. By the time they hit Ankh-Morpork they were fast and heavy and laden with malice.

  This time it took the form of hail. Fist-sized balls of ice smashed into tiles. They blocked gutters and filled the streets with shrapnel.

  They hammered on the roof of the warehouse in Gleam Street. One or two windows smashed.

  William paced up and down, shouting out his words above the force of the storm, occasionally flicking back and forth through the pages of his notebook. Otto came out and handed the dwarfs a couple of iconograph plates. The crew limped and sidled in, ready for the edition.

  William stopped. The last letters clicked into place.

  ‘Let’s see what it looks like so far,’ said William.

  Goodmountain inked the type, put a piece of paper over the story and ran a hand-roller over it. Wordlessly, he handed it to Sacharissa.

  ‘Are you sure of all this, William?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I mean, some bits – are you sure it’s all true?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s all journalism,’ said William.

  ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means it’s true enough for now.’

  ‘But do you know the names of these people?’

  William hesitated. Then he said:

  ‘Mr Goodmountain, you can insert an extra paragraph anywhere in the story, can’t you?’

  ‘That’s not a problem.’

  ‘Right. Then set this: “The Times can reveal that the assassins were hired by a group of prominent citizens led by” … “The Times can reveal that” …’ He took a deep breath. ‘Start again: “The plotters, the Times can reveal, were headed by”…’ William shook his head. ‘“Evidence points to” … uh … “Evidence, the Times can reveal” … “All the evidence, the Times can reveal … can reveal …”’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘This is going to be a long paragraph?’ said Goodmountain.

  William stared miserably at the damp proof.

  ‘No,’ he said wretchedly. ‘I think that’s it. Let it go at that. Put in a line saying that the Times will be helping the Watch with its inquiries.’

  ‘Why? We’re not guilty of anything, are we?’ said Goodmountain.

  ‘Just do it, please.’ William screwed the proof into a ball, tossed it on to a bench and wandered off towards the press.

  Sacharissa found him a few minutes later. A print room offers a mass of holes and corners, mostly used by those whose duties require the occasional bunk-off for a quiet smoke. William was sitting on a pile of paper, staring at nothing.

  ‘Is there something you want to talk about?’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know who the conspirators are?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then would it be true to say that you suspect you know who the conspirators are?’

  He gave her an angry look. ‘Are you trying journalism on me?’

  ‘I’m just supposed to try it on everyone else, then, am I? Not you, then?’ she said, sitting down beside him.

  William absent-mindedly pressed a button on the Dis-organizer.

  ‘Wheeewheedle the truth has got its boots on …’

  ‘You don’t get on very well with your father, is tha—’ Sacharissa began.

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ said William. ‘That’s his favourite saying. He says it proves how gullible people are. Those men had the run of our house. He’s in this up to his neck!’

  ‘Yes, but perhaps he just did it as a favour to some other—’

  ‘If my father is involved in anything, he’ll be the leader,’ said William flatly. ‘If you don’t know that you don’t know the de Wordes. We don’t join any team if we can’t be captain.’

  ‘But it’d be a bit silly, wouldn’t it, to let them use your own house—’

  ‘No, just very, very arrogant,’ said William. ‘We’ve always been privileged, you see. Privilege just means “private law”. That’s exactly what it means. He just doesn’t believe the ordinary laws apply to him. He doesn’t really believe they can touch him, and if they do he’ll just shout until they go away. That’s the de Worde tradition, and we’re good at it. Shout at people, get your own way, ignore the rules. It’s the de Worde way. Up until me, obviously.’

  Sacharissa was careful not to let her expression change.

  ‘And I didn’t expect this,’ William finished, turning the box over and over in his hands.

  ‘You said you wanted to get at the truth, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but not this! I … must have got something wrong. I must have. I must have. Even my father couldn’t be this … this stupid. I’ve got to find out what’s really been happening.’

  ‘You’re not going to see him, are you?’ said Sacharissa.

  ‘Yes. By now he’ll know it’s over.’

  ‘Then you ought to take someone with you!’

  ‘No!’ snapped William. ‘Look, you don’t know what my father’s friends are like. They are brought up to give orders, they know that they’re on the right side because if they are on it then it must be the right side, by definition, and when they feel threatened they are bare-knuckle fighters, except that they never take their gloves off. They are thugs. Thugs and bullies, bullies, and the worst kind of bully, because they aren’t cowards and if you stand up to them they only hit you harder. They grew up in a world where, if you were enough trouble, they could have you … disappeared. You think places like the Shades are bad? Then you don’t know what goes on in Park Lane! And my father is one of the worst. But I’m family. We … care about family. So I’ll be all right. You stay here and help them get the paper out, will you? Half a truth is better than nothing,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘Vot vas all zat about?’ said Otto, coming up as William strode out of the room.

  ‘Oh, he’s … he’s off to see his father,’ said Sacharissa, still taken aback. ‘Who is not a nice man, apparently. He was very … heated about him. Very upset.’

  ‘’scuse me,’ said a voice. The girl turned, but there was no one behind her.

  Now the invisible speaker sighed. ‘No, down here,’ it said. She looked down at the malformed pink poodle.

  ‘Let’s not mess around, eh?’ it said. ‘Yeah, yeah, dogs can’t talk. Got it in one, well done. So maybe you’ve got some strange ment’l power. That’s that sorted out, then. I couldn’t help overhearin’, ’cos I was listenin’. The lad’s heading into trouble, right? I can smell trouble—’

  ‘Are you some kind of verevolf?’ said Otto.

  ‘Yeah, right, I get very hairy every full moon,’ said the dog dismissively. ‘Imagine how much that interferes with my social life. Now, look—’

  ‘But surely dogs can’t talk—’ Sacharissa began.

  ‘Oh dear oh dear oh dear,’ said Gaspode. ‘Did I say I was talking?’

  ‘Well, not in so many words—’

  ‘Right. Wonderful thing, phenomenology. Now, I just seen a hundred dollars walk out the door and I want to see it walk back, right? Lord de Worde is as nasty a piece of work as you’ll find in this town.’

  ‘You know nobility?’ said Sacharissa.

  ‘A cat can look at a king, right? That’s legal.’

  ‘I suppose so—’

  ‘So it works for dogs, too. Got to work for dogs if it works for ratbag moggies. I know everyone, I do. Lord de Worde used to get his butler to put down poisoned meat for the street dogs.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t hurt William, would he?’

  ‘I’m not a betting man,’ said Gaspode. ‘But if he does, right, we still get the hundred dollars, yes?’

  ‘Ve cannot stand by and let him do zis,
’ said Otto. ‘I like Villiam. He was not brought up nice but he tries to be a nice person, vithout even cocoa and a singsong to help him. It is hard to go against your nature. Ve must … help him.’

  Death placed the final hourglass back on to the air, where it faded away.

  THERE, he said, WASN’T THAT INTERESTING? WHAT NEXT, MR TULIP? ARE YOU READY TO GO?

  The figure sat on the cold sand, staring at nothing.

  MR TULIP? Death repeated. The wind flapped his robe, so that it streamed out a long ribbon of darkness.

  ‘I … got to be really sorry …?’

  OH YES. IT IS SUCH A SIMPLE WORD. BUT HERE … IT HAS MEANING. IT HAS … SUBSTANCE.

  ‘Yeah. I know.’ Mr Tulip looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, his face puffy. ‘I reckon … to be that sorry, you got to take a —ing good run at it.’

  YES.

  ‘So … how long have I got?’

  Death looked up at the strange stars.

  ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD.

  ‘Yeah … well, maybe that’ll —ing do it. Maybe there won’t be no more world to go back to by then.’

  I BELIEVE IT DOES NOT WORK LIKE THAT. I UNDERSTAND REINCARNATION CAN TAKE PLACE ANYWHEN. WHO SAYS LIVES ARE SERIAL?

  ‘You sayin’ … I could be alive before I was born?’

  YES.

  ‘Maybe I can find me and kill myself,’ said Mr Tulip, staring at the sand.

  NO, BECAUSE YOU WILL NEVER KNOW. AND YOU MAY BE LEADING QUITE A DIFFERENT LIFE.

  ‘Good …’

  Death patted Mr Tulip on the shoulder, which flinched under his touch.

  I SHALL LEAVE YOU NOW—

  ‘Th’t’s a good scythe you got there,’ said Mr Tulip, slowly and laboriously. ‘That silverwork’s craftsmanship if ever I saw it.’

  THANK YOU, said Death. AND NOW, I REALLY MUST BE GOING. BUT I WILL PASS THROUGH HERE SOMETIMES. MY DOOR, he added, IS ALWAYS OPEN.

  He strode off. The hunched figure fell behind into the darkness, but a new one appeared, running madly across the not-exactly-sand.

  It was waving a potato on a string. It stopped when it saw Death and then, to Death’s amazement, turned to look behind it. This had never happened before. Most people, upon coming face to face with Death, ceased worrying about anything behind them.