‘I didn’t think dwarfs were religious,’ said William.
‘We’re not,’ said Goodmountain. ‘But we know unholy when we see it, and I’m looking at it right now, I’m telling you. I don’t want any more of these, these … prints of darkness!’
William grimaced. It shows the truth, he thought. But how do we know the truth when we see it? The Ephebian philosophers think that a hare can never outrun a tortoise, and they can prove it. Is that the truth? I heard a wizard say that everything is made of little numbers, whizzing around so fast that they become stuff. Is that true? I think a lot of things that have been happening over the last few days are not what they seem, and I don’t know why I think that, but I think it’s not the truth …
‘Yes, no more of this stuff, Otto,’ he said.
‘Damn right,’ said Goodmountain.
‘Let’s just try to get back to normal and get a paper out, shall we?’
‘You mean normal where mad priests start to collect dogs, or normal where vampires mess around with evil shadows?’ said Gowdie.
‘I mean like normal before that,’ said William.
‘Oh, I see. You mean like back in the old days,’ said Gowdie.
After a while, though, silence settled on the press room, although there was an occasional sniff from the desk opposite.
William wrote a story about the fire. That was easy. Then he tried to write a coherent account of the recent events, but found he couldn’t get beyond the first word. He’d written ‘The’. It was a reliable word, the definite article. The trouble was, all the things he was definite about were bad.
He’d expected to … what? Inform people? Yes. Annoy people? Well, some people, at least. What he hadn’t expected was that it wouldn’t make any difference. The paper came out, and it didn’t matter.
People just seemed to accept things. What was the point of writing another story on the Vetinari business? Well, of course, it had a lot of dogs in it, and there was always a lot of human interest in a story about animals.
‘What did you expect?’ said Sacharissa, as if she was reading his thoughts. ‘Did you think people would be marching in the streets? Vetinari isn’t a very nice man, from what I hear. People say he probably deserves to be locked up.’
‘Are you saying people aren’t interested in the truth?’
‘Listen, what’s true to a lot of people is that they need the money for the rent by the end of the week. Look at Mr Ron and his friends. What’s the truth mean to them? They live under a bridge!’
She held up a piece of lined paper, crammed edge to edge with the careful looped handwriting of someone for whom holding a pen was not a familiar activity.
‘This is a report of the annual meeting of the Ankh-Morpork Caged Birds Society,’ she said. ‘They’re just ordinary people who breed canaries and things as a hobby. Their chairman lives next door to me, which is why he gave me this. This stuff is important to him! My goodness, but it’s dull. It’s all about Best of Breed and some changes in the show rules about parrots which they argued about for two hours. But the people who were arguing were people who mostly spend their day mincing meat or sawing wood and basically leading little lives that are controlled by other people, do you see? They’ve got no say in who runs the city but they can damn well see to it that cockatoos aren’t lumped in with parrots. It’s not their fault. It’s just how things are. Why are you sitting there with your mouth open like that?’
William closed his mouth. ‘All right, I understand—’
‘No, I don’t think you do,’ she snapped. ‘I looked you up in Twurp’s Peerage. Your family have never had to worry about the small stuff, have they? They’ve been some of the people who really run things. This … paper is a kind of hobby for you, isn’t it? Oh, you believe in it, I’m sure you do, but if it all goes wahoonie-shaped you’ll still have money. I won’t. So if the way it can be kept going is by filling it with what you sneer at as olds, then that’s what I’ll do.’
‘I don’t have money! I make my own living!’
‘Yes, but you were able to choose! Anyway, aristocrats don’t like to see other toffs starving. They find them silly jobs to do for serious wages—’
She stopped, panting, and pushed some hair out of her eyes. Then she looked at him like someone who has lit the fuse and is now wondering if the barrel at the other end is bigger than they thought.
William opened his mouth, went to shape a word, and stopped. He did it again. Finally, a little hoarsely, he said: ‘You’re more or less right—’
‘The next word’s going to be “but”, I just know it,’ said Sacharissa.
William was aware that the printers were all watching. ‘Yes, it is—’
‘Aha!’
‘But it’s a big but. Do you mind? It’s important! Someone has to care about the … the big truth. What Vetinari mostly does not do is a lot of harm. We’ve had rulers who were completely crazy and very, very nasty. And it wasn’t that long ago, either. Vetinari might not be “a very nice man”, but I had breakfast today with someone who’d be a lot worse if he ran the city, and there are lots more like him. And what’s happening now is wrong. And as for your damn parrot fanciers, if they don’t care about anything much beyond things that go squawk in cages then one day there’ll be someone in charge of this place who’ll make them choke on their own budgies. You want that to happen? If we don’t make an effort all they’ll get is silly … stories about talking dogs and Elves Ate My Gerbil, so don’t give me lectures on what’s important and what’s not, understand?’
They glared at one another.
‘Don’t you talk to me like that.’
‘Don’t you talk to me like that.’
‘We’re not getting enough advertising. The Inquirer’s getting huge adverts from the big Guilds,’ said Sacharissa. ‘That’s what’ll keep us going, not stories about how much gold weighs.’
‘What am I supposed to do about it?’
‘Find a way of getting more ads!’
‘That’s not my job!’ William shouted.
‘It’s part of saving your job! We’re just getting penny-a-line advertisements from people wanting to sell surgical supports and backache cures!’
‘So? The pennies add up!’
‘So you want us to be known as The Paper You Can Put Your Truss In?’
‘Er … excuse me, but are we producing an edition?’ said Goodmountain. ‘Not that we aren’t enjoying all this, but the colour’s going to take a lot of extra time.’
William and Sacharissa looked round. They were the focus of attention.
‘Look, I know this means a lot to you,’ said Sacharissa, lowering her voice, ‘but all this … political stuff, this is the Watch’s job, not ours. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘They’re stuck. That’s what Vimes was telling me.’
Sacharissa stared at his frozen expression. Then she leaned over and, to his shock, patted his hand.
‘Perhaps you are having an effect, then.’
‘Hah!’
‘Well, if they’re going to pardon Vetinari, maybe it’s because they’re worried about you.’
‘Hah! Anyway, who are “they”?’
‘Well … you know … them. The people who run things. They notice things. They probably read the paper.’
William gave her a wan smile. ‘Tomorrow we’ll find someone to get more ads,’ he said. ‘And we’ll definitely need those extra staff. Er … I’m going to go for a little walk,’ he added. ‘And I’ll get you that key.’