The Truth

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,” said Lord Vetinari. “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.
    “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 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, you being imprisoned, a plague of dogs, the place catching on fire, you 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 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.”
    “Well…all right. I’ll just finish this report—”
    “Messages for you, Mr. William,” said one of the dwarfs, dropping a pile of paper on his desk. William grunted, and glanced through them. There were a few test clackses from Lancre and Sto Lat, and already he could see that pretty soon he’d have to go out into the country to train some real, yes, reporters of news, because he could see there was only a limited future in these earnest missives from village grocers and publicans who’d be paid a penny a line. There were a couple of carrier pigeon messages, too, from those people who couldn’t get a grip on the new technology.
    “Ye gods,” he said, under his breath. “The Mayor of Quirm has been struck by a meteorite… again .”
    “Can that happen?” said