The Truth (Discworld, #25; Industrial Revolution, #2)

by Terry Pratchett

“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 really believes they can’t touch him, and that if they do he can 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.”

“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.

The worst part, the worst part, was that Lord de Worde was never wrong. It was not a position he understood in relation to his personal geography. People who took an opposing view were insane, or dangerous, or possibly even not really people. You couldn’t have an argument with Lord de Worde. Not a proper argument. An argument, from arguer, meant to debate and discuss and persuade by reason. What you could have with William’s father was a flaming row.

“I just want to hear the truth from you.” Lord de Worde sighed. “The truth? I had the best interests of the city at heart, you know. You’ll understand, one day. Vetinari is ruining the place.” “Yes . . . well . . . that’s where it all becomes difficult, doesn’t it?” said William, amazed that his voice hadn’t even begun to shake yet. “I mean, everyone says that sort of thing, don’t they? ‘I did it for the best,’ ‘the end justifies the means’ . . . the same words, every time.” “Don’t you agree, then, that it’s time for a ruler who listens to the people?” “Maybe. Which people did you have in mind?”

“Well, publish and be damned to you, and to the Watch. We gave no order to—” “I expect you didn’t,” said William. “I expect you said ‘make it so’ and left the details to people like Pin and Tulip. Bloody hands at arm’s length.” “As your father I order you to cease this . . . this . . .” “You used to order me to tell the truth,” said William. Lord de Worde drew himself up. “Oh, William, William! Don’t be so naive.” William shut his notebook. The words came easier now. He’d leapt from the building and found that he could fly.

which one is this?” he said. “The truth that is so precious it must be surrounded by a bodyguard of lies? The truth that is stranger than fiction? Or the truth that is still putting on its boots when a lie is running around the world?” he went on, stepping forward. “That’s your little phrase, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter anymore. I think Mr. Pin was going to try blackmail and, you know, so am I, naive as I am. You’re going to leave the city, right now. That shouldn’t be too hard for you. And you had better hope that nothing happens to me, or anyone I work with, or anyone I know.” “Really?”

“And this is . . .?” said Lord de Worde. “There’s more than twenty thousand dollars in there, as close as a couple of experts could estimate,” said William. “I didn’t have a lot of time to work it out and I didn’t want you to think I was being unfair, so I’ve erred on the generous side. That must cover everything I’ve cost you, over the years. School fees, clothes, everything. I have to confess you didn’t make such a good job of it, given that I’m the end result. I’m buying myself off you, you see.” “Oh, I see. The dramatic gesture. Do you really think that family is a matter of money?” said Lord de Worde. “We-ll, yes, according to history. Money, land, and titles,” said William. “It’s amazing how often we failed to marry anyone who didn’t have at least two out of three.” “Cheap jibe. You know what I mean.” “I don’t know if I do,” said William. “But I do know I got that money a few hours ago off a man who tried to kill me.”

“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?”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Yep,” said Sacharissa, still bowed over her writing. “We’ve been press-ganged.” “But it’s not—” “Look at it like this,” said Sacharissa, starting a fresh page. “Some people are heroes. And some people jot down notes.” “Yes, but that’s not very—” Sacharissa glanced up, and flashed him a smile. “Sometimes they’re the same person,” she said. This time it was William who looked down modestly. “You think that’s really true?” he said. She shrugged. “Really true? Who knows? This is a newspaper, isn’t it? It just has to be true until tomorrow.”

And, a few inches under his hand, a woodworm chewed its way contentedly through the ancient timber. Reincarnation enjoys a joke as much as the next philosophical hypothesis. As it chewed, the woodworm thought: This is —ing good wood! Because nothing has to be true forever. Just for long enough, to tell you the truth.