more than a hundred dollars, too. Oh, he acquires other people’s money, in a safe and secret and not very clever way. Send…yes, send Clerk Brian.”
“Brian, sir?” said Drumknott. “Are you sure? He’s wonderful at devices, but quite inept on the street. He’ll be seen.”
“Yes, Drumknott. I know. I would like Mr. Horsefry to become a little… more nervous.”
“Ah, I see, sir.”
Vetinari turned around.
“Tell me, Drumknott,” he said, “would you say I’m a tyrant?”
“Most certainly not, my lord,” said Drumknott, tidying the desk.
“But of course that’s the problem, is it not? Who will tell the tyrant he is a tyrant?”
“That’s a tricky one, my lord, certainly,” said Drumknott, squaring up the files.
“In his Thoughts , which I have always considered to fare badly in translation, Bouffant says that intervening in order to prevent a murder is to curtail the freedom of the murderer and yet that freedom, by definition, is natural and universal, without condition,” said Vetinari. “You may recall his famous dictum: ‘If any man is not free, then I, too, am a small pie made of chicken,’ which has led to a considerable amount of debate. Thus we might consider, for example, that taking a bottle from a man killing himself with drink is a charitable, nay, praiseworthy act, and yet freedom is curtailed once more. Mr. Gilt has studied his Bouffant but, I fear, failed to understand him. Freedom may be mankind’s natural state, but so is sitting in a tree eating your dinner while it is still wriggling. On the other hand, Freidegger, in Modal Contextities , claims that all freedom is limited, artificial, and therefore illusory, a shared hallucination at best. No sane mortal is truly free, because true freedom is so terrible that only the mad or the divine can face it with open eyes. It overwhelms the soul, very much like the state he elsewhere describes as Vonallesvolkommenunverstandlichdasdaskeit . What position would you take here, Drumknott?”
“I’ve always thought, my lord, that what the world really needs are filing boxes which are not so flimsy,” said Drumknott, after a moment’s pause.
“Hmm,” said Lord Vetinari. “A point to think about, certainly.”
He stopped. On the carved decorations over the room’s fireplace, a small cherub began to turn with a faint squeaking noise. Vetinari raised an eyebrow at Drumknott.
“I shall have a word with Clerk Brian immediately, my lord,” said the clerk.
“Good. Tell him it’s time he got out into the fresh air more…”
CHAPTER 4
A Sign
Dark clerks and dead postmasters
• A werewolf in the Watch • The wonderful pin
• Mr. Lipwig reads letters that are not there
• Hugo the hairdresser is surprised
• Mr. Parker buys fripperies • The nature of social
untruths • Princess in the tower
• “A man is not dead while his name is still spoken.”
“N OW T HEN , Mr. Lipwig, What Good Will Violence Do?” Mr. Pump rumbled. He rocked on his huge feet as Moist struggled in his grip.
Groat and Stanley were huddled at the far end of the locker room. One of Mr. Groat’s natural remedies was bubbling over onto the floor, where the boards were staining purple.
“They were all accidents, Mr. Lipwig! All accidents!” Groat babbled. “The Watch was all over the place by the fourth one! They were all accidents, they said!”
“Oh, yes !” screamed Moist. “Four in five weeks, eh? I bet that happens all the time around here! Ye gods, I’ve been done up good and brown! I’m dead, right? Just not lying down yet! Vetinari? There’s a man who knows how to save the price of a rope! I’m done for!”
“You’ll feel better for a nice cup o’ bismuth-and-brimstone tea, sir,” Groat quavered. “I’ve got the kettle boiling—”
“A cup of tea is not going to be sufficient!” Moist got a grip on himself, or at least began to act as if he had, and took a deep, theatrical breath. “Okay, okay, Mr. Pump, you
“Brian, sir?” said Drumknott. “Are you sure? He’s wonderful at devices, but quite inept on the street. He’ll be seen.”
“Yes, Drumknott. I know. I would like Mr. Horsefry to become a little… more nervous.”
“Ah, I see, sir.”
Vetinari turned around.
“Tell me, Drumknott,” he said, “would you say I’m a tyrant?”
“Most certainly not, my lord,” said Drumknott, tidying the desk.
“But of course that’s the problem, is it not? Who will tell the tyrant he is a tyrant?”
“That’s a tricky one, my lord, certainly,” said Drumknott, squaring up the files.
“In his Thoughts , which I have always considered to fare badly in translation, Bouffant says that intervening in order to prevent a murder is to curtail the freedom of the murderer and yet that freedom, by definition, is natural and universal, without condition,” said Vetinari. “You may recall his famous dictum: ‘If any man is not free, then I, too, am a small pie made of chicken,’ which has led to a considerable amount of debate. Thus we might consider, for example, that taking a bottle from a man killing himself with drink is a charitable, nay, praiseworthy act, and yet freedom is curtailed once more. Mr. Gilt has studied his Bouffant but, I fear, failed to understand him. Freedom may be mankind’s natural state, but so is sitting in a tree eating your dinner while it is still wriggling. On the other hand, Freidegger, in Modal Contextities , claims that all freedom is limited, artificial, and therefore illusory, a shared hallucination at best. No sane mortal is truly free, because true freedom is so terrible that only the mad or the divine can face it with open eyes. It overwhelms the soul, very much like the state he elsewhere describes as Vonallesvolkommenunverstandlichdasdaskeit . What position would you take here, Drumknott?”
“I’ve always thought, my lord, that what the world really needs are filing boxes which are not so flimsy,” said Drumknott, after a moment’s pause.
“Hmm,” said Lord Vetinari. “A point to think about, certainly.”
He stopped. On the carved decorations over the room’s fireplace, a small cherub began to turn with a faint squeaking noise. Vetinari raised an eyebrow at Drumknott.
“I shall have a word with Clerk Brian immediately, my lord,” said the clerk.
“Good. Tell him it’s time he got out into the fresh air more…”
CHAPTER 4
A Sign
Dark clerks and dead postmasters
• A werewolf in the Watch • The wonderful pin
• Mr. Lipwig reads letters that are not there
• Hugo the hairdresser is surprised
• Mr. Parker buys fripperies • The nature of social
untruths • Princess in the tower
• “A man is not dead while his name is still spoken.”
“N OW T HEN , Mr. Lipwig, What Good Will Violence Do?” Mr. Pump rumbled. He rocked on his huge feet as Moist struggled in his grip.
Groat and Stanley were huddled at the far end of the locker room. One of Mr. Groat’s natural remedies was bubbling over onto the floor, where the boards were staining purple.
“They were all accidents, Mr. Lipwig! All accidents!” Groat babbled. “The Watch was all over the place by the fourth one! They were all accidents, they said!”
“Oh, yes !” screamed Moist. “Four in five weeks, eh? I bet that happens all the time around here! Ye gods, I’ve been done up good and brown! I’m dead, right? Just not lying down yet! Vetinari? There’s a man who knows how to save the price of a rope! I’m done for!”
“You’ll feel better for a nice cup o’ bismuth-and-brimstone tea, sir,” Groat quavered. “I’ve got the kettle boiling—”
“A cup of tea is not going to be sufficient!” Moist got a grip on himself, or at least began to act as if he had, and took a deep, theatrical breath. “Okay, okay, Mr. Pump, you
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