The ban on movable type wasn't exactly a law. But he knew the
engravers didn't like it, because they had the world operating just as they wanted it, thank you very much. And Lord Vetinari was said not to like it, because too many words only upset people. And the wizards and the priests didn't like it because words were important.
An engraved page was an engraved page, complete and unique. But if you took the leaden letters that had previously been used to set the words of a god, and then used them to set a cookery book, what did that do to the holy wisdom? For that matter, what would it do to the pie? As for printing a book of spells, and then using the same type for a book of navigation - well, the voyage might go anywhere.
On cue, because history likes neatness, he heard the sound of a carriage drawing up in the street outside. A few moments later Lord Vetinari stepped inside and stood leaning heavily on his stick and surveying the room with mild interest.
'Why... Lord de Worde,' he said, looking surprised. I had no idea that you were involved in this enterprise
William coloured as he hurried over to the city's supreme ruler. 'It's Mister de Worde, my lord.'
'Ah, yes. Of course. Indeed.' Lord Vetinari's gaze traversed the inky room, paused a moment on the pile of madly smiling rocking horses, and then took in the toiling dwarfs. 'Yes. Of course. And are you in charge?'
'No one is, my lord,' said William. 'But Mr Goodmountain over there seems to do most of the talking.'
'So what exactly is your purpose here?'
'Er...' William paused, which he knew was never a good tactic with the Patrician. 'Frankly, sir, it's warm, my office is freezing, and... well, it's fascinating. Look, I know it's not really--'
Lord Vetinari nodded and raised a hand. 'Be so good as to ask Mr Goodmountain to come over here, will you?'
William tried to whisper a few instructions into Gunilla's ear as he hustled him over to the tall figure of the Patrician.
'Ah, good,' said the Patrician. 'Now, I would just like to ask one or two questions, if I may?'
Goodmountain nodded.
'Firstly, is Mr Cut-My-Own-Throat Dibbler involved in this enterprise in any significant managerial capacity?'
'What?' said William. He hadn't been expecting this.
'Shifty fellow, sells sausages--'
'Oh, him. No. Just the dwarfs.'
'I see. And is this building built on a crack in space-time?'
'What?' said Gunilla.
The Patrician sighed. 'When one has been ruler of this city as long as I have,' he said, 'one gets to know with a sad certainty that whenever some well-meaning soul begins a novel enterprise they always, with some kind of uncanny foresight, site it at the point where it will do maximum harm to the fabric of reality. There was that Holy Wood moving picture fiasco a few years ago, yes? And that Music with Rocks In business not long after, we never got to the bottom of that. And of course the wizards seem to break into the Dungeon Dimensions so often they might as well install a revolving door. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you what happened when the late Mr Hong chose to open his Three Jolly Luck Take-Away Fish Bar in Dagon Street during the lunar eclipse. Yes? You see, gentlemen, it would be nice to think that someone, somewhere in this city, is engaged in some simple enterprise that is hot going to end up causing tentacled monsters and dread apparitions to stalk the streets eating people. So... ?'
'What?' said Goodmountain.
'We haven't noticed any cracks,' said William.
'Ah, but possibly on this very site a strange cult once engaged in eldritch rites, the very essence of which permeated the neighbourhood, and which seeks only the rite, ahah, circumstances to once again arise and walk around eating people?'
'What?' said Gunilla. He looked helplessly at William, who could only add:
They made rocking horses here.'
'Really? I've always thought there was something slightly sinister about rocking horses,' said Lord Vetinari, but he looked subtly disappointed. Then he brightened up. He pointed to the big stone on which the type was arranged. 'Aha,' he said. 'Innocently taken from the overgrown ruins of a megalithic stone circle, this stone is redolent with the blood of thousands, I have no doubt, who will emerge to seek revenge, you may depend upon it.'
'It was cut specially for me by my brother,' said Gunilla. 'And I don't have to take that kind of talk, mister. Who do you think you are, coming in here and talking daft like that?'
William stepped forward at a healthy fraction of the speed of terror.
'I wonder if I might just take Mr Goodmountain aside and explain one or two things to him?' he said quickly.