When the man and his hilarious vegetable had been dealt with, William wandered out into the printing shop. The dwarfs were talking in a group, around a trapdoor in the floor.
'Pump's frozen again,' said Goodmountain. 'Can't mix up any more ink. Old man Cheese says there used to be a well somewhere round here...'
There was a shout from below. A couple of dwarfs descended the ladder.
'Mr Goodmountain, can you think of any reason I should put this in the paper?' said William, handing him Sacharissa's report of the Flowers and Cookery meeting. It's a bit... dull...'
The dwarf read the copy. There's seventy-three reasons,' he said. 'That's 'cos there's seventy-three names. I expect people like to see their names in the paper.'
'But what about the naked man?'
'Yeah... shame she didn't get his name.'
There was another shout from below.
'Shall we have a look?' said Goodmountain.
To William's complete lack of surprise, the little cellar under the shed was much better built than the shed itself. But then, practically everywhere in Ankh-Morpork had cellars that were once the first or even second or third floors of ancient buildings, built at the time of one of the city's empires when men thought that the future was going to last for ever. And then the river had flooded and brought mud with it, and walls had gone higher and, now, what Ankh-Morpork was built on was mostly Ankh-Morpork. People said that anyone with a good sense of direction and a
pickaxe could cross the city underground by simply knocking holes in walls.
Rusted tins and piles of timber rotted to tissue strength were piled up against one wall. And in the middle of the wall was a bricked-up doorway, the more recent bricks already looking worn and tatty compared to the ancient stone surrounding them.
'What's through there?' said Boddony.
The old street, probably,' said William.
The street has a cellar? What does it keep there?'
'Oh, when parts of the city get badly flooded people just keep building on up,' said William. This was probably a ground-floor room once, you see. People just bricked up the doors and windows and built on another storey. In some parts of the city, they say, there's six or seven levels underground. Mostly full of mud. And that's choosing my words with care--'
'I am looking for Mister William der Worde,' rumbled a voice above them.
An enormous troll was blocking out the light from the cellar trapdoor.
That's me,' said William.
'Der Patrician will see you now,' said the troll.
'I don't have an appointment with Lord Vetinari!'
'Ah, well,' said the troll, 'you'd be amazed at how many people has appointments wid der Patrician an' dey don't know it. So you'd better hurry. I would hurry, if I was you.'
There was no sound but the ticking of the clock. William watched in apprehension as, apparently forgetting his presence, Lord Vetinari read his way through the Times again.
'What a very... interesting document,' said the Patrician, suddenly laying it aside. 'But I'm forced to ask... Why?
'It's just my news sheet,' said William, 'but bigger. Er... people like to know things.'
'Which people?'
'Well... everyone, really.'
'Do they? Did they tell you this?'
William swallowed. 'Well... no. But you know I've been writing my news letter for some time now--'
'For various foreign notables and similar people.' Lord Vetinari nodded. 'People who need to know. Knowing things is part of their profession. But you are selling this to anyone in the street, is that correct?'