'Yes, my lord, he can,' said Mr Slant. 'I'm afraid he can. The right to free speech is a fine old Ankh-Morpork tradition.'
'Good heavens, is it?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'How did that one survive?'
'I couldn't say, my lord,' said Slant. 'But Mr de Worde,' he added, staring at William, 'is, I believe, a young man who would not go out of his way to upset the smooth running of the city.'
William smiled at him politely, nodded to the rest of the company and walked back across the courtyard and out into the street. He waited until he was some distance away before he burst out laughing.
A week went past. It was notable because of the things that didn 't happen. There was no protest from Mr Carney or the Engravers' Guild. William wondered if he had been carefully moved into the 'to be left alone' file. After all, people might be thinking, Vetinari probably owed the Times a favour, and no one would want to be that favour, would they? There was no visit from the Watch, either. There had been rather more street cleaners around than usual, but after William sent a hundred dollars to Harry King, plus a bouquet for Mrs King, Gleam Street was no longer gleaming. They'd moved to another shed while the old one was being rebuilt. Mr Cheese had been easy to deal with. He just wanted money. You know where you stand with simple people like that, even if it is with your hand in your wallet.
A new press had been rolled in, and once again money had made the effort almost frictionless. It had already been substantially redesigned by the dwarfs.
This shed was smaller than the old one, but Sacharissa had contrived to partition off a tiny editorial space. She'd put a potted plant and a coat rack in it, and talked excitedly of the space they'd have when the new building was finished, but William reckoned that however big it was it would never be neat. Newspaper people thought the floor was a big flat filing cabinet.
He had a new desk, too. In fact it was better than a new desk; it was a genuine antique one, made of genuine walnut, inlaid with leather, and with two inkwells, lots of drawers and genuine woodworm. At a desk like that a man could write.
They hadn't brought the spike.
William was pondering over a letter from the Ankh-Morpork League of Decency when the sense that someone was standing nearby made him look up.
Sacharissa had ushered in a small group of strangers, although after a second or two he recognized one of them as the late Mr Bendy, who was merely strange.
'You remember you said we ought to get more writers?' she said. 'You know Mr Bendy, and this is Mrs Tilly' - a small white-haired woman bobbed a curtsey to William - 'who likes cats and really nasty murders, and Mr O'Biscuit' - a rangy young man - 'who's all the way from Fourecks and looking for a job before he goes home.'
'Really? What did you do in Fourecks, Mr O'Biscuit?'
I was at Bugarup University, mate.'
'You're a wizard?'
'No, mate. They threw me out, 'cos of what I wrote in the student magazine.'
'What was that?'
'Everything, really.'
'Oh. And... Mrs Tilly, I think you wrote a lovely well-spelled and grammatical letter to us suggesting that everyone under the age of eighteen should be flogged once a week to stop them being so noisy?'
'Once a day, Mr de Worde,' said Mrs Tilly. 'That'll teach 'em to go around being young!'
William hesitated. But the press needed feeding, and he and Sacharissa needed time off. Rocky was supplying some sports news, and while it was unreadable to William he put it in on the basis that anyone keen on sport probably couldn't read. There had to be more staff. It was worth a try.
'Very well, then,' he said. 'We'll give you all a trial, starting right-- Oh.'
He stood up. Everyone turned round to see why.
'Please don't bother,' said Lord Vetinari from the doorway. 'This is meant to be an informal visit. Taking on new staff, I see?'
The Patrician walked across the floor, followed by Drumknott.
'Er, yes,' said William. 'Are you all right, sir?'
'Oh, yes. Busy, of course. Such a lot of reading to catch up on. But I thought I should take a moment to come and see this "free press" Commander Vimes has told me about at considerable length.' He tapped one of the iron pillars of the press with his cane. 'However, it appears to be firmly bolted down.'
'Er, no, sir. I mean "free" in the sense of what is printed, sir,' said William.