This is a very long excerpt, but it has a) the frozen ink scene (Havelock, my love, why do you opt for brisk temperatures in your office?), b) the "transparent motives" bit AND c) Vetinari's musings on the importance of accepting progress. The bolded passages are those that I find funny or poignant.
Lord Vetinari, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, poked at the ink in his inkwell. There was ice in it.
‘Don’t you even have a proper fire?’ said Hughnon Ridcully, Chief Priest of Blind Io and unofficial spokesman for the city’s religious establishment. ‘I mean, I’m not one for stuffy rooms, but it’s freezing in here!’
‘Brisk, certainly,’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘It’s odd, but the ice isn’t as dark as the rest of the ink. What causes that, do you think?’
‘Science, probably,’ said Hughnon vaguely. Like his wizardly brother, Archchancellor Mustrum, he didn’t like to bother himself with patently silly questions. Both gods and magic required solid, sensible men, and the brothers Ridcully were solid as rocks. And, in some respects, as sensible.
‘Ah. Anyway … you were saying?’
‘You must put a stop to this, Havelock. You know the … understanding.’
Vetinari seemed engrossed in the ink. ‘Must, your reverence?’ he said calmly, without looking up.
‘You know why we’re all against this movable type nonsense!’
‘Remind me again … Look, it bobs up and down…’ Hughnon sighed. ‘Words are too important to be left to machinery. We’ve got nothing against engraving, you know that. We’ve nothing against words being nailed down properly. But words that can be taken apart and used to make other words … well, that’s downright dangerous. And I thought you weren’t in favour, either?’
‘Broadly, yes,’ said the Patrician. ‘But many years of ruling this city, your reverence, have taught me that you cannot apply brakes to a volcano. Sometimes it is best to let these things run their course. They generally die down again after a while.’
‘You have not always taken such a relaxed approach, Havelock,’ said Hughnon.
The Patrician gave him a cool stare that went on for a couple of seconds beyond the comfort barrier. ‘Flexibility and understanding have always been my watchwords,’ he said.
‘My god, have they?’
‘Indeed. And what I would like you and your brother to understand now, your reverence, in a flexible way, is that this enterprise is being undertaken by dwarfs. And do you know where the largest dwarf city is, your reverence?’
‘What? Oh … let’s see … there’s that place in—’
‘Yes, everyone starts by saying that. But it’s Ankh-Morpork, in fact. There are more than fifty thousand dwarfs here now.’
‘Surely not?’
‘I assure you. We have currently very good relationships with the dwarf communities in Copperhead and Uberwald. In dealings with the dwarfs I have seen to it that the city’s hand of friendship is permanently outstretched in a slightly downward direction. And in this current cold snap I am sure we are all very glad that bargeloads of coal and lamp oil are coming down from the dwarf mines every day. Do you catch my meaning?’
Hughnon glanced at the fireplace. Against all probability, one lump of coal was smouldering all by itself.
‘And of course,’ the Patrician went on, ‘it is increasingly hard to ignore this new type, aha, of printing when vast printeries now exist in the Agatean Empire and, as I am sure you are aware, in Omnia. And from Omnia, as you no doubt know, the Omnians export huge amounts of their holy Book of Om and these pamphlets they’re so keen on.’
‘Evangelical nonsense,’ said Hughnon. ‘You should have banned them long ago.’
Once again the stare went on a good deal too long.
‘Ban a religion, your reverence?’
‘Well, when I say ban, I mean—’
‘I’m sure no one could call me a despot, your reverence,’ said Lord Vetinari severely.
Hughnon Ridcully made a misjudged attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Not twice at any rate, ahaha.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said … not twice at any rate … ahaha.’
‘I do apologize, but you seem to have lost me there.’
‘It was, uh, a minor witticism, Hav— my lord.’
‘Oh. Yes. Ahah,’ said Vetinari, and the words withered in the air. ‘No, I’m afraid you will find that the Omnians are quite free to distribute their good news about Om. But take heart! Surely you have some good news about Io?’
‘What? Oh. Yes, of course. He had a bit of a cold last month, but he’s up and about again.’
‘Capital. That is good news. No doubt these printers will happily spread the word on your behalf. I’m sure they will work to your exacting requirements.’
‘And these are your reasons, my lord?’
‘Do you think I have others?’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘My motives, as ever, are entirely transparent.’
Hughnon reflected that ‘entirely transparent’ meant either that you could see right through them or that you couldn’t see them at all.
Lord Vetinari shuffled through a file of paper. ‘However, the Guild of Engravers has put its rates up three times in the past year.’
‘Ah. I see,’ said Hughnon.
‘A civilization runs on words, your reverence. Civilization is words. Which, on the whole, should not be too expensive. The world turns, your reverence, and we must spin with it.’ He smiled. ‘Once upon a time nations fought like great grunting beasts in a swamp. Ankh-Morpork ruled a large part of that swamp because it had the best claws. But today gold has taken the place of steel and, my goodness, the Ankh-Morpork dollar seems to be the currency of choice. Tomorrow … perhaps the weaponry will be just words. The most words, the quickest words, the last words. Look out of the window. Tell me what you see.’
‘Fog,’ said the Chief Priest.
Vetinari sighed. Sometimes the weather had no sense of narrative convenience. ‘If it was a fine day,’ he said sharply, ‘you would see the big semaphore tower on the other side of the river. Words flying back and forth from every corner of the continent. Not long ago it would take me the better part of a month to exchange letters with our ambassador in Genua. Now I can have a reply tomorrow. Certain things become easier, but this makes them harder in other ways. We have to change the way we think. We have to move with the times. Have you heard of c-commerce?’
‘Certainly. The merchant ships are always—’
‘I mean that you may now send a clacks all the way to Genua to order a … a pint of prawns, if you like. Is that not a notable thing?’
‘They would be pretty high when they got here, my lord!’
‘Certainly. That was just an example. But now think of a prawn as merely an assemblage of information!’ said Lord Vetinari, his eyes sparkling.
‘Are you suggesting that prawns could travel by semaphore?’ said the Chief Priest. ‘I suppose that you might be able to flick them from—’
‘I was endeavouring to point out the fact that information is also bought and sold,’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘And also that what was once considered impossible is now quite easily achieved. Kings and lords come and go and leave nothing but statues in a desert, while a couple of young men tinkering in a workshop change the way the world works.’
He walked over to a table on which was spread out a map of the world. It was a workman’s map; this is to say, it was a map used by someone who needed to refer to it a lot. It was covered with notes and markers.
‘We’ve always looked beyond the walls for the invaders,’ he said. ‘We always thought change came from outside, usually on the point of a sword. And then we look around and find that it comes from the inside of the head of someone you wouldn’t notice in the street. In certain circumstances it may be convenient to remove the head, but there seem to be such a lot of them these days.’ He gestured towards the busy map. ‘A thousand years ago we thought the world was a bowl,’ he said. ‘Five hundred years ago we knew it was a globe. Today we know it is flat and round and carried through space on the back of a turtle.’ He turned and gave the High Priest another smile. ‘Don’t you wonder what shape it will turn out to be tomorrow?’
But a family trait of all the Ridcullys was not to let go of a thread until you’ve unravelled the whole garment.
‘Besides, they have these little pincer things, you know, and would probably hang on like—’
‘What do?’
‘Prawns. They’d hang on to—’
‘You are taking me rather too literally, your reverence,’ said Vetinari sharply.
‘Oh.’
‘I was merely endeavouring to indicate that if we do not grab events by the collar they will have us by the throat.’
‘It’ll end in trouble, my lord,’ said Ridcully. He’d found it a good general comment in practically any debate. Besides, it was so often true.
Lord Vetinari sighed. ‘In my experience, practically everything does,’ he said. ‘That is the nature of things. All we can do is sing as we go.’
