I mean...if I told people what to believe, they'd stop thinking. And then they'd be easier to lie to. And...what if I was wrong?' 'So...if you may not decide what is true, and the men of letters may not, who may?' 'Nobody. Everybody.' Mosca looked up at the windows where the jubilant people of Mandelion swung their bells. 'Clamouring Hour - that's the only way. Everybody able to stand up and shout what they think, all at once. An' not just the men of letters, an' the lords in their full-bottomed wigs, but the streetsellers an' the porters an' the bakers. An' not just the clever men, but the muddle-headed, and the madmen, and the criminals, an' the children in their infant gowns, an' the really, really stupid. All of 'em. Even the wicked, Mr Clent. Even the Birdcatchers.