The Fifth Elephant

by Terry Pratchett

  It wasn’t what he’d expected. Vampires weren’t suppose to wear pearls, or sweaters in pink. In Vimes’s world they didn’t wear sensible flat shoes, either. Or have a sitting room in which every conceivable piece of furniture was upholstered in chintz.

  Lady Margolotta looked like someone’s mother, although possibly someone who’d had an expensive education and a pony called Fidget. She moved like someone who had grown used to her body and, in general, looked like what Vimes had heard described as “a woman of a certain age.” He’d never been quite certain what age that was.

  But…things weren’t quite right. There were bats embroidered on the pink sweater, and the chintzy pattern on the furniture had a sort of…bat look. The little dog with a bow round its neck, lying curled on a cushion, looked more like a rat than a dog. Vimes was less certain about that one, though; dogs of that nature tended to look a bit ratlike in any case. The effect was as if someone had read the music but had never heard it played.

  He realized she was politely waiting for him, and bowed, stiffly.

  “Oh, don’t bother with that, please,” said Lady Margolotta. “Do take a seat.” She walked over to the cabinet and opened it. “Do you fancy a Bull’s Blood?”

  “Is that the drink with the vodka? Because—”

  “No,” said Lady Margolotta quietly. “This, I am afraid, is the other kind. Still, ve have that in common, don’t ve? Neither of us drinks…alcohol. I believe you vere an alcoholic, Sir Samuel.”

  “No,” said Vimes, completely taken aback, “I was a drunk. You have to be richer than I was to be an alcoholic.”

  “Ah, vell said. I have lemonade, if you vish. And Miss Littlebottom? Ve don’t have beer, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

  Cheery looked at Vimes in amazement.

  “Er…perhaps a sherry?” she said.

  “Certainly. You may leave us, Igor. Isn’t he a treasure?” she added, as Igor retired.

  “He certainly looks as though he’s just been dug up,” said Vimes. This was not going according to his mental script.

  “Oh, all Igors look like that. He’s been in the family for almost two hundred years. Most of him, anyvay.”

  “Really…?”

  “Extremely popular with the young ladies, for some reason. All Igors are. I’ve found it best not to speculate vhy.” Lady Margolotta gave Vimes a bright smile. “Vell, here’s to your stay, Sir Samuel.”

  “You know a lot about me,” said Vimes weakly.

  “Most of it good, I assure you,” she said. “Although you’re inclined to forget your papervork, you get exasperated easily, you are far too sentimental, you regret your own lack of education and distrust erudition in others, you are immensely proud of your city and you vonder if you may be a class traitor. My…friends in Ankh-Morpork were unable to find out anything very bad and, believe me, they are pretty good at that sort of thing. And you loathe vampires.”

  “I—”

  “Quite understandable. Ve’re dreadful people, by and large.”

  “But you—”

  “I try to look on the bright side,” said Lady Margolotta. “But, anyvay—how did you like the king?”

  “He’s very…quiet,” said Vimes the diplomat.

  “Try cunning. He vill have found out a lot more about you than you did about him, I’m sure. Vould you like a biscuit? I don’t eat them myself, of course, but there’s a little man down in the town that does vonderful chocolate…Igor?”

  “Yes, mithtreth,” said Igor. Vimes nearly sprayed his lemonade across the room.

  “He was out of the room!” he said. “I saw him go! I heard the door shut!”

  “Igor has strange vays. Do give Sir Samuel a napkin, Igor.”

  “You said the king was cunning,” said Vimes, mopping lemonade off his breeches. Igor put down a plate of biscuits and shuffled out of the room.

  “Did I? No, I don’t think I could possibly have said that. It’s not the diplomatic thing to say,” said Lady Margolotta smoothly. “I’m sure ve all support the new Low King, the choice of dvarfdom in general, even if they thought they vere getting a traditionalist and got an unknown quantity.”

  “Did you just say that last bit?” said Vimes, awash on a sea of diplomacy and damp trousers.

  “Absolutely not. You know their Scone of Stone has been stolen?”

  “They say it hasn’t,” said Vimes.

  “Do you believe them?”

  “No.”

  “The coronation cannot go ahead without it, did you know that?”

  “We’ll have to wait until they bake another one?” said Vimes.

  “No. There will be no more Low Kings,” said Lady Margolotta. “Legitimacy, you see. The Scone represents continuity all the vay to B’hrian Bloodaxe. They say he sat on it vhile it vas still soft and left his impression, as it vere.”

  “You mean kingship has passed from bu—backside to backside?”

  “Humans believe in crowns, don’t they?”

  “Yes, but at least they’re at the other end!”

  “Thrones, then.” Lady Margolotta sighed. “People set such store by strange things. Crowns. Relics. Garlic…Anyvay…there will be a civil var over the leadership which Albrecht vill surely vin, and he’ll cease all trading with Ankh-Morpork. Did you know that? He thinks the place is evil.”

  “I know it is,” said Vimes. “And I live there.”

  “I’ve heard that he plans to declare all dvarfs there d’hrarak,” the vampire went on.

  Vimes heard Cheery gasp. “It means ‘not dwarfs.’”

  “That’s very big of him,” said Vimes. “I shouldn’t think our lads’ll worry about that.”

  “Um,” said Cheery.

  “Quite so. The young lady looks vorried, and you’d do vell to listen to her, Sir Samuel.”

  “Excuse me,” said Vimes, “But what is all this to you?”

  “You really don’t drink at all, Sir Samuel?”

  “No.”

  “Not even vun?”

  “No,” said Vimes, more sharply. “You’d know that, if you knew anything about—”

  “Yet you keep half a bottle in your bottom drawer as a sort of permanent test,” said Lady Margolotta. “Now that, Sir Samuel, suggests a man who vears his hair shirts on the inside.”

  “I want to know who’s been saying all this!”

  Lady Margolotta sighed. Vimes got the impression that he’d failed another test. “I am rich, Sir Samuel. Vampires tend to be. Didn’t you know? Lord Vetinari, I know, believes that information is currency. But everyone knows that currency has alvays been information. Money doesn’t need to talk, it merely has to listen.”

  She stopped and sat watching Vimes, as if she’d suddenly decided to listen. Vimes moved uncomfortably under the steady gaze.

  “How is Havelock Vetinari?” she said.

  “The Patrician? Oh…fine.”

  “He must be quite old now.”

  “I’ve never really been certain how old he is,” said Vimes. “About my age, I suppose.”

  Then she stood up suddenly. “This has been an interesting meeting, Sir Samuel. I trust Lady Sybil is vell?”

  “Er…yes.”

  “Good. I am so glad. Ve vill meet again, I am sure. Igor vill see you out. My regards to the baron, vhen you see him. Pat him on the head for me.”

  “What the hell was that all about, Cheery?” said Vimes, as the coach set off down the hill again.

  “Which bit, sir?”

  “Practically all of it, really. Why should Ankh-Morpork dwarfs object if someone says they’re not dwarfs? They know they’re dwarfs.”

  “They won’t be subject to dwarf law, sir.”

  “I didn’t know they were.”

  “I mean…it’s like…how you live your life, sir. Marriages, burials…that sort of thing. Marriages won’t be legal. Old dwarfs won’t be allowed to be buried back home. And that’d be terrible. Every dwarf dreams of going back home when he’s old and starting up a little mine.
”

  “Every dwarf? Even the ones who were born in Ankh-Morpork?”

  “Home can mean all sorts of things, sir,” said Cheery. “There’s other things, too. Contracts won’t be valid. Dwarfs like good solid rules, sir.”

  “We’ve got laws in Ankh-Morpork, too. More or less.”

  “Between themselves dwarfs prefer to use their own, sir.”

  “I bet the Copperhead dwarfs won’t like it if that happens.”

  “Yes, sir. There’ll be a split. And another war.” She sighed.

  “But why was she going on about drink?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “I don’t like ’em. Never have, never will.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you see that rat?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think she was laughing at me.”

  The coach rolled through the streets of Bonk once more.

  “How big a war?”

  “Probably a worse one than the one fifty years ago, I expect,” said Cheery.

  “I don’t recall people talking about that one,” said Vimes.

  “Most humans didn’t know about it,” said Cheery. “It mostly took place underground. Under mining passages and digging invasion tunnels and so on. Perhaps a few houses fell into mysterious holes and people didn’t get their coal, but that was about it.”

  “You mean dwarfs just try to collapse mines on other dwarfs?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I thought you were all law-abiding?”

  “Oh yes, sir. Very law-abiding. Just not very merciful.”

  Ye gods, thought Vimes, as the coach rolled over the bridge on the center of the town, I haven’t been sent to a coronation. I’ve been sent to a war that hasn’t started yet.

  He glanced up. Tantony was watching him intently, but looked away quickly.

  Lady Margolotta watched the coach until it reached the gates of the town. She stood back a little from the window. There was a slight overcast, but habits of preservation died hard.

  “What a very angry man, Igor.”

  “Yeth, mithtreth.”

  “You can see it piling up behind his patience. I vonder how far he can be pushed?”

  “I’ve brought the hearthe around, mithreth.”

  “Oh, is it that late? Ve had better be going, then. Everyone feels despondent if I miss a meeting, you know.”

  The castle on the other side of the valley was much more rugged than Lady Margolotta’s confectionery item. Even so, the gates were wide open and didn’t look as though they were often closed.

  The main door was tall and heavy-looking. The only thing that suggested it hadn’t been ordered for the standard castle catalog was the smaller, narrow door, a few feet high, set into it.

  “What’s that for?” said Vimes. “Even a dwarf would bump their head.”

  “I suppose it depends on what shape you are when you go in,” said Cheery darkly.

  The main door opened as soon as Vimes had laid his hand on the wolf’s-head knocker. But he was ready this time.

  “Good morning, Igor,” he said.

  “Good day, Your Exthelency,” said Igor, bowing.

  “Igor and Igor send their regards, Igor.”

  “Thank you, Your Exthelency. Thince you mention it, could I put a parthel on your coach for Igor?”

  “You mean the Igor at the embassy?”

  “That’s who I thaid, thir,” said Igor, patiently. “He athked me if I could lend him a hand.”

  “Yes, no problem there.”

  “Good. It’th well wrapped up and the ithe with keep it nithe and frethh. Would you thtep thith way? The marthter ith changing at the moment.”

  Igor shambled into a wide hall, one side of which was mostly fireplace, and bowed out.

  “Did he say what I thought he said?” said Vimes. “About the hand and ice?”

  “It’s not what it sounds like, sir,” said Cheery.

  “I hope so. My gods, look at that damned thing!”

  A huge red flag hung from the rafters. In the middle of it was a black wolf’s head, its mouth full of stylized flashes of lightning.

  “Their new flag, I think,” said Cheery.

  “I thought it was just a crest with the doubled-headed bat?”

  “Perhaps they thought it was time for a change, sir—”

  “Ah, Your Excellency! Isn’t Sybil with you?”

  The woman who had entered was Angua, but padded somewhat with years. She was wearing a long, loose green gown, very old-fashioned by Ankh-Morpork standards, although there were some styles that never go out of style on the right figure. She was brushing her hair as she walked across the floor.

  “Er…she’s staying at the embassy today. We had rather a difficult journey. You would be the Baroness Serafine von Uberwald?”

  “And you’re Sam Vimes. Sybil’s letters are all about you. The baron won’t be long. We were out hunting and lost track of time.”

  “I expect it’s a lot of work, seeing to the horses,” said Vimes politely.

  Serafine’s smile went strange for a moment.

  “Hah. Yes,” she said. “Can I get Igor to fetch you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs and beamed at him.

  “You’ve met the new king, Your Excellency?”

  “This morning.”

  “I believe he’s having trouble.”

  “What makes you think that?” said Vimes. Serafine looked startled.

  “I thought everyone knew?”

  “Well, I’ve hardly been here five minutes,” said Vimes. “I probably don’t count as everyone.”

  Now, he was pleased to note, she looked puzzled.

  “We…just heard there was some problem,” she said.

  “Oh, well…a new king, a coronation to organize…a few problems are bound to occur,” he said. Well, he thought, so this is diplomacy. It’s lying, only for a better class of people.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Angua is well,” said Vimes.

  “Are you sure you won’t have a drink?” said Serafine quickly, standing up. “Ah, here is my husband—”

  The baron entered the room like a whirlwind which had swept up several dogs. They bounded ahead of him and danced around him.

  “Hello! Hello!” he boomed.

  Vimes looked at an enormous man—not fat, not tall, just built to perhaps one-tenth over scale. He didn’t so much have a face with a beard as a beard with, peeking over the top in that narrow gap between the mustache and the eyebrows, small remnants of face. He bore down on Vimes in a cloud of leaping bodies, hair and a smell of old carpets.

  Vimes was ready for the handshake when it came but even so had to grimace as his bones were ground together.

  “Good of you to come, hey? Heard so much about you!”

  But not enough, Vimes thought. He wondered if he’d ever have the use of his hand again. It was still being gripped. The dogs had transferred their attention to him. He was being sniffed.

  “Greatest respect for Ankh-Morpork, hey?” said the baron.

  “Er…good,” said Vimes. Blood was getting no farther than his wrist.

  “Have seat!” the baron barked. Vimes had been trying to avoid the word, but that was exactly how the man spoke—in short, sharp, sentences, every one an exclamation.

  He was herded toward a chair. Then the baron let go of his hand and flung himself onto the huge carpet, the excited dogs piling on top of him.

  Serafine made a noise somewhere between a growl and the “tch!” of wifely disapproval. Obediently the baron pushed the dogs aside and flung himself into a chair.

  “You’ll have to take us as you find us,” said Serafine, smiling with her mouth alone. “This has always been a very informal household.”

  “It is a very nice place,” said Vimes weakly, staring around the enormous room. Trophy heads lined the walls, but at least there were no trolls. No weapons, either.
There were no spears, no rusty old swords, not even a broken bow had been hung up anywhere, which was practically against the law of castle furnishing. He stared at the wall again, and then at the carving over the fireplace. And then his gaze traveled down.

  One of the dogs, and Vimes had to be clear about this, he was using the term dogs merely because they were indoors and that was a place where the word wolf was not usually encountered, was watching him. He’d never seen such an appraising look on a creature’s face. It was weighing him up.

  There was something familiar about the pale gold hair that was a sort of mane. In fact, the dog looked quite like Angua, but heavier set. And there was another difference, which was small yet horribly significant. As with Angua, he had this sensation of movement stilled; but, whereas Angua always looked as if she was poised to flee, this one looked poised to leap.

  “The embassy is to your liking? We owned it, you know, before we sold it to Lord V…Ve…”

  “Vetinari,” said Vimes, reluctantly taking his eyes off the wolf.

  “Of course, your people made a lot of changes,” she went on.

  “We’ve made a few more,” said Vimes, recalling all those patches of shiny woodwork where the hunting trophies had been removed. “I must say I was really impressed with the bathroo—I’m sorry?”

  There had been almost a yelp from the baron. Serafine was glaring at her husband.

  “Yes,” she said sharply, “I gather interesting things have been done.”

  “You’re so lucky to have the thermal springs,” said Vimes. And this was diplomacy, too, he thought, when you let your mouth chatter away while you watched people’s eyes. It’s just like being a copper. “Sybil wants to go to take the waters at Bad Heisses Bad—”

  Behind him he heard a faint growl from the baron and saw the look of annoyance flash across Serafine’s face.

  “I’m saying the wrong thing?” he said innocently.

  “My husband is a little unwell at the moment,” said Serafine, in the special wife voice which Vimes recognized as meaning “he thinks he’s fine right now but just you wait until I get him alone.”

  “I suppose I’d better present my credentials,” said Vimes, pulling out the letter.

  Serafine reached across quickly and took it from his hand.