The Fifth Elephant d-24

by Terry Pratchett

  There was only one thought buzzing around Fred Colon's head.

  Mister Vimes is going to go completely bursar. He's going to go totally Librarian-poo.

  His hand went down to the desk and came back automatically, while he looked straight ahead.

  There was the crunch of a sugar lump being eaten...

  Snow was falling again. The watchman that Vimes had named Colonesque was leaning in his box by the Hubward gate of Bonk. He'd perfected the art, and it was an art form, of going to sleep upright with his eyes open. It was one of the things you learned on endless nights.

  A female voice by his ear said, 'Now, there are two ways this could go.'

  His position didn't change. He continued to stare straight ahead.

  'You haven't seen anything. That's the truth, isn't it? Just nod.'

  He nodded, once.

  'Good man. You didn't hear me arrive, did you? Just nod.'

  Nod.

  'So you won't know when I've gone, am I right? Just nod.'

  Nod.

  'You don't want any trouble. Just nod.'

  Nod.

  'They don't pay you enough for this. Just nod.'

  This time the nod was quite emphatic.

  'You get more than your fair share of night watches as it is; anyway.'

  Colonesque's jaw dropped. Whoever was standing in the shadows was clearly reading his mind.

  'Good man. You just stand here, then, and make sure no one steals the gate.'

  Colonesque took care to continue to stare straight ahead. He heard the thud and creak of the gate being opened and closed.

  It occurred to him that the speaker had not in fact mentioned what the other way was, and he was quite relieved about that.

  'What was the other way?' said Vimes as they hurried through the snow.

  'We'd go and look for another way in,' said Angua.

  There were few people on the streets, which were whitening with the new snow again except where wisps of steam escaped from the occasional grating. In Uberwald, it seemed, sunset made its own curfew. This was just as well, because Gavin was growling continuously under his breath.

  Carrot came back from the next corner.

  'There's dwarfs on guard all round the embassy,' he said. 'They don't look open to negotiation, sir.'

  Vimes looked down. They were standing on a grating.

  Captain Tantony of the Bonk Watch was not happy with this duty. He'd been at the opera last night, and later on he'd thought he saw things happening in a way which, the burgomaster had instructed him, hadn't happened. Of course, the thing to do was obey orders. You were safe if you obeyed orders. Everyone in the watch knew that. But these didn't feel like safe orders.

  He'd heard they did things differently in Ankh-Morpork. Milord Vimes would arrest anyone, they said.

  Tantony had set up a desk in the embassy's hall so that he could keep an eye on the main doors. He'd taken some pains to position his men around the inside of the building; he didn't trust the dwarfs on guard outside. They'd said they'd got orders to kill Vimes on sight, and that didn't make any sense. There had to be some sort of a trial, didn't there?

  There was a faint noise from upstairs. He stood up carefully and reached for his crossbow. 'Corporal Svetlz?'

  There was another little sound. Tantony went to the bottom of the stairs.

  Vimes appeared at the top of them. There was blood on his shirt, and crusted on the side of his face. To the captain's horror he began to walk down the steps.

  'I will shoot you!'

  'That's the order, is it?' said Vimes.

  'Yes! Stop there!'

  'But if I'm going to be shot anyway there's no point in stopping, is there?' said Vimes. 'I don't think you're the kind to do that, captain. You've got a brain.' Vimes steadied himself on the banister rail. 'Shouldn't you have called for the rest of the guards by now, by the way?'

  'I tell you to stop!'

  'You know who I am. If you're going to fire that damn thing, do it now. But first, I suggest it would be a really good career move to tug the bellpull over there. What's the worst that would happen? You've still got the bow pointed at me. There's something you really ought to know.'

  Tantony gave him a suspicious look but took a few steps sideways and tugged the rope.

  Igor stepped out from behind a pillar. 'Yeth, marthter?'

  'Tell this young man where he is, will you?'

  'He'th in Ankh-Morpork, marthter,' said Igor calmly.

  'See?' said Vimes. 'And don't glare at Igor like that. I missed it when he welcomed me here, but it's true. This is an embassy, my son,' he went on, walking forwards again, 'and that means it's officially on the soil of the home country. Welcome to Ankh-Morpork. There's thousands of Uberwald people living in our city. You don't want to go starting a war, do you?'

  'But... but... they said... my orders... you are a criminal!'

  'The word is accused, captain. We don't kill people in Ankh-Morpork just because they're accused. Well, not on purpose. And not because someone tells us to.'

  Vimes took the crossbow out of Tantony's unresisting hands and fired it into the ceiling.

  'Now send your men away,' he said.

  'I'm in Ankh-Morpork?' said the captain.

  Even in his current state Vimes thought he recognized the harmonics.

  'That's right,' he said, putting an arm around him. 'A city which, incidentally, always has a job in the Watch for a young man of ability—'

  Tantony's body stiffened. He pushed Vimes's arm away. 'You insult me, milord. This is my country!'

  'Ah.' Vimes was aware of Carrot and Angua watching from the landing.

  'But I will not see it dishonoured, either,' said the captain. 'This isn't right. I saw what happened last night. You swept up the King and your troll caught the chandelier! And then they said you'd tried to kill the King and you'd killed dwarfs when you escaped...'

  'Are you in charge of the Watch here?'

  'No. That's the job of the burgomaster.'

  'And who gives him his orders?'

  'Everyone,' said Tantony bitterly. Vimes nodded. Been there, he thought. Been there, done that, bought the doublet...

  'Are you going to stop me taking my people out of here?'

  'How can you do that? The dwarfs surround us!'

  'We're going to use... diplomatic channels. Just show me where everyone is, and we'll be off. If it's any help I can hit you over the head and tie you up...'

  'That will not be required. The dwarf and the troll are in the cellar. Her ladyship is... I assume she's wherever the Baron took her.'

  Vimes felt the little trickle of superheated ice down his spine. 'Took her?' he said hoarsely.

  'Well, yes.' Tantony stepped back from Vimes's expression. 'She knew the Baroness, sir! She said they were old friends! She said they could sort it all out! And then...' Tantony's voice became a mumble, seared into silence by the look on Vimes's face.

  When Vimes spoke, it was in a monotone as threatening as a spear.

  'You are standing there in your shiny breastplate and your silly helmet and your sword without a single notch in the blade and your stupid trousers and you are telling me that you let my wife be taken away by werewolves?'

  Tantony took a step backwards. 'It was the Baron—'

  'And you don't argue with barons. Right. You don't argue with anyone. Do you know what? I'm ashamed, ashamed to think that something like you is called a watchman. Now give me those keys.'

  The man had gone red.

  'You've obeyed any orders,' said Vimes. 'Don't... even... think... about... disobeying... that... one.'

  Carrot reached the bottom of the stairs and put a hand on Vimes's shoulder.

  'Steady, Mister Vimes.'

  Tantony looked from one to the other and made a life decision.

  'I hope you... find your lady, milord.' He produced a bunch of keys and handed them over. 'I really do.'

  Vimes, still fighting for breath, wordlessly passed the
keys to Carrot. 'Let them out,' he said.

  'Are you going to the werewolves' castle?' Tantony panted.

  'Yes.'

  'You won't stand a chance, milord. They do as they please.'

  'Then they've got to be stopped.'

  'You can't. The old one understood the rules, but Wolfgang, he doesn't obey anything!'

  'All the more reason to stop him, then. Ah, Detritus.' The troll saluted. 'You've got your bow, I see. Treated you well, did they?'

  'Dey called me a ficko troll,' said Detritus darkly. 'One of dem kicked me inna rocks.' 'Was it this one?'

  'No.'

  'But he is their captain,' said Vimes, stepping away from Tantony. 'Sergeant, I order you: shoot him down.'

  In one movement the troll had the crossbow balanced on his shoulder and was sighting along the massive package of arrows. Tantony went pale.

  'Well, go on,' said Vimes. 'It was an order, sergeant.'

  Detritus lowered the bow. 'I ain't dat fick, sir.'

  'I gave you an order!'

  'Den you can do wid dat order what Boulder der Lintel did wid his bag of gravel, sir! Wid respect, o'course.'

  Vimes walked across and patted the shaking Tantony on his shoulder.

  'Just making a point,' he said.

  'However,' said Detritus, 'if you can find der man dat kicked me inna rocks, I should be happy to give him a flick around der earhole. I know which one it was. He's der one walkin' wid der limp.'

  Lady Sybil drank her wine carefully. It didn't taste very nice. In fact, quite a lot of things weren't very nice.

  She wasn't a good cook. She'd never been taught proper cookery; at her school it had always been assumed that other people would be doing the cooking and that in any case it would be for fifty people using at least four types of fork. Such dishes as she had mastered were dainty things on doilies.

  But she cooked for Sam because she vaguely felt that a wife ought to and, besides, he was an eater who entirely matched her kitchen skills. He liked burnt sausages and fried eggs that went boing when you tried to stick a fork in them. If you gave him caviare, he'd want it in batter. He was an easy man to feed, if you always kept some lard in the house.

  But the food here tasted as though it had been cooked by someone who had never even tried before. She'd seen the kitchens, when Serafine had given her the little tour, and they'd just about do for a cottage. The game larders, on the other hand, were the size of barns. She'd never seen so many dead things hanging up.

  It was just that she was certain that venison shouldn't be served boiled, with potatoes that were crunchy. If they were potatoes, of course. Potatoes weren't usually grey. Even Sam, who liked the black lumpy bits you got in some mashed potatoes, would have commented. But Sybil had been brought up properly; if you can't find something nice to say about the food, find something else to be nice about.

  'These are... really very interesting plates,' she said dutifully. 'Er, are you sure there's been no more news?' She tried to avoid watching the Baron. He was ignoring Sybil and his wife, and was prodding the meat around on his plate as if he'd forgotten what a knife and fork were for.

  'Wolfgang and his friends are still out searching,' said Serafine. 'But this is terrible weather for a man to be on the run.'

  'He is not on the run!' snapped Sybil. 'Sam is not guilty of anything!'

  'Of course, of course. All the evidence is circumstantial. Of course,' said the Baroness soothingly. 'Now, I suggest that as soon as they have the passes clear, you and the, er, the staff get back to the safety of Ankh-Morpork before the real winter hits. We know the country, my dear. If your husband is alive, we can soon do something about it.'

  'I will not have him shamed like this! You saw him save the King!'

  'I'm sure he did, Sybil. I'm afraid I was talking to my husband at the time, but I don't disbelieve you for a minute. Is it true that he killed all those men in the Wilinus Pass?'

  'What? But they were bandits!'

  At the other end of the table the Baron had picked up a lump of meat and was trying to tear it apart with his teeth.

  'Well, of course. Yes. Of course.'

  Sybil pinched the bridge of her nose. Most of her would not have considered Sam Vimes guilty of murder, actual murder, even on the evidence of three gods and a message written on the sky. But stories did get back to her, in a roundabout way. Sam got wound up about things. Sometimes he unwound all at once. There'd been that bad business with that little girl and those men over at Dolly Sisters, and when Sam had broken into the men's lodging he found one of them had stolen one of her shoes, and she'd heard Detritus say that if he hadn't been there only Sam would have walked out of the room alive.

  She shook her head. 'I really would like a bath,' she said. There was a clatter from the other end of the table.

  'Dear, you will have to eat your dinner in the changing room,' said the Baroness, without looking round. She flashed Lady Sybil a brief, brittle smile. 'We do not, in fact, have a... have such a, a device in the castle.' A thought occurred to her. 'We use the hot springs. So much more hygienic.'

  'Out in the forest?'

  'Oh, it's quite close. And a quick run around in the snow really tones up the body.'

  'I think perhaps I'll have a lie-down instead,' said Lady Sybil firmly. 'But thank you all the same.'

  She made her way to the musty bedroom, fuming in a ladylike way.

  She couldn't bring herself to like Serafine, and this was shocking, because Lady Sybil even liked Nobby Nobbs, and that took breeding. But the werewolf scraped across her nerves like a file. She remembered that she'd never liked her at school, either.

  Among the other unwanted baggage that had been heaped on the young Sybil to hamper her progress through life was the injunction to be pleasant to people and say helpful things. People took this to mean that she didn't think.

  She'd hated the way Serafine had talked about dwarfs. She'd called them 'sub-human'. Well, obviously most of them lived underground, but Sybil rather liked dwarfs. And Serafine spoke of trolls as if they were things. Sybil hadn't met many trolls, but the ones she knew seemed to spend their lives raising their children and looking for the next dollar just like everyone else.

  Worst of all, Serafine simply assumed that Sybil would naturally agree with her stupid opinions because she was a Lady. Sybil Ramkin had not had an education in these things, moral philosophy not having featured much in a curriculum that was heavy on flower-arranging, but she had a shrewd idea that in any possible debate the right side was where Serafine wasn't.

  She'd only ever written all those letters to her because it was what you did. You always wrote letters to old friends, even if you weren't very friendly with them.

  She sat on the bed and stared at the wall until the shouting started, and when the shouting started she knew Sam was alive and well, because only Sam made people that angry.

  She heard the key click in the lock.

  Sybil rebelled.

  She was large and she was kind. She hadn't enjoyed school much. A society of girls is not a good one in which to be large and kind, because people are inclined to interpret that as 'stupid' and, worse, 'deaf'.

  Lady Sybil looked out of the window. She was two floors up.

  There were bars across it, but they'd been designed to keep something out; from the inside they could be lifted out of their slots. And there were musty but heavy sheets and blankets on the bed. None of this might have suggested very much to the average person, but life in a rather strict school for well brought-up young ladies can give someone a real insight into the tricks of escapology.

  Five minutes after the key had turned there was only one bar in the window and it was jerking and creaking in the stonework, suggesting that quite a heavy weight was on the sheets that had been neatly knotted around it.

  Torches streamed along the castle walls. The ghastly red and black flag snapped in the wind. Vimes looked over the side of the badge. The water was a long way down, and pure white even
before it reached the waterfall. Forward and back were the only possible directions here.

  He reviewed his troops. Unfortunately this did not take long. Even a policeman could count up to five. Then there was Gavin and his wolves, who were lurking in the trees. And finally, very definitely finally, there was Gaspode, the Corporal Nobbs of the canine world, who'd attached himself to the group uninvited.

  What else was on his side? Well, the enemy preferred not to use weapons. This bonus evaporated somewhat when you remembered that they had, at will, some very nasty teeth and claws.

  He sighed and turned to Angua. 'I know this is your family,' he said. 'I won't blame you if you hang back.'

  'We'll see, sir, shall we?'

  'How are we going to get in, sir?' said Carrot.

  'How would you go about it, Carrot?'

  'Well, I'd start by knocking, sir.'

  'Really? Sergeant Detritus. Forward, please.'

  'Sir!'

  'Blow the bloody doors off!'

  'Yessir!'

  Vines turned back to Carrot as the troll gazed thoughtfully at the door and began making extra turns on his crossbow's winch, grunting as the springs fought back. Their fight was unsuccessful.

  'This isn't Ankh-Morpork, see?' said Vines.

  Detritus hoisted the bow on to his shoulders and took a step forward.

  There was a thunk. Vines didn't see the bundle of arrows leave the bow. They were probably already fragments by the time they'd gone a few feet. Halfway towards the doors the expanding cloud of splinters exploded into flame from the air friction.

  What hit the doors was a fireball as angry and unstoppable as the Fifth Elephant and travelling at an appreciable fraction of local lightspeed.

  'My gods; Detritus,' muttered Vines as the thunder died away. 'That's not a crossbow, that's a national emergency.'

  A few bits of charred door crashed on to the cobbles.

  'The wolves won't come in, Mister Vines,' said Angua. 'Gavin will follow me, but they won't come, not even for him.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because they're wolves, sir. They don't feel at home in houses.'

  The only sound was the squeak-squeak of Detritus winding up his bow again.