The Fifth Elephant

by Terry Pratchett

  “Why?”

  “Well, we’ve kept the Patrician waiting, sir, so it’d be good manners to let him know we’re late.”

  Vimes pulled out his watch and stared at it. It was turning out to be one of those days…the sort that you got every day.

  It is in the nature of the universe that the person who always keeps you waiting ten minutes will, on the day you are ten minutes tardy, have been ready ten minutes early and will make a point of not mentioning this.

  “Sorry we’re late, sir,” said Vimes, as they entered the Oblong Office.

  “Oh, are you late?” said Lord Vetinari, looking up from his paperwork. “I really hadn’t noticed. Nothing serious, I trust.”

  “The Fools’ Guild caught fire, sir,” said Carrot.

  “Many casualties?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, that is a blessing,” said Lord Vetinari carefully. He put down his pen.

  “Now…what do we have to discuss?” He pulled another document toward him and read it swiftly.

  “Ah…I see that the new traffic division is having the desired effect.” He indicated a large pile of paper. “I am getting any amount of complaints from the Carters’ and Drovers’ Guild. Well done. Do pass on my thanks to Sergeant Colon and his team.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “I see in one day they clamped seventeen carts, ten horses, eighteen oxen and one duck.”

  “It was parked illegally, sir.”

  “Indeed.”

  “However, a strange pattern seems to emerge.”

  “Sir?”

  “Many of the carters say that they were not in fact parked but had merely halted while an extremely old and extremely ugly lady crossed the road extremely slowly.”

  “That’s their story, sir.”

  “They know she was an old lady by her constant litany on the lines of ‘oh deary me, my poor old feet’ and similar expressions.”

  “Certainly sounds like an old lady to me, sir,” said Vimes, his face still wooden.

  “Quite so. What is rather strange is that several of them then report seeing the old lady subsequently legging it away along an alley rather fast. I’d discount this, of course, were it not for the fact that the lady has apparently been seen crossing another street, very slowly, some distance away shortly afterward. Something of a mystery, Vimes.”

  Vimes put his hand over his eyes. “It’s one I intend to solve quite quickly, sir.”

  The Patrician nodded, and made a short note on the list in front of him.

  As he went to move it aside he uncovered a much grubbier, much folded scrap of paper. He picked up two letter knives and, using them fastidiously, unfolded the paper and inched it across the desk toward Vimes.

  “Do you know anything about this?” he said.

  Vimes read, in large, round, crayoned letters:

  DeEr Cur, The CruELt to HOMLIss DoGs In thIs

  CITy Is A DIssGrays, Wat arE The WaTCH

  Do Ing A BouT IT¿

  SiNeD The LeAK AgyANsct CrUle T To DoGs.

  “Not a thing,” he said.

  “My clerks say that one like it is pushed under the door most nights,” said the Patrician. “Apparently no one is seen.”

  “Do you want me to investigate?” said Vimes. “It shouldn’t be hard to find someone in this city who dribbles when he writes and spells even worse than Carrot.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Carrot.

  “None of the guards report noticing anyone,” said the Patrician. “Is there any group in Ankh-Morpork particularly interested in the welfare of dogs?”

  “I doubt it, sir.”

  “Then I shall ignore it pro tem,” said Vetinari. He let the soggy letter splash into the wastepaper basket.

  “On to more pressing matters,” he said briskly. “Now, then…what do you know about Bonk?”

  Vimes stared.

  There was a polite cough from Carrot.

  “The river or the town, sir?” he said.

  The Patrician smiled. “Ah, Captain, you have long ago ceased to surprise me. Yes, I was referring to the town.”

  “It’s one of the major towns in Überwald, sir,” said Carrot, balancing the umlaut perfectly. “Exports: precious metals, leather, timber and of course fat from the deep fat mines at Shmaltzberg—”

  “There’s a place called Bonk?” said Vimes, still marveling at the speed with which they’d got here from a damp letter about dogs.

  “Strictly speaking, sir, it’s more correctly pronounced Beyonk,” said Carrot.

  “Even so—”

  “And in Beyonk, sir, ‘morpork’ sounds exactly like their words for an item of ladies’ underwear,” said Carrot. “There’s only so many syllables in the world, when you think about it.”

  “How do you know all this stuff, Carrot?”

  “Oh, you pick it up, sir. Here and there.”

  “Really? So exactly which item of—”

  “Something extremely important will be taking place there in a few weeks,” said Lord Vetinari. “Something which, I have to add, is vital to the future prosperity of Ankh-Morpork.”

  “The crowning of the Low King,” said Carrot.

  Vimes stared from Carrot to the Patrician, and back again.

  “Is there some kind of circular that goes around that doesn’t get as far as me?” he said.

  “The dwarf community has been talking about little else for months, sir.”

  “Really?” said Vimes. “You mean the riots? Those fights every night in the dwarf bars?”

  “Captain Carrot is correct, Vimes. It will be a grand occasion, attended by representatives of many governments. And from various Uberwald principalities, of course, because the Low King only rules those areas of Uberwald that are below ground. His favor is valuable. Borogravia and Genua will be there, without a doubt, and probably even Klatch.”

  “Klatch? But they’re even farther from Uberwald than we are! What are they bothering to go for?”

  He paused for a moment, and then added: “Hah. I’m being stupid. Where’s the money?”

  “I beg your pardon, Commander?”

  “That’s what my old sergeant used so say when he was puzzled, sir. Find out where the money is and you’ve got it half-solved.”

  Vetinari stood up and walked over to the big window, with his back to them.

  “A large country, Uberwald,” he said, apparently addressing the glass. “Dark. Mysterious. Ancient…”

  “Huge untapped reserves of coal and iron ore,” said Carrot. “And fat, of course. The best candles, lamp oils and soap come ultimately from the Shmaltzberg deposits.”

  “Why? We’ve got our own slaughterhouse, haven’t we?”

  “Ankh-Morpork uses a great many candles, sir.”

  “It certainly doesn’t use much soap,” said Vimes.

  “There are so many uses for fats and tallows, sir. We couldn’t possibly supply ourselves.”

  “Ah,” said Vimes.

  The Patrician sighed.

  “Obviously I hope that we may strengthen our trading links with the various nations within Uberwald,” he said. “The situation there is volatile in the extreme. Do you know much about Uberwald, Commander Vimes?”

  Vimes, whose knowledge of geography was microscopically detailed within five miles of Ankh-Morpork and merely microscopic beyond that, nodded uncertainly.

  “Only that it’s not really a country,” said Vetinari. “It’s—”

  “It’s rather more what you get before you get countries,” said Carrot. “It’s mainly fortified towns and fiefdoms with no real boundaries and lots of forest in between. There’s always some sort of feud going on. There’s no law apart from whatever the local lords enforce, and banditry of all kinds is rife.”

  “So unlike the home life of our own dear city,” said Vimes, not quite under his breath. The Patrician gave him an impassive glance.

  “In Uberwald the dwarfs and trolls haven’t settled their old grievances, there are
large areas controlled by feudal vampire or werewolf clans, and there are also tracts with much higher than normal background magic. It is a chaotic place, indeed, and you’d hardly think you were in the Century of the Fruitbat. It is to be hoped that things will improve, however, and Uberwald will, happily, be joining the community of nations.”

  Vimes and Vetinari exchanged looks. Sometimes Carrot sounded like a civics essay written by a stunned choirboy.

  “Well put,” said the Patrician, at last. “But until that joysome day, Uberwald remains a mystery inside a riddle wrapped in an enigma.”

  “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” said Vimes. “Uberwald is like this big suet pudding that everyone’s suddenly noticed, and now with this coronation as an excuse we’ve all got to rush there with knife, fork and spoon to shovel as much on our plates as possible?”

  “Your grasp of political reality is masterly, Vimes. You lack only the appropriate vocabulary. Ankh-Morpork must send a representative, obviously. An ambassador, as it were.”

  “You’re not suggesting I should go to this affair, are you?” said Vimes.

  “Oh, I couldn’t send the Commander of the City Watch,” said Lord Vetinari. “Most of the Uberwald countries have no concept of a modern civil peacekeeping authority.”

  Vimes relaxed.

  “I’m sending the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, instead.”

  Vimes sat bolt upright.

  “They are mostly feudal systems,” Vetinari went on. “They set great score by rank—”

  “I’m not being ordered to go to Uberwald!”

  “Ordered, Your Grace?” Vetinari looked shocked and concerned. “Good heavens, I must have misunderstood Lady Sybil…She told me yesterday that a holiday a long way from Ankh-Morpork would do you the world of good…”

  “You spoke to Sybil?”

  “At the reception for the new president of the Tailors’ Guild, yes. I believe you left early. You were called away. Some emergency, I understand. Lady Sybil happened to mention how you seemed to be, as she put it, constantly on the job, and one thing led to another. Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t caused some marital misunderstanding…”

  “I can’t leave the city now of all times!” said Vimes desperately. “There’s so much to do!”

  “That is exactly why Sybil says you ought to leave the city,” said Vetinari.

  “But there’s the new training school—”

  “Ticking over nicely now, sir,” said Carrot.

  “The whole carrier pigeon network is a complete mess—”

  “More or less sorted out, sir, now that we’ve changed their feed. Besides, the clacks seems to be functioning very well.”

  “We’ve got to get the River Watch set up—”

  “Can’t do much for a week or two, sir, until we’ve dredged up the boat.”

  “The drains at the Chitterling Street station are—”

  “I’ve got the plumbers working on it, sir.”

  Vimes knew that he had lost. He had lost as soon as Sybil was involved, because she was always a reliable siege engine against the walls of his defenses. But there was such a thing as going down fighting.

  “You know I’m no good at diplomatic talk,” he said.

  “On the contrary, Vimes, you appear to have amazed the diplomatic corps here in Ankh-Morpork,” said Lord Vetinari. “They’re not used to plain speech. It confuses them. What was it you said to the Istanzian ambassador last month?” He riffled through the papers on his desk. “Let me see, the complaint is here somewhere…Oh yes, on the matter of military incursions across the Slipnir River, you indicated that further transgressions would involve him, personally, that is to say the ambassador, and I quote ‘going home in an ambulance.’”

  “I’m sorry about that, sir, but it had been a long day and he was really getting on my—”

  “Since when their armed forces have pulled back so far that they are nearly in the next country,” said Lord Vetinari, moving the paper aside. “I have to say that your observation complied only with the general thrust of my view in this matter but was, at least, succinct. Apparently you also looked at the ambassador in a very threatening way.”

  “It was only the way I usually look.”

  “To be sure. Happily, in Uberwald you will only need to look friendly.”

  “Ah, but you don’t want me saying things like ‘how about selling us all your fat really cheap?’ do you?” said Vimes, desperately.

  “You will not be required to do any negotiating, Vimes. That will be dealt with by one of my clerks, who will set up the temporary embassy and discuss such matters with his opposite numbers among the courts of Uberwald. All clerks speak the same language. You will simply be as ducal as you can. And, of course, you will take a retinue. A staff,” Vetinari added, seeing Vimes’s blank look. He sighed. “People to go with you. I suggest Sergeant Angua, Sergeant Detritus and Corporal Littlebottom.”

  “Ah,” said Carrot, nodding encouragingly.

  “Sorry?” said Vimes. “I think there must have been a whole piece of conversation just then that I must have missed.”

  “A werewolf, a troll and a dwarf,” said Carrot. “Ethnic minorities, sir.”

  “…but, in Uberwald, they are ethnic majorities,” said Lord Vetinari. “All three officers come from there originally, I believe. Their presence will speak volumes.”

  “So far it hasn’t sent me a postcard,” said Vimes. “I’d rather take—”

  “Sir, it will show people in Uberwald that Ankh-Morpork is a multicultural society, you see?” said Carrot.

  “Oh, I see. ‘People like us.’ People you can do business with,” said Vimes, glumly.

  “Sometimes,” Vetinari said, testily, “it really does seem to me that the culture of cynicism in the Watch is…is…”

  “Insufficient?” said Vimes. There was silence. “All right,” he sighed, “I’d better go off and polish the knobs on my coronet, hadn’t I?”

  “The ducal coronet, if I remember my heraldry, does not have knobs on. It is decidedly…spiky,” said the Patrician, pushing across the desk of small pile of papers topped by a gold-edged invitation card. “Good. I will have a…a clacks sent immediately. You will be more fully briefed later. Do give my regards to the duchess. And now, please do not let me detain you further…”

  “He always says that,” muttered Vimes, as the two men hurried down the stairs. “He knows I don’t like being married to a duchess.”

  “I thought you and Lady Sybil—”

  “Oh, being married to Sybil is fine, fine,” said Vimes hurriedly. “It’s just the duchess bit I don’t like. Where is everyone tonight?”

  “Corporal Littlebottom’s on pigeon duty, Detritus is on night patrol with Swires, and Angua’s on special duty in the Shades, sir. You remember? With Nobby?”

  “Oh gods, yes. Well, when they come in tomorrow you’d better get them to report to me. Incidentally, get that bloody wig off Nobby and hide it, will you?” Vimes leafed through the paperwork. “I’ve never heard of the Low King of the Dwarfs. I thought that ‘king’ in Dwarfish just meant a sort of senior engineer.”

  “Ah, well, the Low King is rather special,” said Carrot.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it all starts with the Scone of Stone, sir.”

  “The what?”

  “Would you mind a little detour on the way back to the Yard, sir? It’ll make things clearer.”

  The young woman stood on a corner of the Shades. Her general stance indicated that she was, in the specialized patois of the area, a lady in waiting. To be more precise a lady in waiting for Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Amount.

  She idly swung her handbag.

  This was a very recognizable signal, for anyone with the brains of a pigeon. A member of the Thieves’ Guild would have passed carefully by on the other side of the lane, giving her nothing more than a gentlemanly and above all nonaggressive nod. Even the less-polite freelance thieves that lurked in this area would have thought
twice before eyeing the handbag. The Seamstresses’ Guild operated a very swift and nonreversible kind of justice.

  The skinny body of Done It Duncan however, did not have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud.

  Something right by his ear started to drool. And there was a long, very long drawn out growl, not changing in tone at all, just unrolling a deep promise of what would happen if he tried to move.

  He heard footsteps, and out of the corner of his eyes saw a swirl of lace.

  “Oh, Done It,” said a voice. “Bag snatching? That’s a bit low, isn’t it? Even for you? You could’ve got really hurt. It’s only Duncan, miss. He’ll be no trouble. You can let him up.”

  The weight was removed from Duncan’s back. He heard something pad off into the gloom of an alley.

  “I done it, I done it,” said the little thief desperately, as Corporal Nobbs helped him to his feet.

  “Yes, I know you did. I saw you,” said Nobby. “And you know what’d happen to you if the Thieves’ Guild spotted you? You’d be dead in the river with no time off for good behavior.”

  “They hate me ’cos I’m so good,” said Duncan, through his matted beard. “’Ere, you know the robbery at All Jolson’s last month? I done that.”

  “That’s right, Duncan. You done that.”

  “An’ that haul at the gold vaults last week, I done that, too. It wasn’t Coalface and his boys.”

  “No, it was you, wasn’t it, Duncan.”

  “An’ that job at the goldsmith’s that everyone says Crunchie Ron done—”

  “You done it, did you?”

  “’S’right,” said Duncan.

  “And it was you what stole fire from the gods, too, wasn’t it, Duncan?” said Nobby, grinning evilly under his wig.

  “Yeah, that was me,” Duncan nodded. He sniffed. “I was a bit younger then, of course.” Duncan peered shortsightedly at Nobby Nobbs.