The Fifth Elephant d-24

by Terry Pratchett

  'Yes, indeed,' said Vimes, removing his handkerchief and absentmindedly dabbing his ear. 'And, er... this rabbit?'

  'He's Eerie, thur,' said young Igor.

  'Good name. Good name. Is that why he's got human ears all over his back?'

  'Early experiment, thur.'

  'And, er, the noses?'

  There were about a dozen of them in a large screwtop pickle jar. And they were... just noses. Not cut off anyone, as far as Vimes could see. They had little legs and were jumping hopefully up and down against the glass, like puppies in a pet shop window. He thought he could hear faint 'wheel' noises.

  'The wave of the future, thur,' said young Igor. 'I grow them in special vats. I can do eyes and fingers, too!'

  'But they've got little legs!'

  'Oh, they wither off in a few hours after they're attached, thur. And they want to be useful, my little noses. Bio-artificing for the next century, thur. None of that outmoded cutting up of old bodies—'

  His father smacked his head again. 'You thee? You thee? Where'th the point in that? Wathtrel! I hope you can do thomething with him, marthter, becauthe I've jutht about given up! Not worth breaking down for thpareth, ath we thay!'

  Vimes sighed. Still, losing small extremities was a daily hazard in the Watch and the lad was, after all, an Igor. It wasn't as if there were any normal people in the Watch. He could afford to put up with a nose-breeder in exchange for surgery that didn't involve screaming and buckets of boiling pitch.

  He indicated a box beside the young man. It was growling and rocking from side to side.

  'You haven't got a dog too, have you?' he said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

  'That's my tomatoes,' said young Igor. 'A triumph of modern igoring. They grow enormously.'

  'Only becauthe they vithiouthly attack all other vegetableth!' said his father. 'But I'll thay thith for the lad, marthter, I've never known anyone like him for really tiny thtitching.'

  'All right, all right, he sounds the man I'm looking for,' said Vimes. 'Or close, at least. Take a seat, young man. I just hope there's going to be room in the coaches...'

  The door to the yard swung open, blowing in a few snowflakes and Carrot, who stamped his feet.

  'A bit of snow overnight but the road looks open,' he said. 'They say there's a really big one due tonight, though, so we— Oh, good morning, sir.'

  'You're fit enough to travel?'. said Vimes.

  'We both are,' said Angua. She crossed the hall and stood next to Carrot.

  Once again Vimes was aware of a lot of words that he hadn't heard. A wise man didn't make enquiries at a time like this. Besides, Vimes could feel the cold coming up through his feet.

  He reached a decision. 'Give me your notebook, captain,' he said.

  They watched him scribble a few lines.

  'Stop at the clacks tower and send a message on to the Yard,' he said, handing it back to Carrot. 'Tell them you're on the way. Take young Igor here with you and get him settled in, Okay? And make a report to his lordship.'

  'Er, you're not coming?' said Carrot.

  'Her ladyship and I will take the other coach,' said Vimes. 'Or buy a sleigh. Very comfy things, sleighs. And we'll, we'll just take it a little easier. We'll see the sights. We'll dawdle along the way. Understand?'

  He saw Angua smile and wondered if Sybil had confided in her.

  'Absolutely, sir,' said Carrot.

  'Oh, and, er, go along to Burleigh Fr Stronginthearm's, order a couple of dozen of everything off the top of their small arms catalogue, and get them on to the next mail coach due to Bonk for the personal attention of Captain Tantony.'

  'The mail coach rate will be very expensive, sir...' Carrot began.

  'I didn't want you to tell me that, captain. I wanted you to say, "Yes, sir." '

  'Yes, sir.'

  'And ask at the gate about... three gloomy biddies who live in a big house near here. It's got a cherry orchard. Find out the address and when you get back send them three coach tickets to Ankh-Morpork.'

  'Right, sir.'

  'Well done. Travel safely. I'll see you in a week. Or two. Three at the outside. All right?'

  A few minutes later he stood shivering on the steps, watching the coach disappear into the crisp morning.

  He felt a pang of guilt, but it was only a little pang. He gave every day to the Watch and it was time, he thought, for it to give him a week. Or two. Three at the outside.

  In fact, he realized, as pangs. went it was barely a ping which was, he recalled, a dialect word for watermeadow. Right now he could see a future, which was more than he'd ever had before.

  He locked the door and went back to bed.

  On a clear day, from the right vantage point on the Ramtops, a watcher could see a very long way across the plains.

  The dwarfs had harnessed mountain streams and built a staircase of locks that rose a mile up from the rolling grasslands, for the use of which they charged not just a pretty penny but a very handsome dollar. Barges were always ascending or descending, making their way down to the river Smarl and the cities of the plain. They carried coal, iron, fireclay, pig treacle[21] and fat, the dull ingredients of the pudding of civilization.

  In the sharp, thin air they took several days to get out of sight. On a clear day, you could see next Wednesday.

  The captain of one of the barges waiting for the top lock went to tip the dregs of his teapot over the side and saw a small dog sitting on the snowy bank. It sat up and begged, hopefully.

  He turned to go back into the cabin when he thought: what a nice little doggie.

  It was such a clear thought that it almost seemed to him that he had heard it, but he looked around and there was no one else near him. And dogs certainly couldn't talk.

  He heard himself think: 'This little doggie would be very useful keepin' down rats that might attack the cargo, sort of frog.'

  It must have been his thought, he decided. There was no one else nearby, and everyone knew dogs didn't talk.

  He said aloud, 'But rats don't eat coal, do they?'

  He thought, clear as day: 'Ah, well, you never know when they might try, right? Anyway, it's such a sweet-looking little doggie that's been strugglin' for days through deep snow, huh, not that anyone cares.'

  The bargeman gave up. There's only so long you can argue with yourself.

  Ten minutes later the barge was on the long drop to the plains, with a small dog sitting at the prow, enjoying the breeze.

  On the whole, thought Gaspode, it was always best to look to the future.

  Nobby Nobbs had made himself a shelter up against the wall of the Watch House, and was gloomily warming his hands when a shadow loomed over him.

  'What are you doing, Nobby?' said Carrot.

  'Huh? Captain?'

  'There's no one on the gates, there's no one on patrol. Didn't anyone get my message? What's happening?'

  Nobby licked his lips. 'We-ell,' he said. 'There isn't... well, there isn't a Watch at the moment. Not per say.' He flinched. He saw Angua behind Carrot. 'Er, Mister Vimes with you at all?'

  'What is happening, Nobby?'

  'Well, you see... Fred kind of... and then he got all sort of... then next thing you know he was setting for to... and then we... and then he wouldn't come out... and then we... and he nailed up the door... and Mrs Fred came and shouted at him through the letterbox... and most of the lads have gone off and got other jobs... and now there's just me and Dorfl and Reg and Washpot, and we come here turn and turn about and we shove food through the letterbox for him... and... that's it, reelly...'

  'Can we have that again with the gaps filled in?' said Carrot.

  This took considerably longer. There were still gaps. Carrot forced them open.

  'I see,' he said at last.

  'Mister Vimes is going to go spare, isn't he?' said Nobby miserably.

  'I wouldn't worry about Mister Vimes,' said Angua. 'Not at the moment.'

  Carrot was looking up at the front door. It w
as thick oak. There were bars at all the windows.

  'Go and fetch Constable Dorfl, Nobby,' he said.

  Ten minutes later the Watch House had a new doorway. Carrot stepped over the wreckage and led the way upstairs.

  Fred Colon was hunched in the chair, staring fixedly at one solitary sugar lump.

  'Be careful,' whispered Angua. 'He might be in a rather fragile mental state.'

  'That's very likely,' said Carrot. He leaned down and whispered: 'Fred?'

  'Mm?' murmured Colon.

  'On your feet, sergeant! Am I 'urtin' you? I ought to be, I'm standin' on your beard! You've got five minutes to wash and shave and be back here with shinin' mornin' face! On your feet! To the washroom! Abou-ut turn! At the double! One-two-one-two!'

  It seemed to Angua that no part of Fred Colon above the neck, except maybe for his ears, was involved in what happened next. Fred Colon rose at attention, executed a thudding about-turn and doubled out of the door.

  Carrot spun around towards Nobby. 'You too, corporal!'

  Nobby, trembling with shock, saluted with both hands at once and ran after Colon.

  Carrot went over to the fireplace and poked at the ashes. 'Oh dear,' he said.

  'All burnt?' said Angua.

  'I'm afraid so.'

  'Some of those heaps were like old friends.'

  'Well, we'll find out if we've missed anything important when it starts to smell,' said Carrot.

  Nobby and Colon appeared again, breathless and pink. There were a few bits of tissue stuck on Colon's face where the shaving had been too enthusiastic, but he was nevertheless looking better. He was a sergeant again. Someone was giving him orders. His brain was moving. The world was the right side up once more.

  'Fred?' said Carrot.

  'Yessir?'

  'You've got a bit of bird doings on your shoulder.'

  'I'll see to that right now, sir!' said Nobby, leaping sideways. He dragged a handkerchief from his pocket, spat on it, and rubbed hurriedly at Colon's temporary pip. 'All gone now, Fred!' he said.

  'Well done,' said Carrot.

  He got up and went over to the window. It did not, in fact, offer much in the way of a view. But he looked out of it as if he could see to the end of the world.

  Colon and Nobby shifted uneasily. Right now they did not like the sound of silence. When Carrot did speak they blinked as if struck in the face by a cold flannel.

  'What I believe there has been here,' he said, 'is a confused situation.'

  'That's right, that's right,' said Nobby quickly. 'We was very confused. Fred?'

  He jabbed Fred Colon with his elbow, waking him from a reverie of terror.

  'Uh? Oh. Right. Oh, yeah. Confusion,' he mumbled.

  'And I'm afraid I know where the blame ultimately lies,' Carrot went on, still apparently engrossed in the spectacle of a man sweeping the Opera House steps.

  In the silence Nobby's lips moved in prayer. Only the whites of Fred Colon's eyes could be seen.

  'It was my fault,' said Carrot. 'I blame myself: Mister Vimes left me in charge, and I rushed off with no thought of my duty and put everyone in an impossible position.'

  Fred and Nobby were both wearing the same expression. It was the face of a man who has seen the light at the end of the tunnel and it has turned out to be the twinkle of the Fairy of Hope.

  'I feel almost embarrassed to ask you two to get me out of this pit I have dug for myself,' said Carrot. 'I can't imagine what Mister Vimes is going to say.'

  The light at the end of the tunnel winked out for Fred and Nobby. They could imagine what Mister Vimes would say.

  'However,' said Carrot. He returned to the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer, extracting a few grubby pages that were clipped together.

  They waited.

  'However, each of these men took the King's Shilling and swore an oath to defend the King's Peace,' said Carrot, tapping the paper. 'An oath, in fact, to the King.'

  'Yeah, but that was only— Aargh!' said Fred Colon.

  'Sorry, sir,' said Nobby. 'I inadvertently trod heavily on Fred's toe while standing to attention.'

  There was a long-drawn-out silken sound. Carrot was drawing his sword from its sheath. He laid it on the desk. Nobby and Colon leaned away from its accusatory point.

  'They are all good lads,' said Carrot softly. 'I'm sure if the two of you call on each and every one of them and explain the situation, they will see where their duty lies. Tell them... tell them there is always an easy way, if you know where to look. And then we can get on with our jobs, and when Mister Vimes returns from his well-earned holiday the somewhat confused events of the past will be merely—'

  'Confusin'?' suggested Nobby, hopefully.

  'Exactly,' said Carrot. 'But I'm glad to see you made so much headway with the paperwork, Fred.'

  Colon stood nailed to the spot until Nobby, saluting desperately with the other hand, dragged him out of the office.

  Angua could hear them arguing all the way down the stairs.

  Carrot stood up, dusted off the chair and placed it carefully under the desk.

  'Well, we're home,' he said.

  'Yes,' said Angua, and she thought: you do know how to do nasty, don't you? But you use it like a claw; it slides out when you need it, and when you don't there's no sign that it's there. He reached over and took her hand. 'Wolves never look back,' he whispered.

  THE END

  Notes

  1

  Not rock and iron in their dead form, as they are now, but living rock and iron. The dwarfs have quite an inventive mythology about minerals.

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  2

  *** Note appears to be lost ***

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  3

  Vampires evolve long names. It's something to do to pass the long years.

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  4

  At least, of the sort she normally wore.

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  5

  And, just lately, Corporal Nobbs.

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  6

  They couldn't bring themselves to utter the word 'her'.

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  7

  At least by proper explorers. Just living there doesn't count.

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  8

  At least, if you hit them hard enough.

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  9

  Especially if it was green, and bubbled.

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  10

  Except that the ones around it were not good stones to tread on if it was a Tuesday.

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  11

  As a member of the dead community Reg Shoe naturally thought of himself as an ethnic majority.

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  12

  Miles and Miles of Bloody Uberwald.

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  13

  One that no other creature in the world would ever adopt.

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  14

  After all, this made it so much harder for the hand to feed you tomorrow.

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  15

  Detritus's silicon-based brain was, as with most trolls, highly sensitive to changes in temperature. When the thermometer was very low he could be dangerously intellectual.

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  16

  A kind of pastry made from curtains.

  Buckwheat dumplings stuffed with stuff.

  Bread made from parsnips, and widely considered to be much tastier than the dull wheat kind.

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  17

  He'd noticed that sex bore some resemblance to cookery: it fascinated people, they sometimes bought books full of complicated recipes and interesting pictures, and sometimes when they were really hungry they created vast banquets in their imagination - but at the end of the day they'd settle quite happily for egg and chips. If it was well done and maybe had a slice of tomato.

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  18

  Vimes had once discussed the Ephebian
idea of 'democracy' with Carrot, and had been rather interested in the idea that everyone* had a vote until he found out that while he, Vimes, would have a vote, there was no way in the rules that anyone could prevent Nobby Nobbs from having one as well.

  Vimes could see the flaw there straight away.

  *Apart from the women, children, slaves, idiots and people who weren't really our kind of people.

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  19

  The Marquis of Fantailler got into many fights in his youth, most of them as a result of being known as the Marquis of Fantailler, and wrote a set of rules for what he termed 'the noble art of fisticuffs', which mostly consisted of a list of places where people weren't allowed to hit him. Many people were impressed with his work and later stood with noble chest out-thrust and fists balled in a spirit of manly aggression against people who hadn't read the Marquis's book but did know how to knock people senseless with a chair. The last words of a surprisingly large number of people were 'Stuff the bloody Marquis of Fantailler—'