The Fifth Elephant (2 page)

“Third time this week,” he said. “What’s gotten into them?”

“Hard to say, sir,” said Carrot. Vimes shot him a glance. Carrot had been raised by dwarfs. He also, if he could possibly avoid it, never told a lie.

“That isn’t the same as
I don’t know
, is it,” he said.

The captain looked awkward.

“I think it’s…sort of political,” he said.

Vimes noted a throwing ax buried in a wall.

“Yes, I can see that,” he said.

Someone was coming along the street, and was probably the reason why the riot had broken up. Lance-Constable Bluejohn was the biggest troll Vimes had ever met. He
loomed
. He was so big that he didn’t stand out in a crowd because he
was
the crowd; people failed to see him because he was in the way. And, like many overgrown people, he was instinctively gentle and rather shy and inclined to let others tell him what to do. If fate had led him to join a gang, he’d be the muscle. In the Watch, he was the riot shield. Other watchmen were peering around him.

“Looks like it started in Gimlet’s Delicatessen,” said Vimes, as the rest of the Watch moved in. “Get a statement off Gimlet.”

“Not a good idea, sir,” said Carrot firmly. “He didn’t see anything.”

“How do you know he didn’t see anything? You haven’t asked him.”

“I know, sir. He didn’t see anything. He didn’t hear anything, either.”

“With a mob trashing his restaurant and scrapping in the street outside?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Ah. I get it. There’s none so deaf as those that won’t hear, are you saying?”

“Something like that, sir, yes. Look, it’s all over, sir. I don’t think anyone’s seriously hurt. It’ll be for the best, sir. Please?”

“Is this one of those private dwarf things, Captain?”

“Yes, sir—”

“Well, this is Ankh-Morpork, Captain, not some mine in the mountains, and it’s my job to keep the peace, and
this
, Captain, doesn’t look like it. What’re people going to say about rioting in the streets?”

“They’ll say it’s another day in the life of the big city, sir,” said Carrot woodenly.

“Yes, I suppose they would, at that. However—” Vimes picked up a groaning dwarf. “Who did this?” he demanded. “I’m not in the mood for being messed around. Come on, I want a name!”

“Agi Hammerthief,” muttered the dwarf, struggling.

“All right,” said Vimes, letting him go. “Write that down, Carrot.”

“No, sir,” said Carrot.

“Excuse me?”

“There is no Agi Hammerthief in the city, sir.”

“You know every dwarf?”

“A lot of them, sir. But Agi Hammerthief is only found down mines, sir. He’s a sort of mischievous spirit, sir. For example, ‘put it where Agi puts the coal,’ sir, means—”

“Yes, I can guess,” said Vimes. “You’re telling me that dwarf just said this riot was started by Sweet Fanny Adams?” The dwarf had disappeared smartly around a corner.

“More or less, sir. Excuse me a moment, sir.” Carrot stepped across the street, pulling two white painted paddles out of his belt. “I’ll just get a line of sight on a tower,” he said. “I’d better send a clacks.”

“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.’”