The Fifth Elephant (22 page)

“He died in an explosion somewhere under Borogravia. But he was doing what he wanted to do.” After a moment she added, conscientiously, “Well, up to the moment when the blast hit him. After that, I don’t think so.”

Now the coach was rumbling up the mountain on one side of the town. Vimes looked down at the little round helmet beside him. Funny how you think you know about people, he thought.

The wheels clattered over the wood of a drawbridge.

As castles went, this one looked as though it could be taken by a small squad of not very efficient soldiers. Its builder had not been thinking about fortifications. He’d been influenced by fairy tales and possibly by some of the more ornamental sorts of cake. It was a castle for looking at. For defense, putting a blanket over your head might be marginally safer.

The coach stopped in the courtyard. To Vimes’s amazement, a familiar figure in a shabby black coat came shuffling up to open the door.

“Igor?”

“Yeth, marthter?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Er…I’m opening thif here door, marthter,” said Igor.

“But why aren’t you—”

Then it stole over Vimes that Igor was different.
This
Igor had both eyes the same color, and some of his scars were in different places.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I thought you were Igor.”

“Oh, you mean my
couthin
Igor,” said Igor. “He workth down at the embathy. How’th he getting on?”

“Er…he’s looking…well,” said Vimes. “Pretty…well. Yes.”

“Did he mention how Igor’th getting on, thir?” said Igor, shambling away so fast that Vimes had to run to keep up. “Only none of uth have heard from him, not even Igor, who’th alwayth been very clothe.”

“I’m sorry? Is your whole family called Igor?”

“Oh yeth, thir. It avoidth confuthion.”

“It does?”

“Yeth, thir. Anyone who ith anyone in Uberwald wouldn’t dream of employing any other thervant but an Igor. Ah, here we are, thir. The mithtreth ith expecting you.”

They’d walked under an arch and Igor was opening a door with far more studs in it than was respectable. This led to a hallway.

“Are you sure you want to come?” said Vimes to Cheery. “She is a vampire.”

“Vampires don’t worry me, sir.”

“Lucky for you,” said Vimes. He glanced at the silent Tantony. The man was looking as strained as Vimes felt.

“Tell our friend here he won’t be needed and he’s to wait for us in the coach, the lucky devil,” he said. “But don’t translate that last bit.”

Igor opened an inner door as Tantony almost ran out of the hall.

“Hith Grathe Hith Exthelenthy—”

“Ah, Sir Samuel,” said Lady Margolotta. “Do come in. I know you don’t like being Your Grace. Isn’t this tiresome? But it has to be done, doesn’t it.”

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.