The Fifth Elephant (27 page)

“Did he go in before the guard change or afterward?”

“That would depend on—”

“Oh dear. Don’t the guards write anything down?”

Dee stared at Vimes.

“Are you saying he could have gone in twice in one day?”

“Very
good
. But I’m saying
someone
might have. A dwarf comes up in a boat alone, carrying a couple of candles…would the guards take that much interest? And if
another
dwarf carrying a couple of candles came up an hour or so later, when the new guards were there…well, is there any real risk? Even if our faker was noticed, he’d just have to mutter something about…oh, bad candles or something. Damp wicks. Anything.”

Dee looked distant.

“It is still a great risk,” he said at last.

“If our thief was keeping an eye on the guard changes, and knew where the real Dozy was, it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it? For the Scone?”

Dee shuddered, and then nodded. “In the morning the guards will be closely questioned,” he said.

“By me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what kind of questions get answers. We’ll set up an office here. We’ll find out the movements of everyone and talk to all the guards, okay? Even the ones on the gates. We’ll find out who went in and out.”

“You already think you know something…”

“Let’s say some ideas are forming, shall we?”

“I will…see to matters.”

Vimes straightened up and walked back to Lady Sybil, who stood like an island in a sea of dwarfs. She was talking animatedly to several of them who Vimes vaguely recognized as performers in the opera.

“What have you been up to, Sam?” she said.

“Politics, I’m afraid,” said Vimes. “And…trusting my instincts. Can you tell me who’s watching us?”

“Oh, it’s
that
game, is it?” said Sybil. She smiled happily, and in the tones of someone chatting about inconsequential things, said, “Practically everyone. But if I was handing out prizes, I’d choose the rather sad lady in the little group just off to your left. She’s got fangs, Sam. And pearls, too. They don’t exactly accessorize.”

“Can you see Wolfgang?”

“Er…no, not now you come to mention it. That’s odd. He was around a moment ago. Have you been upsetting people?”

“I think I may let people upset themselves,” said Vimes.

“Good for you. You do that so well.”

Vimes half turned, like someone just taking in the view. In among the human guests, the dwarfs moved and clustered. Five or six would come together, and talk animatedly. Then one would drift away and join another group. He might be replaced. And sometimes an entire group would spread out like the debris of an explosion, each member heading toward another group.

Vimes got the impression that there was kind of structure behind all this, some slow, purposeful dance of information. Mineshaft meetings, he thought. Small groups, because there wouldn’t be room for more. And you don’t talk too loudly. And then when the group decides, every member is an ambassador for that decision. The word spreads out in circles. It’s like running a society on formal gossip.

It occurred to him that it was also a way in which two plus two could be debated and weighed and considered and discussed until it became four-and-a-bit, or possibly an egg.
*

Occasionally a dwarf would stop and stare at him before hurrying away.

“We’re supposed to go in for supper, dear,” said Sybil, indicating the general drift toward a brightly lit cave.

“Oh dear. Quaffing, do you think? Rats on sticks? Where’s Detritus?”

“Over there, talking to the cultural attaché from Genua. That’s the man with the glazed expression.”

As they got closer Vimes heard Detritus’s voice in full expansive explanation: “—and den dere’s dis big room wid all seats in it, wid red walls and dem big gold babies climbin’ up der pillar only, don’t worry, ’cos dey’re not
real
gold babies, dey’re only made of plaster or somethin’…” There was a pause as Detritus considered matters. “An’ also I don’t reckon it’s real gold, neither, ’cos some bugger’d have pinched it if it was…And in front of der stage dere’s dis big pit where all der musicians sits. And dat’s about it for dat room. In der
next
room der’s all dese marble pillars, an’ on der floor dey got red carpetting—”

“Detritus?” said Lady Sybil. “I do hope you’re not monopolizing this gentleman.”

“No, I bin tellin’ him all about der culture we got in Ankh-Morpork,” said Detritus airily. “I know just about every inch of der op’ra house.”

“Yes,” said the cultural attaché, in a stunned voice. “And I must say I’m particularly interested in visiting the art gallery and seeing…” he shuddered “‘…der picture of dis woman, I don’t reckon der artist knew how to do a smile prop’ly, but the frame’s got to be worth a bob or two.’ It sounds like the experience of a lifetime. Good evening to you.”

“You know, I don’t fink he knows a lot of culture,” said Detritus, as the man strode away.

“Do you think people will miss us if we slip away?” said Vimes, looking around. “It’s been a long day and I want to think about things—”

“Sam, you are the
ambassador
, and Ankh-Morpork is a world power,” said Sybil. “We can’t just sneak off! People will
comment
.”

Vimes groaned. So Inigo was right: When Vimes sneezes, Ankh-Morpork blows its nose.

“Your Excellency?”

He looked down at two dwarfs.

“The Low King will see you now,” said one of them.

“Er…”

“We will have to be officially presented,” Lady Sybil hissed.

“What, even Detritus?”

“Yes!”

“But he’s a troll!” It had seemed amusing at the time.

Vimes was aware of a drift in the crowds across the floor of the huge cave. There was a certain movement to them, a flow in the current of people toward one end of the cave. There was really no option but to join it.

The Low King was on a small throne under one of the chandeliers. There was a metal canopy over it, already encrusted with marvelous stalactites of wax.

Around him, watching the crowd, were four dwarfs, tall for dwarfs, and looking rather menacing in their dark glasses. Each one was holding an ax. They spent all their time staring very hard at people.

The king was talking to the Genuan ambassador. Vimes looked sideways at Cheery and Detritus. Suddenly, bringing them here wasn’t such a good idea. In his official robes, the king looked a lot more…distant, and a lot harder to please.

Hang on, he told himself. They
are
Ankh-Morpork citizens. They’re not doing anything
wrong
.

And then he argued: They’re not doing anything wrong
in Ankh-Morpork
.

The line moved along. Their party was almost in the presence. The armed dwarfs were all watching Detritus now, and holding their axes in a slightly less relaxed way.

Detritus appeared not to notice.

“Dis place is even more cult’ral than the op’ra house,” he said, gazing around respectfully. “Dem chandeliers must weigh a ton.”

He reached up and rubbed his head, and then inspected his fingers.

Vimes glanced up. Something warm, like a buttered raindrop, hit his cheek.

As he brushed it away, he saw the shadows move…

Things happened with treacle slowness. He saw it as if he were watching himself from a little way away.

He saw himself push Cheery and Sybil roughly, heard himself shout something, and watched himself dive toward the king, snatching the dwarf up as an ax clanged into his backplate.

Then he was rolling, with the angry dwarf in his arms, and the chandelier was halfway through its fall, candle flames streaming, and there was Detritus, raising his hands with a calculating look on his face…

There was a moment of stillness and silence as the troll caught the descending mountain of light. And then physics returned, in an exploding cloud of dwarfs, debris, molten wax and tumbling, flaring candles.

Vimes woke up in utter darkness. He blinked and touched his eyes to make sure that they were open.

Then he sat up and his head thumped against stone, and
then
there was light, vicious yellow and purple
lights
, filling his life very suddenly. He lay back until they went away.

He took a personal itinerary. His cloak, helmet, sword and armor had all gone. He was left in his shirt and breeches, and while this place was not freezing, it had a clamminess that was already working its way through to his bones.

Right…

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to get a feel for the cell, but a feel it was. He moved by inches, waving his arms ahead of him like a man practicing a very slow martial art against the darkness.

Even then, the senses became unreliable in the total black. He followed the wall carefully, followed another wall, followed a wall which yielded, under his fingertips, the outline of a small door with a handle, and found the wall which had the stone slab against it on which he’d awoken.

What made this all the harder was having to do this with his head sunk against his chest. Vimes wasn’t a very tall man. If he had been, he’d probably have cracked his skull when he woke up.

Without any other aids to rely on, he walked the length of the walls using his copper’s pace. He knew exactly how long it took him, swinging his legs easily, to walk across the Brass Bridge back home. A little bit of muzzy mental arithmetic was needed, but eventually he decided that the room was ten feet square.

One thing that Vimes did not do was shout “Help! Help!” He was in a cell. Someone had
put
him in a cell. It was reasonable to assume, therefore, that whoever had done this wasn’t interested in his opinions.

He groped his way to the stone slab again and lay down. As he did so, something rattled.

His patted his pockets and brought out what felt and sounded very much like a box of matches. There were only three left.

So…resources = the clothes he stood up in, and a few matches.

Now to work out what the hell was going on.

He remembered seeing the chandelier. He
thought
he remembered seeing Detritus actually catch the thing. And there had been a lot of screaming and shouting and running around, while in his arms the king swore at Vimes as only a dwarf could swear. Then someone had hit him.

There was also an ache across his back where an ax had been turned aside by his armor. He felt a twitch of national pride at that thought. Ankh-Morpork armor had stood up to the blow! Admittedly, it
was
probably made in Ankh-Morpork by dwarfs from Uberwald, using steel smelted from Uberwald iron, but it damn well was Ankh-Morpork armor, just the same.

There was a pillow on the slab, made in Uberwald.

As Vimes turned his head, the pillow went, very faintly,
clink
. This was a sound he didn’t associate with feathers.

In the darkness, he picked up the sack and, after resorting to his teeth, managed to rip a hole in the heavy material.

If what he drew up had ever been part of a bird, it wasn’t one Vimes would ever like to meet. It
felt
very much like Inigo’s One-Shot. A finger inserted very gingerly into the end told Vimes that it was loaded, too.

Just one shot, he remembered. But it was one people didn’t know you had…

On the other hand, the Tooth Fairy probably wasn’t responsible for putting it in the pillow, unless she’d been having to face some particularly difficult children lately.

He slipped it back into the bag when he became aware of a light. It was the faintest glow, showing that the door contained a barred window and that there were shadowy figures on the other side of it.

“Are you awake, Your Grace? This is very unfortunate.”

“Dee?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to tell me this has all been some terrible mistake?”

“Alas, no. I am convinced of your innocence, of course.”

“Really? Me too,” growled Vimes. “In fact I’m
so
convinced of my innocence I don’t even know what it is I’m innocent of! Let me out or—”

“—or you will stay in, I am afraid,” said Dee. “It is a very strong door. You are not in Ankh-Morpork, Your Grace. I will of course communicate your predicament to your Lord Vetinari as soon as possible, but I understand that the message tower has been badly damaged—”

“My
predicament
is that you’ve locked me up! Why? I saved your king, didn’t I?”

“There is…conflict…”

“Someone let that chandelier down!”

“Yes, indeed. A member of your staff, it appears.”

“You know that can’t be true! Detritus and Littlebottom were with me when—”

“Mister Skimmer was on your staff?”

“He…Yes, but…I…he wouldn’t—”

“I believe you have such a thing in Ankh-Morpork called the Guild of Assassins?” said Dee, calmly. “Correct me if I am wrong.”

“He was up at the tower!”

“The
damaged
tower?”

“It was damaged before he—” Vimes stopped. “Why would he smash up one of the towers?”

“I did not say he would,” said Dee. The flat calm was still there. “And then, Your Grace, it has been
suggested
that you gave a signal just before the thing came down…”

“What?”

“A hand to the cheek, or something. It has been suggested that you anticipated the event.”

“The thing was swaying! Look, let me talk to Skimmer!”

“Do you have supernatural powers, Your Grace?”

Vimes hesitated.

“He’s dead?”

“We believe he became entangled in the winch mechanism in the process of releasing the chandelier. Three dwarfs were dead around him.”

“He wouldn’t—”

Vimes stopped again. Of course he wouldn’t. It’s just that he’s a member of this Guild we have, and you certainly know that, don’t you—

Dee must have seen his expression.

“Quite so, quite so. Everything will be investigated thoroughly. The innocent have nothing to fear.”

The news that they have nothing to fear is guaranteed to strike fear into the hearts of innocents everywhere.