The Fifth Elephant (40 page)

The man reddened.

“What is your business here?” he said.

“Our hairy friend just murdered someone in the embassy, which is—”

“Yes, yes, Ankh-Morpork territory. But
this
isn’t! I am the watchman here!”

“I’m in hot pursuit, Captain. You know the term?”

“I…I…that doesn’t apply!” Tantony snapped.

“Really?” Vimes raised an eyebrow. “Surely
every
copper knows about the rule of hot pursuit. You can chase the suspect over your legal boundary if you’re in hot pursuit. Of course, there may be a bit of legal argy-bargy once he’s
caught
, but we can save that for later.”

“I intend to arrest him myself for crimes committed today!”

“You’re too young to die. Besides, I saw him first. Tell you what…after he’s killed me, you can have a go. Fair enough?” He looked Tantony in the eye. “Now get out of the way.”

“You know I could have you arrested.”

“Probably, but up until now I’d got you down as an intelligent man.”

Tantony nodded, and proved Vimes right.

“And is there
nothing
you would have us do?”

“Well, yes. You could scrape up my remains if this doesn’t work.”

Vimes felt the man’s stare on the back of his neck as he set off again.

There was a statue in the middle of the square. It was of the Fifth Elephant. Some ancient craftsman had tried to achieve in bronze and stone the moment when the allegorical animal had thundered down out of the sky and gifted the country its incredible mineral wealth. Around it were idealized and rather heavyset figures of dwarfs and men, holding hammers and swords, and striking noble attitudes; they probably represented Truth, Industry, Justice and Mother’s Home-Made Fat Pancakes, for all Vimes knew, but he felt truly far from home in a country where, apparently, no one wrote graffiti on public statues.

A man was sprawled on the cobbles, with a woman kneeling beside him. She looked tearfully at Vimes and said something in Uberwaldean. All he could do was nod.

Wolfgang jumped down from a perch on top of the statue to Bad Sculpting and landed a few yards away, grinning.

“Mister Civilized! You want another Game?”

“You see this badge I am holding up?” said Vimes.

“It is a very small one!”

“But you see it?”

“Yes, I see your little badge!” Wolfgang started to move sideways, arms hanging loosely by his sides.

“And I’m armed. Did you hear me tell you I’m armed?”

“With that silly bow?”

“But you just heard me say I’m armed, yes?” said Vimes, loudly, turning to face the moving werewolf. He puffed on his cigar, letting a glow build up.

“Yes! Is this what you call civilized?”

Vimes grinned. “Yes, this is how we do it.”

“My way is better!”

“And now you’re under arrest,” said Vimes. “Come along and make no fuss and we’ll tie you securely and hand you over to whatever passes for justice around here. I realize this may be difficult.”

“Hah! Your Ankh-Morpork sense of humor!”

“Yes, any minute now I’ll drop my trousers. So…you’re resisting arrest?”

“Why these stupid questions?” Now Wolfgang was almost dancing.

“Are you resisting arrest?”

“Yes indeed! Oh yes! Good joke!”

“Look at me laughing.”

Vimes tossed the crossbow aside and swung a tube out from under his cloak. It was made of cardboard, and a red cone protruded from one end.

“A stupid silly firework!” shouted Wolfgang, and charged.

“Could be,” said Vimes.

He didn’t bother to aim. These things were never designed for accuracy. He simply removed his cigar from his mouth and, as Wolfgang ran toward him, pressed it into the fuse hole.

The mortar jerked as the charge went off and its payload came out tumbling slowly and trailing smoke in a lazy spiral. It looked like the stupidest weapon since the toffee spear.

Wolfgang danced back and forth under it, grinning, and as it passed several feet over his head he leapt up gracefully and caught it in his mouth.

And then it exploded.

The flares were made to be seen twenty miles away. Even with his eyes tightly shut, Vimes saw the glare through the lids.

When the body had stopped rolling, Vimes looked around the square. People were watching from the coaches. The crowds were silent.

There were a lot of things he could say. “Son of a bitch!” would have been a good one. Or he could say “Welcome to civilization!” He could have said “Laugh this one off!” He might have said “Fetch!”

But he didn’t, because if he had said any of those things, then he’d know that what he had just done was murder.

He turned away, tossed the empty mortar over his shoulder, and muttered: “The hell with it.”

At times like this, teetotalism bit down hard.

Tantony was watching.

“Don’t say a word out of place,” said Vimes, without altering his stride. “Just don’t.”

“I thought…those things shot very fast…”

“I cut the charge down,” said Vimes, tossing Detritus’s penknife in the air and catching it again. “I didn’t want to
hurt
anyone.”

“I heard you warn him that you were armed. I heard him twice resist arrest. I heard everything. I heard everything you wanted me to hear.”

“Yes.”

“Of course, he might not have known that law.”

“Oh, really? Well,
I
didn’t know it was legal in these parts to chase some poor sod across the country and maul him to death and, do you know, that didn’t stop anyone.”

The crowds parted ahead of Vimes. He could hear whispers around him.

“On the
other
hand,” said Tantony, “you did only fire that thing to warn him…”

“Huh?”

“
Clearly
you were not to know that he would automatically try to catch the…explosive,” said Tantony, and it seemed to Vimes that he was rehearsing the line. “The…doglike qualities of a werewolf would hardly have occurred to a man from the big city.”

Vimes held his gaze for a moment, and then patted him on the shoulder.

“Hold on to that thought,” he said.

A coach pulled to a halt beside him as he continued on his way. It slid to a stop so silently, not a jingle of harness, not a clop of horseshoe, that Vimes jumped sideways out of shock.

The horses were black, with black plumes on their heads. The coach was a hearse, the traditional long glass windows now filled with smoked black glass. There was no driver; the reins were simply loosely knotted on a brass railing.

A door swung open. A veiled figure leaned out.

“Your Excellency?
Do
let me give you a lift back to the embassy. You look so tired.”

“No, thank you,” said Vimes grimly.

“I apologize for the emphasis on black,” said Lady Margolotta. “It is rather expected of one on these occasions, I’m afraid—”

Vimes swung himself up and into the carriage with furious speed.

“You tell
me
,” he growled, waving a finger under her nose, “how
anyone
can swim up a vertical waterfall? I was prepared to believe
anything
about that bastard, but even he couldn’t have managed that…”

“Certainly that is a puzzle,” said the vampire calmly, as the driverless coach moved on. “Superhuman strength, possibly?”

“And now he’s gone and that’s one up for the vampires, eh?”

“I would like to think that it’s going to be a blessing for the whole country.” Lady Margolotta leaned back. Her rat with the bow around its neck watched Vimes suspiciously from its pink cushion. “Wolfgang was a sadistic murderer, a throwback who frightened even his own family. Delphine…sorry, Angua…will have some peace of mind. An intelligent young lady, I’ve always thought. Leaving here was the best thing she ever did. The darkness will be a little less frightening. The world will be a better place.”

“And I’ve handed you Uberwald?”

“Don’t be stupid. Uberwald is huge. This is one small part of it. And now it’s going to change. You have been a breath of fresh air.”

Lady Margolotta drew a long holder from her bag and inserted a black cigarette. It lit itself.

“Like you, I have found consolation in a…different vice,” she said. “Black Scopani. They grow the tobacco in total darkness. Do try some. You could waterproof roofs with it. I believe Igor makes cigars by rolling the leaves between his thighs.” She blew out a stream of smoke. “Or someone’s thighs, anyway. Of course, I am sorry for the baroness. It must be so hard for a werewolf, realizing that she’s raised a monster. As for the baron, give him a bone and he’s happy for hours.” Another stream of smoke. “Do look after Angua. Happy Families is not a popular game among the undead.”

“You helped him come back! Just like you did for me!”

“Oh, he’d have come back anyway, in time. Some time when you weren’t expecting him. He’d track Angua like a wolverine. Best that things ended today.” She gave him an appraising look through the smoke. “You’re good at anger, Your Grace. You save it up for when you need it.”

“You couldn’t have known I’d beat him. You left me in the snow. I wasn’t even armed!”

“Havelock Vetinari would not have sent a fool to Uberwald.” More smoke, which writhed in the air. “At least, not a
stupid
fool.”

Vimes’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve
met
him, haven’t you.”

“Yes.”

“And taught him all he knows, right?”

She blew smoke down her nostrils, and gave him a radiant smile.

“I’m sorry? You think
I
taught him? My dear sir…As for what I’ve got out of all this…well, a little breathing space. A little influence. Politics is more interesting than blood, Your Grace. And much more fun. Beware the reformed vampire, sir—the craving for blood is only a craving, and with care it can be diverted along different channels. Ah, I believe we are here,” she added, although Vimes could have sworn that she hadn’t so much as glanced out of the window.

The door opened.

“If my Igor’s still there, do tell him I will see him Downtown. So nice to have met you. I’m sure we shall meet again. And do please present my fondest regards to Lord Vetinari.”

The door shut behind Vimes. The coach moved off.

He swore, under his breath.

The hall was full of Igors. Several of them touched their forelocks, or at least the approximate line of stitch marks, when they saw him. All of them were carrying heavy metal containers of varying sizes, on which frost crystals were forming.

“What’s this?” he said. “Igor’s funeral?” Then it sunk in. “Oh, my gods…with party loot bags? Everyone gets something to take home?”

“You could say that, thir, you could put it that way,” said an Igor, as the rest filed past. “It may theem odd to you, but
we
think that putting bodieth in the ground ith rather gruethome. All thothe wormth and thingth.” He tapped the tin box under his arm. “Thith way, he’ll be mothtly up and about again in no time,” he added brightly.

“Reincarnation on the installment plan, eh?” said Vimes weakly.

“Motht amuthing, thir,” said the Igor gravely. “But it’th amathing what people need. Heartth, liverth, handth…we keep a litht, thir, of detherving catheth. By tonight there will be thome very lucky people in thethe parth—”

“And these parts in some very lucky people?”

“Well done, thur. I can thee you are a wit. And I’m sure one day thome poor thoul will have a really nathty brain injury, and,” he tapped the chilly box again, “what goeth around, cometh around.”

He nodded at Cheery, and at Vimes.

He limped off, but suddenly a very similar voice was
behind
Vimes. Another Igor came out of the kitchens, carrying a dusty black suit on a hanger and, in his other hand, a pair of boots.

“A bit worn, but I darethay some poor thoul will be grateful,” he said. “Thorry we’re all ruthing off, thir. Tho much to do, you know how it ith.”

“I can imagine,” said Vimes, and unfortunately he could. But, then, he thought: The ax of my grandfather, the king called it. You change things around, you replace every bit, but the ax survives. There will always be an Igor.

“They’re really rather selfless people, sir,” said Cheery, when the last Igor had lurched off. “They do a lot of good work for people.”

“I know, I know. But—”

“Yes, sir. I know what you mean, sir. Everyone’s in the drawing room. Lady Sybil said you’d be back. She said anyone with that look in their eye comes back.”

“We’re all going to the coronation. Might as well see this through. Is that what you’ll be wearing, Cheery?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But it’s just…ordinary dwarf clothes. Trousers and everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But Sybil said you’d got a fetching little green number and a helmet with a feather in it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re free to wear whatever you want, you know that.”

“Yes, sir. And then I thought about Dee. And I watched the king when he was talking to you, and…well, I
can
wear what I like, sir. That’s the point. I don’t
have
to wear that dress. I can wear what I like. I don’t
have
to wear something just because other people
don’t
want me to. Anyway, it made me look a rather stupid lettuce.”

“That’s all a bit complicated for me, Cheery.”

“It’s probably a dwarf thing, sir.”

“And a female thing,” said Vimes.

“Well, sir…yes. A dwarf thing and a female thing,” said Cheery. “And they don’t come much more complicated than that.”

Vimes pushed open the doors to the drawing room.

“It’s over,” he said, as they turned to look at him.

“Did you hurt anyone else?” said Sybil.

“Only Wolfgang.”

“He’ll be back,” said Angua, flatly.

“No.”

“You killed him?”

“No. I put him down. I see you’re up, Captain.”

Carrot got to his feet, awkwardly, and saluted.

“Sorry I haven’t been much use, sir.”

“You just chose the wrong time to fight fair. Are you well enough to come?”

“Er…Angua and I want to stay here, if it’s all right with you, sir. We’ve got things to talk about.” Carrot looked down. “And…er…do,” he added.