The Fifth Elephant

'I... think they're gone, sir,' said Cheery's voice.

'Not as fast as us! Detritus?'

'Sir?'

'Are you Okay?'

'Feelin' very tactful, sir.'

'You two take that coach, I'll take this, and let's get the hell out of here, shall we?'

'Where's Mister Skimmer?' said Sybil.

There was another scream from the woods.

'Forget him!'

'But he's—'

'Forget him!'

The snow was falling thicker as they climbed the pass. The deep snow dragged at the wheels, and all Vimes could see were the darker shapes of the horses against the whiteness. Then the clouds parted briefly and he wished they hadn't, because here they revealed that the darkness on the left of him was no longer rock but a sheer drop.

At the top of the pass the lights of an inn glowed out on to the thickening snow. Vimes drove the carriage into the yard.

'Detritus?'

'Sir?'

'I'll watch our backs. Make sure this place is Okay, will you?'

'Yessir.'

The troll jumped down, slotting a fresh bundle of arrows into the Piecemaker. Vimes spotted his intention just in time.

'Just knock, sergeant.'

'Right you are', sir.'

The troll knocked and entered. The buzz of sound from inside suddenly ceased. Vimes heard, muffled by the door, 'Der Duke of Ankh is coming in. Anyone have a problem wid dis? Just say der word.' And in the background, the little humming, singing noise the Piecemaker made under tension.

Vimes helped Sybil down from the coach. 'How do you feel now?' he said.

She smiled faintly. 'I think this dress will have to go for dusters,' she said. She smiled a little more when she saw his expression.

'I knew you'd come up with something, Sam. You go all slow and cold and that means something really dreadful's going to happen. I wasn't frightened.'

'Really? I was scared shi— stiff,' said Vimes.

'What happened to Mister Skimmer? I remember him rummaging in his case and cursing—'

'I suspect Inigo Skimmer is alive and well,' said Vimes grimly. 'Which is more than can be said for those around him.'

There was silence in the main room of the inn. A man and a woman, presumably the landlord and his wife, were standing flat against the back of the bar. The dozen or so other occupants lined the walls, hands in the air. Beer dribbled from a couple of spilled mugs.

'Everyt'ing normal an' peaceful,' said Detritus, turning round.

Vimes realized that everyone was staring at him. He looked down. His shirt was torn. Mud and blood caked his clothes. Melted snow dripped off him. In his right hand, unregarded, he was still holding his crossbow.

'Bit of trouble on the road,' he said. 'Er, you know how it is.'

No one moved.

'Oh, good gods. Detritus, put that damn thing down, will you?'

'Right, sir.'

The troll lowered his crossbow. Two dozen people all began to breathe again.

Then the skinny woman stepped around from behind the bar, nodded at Vimes, carefully took Lady Sybil's hand from his, and pointed towards the wide wooden stairs. The black look she gave Vimes puzzled him.

Only then did he realize that Lady Sybil was shaking. Tears were running down her face.

'And, er, my wife is a bit shaken up,' he said weakly. 'Corporal Littlebottom!' he yelled, to cover his confusion.

Cheery stepped through the doorway.

'Go with Lady Syb—'

He stopped because of the rising hubbub. One or two people pointed. Someone laughed. Cheery stopped, looking down.

'What's up?' Vimes hissed.

'Er, it's me, sir. Ankh-Morpork dwarf fashions haven't really caught on here, sir,' said Cheery.

'The skirt?' said Vimes.

'Yes, sir.'

Vimes looked around at the faces. They seemed more shocked than angry, although he spotted a couple of dwarfs in one corner who were definitely unhappy.

'Go with Lady Sybil,' he repeated.

'It might not be a very good id—' Cheery began.

'Gods damn it!' shouted Vimes, unable to stop himself. The crowd went silent. A ragged bloodstained madman holding a crossbow can command a rapt audience. Then he shuddered. What he wanted now was a bed, but what he wanted, before bed, more than anything, was a drink. And he couldn't have one. He'd learned that long ago. One drink was one too many.

'All right, tell me,' he said.

'All dwarfs are men, sir,' said Cheery. 'I mean... traditionally. That's how everyone thinks of it up here.'

'Well, stand outside the door, or... or shut your eyes or something, Okay?'

Vimes lifted Lady Sybil's chin. 'Are you all right, dear?' he said.

'Sorry to let you down, Sam,' she whispered. 'It was just so awful.'

Vimes, designed by Nature to be one of those men unable to kiss their own wives in public, patted her helplessly on the shoulder. She thought she'd let him down. It was unbearable.

'You just... I mean, Cheery will... and I'll... sort things out and be along right away,' he said. 'We'll get a good bedroom, I suspect.'

She nodded, still looking down.

'And... I'm just going out for some fresh air.'

Vimes stepped outside. The snow had stopped for now. The moon was half hidden by clouds and the air smelled of frost.

When the figure dropped down from the eaves it was amazed at the way Vimes spun and rushed it bodily against the wall.

Vimes looked through a red mist at the moonlit face of Inigo Skimmer.

'I'll damn well—' he began.

'Look down, your grace,' said Skimmer. 'Mhm, mhm.'

Vimes realized he could feel the faintest prick of a knife blade on his stomach. 'Look down further,' he said.

Inigo looked down. He swallowed. Vimes had a knife, too. 'You really are no gentleman, then,' he said.

'Make a sudden move and neither are you,' said Vimes. 'And now it appears that we have reached what Sergeant Colon persists in referring to as an imp arse.'

'I assure you I will not kill you,' said Inigo.

'I know that,' said Vimes. 'But will you try?'

'No. I'm here for your protection, mhm, mhm.'

'Vetinari sent you, did he?'

'You know we never divulge the name of—'

'That's true. You people are very honourable,' Vimes spat the word, 'in that