The Fifth Elephant

respect.'

Both men relaxed a little.

'You left me alone surrounded by enemies,' said Inigo, but without much accusation in his tone.

'Why should I care what happens to a bunch of bandits?' said Vimes. 'You're an assassin.'

'How did you find out? Mmph?'

'A copper watches the way people walk. The Klatchians say a man's leg is his second face, did you know that? And that little clerky, I'm-so-harmless walk of yours is too good to be true.'

'You mean that just from my walk you—'

'No. You didn't catch the orange,' said Vimes.

'Come now—'

'No, people either catch or flinch. You saw it wasn't a danger. And when I took your arm I felt metal under your clothes. Then I just sent a clacks back with your description.'

He let go of Inigo and walked over to the coach, leaving his back exposed. He took something down from the box and came back and waved it at the man.

'I know this is yours,' he said. 'I pinched it out of your luggage. If I ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork I will make their life a complete misery as only a copper knows how. Is that understood?'

'If you ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork, your grace, mhm, they will still be lucky that the Assassins' Guild didn't find them first, mmph. They are on our forbidden list within the city. But we're a long way from Ankh-Morpork now. Mmph, mmph.'

Vimes turned the thing over and over in his hands. It looked vaguely like a long-handled hammer, or perhaps a strangely made telescope. What it was, basically, was a spring. That's all a crossbow was, after all.

'It's a devil to load,' he said. 'I nearly ruptured myself cocking it against a rock. You'd only get one shot.'

'But it's the shot no one expects, mhm, mhm.'

Vimes nodded. You could even conceal this thing down your pants, although the thought of all that coiled power so close would require nerves of steel and other parts of steel, too, if it came to it.

'This is not a weapon. This is for killing people,' he said.

'Uh, most weapons are,' said Inigo.

'No, they're not. They're so you don't have to kill people. They're for... for having. For being seen. For warning. This isn't one of those. It's for hiding away until you bring it out and kill people in the dark. And where's that other thing?'

'Your grace?'

'The palm dagger. Don't try to lie to me.'

Inigo shrugged. The movement shot something silver out of his sleeve; it was a carefully shaped blade, padded on one side, which slid along the edge of his hand. There was a click from somewhere inside his jacket.

'Good gods,' breathed Vimes. 'Do you know how often people have tried to assassinate me, man?'

'Yes, your grace. Nine times. The Guild has set your fee at $600,000. The last time an approach was made no Guild member volunteered. Mhm, mhm.'

'Hah!'

'Incidentally, and very informally of course, we would appreciate knowing the whereabouts of the body of the Honourable Eustace BassinglyGore, mhm, mhm.'

Vimes scratched his nose. 'Was he the one who tried to poison my shaving cream?'

'Yes, your grace.'

'Well, unless his body is an extremely strong swimmer, it's still on a ship bound for Ghat via Cape Terror,' said Vimes. 'I paid the captain a thousand dollars not to take the chains off before Zambingo, too. That'll give it a nice long walk home through the jungles of Klatch where I'm sure its knowledge of rare poisons will come in very handy, although not as handy perhaps as a knowledge of antidotes.'

'A thousand dollars!'

'Well, he had twelve hundred dollars on him. I donated the rest to the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons. I got a receipt, by the way. You chaps are keen on receipts, I think.'

'You stole his money? Mhm, mhm.'

Vimes took a deep breath. His voice, when it emerged, was flat calm. 'I wasn't going to waste any of my own. And he had just tried to kill me. Think of it as an investment, for the good of his health. Of course, if in due course he cares to come and see me, I shall make sure he gets what's coming to him.'

'I'm... astounded, your grace. Mhm, mhm. Bassingly-Gore was an extremely competent swordsman.'

'Really? I generally never wait to find out about that sort of thing.'

Inigo smiled his thin little smile. 'And two months ago Sir Richard Liddleley was found tied to a fountain in Sator Square, painted pink and with a flag stuck—'

'I was feeling generous,' said Vimes. 'I'm sorry, I don't play your games.'

'Assassination is not a game, your grace.'

'It is the way you people play it.'

'There have to be rules. Otherwise there would just be anarchy. Mhm, mhm. You have your code and we have ours.'

'And you've been sent here to protect me?'

'I have other skills, but... yes.'

'What makes you think I'll need you?'

'Well, your grace, here they don't have rules. Mhm, mhm.'

'I've spent most of my life dealing with people who don't have rules!'

'Yes, of course. But when you kill them, they don't get up again.'

'I've never killed anyone!' said Vimes.

'You shot that bandit in the throat.'

'I was aiming for the shoulder.'

'Yes, the thing does pull to the left,' said Inigo. 'You mean that you have never tried to kill anyone. I have, on the other hand. And here hesitation may not be an option. Mmph.'

'I didn't hesitate!'

Inigo sighed. 'In the Guild, your grace, we don't... grandstand.'

'Grandstand?'

'That business with the cigar...'

'You mean, when I shut my eyes and they had to look at a flame in the darkness?'

'Ah...' Inigo hesitated. 'But they might have shot you there and then.'

'No. I wasn't a threat. And you heard his voice. I hear that sort of voice a lot. He's not going to shoot people too soon and spoil the fun. I can assume that you have not got a contract on me?'

'That is correct.'

'And you'd still swear to that?'

'On my honour as an assassin.'

'Yes,' said Vimes. 'That's where I hit a difficulty, of course. And, I don't know how to put this, Inigo, but you don't act like a typical assassin. Lord this, Sir that... The Guild is the school for gentlemen but you - and gods know I don't mean any offence here - are not exactly—'

Inigo touched his forelock. 'Scholarship boy, sir,' he said.

My gods yes, thought Vimes. You can find your average, amateur killers on every street. They're mostly deranged or drunk or some poor woman who's had a hard day and the husband has raised his hand once too often and suddenly twenty years of frustration takes over. Killing a stranger without malice or satisfaction, other than the craftsman's pride in a job well done, is such a rare talent that armies spend months trying to instil it into their young soldiers. Most people will shy away from killing people they haven't been introduced to.

The Guild had to have one or two people like Inigo. Didn't some philosophical bastard once say that a