The Fifth Elephant

'Just a passing thought. Oh, ye gods, is that Igor's parcel under the seat?'

'I think so, sir. But look, I know about Igors. If that's a real hand, the original owner hasn't got a use for it, believe me.'

'What? He cuts bits off dead people?'

'Better than live people, sir.'

'You know what I mean!'

'Sir, it's considered good manners, if one of the Igors has helped you, to put it in your will that they can help themselves to any... parts that might help someone else. They never ask for any money. People just carry little cards. They're very respected in Uberwald. Very good men with a scalpel and a needle. It's a kind of vocation, really.'

'But they're covered in scars and stitches!'

'They won't do to anyone else what they're not prepared to try on themselves.'

Vimes decided to explore the full horror of this. It took his mind off the missing trophies. 'Are there any... Igorinas? Igorettes?'

'Well, any Igor is considered a good catch for a young lady...'

'He is?'

'And their daughters tend to be very attractive.'

'Eyes at the same height, that sort of thing?'

'Oh, yes.'

But the door, when it was finally opened in response to impatient knocking, revealed not the switchback features of Igor but the business end of Detritus's crossbow, which was marginally worse.

'It's us, sergeant,' said Vimes.

The crossbow was removed, and the door opened further.

'Sorry, sir, but you said I was to be on guard,' said Detritus.

'There's no need to—'

'Igor's been hurt, sir.'

Igor was sitting in the huge kitchen, a bandage round his head. Lady Sybil was fussing over him.

'I went to look for him a couple of hours ago and there he was, flat on the snow,' she said. She leaned closer to Sam Vimes. 'He doesn't remember very much.'

'Can you recall what you were doing, old chap?' said Vimes, sitting down.

Igor gave him a bleary look. 'Well, thur, I went out to unpack the foodthtuffth from the other coach, and I'd jutht got hold of thomething and then all the lightth went out, thur. I reckon I mutht've thlipped.'

'Or someone hit you?'

Igor shrugged. For a moment both of his shoulders were at the same level.

'There's nothing on the coach worth stealing!' said Lady Sybil.

'Not unless someone was dying for a knuckle sandwich,' said Vimes. 'Was anything taken?'

'I checked everyt'ing against der list her ladyship gave me, sir,' said Detritus, meeting Vimes's gaze. 'Dere wasn't anyfing missing, sir.'

'I'll just go and take a look for myself,' said Vimes.

When they were outside he walked over to the coach and looked at the snow around it. The cobbles were visible here and there. Then he looked up at the grating.

'All right, Detritus,' he said. 'Talk to me.'

'Just a feelin', sir,' rumbled the troll. 'I know 'fick' is my middle name...'

'I didn't know you had a first name, sergeant.'

'I don't fink dis was one of dem accidents dat happens by accident.'

'He might have fallen off the coach when he was unloading it,' said Vimes.

'An' I might be the Fairy Clinkerbell, sir.'

Vimes was impressed. This was lowtemperature thinking from Detritus.

'Der street doors is open,' said Detritus. 'I reckon Igor disturbed someone who was pinchin' stuff.'

'But you said nothing was missing.'

'Maybe der thief took fright, sir.'

'What, at seeing Igor? Could be...'

Vimes looked at the bags and boxes. Then he looked again. Things had been thrown down any old how. That wasn't how you unpacked a coach, unless you were looking for something in a real hurry. Who'd go to these lengths to steal food?

'Nothing was missing...' He rubbed his chin. 'Who packed the coach, Detritus?'

'Dunno, sir. I fink her ladyship just ordered a lot of stuff.'

'And we left in a bit of a rush, too...' Vimes stopped. Best to leave it there. He had an idea but, well, where was the evidence? You could say: nothing that should have been there was missing, so what must have been taken was something that shouldn't have been there.

No. For now, it was just something to remember.

They walked into the hall, and Vimes's eye fell on a pile of cards on a table by the door.

'Der's been a lot of visitors,' said Detritus.

Vimes took a handful of cards. Some of them had gold edging.

'Dem diplomatics all want you to come for drinky-poos an' stories about chickens,' the troll added helpfully.

'Cocktails, I think you'll find,' said Vimes, reading through the pasteboards. 'Hmm, Klatch... Muntab... Genua... Lancre... Lancre? It's a kingdom you could spit across! They've got an embassy here?'

'No, sir, mostly dey've got a letterbox.'

'Will we all fit in?'

'Dey've rented a house for der coronation, sir.'

Vimes dropped the invitations back on to the table.

'I don't think I can face any of this stuff,' he said. 'A man can only drink so much fruit juice and listen to so many bad jokes. Where's the nearest clacks tower, Detritus?'

'About fifteen miles Hubwards, sir.'

'I'd like to find out what's going on back home. I think that this afternoon Lady Sybil and I will have a nice quiet ride in the country. It'll take her mind off things.'

And then he thought, I'll wait until midnight, see?

And it's still only lunchtime.

In the end Vimes took Igor as driver and guide, and the guards Tantony and the one he would forever think of as Colonesque. Skimmer still hadn't returned from whatever nefarious expedition was occupying his time, and Vimes was damned if he'd leave the embassy unguarded.

Yet another word for diplomat, Vimes mused, was 'spy'. The only difference was that the host government knew who you were. The game was to outwit them, presumably.

The sun was warm, the breeze was cold, the mountain air made every peak look as if Vimes could reach out and touch it. Outside the town snow-covered vineyards and farms clung to slopes that in Ankh-Morpork would be called walls, but after a while the pine forests closed in. Here and there, at a curve in the road, the river was visible far below.

Up on the box Igor was crooning a lament.

'He told me Igors heal very fast,' said Lady Sybil.

'They'd have to.'

'Mister Skimmer said they're very gifted surgeons, Sam.'

'Except cosmetically, perhaps.'

The coach slowed.

'Do you come up here a lot, Igor?' said Vimes.

'Mithter Thleep uthed to have me drive over onthe a week to collect methageth, marthter.'