The Fifth Elephant

purposes.'

'Do you only get that white sand in here?'

'Yes. Is that important?'

Vimes saw Cheery nod. 'I'm not... sure,' he said. 'Tell me, what intrinsic value has the Scone?'

'Intrinsic? It's priceless!'

'I know it's valuable as a symbol, but what is its value in itself?'

'Priceless!'

'I'm trying to work out why a thief might want to steal it,' said Vimes, as patiently as he could.

Cheery had lifted up the flat round stone and was looking underneath it. Vimes pursed his lips.

'What is... she doing?' said Dee. The pronoun dripped with distaste.

'Corporal Littlebottom is looking for clues,' said Vimes. 'They are what we call signs, which may help us. It's a skill.'

'Would this letter speed your search?' said Dee. 'It has writing on it. That is what we call... signs, which may help you.'

Vimes looked at the proffered paper. It was brown and quite stiff, and covered in runes.

'I, er, can't read those,' he said.

'It's a skill,' said Dee solemnly.

'I can, sir,' said Cheery. 'Allow me?'

She took the paper and read it. 'Er, it appears to be a ransom note, sir. From... the Sons of Agi Hammerthief. They say they have the Scone and will... They say they'll destroy it, sir.'

'Where's the money?' said Vimes.

'They say Rhys must renounce all claim to be Low King,' said Dee. 'There are no other conditions. The note turned up on my desk. But everyone puts paperwork on my desk these days.'

'Who are the Sons of Agi Hammerthief?' said Vimes, looking at Dee. 'And why didn't you tell me about this before?'

'We don't know. It's just a made-up name. Some malcontents, we assume. And I was told you would ask me questions.'

'But this isn't a real crime any more, is it?' said Vimes. 'This is politics. Why can't the King just renounce all claim, get the Scone back, and then say he had his fingers crossed? If it's done under duress—'

'We take our ceremonies seriously, your excellency. If Rhys renounces the throne, he cannot change his mind next day. If he allows the Scone to be destroyed, then the kingship has no legitimacy and there will—'

'—be trouble,' said Vimes. And it'll spread to Ankh-Morpork, he added to himself. At the moment it's only riots.

'Who'll become King if he abdicates?'

'Albrecht Albrechtson, as everyone knows.'

'And that will be trouble, too,' said Vimes. 'Civil war, from what I hear.'

'The King says,' said Dee quietly, 'that he is minded to step down nevertheless. Better any king than chaos. Dwarfs do not like chaos.'

'It's going to be chaos either way, though,' said Vimes.

'There've been rebellions against kings before. Dwarfdom survives. The Crown continues. The lore abides. The Scone remains. There is... a sanity to come back to.'

Oh, my gods, thought Vimes. Thousands of dwarfs die but that's all right if a lump of rock survives. 'I'm not a policeman here. What can I do?'

'This hasn't happened!' shrieked Dee, his nerve cracking. 'But everyone knows that foreigners from Ankh- Morpork do not mind their own business!'

'Ah, you mean... given that you don't want people to know about this... it would look bad if you appeared to be too excited, but you can't be blamed if a stupid flatfoot pokes his nose into things?'

Dee waved his hands in the air. 'This wasn't my idea!'

'Look, the security you've got here would disgrace a children's piggybank. I can think of two or three ways of getting the Scone out of here. What about the secret passage into this room?'

'I know of no secret passage into this room!'

'Oh, good. At least we've ruled out something. Go and wait by the boat. Corporal Littlebottom and I have to talk about some things.'

Dee left reluctantly. Vimes waited until the dwarf was visible in the glow of the candles beyond the weighbridge.

'What a mess,' he said. 'Locked-room mysteries are even worse when they leave the room unlocked.'

'You're thinking that Dozy might have worn bags of sand under his robes, aren't you, sir?' said Cheery.

No, thought Vimes, I wasn't. But now I know how a dwarf would solve this.

'Possibly,' he said aloud. 'Grubby white sand can't be uncommon. You'd add a bit of sand every day, yes? Just enough not to trigger the scales. Finally you've got... How much does the Scone weigh?'

'About sixteen pounds, sir.'

'All right. Dump the sand on the floor, shove the Scone under your robes, and... it might just work.'

'Risky, sir.'

'But no one thinks anyone is really going to try to steal the Scone. Would you try to tell me that four guards sitting in that little guardhouse on a twelve-hour shift will be alert all the time? That's enough for a hand of poker!'

'I suppose they rely on the fact that they know when a boat comes up, sir.'

'Right. Big mistake. And you know what? I bet that when a boat's just gone down that's the time they're least alert. Cheery, if a human could get in here they could get into the Scone Cave. They'd have to be nimble and a good swimmer, but they could do it.'

'The guards on the gates were pretty keen, sir.'

'Well, yes. Guards always are, just after a theft. Smart as foxes and sharp as knives, just in case anyone wonders if it was them who dropped off to sleep at the wrong time. I'm a copper, Cheery. I know how dull guarding can be. Especially when you know that no one is ever going to steal what you're guarding.' He scuffed the sand with his boot.

'They were looking hard at every cart that went in or out this morning. But that was because the Scone had been stolen. It's at times like this you get very official, very efficient and very pointless activity. Don't try to tell me that last week they opened every barrel and prodded every load of hay. Even the stuff coming in? Can you see Dee? Is he looking at me?'

Cheery peered around Vimes.

'No, sir.'

'Good.'

Vimes walked over to the tunnel, pressed his back against a wall, took a deep breath and walked his legs up the opposite wall. Then he eased his way out over the plates of the weighbridge, inched along with feet and shoulderblades and, wincing at every protest from his knees, eventually dropped down. He walked across to Dee, who was talking to the guards.

'How did—'

'Never. mind,' said Vimes. 'Let's just say I'm longer than a dwarf, shall we?'

'Have you solved it?'

'No. But I have an idea.'

'Really? Already?' said Dee. 'And what is that?'

'I'm still working it out,' said Vimes. 'But it's lucky the King told you to ask me, Dee. One thing I have found out is that no dwarf will give you the right answer.'

The opera was near the end as Vimes slipped into the seat beside Sybil. 'Have I missed anything?' he said.

'It's very good. Where have you been?'

'You wouldn't believe me.'

He stared, unseeing, at the stage. A couple of dwarfs were engaged in a very careful mock battle.