The Fifth Elephant

There were a lot of things that could profitably be done in a minute, but most of them couldn't be done with no hands while hanging in darkness over a long drop.

He lost his grip. A moment later he smacked into the spiral of logs one turn below, which parted company with the wall.

Man and timber fell one more turn. Vimes landed with a rib-bending thump across one step, while those around it gave way. Rocking gently on the one tough log, he listened to the thuds and booms as the fallen timber continued to the bottom of the shaft.

'—!' Vimes had intended to swear, but the fall had knocked the breath out of him. He hung like a folded pair of old trousers.

It had been a long time since he'd slept. Whatever he'd been doing on the slab it hadn't been sleep. Normal sleep didn't leave your mouth feeling as though glue had been poured into it.

And only this morning the new ambassador for Ankh-Morpork had strolled out to present his credentials. Only this evening Ankh-Morpork's commander of police had set out to solve a simple little theft. And now he was dangling halfway up a freezing shaft, with a few inches of old and unreliable wood between him and a brief trip to the next world.

All he could hope for was that his whole life wasn't going to pass before his eyes. There were some bits of it he didn't want to remember.

'Ah... Sir Samuel. Bad luck. You vere doing so vell.'

He opened his eyes. A faint purple light just above him illuminated the form of the Lady Margolotta. She was sitting on empty space.

'Can I give you a lift?' she said.

Vimes shook his head muzzily.

'If it makes you feel any better, I really don't like doing this,' said the vampire. 'It's so... expected of vun. Oh dear. That rotten old log doesn't look very—'

The log snapped. Vimes landed spreadeagled on the turn below, but only for a moment. Several stairs broke and dropped him a further flight. This time he caught hold of one and was, once again, dangling.

Lady Margolotta descended regally.

Far below, the broken wood boomed.

'Now, in theory this might be an almost survivable vay of getting back down,' said the vampire. 'Unfortunately, I fear that the descending logs have smashed many of the vuns below.'

Vimes shifted. His handhold seemed secure. It might just be possible to pull himself up...

'I knew you were behind this,' he muttered, trying to will some life into his shoulder muscles.

'No, you didn't. You knew that the Scone wasn't stolen, though.'

Vimes stared at the serenely floating shape. 'The dwarfs wouldn't think that—' he began. The log under him gave the little nasty movement that announces to any luckless passengers that it is about to land.

Lady Margolotta drifted closer. 'I know you hate vampires,' she said. 'It's quite usual, for your personality type. It's the... penetrative aspect. But if I vas you, right now, I'd ask myself... do I hate them with all my life?'

She held out a hand.

'Just one bite'll end all my troubles, eh?' Vimes snarled.

'Vun bite vould be vun too many, Sam Vimes.'

The wood cracked. She grabbed his wrist.

If he'd thought about it at all, Vimes would have expected to be dangling from a vampire now. Instead, he was simply floating.

'Don't think of letting go,' said Margolotta as they rose gently up the shaft.

'One bite would be one too many?' said Vimes. He recognized the mangled mantra. 'You're a... a teetotaller?'

'Almost four years now.'

'No blood at all?'

'Oh, yes. Animal. It's rather kinder to them than slaughter, don't you think? Of course, it makes them docile, but frankly a cow is unlikely ever to vin the Thinker of the Year avard. I'm on a vagon, Mister Vimes.'

'The wagon. We call it the wagon,' said Vimes weakly. 'And... that replaces human blood?'

'Like lemonade replaces whisky. Believe me. However, the intelligent mind can find a... substitute.' The sides of the shaft dropped away and they were in clear, freezing air, which knifed through Vimes's shirt. They drifted sideways a little, and then Vimes was dropped into kneedeep snow.

'Vun of the better things about our dwarfs is that they don't often try something new and they never let go of anything old,' said the vampire, hovering over the snow. 'You weren't hard to find.'

'Where am I?' Vimes looked around at rocks and trees mounded in snow.

'In the mountains, quite a long way viddershins of the town, Mister Vimes. Goodbye.'

'You're going to leave me here?'

'I'm sorry? You were the one who escaped. I am certainly not here. Me, a vampire, interfering in the affairs of the dwarfs? Unthinkable! But let us just say... I like people to have an even chance.'

'It's freezing! I haven't even got a coat! What is it you want?'

'You have freedom, Mister Vimes. Isn't that what everyvun wants? Isn't it supposed to give you a lovely warm glow?'

Lady Margolotta disappeared into the snow.

Vimes shivered. He hadn't realized how warm it had been underground. Or what time it was. There was a dim, a very dim light. Was this just after sunset? Was it almost dawn?

The flakes were piling up on his damp clothes, driven by the wind.

Freedom could get you killed.

Shelter... that was essential. The time of day and a precise location were no use to the dead. They always knew what time it was and where they were.

He moved away from the open shaft and staggered into the trees, where the snow was less deep. It gave off a light, fainter than a sick beetle, as if snow somehow absorbed it from the air as it fell.

Vimes wasn't good at forests. They were things you saw on the horizon. If he'd thought about them at all he'd imagined a lot of trees, standing like poles, brown at the bottom, bushy and green at the top.

Here there were humps, and bumps, and dark branches weighted and creaking under the snow. It fell around him with a hiss. Occasionally lumps of the stuff would slide from somewhere above, and there would be another shower of frigid crystals as a branch sprang back.

There was a track of sorts, or at least a wider, smoother expanse of snow. Vimes followed it, on the basis that there was no more sensible choice. The warm glow of freedom lasted only so long.

Vimes had city eyes. He'd watched coppers develop them. A trainee copper who glanced once at a street was just learning, and if he didn't learn quicker he'd become highly experienced at dying. One who'd been on the streets for a while paid attention, took in details, noted shadows, saw background and foreground and the people who were trying not to be in either. Angua looked at streets like that. She worked at it.

The long-term coppers, like even Nobby when he was on a good day, glanced once at a street and that was enough, because they'd seen everything.

Maybe there were... country eyes. Forest eyes. Vimes saw trees, mounds, snow and not much else.

The wind was getting up. It began to howl among the trees. Now the snow stung.

Trees. Branches. Snow.

Vimes kicked a mound beside the track. Snow slid off dark pine needles. He dropped to his hands and knees and pushed forward.

Ah...

It was still cold, and there was some snow on the dead needles, but the weighted branches had spread around the trunk like a tent. He pulled himself in, congratulating himself. It was windless here and, contrary to all common sense, the blanket of snow above him seemed to make it warmer. It even smelled warm... sort of... animal...

Three wolves, lying lazily around the trunk of the tree, were watching him with interest.