The Fifth Elephant

'Does anyone ever win?' said Vimes. Come on, woodcutters, the people need wood!

'Sometimes. If they train well and know the country! Many a successful man in Bonk owes his start in life to our little custom. In your case, we'll give you, oh, an hour's lead. For the sport of it!' He pointed. 'Bonk is five miles in that direction. The lore says that you must not enter a dwelling until you get there.'

'And if I don't run?'

'Then it will be a really short event! We do not like Ankh-Morpork. We do not want you here!'

'That's odd,' said Vimes.

Wolf's broad brow wrinkled. 'Your meaning?'

'Oh, it's just that everywhere I go in Ankh-Morpork I seem to bump into people who come from Uberwald, you see. Dwarfs, trolls, humans. All beavering away quite happily and writing letters home saying, come on, it's great here - they don't eat you alive for a dollar.'

Wolf's lip curled, revealing a glint of incisor. Vimes had seen that look on Angua's face. It meant she was having a bad hair ,day. And a werewolf can have a bad hair day all over.

He pushed his luck. It was clearly too weak to move by itself. 'Angua's getting on well—'

'Vimes! Mister Civilized! Ankh-Morpork! You will run!'

Hoping that his legs would support him, Vimes climbed out on the snow of the bank, as slowly as he dared. There was laughter from the werewolves.

'You go into the water wearing clothes?'

Vimes looked down at his streaming legs. 'You've never seen drawers before?' he said.

Wolf's lip curled again. He glanced triumphantly at the others. 'Behold... civilization!' he said.

Vimes, puffed life into his cigar and looked around the frozen woodland with as much hauteur as he could muster.

'Four hundred crowns, did you say?' he said.

'Yes!'

Vimes sneered at the forest again. 'What is that in Ankh-Morpork dollars, do you know? About a dollar fifty?'

'The question will not arise!' Wolf bellowed.

'Well, I don't want to have to spend it all here—'

'Run!'

'In the circumstances, then, I won't ask if you have the money on you.'

Vimes walked away from the werewolves, glad that they couldn't see his face and very much aware that the skin on his back wanted to crawl around to his front.

He kept moving calmly, his wet drawers beginning to crackle in the frosty air, until he was certain he was out of sight of the pack.

So, let's see... they've got better strength than you, they know the country, and if they're as good as Angua they could track a fart through a skunk's breakfast, and your legs hurt already.

So what are the pluses here? Well, you've made Wolf really angry.

Vimes broke into a run.

Not much of a plus there, then, all things considered.

Vimes broke into a faster run.

Off in the distance, wolves began to howl.

There is a saying: it won't get better if you picket.

Corporal Nobbs or, rather, Guild President C. W. St J. Nobbs, reflected on this. A little early snow was fizzling in the air over the metal drum which, in approved strike fashion, was glowing red-hot in front of the Watch House.

A main problem, as he saw it, was that there was something philosophically wrong with picketing a building that no one except a watchman wanted to enter in any case. It is impossible to keep people out of something that they don't want to go into. It can't be done.

The chant hadn't worked. An old lady had given him a penny.

'Colon, Colon, Colon! Out! Out! Out!' shouted Reg Shoe happily, waving his placard.

'That doesn't sound right, Reg,' said Nobby. 'Sounds like surgery.'

He looked at the other placards. Dorfl was holding a large, closely worded text, detailing their grievances in full, with references to Watch procedures and citing a number of philosophical texts. Constable Visit's sandwich- board, on the other hand, proclaimed: 'What Profiteth it a Kingdom if the Oxen be Deflated? Riddles 11, v3.'

Somehow, these cogent arguments did not seem to be bringing the city to its knees.

He turned at the sound of a coach pulling up and looked up at a door which had a crest consisting mainly of a black shield. And above that, looking out of the window, was the face of Lord Vetinari.

'Ah, none other than Corporal Nobbs,' said Lord Vetinari.

At this point Nobby would have given quite a lot to be anyone other than Corporal Nobbs.

He wasn't sure whether, as a striker, he should salute. He saluted anyway, on the basis that a salute was seldom out of place.

'I gather you have withdrawn your labour,' Lord Vetinari went on. 'In your case, I am sure this presented a good deal of difficulty.'

Nobby wasn't certain about that sentence, but the Patrician seemed quite amiable.

'Can't stand by when the security of the city's concerned, sir,' he said, oozing affronted loyalty from every unblocked pore.

Lord Vetinari paused long enough for the peaceful, everyday sounds of a city apparently on the brink of catastrophe to filter into Nobby's consciousness.

'Well, of course I wouldn't dream of interfering,' he said at last. 'This is Guild business. I'm sure his grace will understand fully when he returns.' He banged on the side of the coach. 'Drive on.'

And the coach was gone.

A thought that had been nudging Nobby for some time chose this moment to besiege him once again.

Mister Vimes is going to go spare. He's going to go mental.

Lord Vetinari sat back in his seat, smiling to himself.

'Er, did you mean that, sir?' said the clerk Drumknott, who was sitting opposite.

'Certainly. Make a note to have the kitchen send them down cocoa and buns around three o'clock. Anonymously, of course. It's been a crime-free day, Drumknott. Very unusual. Even the Thieves' Guild is lying low.'

'Yes, my lord. I can't imagine why. When the cat's away...'

'Yes, Drumknott, but mice are happily unencumbered by apprehensions of the future. Humans, on the other hand, are. And they know that Vimes is going to be back in a week or so, Drumknott. And Vimes will not be happy. Indeed, he will not. And when a commander of the Watch is unhappy, he tends to spread it around with a big shovel.'

He smiled again. 'This is the time for sensible men to be honest, Drumknott. I only hope Colon is stupid enough to let it continue.'

The snow fell faster.

'How beautiful the snow is, sisters...'

Three women sat at the window of their lonely house, looking out at the white Uberwald winter.

'And how cold the vind is,' said the second sister.

The third sister, who was the youngest, sighed. 'Why do we always talk about the weather?'

'What else is there?'

'Well, it's either freezing cold or baking. I mean, that's it, really.'