The Fifth Elephant

'That is how things are in Mother Uberwald,' said the oldest sister, slowly and sternly. 'The vind and the snow and the boiling heat of summer...'

'You know, I bet if we cut down the cherry orchard we could put in a roller-skating rink—'

No.

'How about a conservatory? We could grow pineapples.'

No.

'If we moved to Bonk we could get a big apartment for the cost of this place—'

'This is our home, Irina,' said the oldest sister. 'Ah, a home of lost illusions and thwarted hopes...'

'We could go out dancing and everything.'

'I remember when we lived in Bonk,' said the middle sister dreamily. 'Things vere better then.'

'Things vere alvays better then,' said the oldest sister.

The youngest sister sighed and looked out of the window. She gasped. 'There's a man running through the cherry orchard!'

'A man? Vot could he possibly vant?'

The youngest sister strained to see. 'It looks like he wants... a pair of trousers...'

'Ah,' said the middle sister dreamily. 'Trousers ver better then.'

The hurrying pack stopped in a chilly blue valley when the howling filled the air. Angua loped back to the sledge, lifted out her bag of clothes with her jaws, glanced at Carrot and disappeared among the drifts. A few moments later she walked back again, doing up her shirt.

'Wolfgang's got some poor devil playing the game,' she said. 'I'm going to put a stop to it. It was bad enough that Father kept the tradition going, but at least he played fair. Wolfgang cheats. They never win.'

'Is this the game you told me about?'

'That's right. But Father played by the rules. If the runner was bright and nimble he got four hundred crowns and Father had him to dinner at the castle.'

'If he lost, then your father had him for dinner out in the woods.'

'Thank you for reminding me.'

'I was trying not to be nice.'

'You may have an undiscovered natural talent,' said Angua. 'But no one had to run, is my point. I won't apologize. I've been a copper in Ankh-Morpork, remember. City motto: You May Not Get Killed.'

'Actually, it's—'

'Carrot! I know. And our family motto is Homo Homini Lupus. 'A man is a wolf to other men!' How stupid. Do you think they mean that men are shy and retiring and loyal and kill only to eat? Of course not! They mean that men act like men towards other men, and the worse they are the more they think they'd really like being wolves! Humans hate werewolves because they see the wolf in us, but wolves hate us because they see the human inside - and I don't blame them!'

Vimes veered away from the farmhouse and sprinted towards the nearby barn. There had to be something in there. Even a couple of sacks would do. The chafing qualities of frozen underwear can be seriously underestimated.

He'd been running for half an hour. Well, for twenty-five minutes, really. The other five had been spent limping, wheezing, clutching at his chest and wondering how you knew if you were having a heart attack.

The inside of the barn was... barn-like. There were stacks of hay, dusty farm implements... and a couple of threadbare sacks hanging on a nail. He snatched one, gratefully.

Behind him the door creaked open. He spun round, clutching the sack to him, and saw three very sombrely dressed women watching him carefully. One of them was holding a kitchen knife in a trembling hand.

'Have you come here to ravish us?' she said.

'Madam! I'm being pursued by werewolves!'

The three looked at one another. To Vimes the sack suddenly seemed far too small.

'Er, vill that take you all day?' said one of the women.

Vimes held the sack more tightly. 'Ladies! Please! I need trousers!'

'Ve can see that.'

'And a weapon, and boots if you've got them! Please?'

They went into another huddle.

'We have the gloomy and purposeless trousers of Uncle Vanya,' said one, doubtfully.

'He seldom wore them,' said another.

'And I have an axe in my linen cupboard,' said the youngest. She looked guiltily at the other two. 'Look, just in case I ever needed it, all right? I wasn't going to chop anything down.'

'I would be so grateful,' said Vimes. He took in the good but old clothes, the faded gentility, and played the only card in his hand. 'I am His Grace the Duke of Ankh, although I appreciate this fact is not evident at the—'

There was a three-fold sigh.

'Ankh-Morpork!'

'You haf a magnificent opera house and many fine galleries.'

'Such vonderful avenues!'

'A veritable heaven of culture and sophistication and unattached men of quality!'

'Er, I said Ankh-Morpork,' said Vimes. 'With an A and an M.'

'Ve have always dreamed of going there.'

'I'll have three coach tickets sent along immediately I get home,' said Vimes, his mind's ear hearing the crunch of speeding paws over snow. 'But, dear ladies, if you could fetch me those things—'

They hurried away, but the youngest lingered by the door.

'Do you have long cold winters in Ankh-Morpork?' she said.

'Just muck and slush, usually.'

'Any cherry orchards?'

'I don't think we have any, I'm afraid.'

She punched the air. 'Yesss!'

A few minutes later Vimes was alone in the barn, wearing a pair of ancient black trousers that he'd tied at the waist with rope, and holding an axe that was surprisingly sharp.

He had five minutes, perhaps. Wolves probably didn't stop to worry about heart attacks.

There was no point in simply running. They could run faster. He needed to stay near civilization and its hallmarks, like trousers.

Maybe time was on Vimes's side. Angua was never very talkative about her world, but she had said that, in either shape, a werewolf slowly lost some of the skills of the other shape. After several hours on two legs her sense of smell dropped from uncanny to merely good. And after too long as a wolf... it was like being drunk, as far as Vimes understood it; a little inner part of you was still trying to give instructions, but the rest of you was acting stupid. The human part started to lose control.

He looked around the barn again. There was a ladder to an upper gallery. He climbed it and looked out of a glassless window across a snowy meadow. There was a river in the distance, and what looked very much like a boathouse.

Now, how would a werewolf think?

The werewolves slowed as they reached the building. Their leader glanced at a lieutenant and nodded. It loped off in the direction of the boathouse. The others followed Wolf inside. The last became human for a moment to pull the doors shut and drop the bar across.

Wolf stopped near the centre of the barn. Hay had been scattered over the floor in great fluffy piles.

He scraped gently with a paw, and wisps fell away from a rope that was stretched taut.