The Fifth Elephant

'Well, he says he doesn't want sausages.'

'What? He's al— He's up?'

'Sitting up, at least. Igor's a marvel. Angua said it was a bad break but he's just got some sort of device that... well, Carrot's not even got a sling on now!'

'Sounds a useful man to have around,' said Vimes, pulling on his civilized trousers.

'Angua says Igor's got an icehouse in the cellars and there's frozen jars of, of... well, let's just say he suggested that you might like liver and onions for breakfast and I said no.'

'I like liver and onions,' said Vimes. He thought about it. 'Up until now, anyway.'

'I think the King wants us to go as well. In a polite way. A lot of very respectful dwarfs came round here with paperwork first thing this morning.'

Vimes nodded grimly. It made sense. If he was King he'd want Vimes out of here too. Here's some grateful thanks, a nice trading agreement, terribly sorry to see you go, do call again, only not too soon...

Breakfast was everything he'd dreamed of. Then he went to see the invalid.

Carrot was pale, grey under the eyes, but smiling. He was sitting up in bed, drinking fatsup.

'Hello, Mister Vimes! We won, then?'

'Didn't Angua tell you?'

'She went off with the wolves when I was asleep, Lady Sybil said.'

Vimes recounted the events of the night as best he could.

Afterwards, Carrot said, 'Gavin was a very noble creature. I'm sorry he's dead. I'm sure we'd have got on well.'

You mean every word of it, Vimes thought. I know you do. But it works out all right for you, doesn't it? It always does. If it had been the other way about, if it had been Gavin that attacked Wolf first, then— I know it would have been you that went over the falls with the bastard. But it wasn't you, was it? If you were dice, you'd always roll sixes.

And the dice don't roll themselves. If it wasn't against everything he wanted to be true about the world, Vimes might just then have believed in destiny controlling people. And gods help the other people who were around when a big destiny was alive in the world, bending every poor bugger around itself...

Out loud, he said, 'Poor old Gaspode went over too.'

'How? What was he doing?'

'Er, you could say he had our lad's full attention. A real streetfighter.'

'Poor little soul. He was a good dog at heart.'

And once again words that would have sounded trite and wrong on anyone else's lips were redeemed by the way Carrot said them.

'And what about Tantony?' said Vimes.

'Left this morning, Lady Sybil said.'

'Good grief! And Wolfgang played noughts and crosses on his chest!'

'Igor's a dab hand with a needle, sir.'

Afterwards, a thoughtful Sam Vimes stepped out into the coach yard. An Igor was already loading the luggage.

'Er, which one are you?' said Vimes.

'Igor, marthter.'

'Ah. Right. And, er, are you happy here, Igor? We could do with a... man of your talents in the Watch, and no mistake.'

Igor looked down from the top of the coach: 'In Ankh-Morpork, marthter? My word. Everyone wantth to go to Ankh-Morpork, marthter. It'th a very tempting offer. But I know where my duty lieth, your exthellenthy. I mutht get the plathe ready for the next exthellenthy.'

'Oh, surely—'

'However, fortuitouthly my nephew Igor ith looking for a pothition, marthter. He thould do well in Ankh- Morpork. He'th rather too modern for Uberwald, that'th for thure!'

'Good lad, is he?'

'Hith heart'th in the right plathe. I know that for thertain, thur.'

'Er, good. Well, get a message to him, then. We're leaving as soon as we can.'

'He will be tho exthited, thur! I've heard that in Ankh-Morpork bodieth jutht lie around in the thtreetth for anyone to take away!'

'It's not quite as bad as that, Igor.'

'Ithn't it? Oh well, you can't have everything. I'll tell him directly.' Igor lurched off in a sort of high-speed totter.

I wonder why they all walk like that, thought Vimes. They must have one leg shorter than the other. Either that or they're not good at choosing boots.

He sat down on the steps to the house and fished out a cigar. So that was it, then. Bloody politics again. It was always bloody politics, or bloody diplomatics. Bloody lies in smart clothing. Once you got off the streets criminals just flowed through your fingers. The King and Lady Margolotta and Vetinari... they always looked at some sort of big picture. Vimes knew he was, and always would be, a little picture man. Dee was useful, so she'd probably get, oh, a few days breaking bread or whatever it was they gave you here for being naughty. After all, all she'd destroyed was a fake, wasn't it?

Was it?

But she'd thought she was committing a much bigger crime. That ought to mean something, in Sam Vimes's personal gallery of little pictures.

And the Baroness was as guilty as hell. People had died. As for Wolfgang... well, some people were just built guilty. It was as simple as that. Anything they did became a crime, simply because it was them doing it.

He blew out a stream of smoke.

People like that shouldn't be allowed to simply die their way out of things.

But... he hadn't, had he?

The wolves had gone a long way down the river, Sybil had said, on both banks. There wasn't a sniff of him. Further down was a mass of rapids and another fall. What couldn't kill him would certainly make him wish it could.

If he'd gone downstream. But upstream there was nothing but wild water, too, right up to the town.

No, he couldn't... surely no one could swim up a waterfall...

A chilly little feeling began at the back of Vimes's neck. But any sensible person would get right out of the country, wouldn't they? The wolves were looking for him, Tantony wouldn't remember him fondly and if Vimes judged the King correctly then the dwarfs would have some dark little revenge in store, too.

The trouble was that, if you formed a picture in your mind of a sensible person, and tried to superimpose it on a picture of Wolfgang, you couldn't get them to meet anywhere.

There was an old saying, wasn't there: as a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly. Well, that got Wolfgang coming and going.

Vimes stood up and turned around carefully. There was no one there. Sounds came in from the street gateway - people laughing, the sound of a harness, the clank of a shovel clearing up last night's snow.

He sidled into the embassy, his back to the wall, and groped his way towards the stairs, peering into every doorway. He ran across the expanse of the hallway, did a tumbling roll, and ended up against the far wall.

'Is there anything wrong, sir?' said Cheery. She was watching him from the top of the stairs.

'Er, have you seen anything odd?' said Vimes, dusting himself off self-consciously. 'And I realize that we're talking about a house with Igor in it.'

'Could you give me a hint, sir?'

'Wolfgang, godsdammit!'

'But he's dead, sir. Isn't he?'

'Not dead enough!'

'Er, what do you want me to do?'