The Fifth Elephant

'That's Eats Wrong Meat,' Angua whispered. 'He was... he's the leader now Gavin's gone.'

'Then tell them that I'm quite happy that he should go on leading. Tell them all that.'

They watched her intently. She knew what they were thinking. He'd beaten the leader. It was all Sorted Out. Wolves did not have a lot of mental space for uncertainty. Doubt was a luxury for species that did not live one meal away from starvation. They still had a Gavin-shaped hole in their minds and Carrot had stepped into it. Of course, it wouldn't last long. But it didn't need to.

He always, always finds a way in, she thought. He doesn't think about it, he doesn't plot, he simply slides in. I saved him because he couldn't save himself, and Gavin saved him because... because... because he had some reason... and I'm almost, almost certain that Carrot doesn't know how he manages to wrap the world around him. Almost certain. He's good and kind and born to be a king of the ancient sort that wore oak leaves and ruled from a seat under a tree, and though he tries hard he never had a cynical thought.

I'm almost certain.

'Let's go now,' said Carrot. 'The coronation will be over soon, and I don't want Mister Vimes to worry.'

'Carrot! I've got to know something.'

'Yes?'

'That might happen to me. Have you ever thought about that? He was my brother, after all. Being two things at the same time, and never quite being one... we're not the most stable of creatures.'

'Gold and muck come 'out of the same shaft,' said Carrot.

'That's just a dwarf saying!'

'It's true, though. You're not him.'

'Well, if it happened... if it did... would you do what Vimes did? Carrot? Would it be you who picked up a weapon and came after me? I know you won't lie. I've got to know. Would it be you?'

A little snow slid down from the trees. The wolves watched. Carrot looked up for a moment at the grey sky and then nodded.

'Yes.'

She sighed. 'Promise?' she said.

Vimes was surprised at how quickly the coronation became a working day. There was a flourish of echoing horns, a general flow of the crowd and, gradually, a queue in front of the King.

'They haven't even given him time to get comfy!' said Lady Sybil as they headed towards the exit.

'Our kings are... working kings,' said Cheery, and Vimes detected the pride in her voice. 'But now is the time when the King awards favours.'

A dwarf caught up with Vimes and tugged his cloak respectfully.

'The King wishes to see you now, your excellency,' he said.

'There's an almighty queue!'

'Nevertheless,' the dwarf gave a polite cough, 'the King wishes to see you now. All of you.'

They were led to the front of the queue. Vimes felt many eyes boring into the small of his back.

The King dismissed the previous supplicant with a regal nod as the Ankh-Morpork party was deftly inserted at the top of the line, supplanting a dwarf whose beard went down to his knees.

The King looked at them for a moment, and then the internal filing system threw up a card.

'Ah, it's yourselves, good as new,' he said. 'Now, what was it I was going to do? Oh, I remember... Lady Sybil?'

She curtsied.

'Classically, we give rings at this time,' said the King. 'Between ourselves, many dwarfs consider this a bit... well, bath salts, see. But I believe they are still welcome and so this, Lady Sybil, is, perhaps, a token of things to come.'

It was a thin silver ring. Vimes was taken aback at this parsimony, but Sybil could accept a bunch of dead rats graciously.

'Oh, how wond—'

'We normally give gold,' the King went on. 'Very popular, and of course you can sing about it. But this has... rarity value, see. It is the first silver that has been mined in Uberwald in hundreds of years.'

'I thought there was a rule that—' Vimes began.

'I ordered the mines re-opened last night,' said the King pleasantly. 'It seemed an auspicious time. We shall soon have ore for sale, your excellency, but if Lady Sybil doesn't get involved in the negotiations and bankrupt us, I for one shall be very grateful,' the King added. 'Miss Littlebottom, I see, has not graced us with a sartorial extravaganza today?'

Cheery stared.

'You're not wearing a dress,' said the King.

'No, sire.'

'Although I do note a few unobtrusive touches of mascara and lipstick.'

'Yes, sire,' squeaked Cheery, on the point of death through shock.

'There's nice. Do be sure to let me know the name of your dressmaker,' the King went on. 'I may have some custom for her in the fullness of time. I've thought long and hard—'

Vimes blinked. Cheery had gone pale. Had anyone else heard that? Had he?

Sybil nudged him in the ribs. 'Your mouth's open, Sam,' she whispered.

So he had heard it...

He heard the King's voice again. '—and a bag of gold is always acceptable.'

Cheery was still staring.

Vimes shook her gently by the shoulder.

'Th-thank you, sire.'

The King held out his hand. Vimes wobbled Cheery again. Completely hypnotized, she extended her hand. The King took it and shook it.

Shocked whispers were spreading behind Vimes. The King had shaken the hand of a self-declared female...

'And that leaves... Detritus,' said the King. 'What a dwarf should give a troll is of course a bit of a puzzle, but it occurs to me that what I should give you is what I would give a dwarf. A bag of gold, then, for whatever purpose you choose to use it, and—'

He stood up. He held out his hand.

Dwarfs and trolls were still fighting in the further regions of Uberwald, Vimes knew. Elsewhere, there was at best the sort of peace you got when both sides were busy re-arming.

The whispering stopped. Silence spread out in a widening circle, all across the floor of the cave.

Detritus blinked. Then he took the hand very carefully, trying not to crush it.

The whispering started again. And this time, Vimes knew, it'd go for miles.

It occurred to him that in two handshakes the white-bearded elderly dwarf had done more than a dozen devious plots could have achieved. By the time those ripples reached the edge of Uberwald they would be tidal waves. Thirty men and a dog would be nothing by comparison.

'Hmm?'

'I said, what can a king give a Vimes?' said the King.

'Er, nothing, I think,' said Vimes absently. Two handshakes! And very quietly, smiling, the King had turned the customs of the dwarfs upside down. And so gently, too, that they'd spend years arguing about it...

'Sam!' snapped Sybil.

'Well, then, I shall give something to your descendants,' said the King, apparently unperturbed. A long flat box was brought to him. He opened it to reveal a dwarf axe, the new metal glinting on its nest of black cloth.

'This will become, in time, the axe of someone's grandfather,' said the King. 'And no doubt over the years it will need a new handle or a new blade and over the centuries the shape will change in line with fashion, but it will always be, in every detail and respect, the axe I give you today. And because it'll change with the times it'll always be sharp. There's a grain of truth in that, see. So nice to have met you. Do enjoy your journey home, your excellency.'