The Fifth Elephant (10 page)

“Yeah, he said der last fing we wanted was more bloody coppers around the city.”

A pigeon chose that diplomatic moment to flutter into the factory and land on Colon’s shoulder, where it promoted him. He reached up, removed the message capsule and unfolded the contents.

“It’s from Visit,” he said. “There’s a clue, he says.”

“What to?” said Nobby.

“Not
to
anything, Nobby. Just a clue.” He took off his helmet and wiped his brow.
This
was what he’d hoped to avoid. In his heart of battered hearts, he suspected that Vimes and Carrot were good at putting clues next to other clues and thinking about them. That was their talent. He had other…well, he was good with people, and he had a shiny breastplate, and he could sergeant in his sleep.

“All right, write up your report,” he said. “Well done. We’re going back to the Yard.”

“I can see this is going to get on top of me,” said Colon, as they walked away. “There’s paperwork, too. You know me and paperwork, Nobby.”

“You’re a very thorough reader, that’s all, Fred,” said Nobby. “I’ve seen you take
ages
over just one page. Digesting it magisterially, I thought.”

Colon brightened a little. “Yes, that’s what I do,” he said.

“Even if it’s only the menu down at the Klatchian takeout, I’ve seen you staring at one line for a minute at a time.”

“Well, obviously you can’t let people put one over on you,” said Colon, sticking out his chest, or at least sticking it further up.

“What you need is an aide de camp,” said Nobby, lifting his dress to step over a puddle.

“I do?”

“Oh yes. ’Cos of you being a figurehead and setting an example to your men,” said Nobby.

“Ah. Right. Yes,” said Colon, grasping the idea with relief. “A man can’t be expected to do all that
and
read long words, am I right?”

“Exactly. And, of course, we’re down one sergeant at the Yard now,” said Nobby.

“Good point, Nobby. It’s going to be busy.”

They walked on for a while.

“You could promote someone,” Nobby prompted.

“Could I?”

“What good’s being the boss if you can’t?”

“That’s true. And it’s sort of an emergency…Hmm…any thoughts, Nobby?”

Nobby sighed inwardly. A penny could drop through wet cement faster than it could drop for Fred Colon.

“A name springs to mind,” he said.

“Ah, right. Yes. Reg Shoe, right? Good at writing, a keen thinker, and of course he’s coolheaded,” said Colon. “Icy, practically.”

“But a bit on the dead side,” said Nobby.

“Yes, I suppose that counts against him.”

“And he goes to pieces unpredictably,” said Nobby.

“That’s true,” said Captain Colon. “No one likes shaking hands and ending up with more fingers than they started with.”

“So p’raps it might be better to consider someone who has been unreasonably overlooked,” said Nobby, going for broke. “Someone who’s face dunt fit, p’raps. Someone who’s experience in the Watch gen’rally and in Traffic in particular could be great service to the city if people wouldn’t go on about one or two lapses which didn’t happen in any case.”

The dawn of intelligence rose across the vistas of Colon’s face.

“Ah,”
he said. “I
see
. Well, why didn’t you come right out with that at the start, Nobby.”

“Well, it’s
your
decision, Fred…I mean,
Captain
,” said Nobby earnestly.

“But ’sposing Mister Vimes doesn’t agree? He’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“That’ll be long enough,” said Nobby.

“And you don’t mind?”

“Me? Mind? Not me. You know me, Fred, always ready to do my bit.”

“Nobby?”

“Yes, Fred?”

“The dress…”

“Yes, Fred?”

“I thought we weren’t doing the…traffic calming any more?”

“Yes, Fred. But I thought I’m keep it on ready to swing into action just in case you decided that we should.”

A chilly wind blew across the cabbage fields.

To Gaspode it brought, beside the overpowering fumes of the cabbage and the dark red smell of the dung carts, hints of pine, mountains, snow, sweat and stale cigar smoke. The last came from the cart men’s habit of smoking large, cheap cigars. They kept the flies off.

It was better than vision. The world of smell stretched before Gaspode.

“My paws hurt,” he said.

“There’s a good dog,” said Carrot.

The road forked. Gaspode stopped, and snuffled around.

“Well, here’s an int’resting fing,” he said. “Some of the dung’s jumped down off’f the cart and headed away across the fields here. You were right.”

“Can you smell water anywhere around?” said Carrot, scanning the flat plain.

Gaspode’s mottled nose wrinkled up in effort.

“Pond,” he said. “Not very big. ’Bout a mile away.”

“She’ll be heading toward it. Very meticulous about cleanliness, Angua. That’s not usual in werewolves.”

“Never been one for water myself,” said Gaspode.

“Is that a fact?”

“Here, no need for that! I had a B…A…T…H once, you know, it’s not as if I don’t know what it’s like.”

The pond was in a clump of windblown trees. Dry grass rustled in the breeze. A single coot scuttled into the reeds as Carrot and Gaspode approached.

“Yeah, here we are,” said Gaspode. “A lot of muck goes in, and…” He sniffed at the stirred-up mud. “Er…yeah, she comes out. Um.”

“Is there a problem?” said Carrot.

“What? Oh, no. Clear scent. Headin’ for the mountains, just like you said. Um.” Gaspode sat down and scratched himself with a hind leg.

“There is a problem, isn’t there…” said Carrot.

“Well…supposin’ there was something really bad that you wouldn’t really want to know, and I knew what it was…how’d you feel about me tellin’ you? I mean, some people’d rather not know. It’s a pers’nal thing.”

“Gaspode!”

“She’s not alone. There’s another wolf.”

“Ah.”

Carrot’s mild, uninformative smile did not change.

“Er…of the male persuasion,” said Gaspode. “A boy wolf. Er. Very much so.”

“Thank you, Gaspode.”

“Extremely male. Um. In a very def’nite way. Unmistakably.”

“Yes, I think I understand.”

“And this is just Words. In Smell, it’s a lot more, well, emphatic.”

“Thank you for that, Gaspode. And they’re heading…”

“Still straight for the mountains, boss,” said Gaspode, as kindly as he could. He wasn’t certain of the details of human sexual relationships, and the ones he was certain of he still couldn’t quite believe, but he knew that they were a lot more complicated than those enjoyed by the doggy fraternity.

“This smell…”

“The extremely male one I was talkin’ about?”

“The very one, yes,” said Carrot levelly. “You could still smell it if you were on the horse, could you?”

“I could smell it with my nose in a sack of onions.”

“Good. Because I think we should move a little faster now…”

“Yes, I thought you’d think that.”

Constable Visit saluted when Nobby and Colon entered Pseudopolis Yard.

“I thought you ought to know about this right away, sir,” he said, flourishing a square of paper. “I just got it off Ronald.”

“Who?”

“The imp on the bridge, sir. He paints pictures of carts going too fast? No one had been feeding him,” Visit added, in a mildly accusing tone.

“Oh. Someone speeding,” said Colon. “So?” He looked again. “That’s one of those sedan chairs the deep-down dwarfs use, isn’t it? Them trolls must’ve been moving!”

“It was just after the Scone was stolen,” said Visit. “Ronald writes the time in the corner, see? A bit odd, I thought. Like a kind of getaway vehicle, sir?”

“What’d a dwarf want to steal a worthless lump of rock for?” said Colon. “Especially them dark dwarfs. They give me the creeps in those stupid clothes they wear.”

Angry silence rang like a dropped girder in a temple. There were three dwarfs in the room.

“You two! You ought to be out on patrol!” barked Sergeant Stronginthearm. “
I’ve
got business down at Chitterling Street!”

All three dwarfs marched out, somehow contriving even to walk angrily.

“Well, what was that about?” said Fred Colon. “Bit touchy, aren’t they? Mister Vimes says that sort of thing all the time and no one minds.”

“Yes, but that’s because he’s Sam Vimes,” said Nobby.

“Oh? And are you inferring I’m not?” said Captain Colon.

“Well…
yes
, Fred. You’re Fred Colon,” said Nobby patiently.

“Oh, I
am
, am I?”

“Yes, Captain Colon.”

“And they’d better bloody remember it!” Colon snapped. “I’m not a soft touch, me. I’m not going to take insubordination like that! I’ve always said Vimes was a bit too soft on those dwarfs! They gets the same pay as us and they’re only half the size!”

“Yes, yes,” said Nobby, waving his hands placatingly in a desperate attempt to calm things down, “But, Fred, trolls are twice as
big
as us and they get paid the same, so it—”

“But they’ve only got a quarter of the brains, so it’s just the same like I said—”

The noise they heard was long and drawn out and menacing. It was the sound of Lance-Constable Bluejohn’s chair being pushed back.

The floor creaked as he shambled past Colon, removed his helmet from its peg with one enormous hand, and headed for the door.

“’M goin’ on patrol,” he mumbled.

“You’re not on patrol for another hour,” said Constable Visit.

“’M goin’ now,” said Bluejohn. The room was darkened for a moment as he eclipsed the doorway, and then he was gone.

“Why’s everyone so tetchy all of a sudden?” said Colon. The remaining constables tried not to catch his eye.

“Did I hear someone snigger?” he demanded.

“I didn’t hear anyone snigger, Sarge,” said Nobby.

“Oh? Oh? You think I’m a sergeant, do you, Corporal Nobbs?”

“No, Fred, I—oh gawds…”

“I can see things have got pretty
slack
around here,” said Captain Colon, an evil little gleam in his eye. “I bet you were all thinking, oh, it’s only fat old Fred Colon, it’s all going to be gravy from now on, eh?”

“Oh, Fred, no one thinks you’re old—oh gawds…”

“Just fat, eh?” Fred glowered around the room. Suddenly, and against all previous evidence, everyone was vitally interested in their paperwork.

“Right! Well, from now on things are going to be
different
,” said Captain Colon. “Oh yes. I’m up to all your little tricks—who said that?”

“Said what, Captain?” said Nobby, who’d also heard the little whispered “We learned ’em all from you, Sarge” but at this moment would eat live coals rather than admit it.

“Someone said something blotto voice,” said Captain Colon.

“I’m sure they didn’t, Captain,” said Nobby.

“And I won’t be eyeballed like that, neither!”

“No one’s looking at you!” wailed Nobby.

“Aha, you think I don’t know that one?” Colon shouted. “There’s plenty of ways to eyeball someone without lookin’ at ’em, Corporal. That man over there is earlobing me!”

“I think Constable Ping is just really interested in the report he’s writing, Fre—Sar—Captain.”

Colon’s ruffled feathers settled a little. “Well…all right. And now I’m going up to my office, all right? There’ll be some
changes
around here. And someone bring me a cup of tea.”

They watched him go up the stairs, enter the office and slam the door.

“Well, the—” Constable Ping began, but Nobby, who had a lot more experience with the Colon personality, waved one hand frantically for silence while he held the other one to his ear, very theatrically.

Then they all heard the door click open again, quietly.

“A change is as good as a rest, I suppose,” said Constable Ping.

“As the prophet Ossory says, better an oxen in the potters’ fields of Hersheba than a sandal in the wine presses of Gash,” said Constable Visit.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” said Nobby. “Well, I’ll just make him his tea. Everyone feels better after a cup of tea.”

A couple of minutes later the constables heard Colon shouting, even through the door.

“What is wrong with this mug, Corporal?”

“Nothing, Sa—sir. It’s yer mug. You always have your tea in it.”

“Ah, but, you see, it is a
sergeant’s
mug, Corporal. And what is it that officers drink out of?”

“Well, Carrot and Mister Vimes have got their own mugs—”

“No, they may
choose
to drink out of mugs, Corporal, but Watch regulations say officers have a cup and saucer. Says so right here, regulation three-oh-one, subsection C. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t think we’ve got any—”

“You know where the petty cash is. Usually, you’re the only person that does. You’re dismissed, Corporal.”

Nobby came down the stairs white-faced, holding the offending receptacle.

The door opened again.

“And none of you are to gob in it, neither!” shouted Colon. “I know that one! And it’s to be stirred with a
spoon
, understand? I know
that
one, too.” The door slammed.

Constable Visit took the mug from Nobby’s shaking hand and patted him on the shoulder.

“Chalky the troll does some very good seconds, I understand—” he began.

The door opened.

“Bloody china, too!”

The door slammed.

“Anyone
seen
the petty cash lately?” said Constable Ping.

Nobby reached mournfully into his pocket and pulled out some dollars. He handed them to Visit.

“Better go to that posh shop in Kings Way,” he said. “Get one of those cups and saucers thin enough to see through. You know, with gold around the rim.” He looked around the other constables. “What’re you lot doing here? You won’t catch many criminals in
here
!”

“Does the petty cash count, Nobby?” said Ping.

“Don’t you Nobby me, Ping! You just get out there! And the rest of you!”

Days rolled by. More accurately, they rattled by. It was a comfortable coach, as coaches went, and as coaches on this road went over continual potholes, it swayed and rocked like a cradle. Initially, the motion was soothing. After a day or two, it palled. So did the scenery.