The Fifth Elephant (15 page)

“Go with Lady Sybil,” he repeated.

“It might not be a very good id—” Cheery began.

“Godsdammit!” shouted Vimes, unable to stop himself. The crowd went silent. A ragged bloodstained madman holding a crossbow can command a rapt audience.

Then he shuddered. What he wanted now was a bed, but what he wanted, before bed, more than anything, was a drink. And he couldn’t have one. He’d learned that long ago. One drink was one too many.

“All right, tell me,” he said.

“All dwarfs are men, sir,” said Cheery. “I mean…traditionally. That’s how everyone thinks of it up here.”

“Well…stand outside the door, or…or shut your eyes or something, okay?”

Vimes lifted Lady Sybil’s chin.

“Are you all right, dear?” he said.

“Sorry to let you down, Sam,” she whispered. “It was just so
awful
.”

Vimes, designed by Nature to be one of those men unable to kiss their own wives in public, patted her helplessly on the shoulder. She thought
she’d
let
him
down. It was unbearable.

“You just…I mean, Cheery will…and I’ll…sort things out and be along right away,” he said. “We’ll get a good bedroom, I suspect.”

She nodded, still looking down.

“And…I’m just going out for some fresh air.”

Vimes stepped outside.

The snow had stopped for now. The moon was half hidden by clouds, and the air smelled of frost.

When the figure dropped down from the eaves it was amazed at the way Vimes spun and rushed it bodily against the wall.

Vimes looked through a red mist at the moonlit face of Inigo Skimmer.

“I’ll damn well—” he began.

“Look down, Your Grace,” said Skimmer. “Mhm, mhm.”

Vimes realized he could feel the faintest prick of the knife blade on his stomach.

“Look down farther,” he said.

Inigo looked down. He swallowed. Vimes had a knife, too.

“You really
are
no gentleman, then,” he said.

“Make a sudden move and neither are you,” said Vimes. “And now it appears that we have reached what Sergeant Colon persists in referring to as an
imp arse.
”

“I assure you I will not kill you,” said Inigo.

“I
know
that,” said Vimes. “But will you
try
?”

“No. I am here for your protection, mhm, mhm.”

“Vetinari sent you, did he?”

“You know we never divulge the name of—”

“That’s true. You people are very
honorable
,” Vimes spat the word, “in that respect.”

Both men relaxed a little.

“You left me alone surrounded by enemies,” said Inigo, but without much accusation in his tone.

“Why should I care what happens to a bunch of bandits?” said Vimes. “You are an Assassin.”

“How did you find out? Mmm?”

“A copper watches the way people walk. The Klatchians say a man’s leg is his second face, did you know that? And that little clerky, I’m-so-harmless walk of yours is too good to be true.”

“You mean that just from my
walk
you—”

“No. You didn’t catch the orange,” said Vimes.

“Come now—”

“No, people either catch or flinch.
You
saw it wasn’t a danger. And when I took your arm I felt metal under your clothes. Then I just sent a clacks back with your description.”

He let go of Inigo and walked over to the coach, leaving his back exposed. He took something down from the box and came back and waved it at the man.

“I know this is yours,” he said. “I pinched it out of your luggage. If I
ever
catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork, I will make their life a complete misery as only a copper knows how. Is that understood?”

“If you ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork, Your Grace, mhm, they will
still
be lucky that the Assassins’ Guild didn’t find them first, mmm. They are on our forbidden list, within the city. But we are a long way from Ankh-Morpork now. Mmm, mmm.”

Vimes turned the thing over and over in his hands. It looked vaguely like a long-handled hammer, or perhaps a strangely made telescope. What it was, basically, was a spring. That’s all a crossbow was, after all.

“It’s a devil to load,” he said. “I nearly ruptured myself cocking it against a rock. You’d only get one shot.”

“But it’s the shot no one expects, mhm, mhm.”

Vimes nodded. You could even conceal this thing down your pants, although the thought of all that coiled power that close would require nerves of steel and other parts of steel, too, if it came to it.

“This is not a weapon. This is for killing people,” he said.

“Uh…most weapons are,” said Inigo.

“No, they’re not. They’re so you
don’t
have to kill people. They’re for…for
having.
For being
seen
. For
warning
. This isn’t one of those. It’s for hiding away until you bring it out and kill people in the dark. And where’s that other thing?”

“Your Grace?”

“The palm dagger. Don’t try to lie to me.”

Inigo shrugged. The movement shot something silver out of his sleeve; it was a carefully shaped blade, padded on one side, that slid along the edge of his hand. There was a click from somewhere inside his jacket.

“Good gods,” breathed Vimes. “Do you know how often people have tried to assassinate me, man?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Nine times. The Guild has set your fee at six-hundred-thousand dollars. The last time an approach was made, no Guild member volunteered. Mhm, mhm.”

“Hah!”

“Incidentally, and very informally of course, we would appreciate knowing the whereabouts of the body of the Honorable Eustace Bassingly-Gore, mhm, mhm.”

Vimes scratched his nose.

“Was he the one who tried poisoning my shaving cream?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Well, unless his body is an extremely strong swimmer, it’s still on a ship bound for Ghat via Cape Terror,” said Vimes. “I paid the captain a thousand dollars not to take the chains off before Zambingo, too. That’ll give it a nice long walk home through the jungles of Klatch where I’m sure its knowledge of rare poisons will come in very handy, although not as handy perhaps as a knowledge of antidotes.”

“A thousand dollars!”

“Well, he had twelve hundred dollars on him. I donated the rest to the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons. I got a receipt, by the way. You chaps are keen on receipts, I think.”

“You stole his money? Mhm, mhm.”

Vimes took a deep breath. His voice, when it emerged, was flat calm. “I wasn’t going to waste any of my own. And he
had
just tried to kill me. Think of it as an investment, for the good of his health. Of course, if in due course he cares to come and see me, I shall make sure he gets what’s coming to him.”

“I’m…astounded, Your Grace. Mhm, mhm. Bassingly-Gore was an extremely competent swordsman.”

“Really? I generally never wait to find out about that sort of thing.”

Inigo smiled his thin little smile.

“And two months ago Sir Richard Liddleley was found tied to a fountain in Sator Square, painted pink and with a flag stuck—”

“I was feeling generous,” said Vimes. “I’m sorry, I don’t play your games.”

“Assassination is not a game, Your Grace.”

“It is the way you people play it.”

“There have to be rules. Otherwise there would just be anarchy. Mhm, mhm. You have your code, and we have ours.”

“And you’ve been sent here to protect me?”

“I have other skills, but…yes.”

“What makes you think I’ll need you?”

“Well, Your Grace…here they
don’t
have rules. Mhm, mhm.”

“I’ve spent most of my life dealing with people who don’t have rules!”

“Yes, of course. But when you kill
them
, they don’t get up again.”

“I’ve never killed anyone!” said Vimes.

“You shot that bandit in the throat.”

“I was
aiming
for the shoulder.”

“Yes, the thing does pull to the left,” said Inigo. “You mean that you have never
tried
to kill anyone. I have, on the other hand. And here, hesitation may not be an option. Mmm.”

“I didn’t hesitate!”

Inigo sighed. “In the guild, Your Grace, we don’t…grandstand.”

“Grandstand?”

“That business with the cigar…”

“You mean, when I shut my eyes and they had to look at a flame in the darkness?”

“Ah…” Inigo hesitated. “But they might have shot you there and then.”

“No. I wasn’t a threat. And you heard his voice. I hear that sort of voice a lot. He’s not going to shoot people too soon and spoil the fun. I can assume that you have not got a contract on me?”

“That is correct.”

“And you’d still swear to that?”

“On my honor as an Assassin.”

“Yes,” said Vimes. “That’s where I hit a difficulty, of course. And…I don’t know how to put this, Inigo, but you don’t act like a typical assassin. Lord this, Sir that…the Guild
is
the school for gentlemen but you…and gods know I don’t mean any offense here—are not exactly—”

Inigo touched his forelock.

“Scholarship boy, sir,” he said.

My gods
yes
, thought Vimes. You can find your average, amateur killers on every street. They’re mostly deranged or drunk or some poor woman who’s had a hard day and the husband has raised his hand once too often and suddenly twenty years of frustration takes over. Killing a
stranger
without malice or satisfaction, other than the craftsman’s pride in a job well done, is such a rare talent that armies spend months trying to instill it into their young soldiers. Most people will shy away from killing people they haven’t been introduced to.

The Guild had to have one or two people like Inigo. Didn’t some philosophical bastard once say that a government needed butchers as well as shepherds?

He indicated the little crossbow.

“All right, take it,” he said. “But you can put the word about that if I ever,
ever
see one on the street the owner will find it put where the sun does not shine.”

“Ah,” said Inigo, “that’s the rather amusingly named place in Lancre, isn’t it? Only about fifty miles from here, I believe. Mhm, mhm.”

“Rest assured that I can find a shortcut.”

Gaspode tried blowing in Carrot’s ear again.

“Time to wake
up
,” he growled.

Carrot opened his eyes, blinked the snow out of them, and then tried to move.

“You just lie still, right?” said Gaspode. “If it helps, just try to think of them as a very heavy eiderdown.”

Carrot struggled feebly. The wolves piled on top of his shifted position.

“Warming you up a treat,” said Gaspode, grinning nervously. “A wolf blanket, see? O’course, you’re going to be a bit whiffy on the nose for a while, but better to be itchy than dead, eh?” He scratched an ear industriously with a hind leg. One of the wolves growled at him. “Sorry. Grub’ll be up in a moment.”

“Food?”
muttered Carrot.

Angua appeared in Carrot’s vision, dressed in a leather shirt and leggings. She stood looking down at him, hands on her hips. To Gaspode’s amazement, Carrot actually managed to push himself up on his elbows, dislodging several wolves.

“
You
were tracking us?” he said.

“No, they were,” said Angua. “They thought you were a bloody fool. I heard it on the howl. And they were right! You haven’t eaten anything for three days! And up here, winter doesn’t drop a few hints over a month or so. It turns up in one night! Why were you so
stupid
?”

Gaspode looked around the clearing, Angua had rekindled the fire; Gaspode wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, but actual wolves had dragged in actual fallen wood for her. And then another had turned up with a small deer, still fat after the autumn. He dribbled at the smell of it roasting.

Something human and complicated was going on between Carrot and Angua. It sounded like an argument but it didn’t
smell
like one. Anyway, recent events all made perfect sense to Gaspode. The female ran away and the male chased her. That’s how it went. Actually, it was usually about twenty males of all sizes, but obviously, Gaspode conceded, things were a bit different for humans.

Pretty soon, he reckoned, Carrot would notice the big male wolf sitting by the fire, And
then
the fur would fly. Humans, eh?

Gaspode wasn’t sure of his own ancestry. There was some terrier, and a touch of spaniel, and probably someone’s leg, and an awful lot of mongrel. But he took it as an article of faith that there was in all dogs a tiny bit of wolf, and his was urgently sending messages that the wolf by the fire was one you didn’t even stare directly at.

It wasn’t that the wolf was obviously vicious. He didn’t need to be. Even sitting still, he radiated the assurance of competent power. Gaspode was, if not the victor, then at least the survivor of many a street fight, and as such would not have gone up against this animal even if backed up by a couple of lions and a man with an ax.

Instead, he sidled over to a female wolf who was watching the fire haughtily.

“Yo, bitch,” he said.

“
Vot
vas that?”

Gaspode reconsidered his strategy.

“Hi, foxy…er…wolf lady,” he tried.

A certain lowering of the temperature suggested that this one hadn’t worked either.

“’Ullo, miss,” he said, hopefully.

Her muzzle turned to point at him. Her eyes narrowed.

“Vot
har
you?” Ice slithered off every syllable.

“Gaspode’s the name,” barked Gaspode, with insane cheerfulness. “’M a
dog
. That’s a kind of wolf, sort of thing. So…what’s your name, then?”

“Go avay.”

“No offense meant. ’Ere, I heard tell wolves mate for life, right?”

“Vell?”

“Wish
I
could.”

Gaspode froze as the she-wolf’s muzzle snapped an inch from his nose.

“Vere I come from, ve
eat
things like you,” she said.