The Fifth Elephant

mine. Or yours, dwarf or not.” He tapped the Scone’s case.
    “Replica, eh?” he said. “Sure it’s not the real one?”
    “Sir! There is only one real Scone. We call it the ‘thing and the whole of the thing.’”
    “Well, if it’s a good replica, who’d know?”
    “Any dwarf would, sir.”
    “Only joking.”

    There was a hamlet down there, where two rivers met. There would be boats.
    This was working . The slopes behind him were white and free of dark shapes. No matter how good they were, let them try to outswim a boat…
    Hard-packed snow crunched under his feet. He staggered past the few rough hovels, saw the jetty, saw the boats, fought with the frozen rope that moored the nearest one, grabbed an oar and pushed himself out into the current.
    There was still no movement on the hills.
    Now, at last, he could take stock. It was a bigger boat than one man could handle, but all he had to do was fend off the banks. That’d do for tonight. In the morning he could leave it somewhere, perhaps ask someone to get a message through to the tower, and then he’d buy a horse and…
    Behind him, under the tarpaulin in the bows, something started to growl.
    They really were very clever.

    In a castle not far away, the vampire Lady Margolotta sat quietly, leafing through Twurp’s Peerage .
    It wasn’t a very good reference book for the countries on this side of the Ramtops, where the standard work was The Almanac de Gothick , in which she herself occupied almost four pages, * but if you needed to know who thought they were who in Ankh-Morpork it was invaluable.
    Her copy was now bristling with bookmarks. She sighed and pushed it away.
    Beside her was a fluted glass containing a red liquid. She took a sip, and made a face. Then she stared at the candlelight, and tried to think like Lord Vetinari.
    How much did he suspect? How much news got back? The clacks tower had only been up for a month, and was being roundly denounced throughout Bonk as an intrusion. But it seemed to be doing a good if stealthy local traffic.
    Who would he send?
    His choice would tell her everything, she was sure. Someone like Lord Rust or Lord Selachii…well, she’d think a lot less of him if he sent someone like those. All that she had heard, and Lady Margolotta heard a lot of things, the Ankh-Morpork diplomatic corps as a whole could not find its backside with a map. Of course, it was good business for a diplomat to appear stupid, right up to the moment when he’d stolen your socks, but Lady Margolotta had met some of Ankh-Morpork’s finest and no one could act that well.
    The growing howling outside began to get on her nerves. She rang for her butler.
    “Yeth, mithtreth?” said Igor, materializing out of the shadows.
    “Go and tell the children of the night to make wonderful music somewhere else, will you? I have a headache.”
    “Indeed, mithtreth.”
    Lady Margolotta yawned. It had been a long night. She’d think better after a good day’s sleep.
    As she went to blow out the candle, she glanced at the book again. There was a marker in the V s.
    But…surely even the Patrician couldn’t know that much…
    She hesitated, and then pulled the bellpull above the coffin. Igor reappeared, in the way of Igors.
    “Those keen young men at the clacks tower will be awake, won’t they?”
    “Yeth, mithtreth.”
    “Send a clacks to our agent asking for everything about Commander Vimes of the Watch, will you?”
    “Ith he a diplomat, mithtreth?”
    Lady Margolotta lay back. “No, Igor. He’s the reason for diplomats. Close the lid, will you?”

    Sam Vimes could parallel process. Most husbands can. They learn to follow their own line of thought while at the same time listening to what their wives say. And the listening is important, because at any time they could be challenged and must be ready to quote the last sentence in full. A vital additional skill is being able to scan the dialogue for telltale phrases, such as “and they can deliver it tomorrow” or “so I’ve invited them for dinner” or “they can do it in blue, really quite cheaply.”
    Lady Sybil was aware of this. Sam could coherently carry on an entire conversation while thinking about something completely different.
    “I will tell Willikins to pack winter clothes,” she said, watching him. “It’ll be pretty cold up there at this time of year.”
    “Yes. That’s a good idea.” Vimes continued to stare at a point just above the fireplace.
    “We’ll