The Fifth Elephant

the castle.” A thought occurred to her. “We use the hot springs. So much more hygienic.”
    “Out in the forest?”
    “Oh, it’s quite close. And a quick run around in the snow really tones up the body.”
    “I think perhaps I shall have a lie-down instead,” said Lady Sybil, firmly. “But thank you all the same.”
    She made her way to the musty bedroom, fuming in a ladylike way.
    She couldn’t bring herself to like Serafine, and this was shocking, because Lady Sybil even liked Nobby Nobbs, and that took breeding. But the werewolf scraped across her nerves like a file. She remembered that she’d never liked her at school, either.
    Among the other unwanted baggage that had been heaped on the young Sybil to hamper her progress through life was the injunction to be pleasant to people and say helpful things. People took this to mean that she didn’t think.
    She’d hated the way Serafine had talked about dwarfs. She’d called them “subhuman.” Well, obviously most of them lived underground , but Sybil rather liked dwarfs. And Serafine spoke of trolls as if they were things . Sybil hadn’t met many trolls, but the ones she knew seemed to spend their lives raising their children and looking for the next dollar just like everyone else.
    Worst of all, Serafine simply assumed that Sybil would naturally agree with her stupid opinions because she was a Lady. Sybil Ramkin had not had an education in these things, moral philosophy not having featured much in a curriculum that was heavy on flower-arranging, but she had a shrewd idea that in any possible debate the right side was where Serafine wasn’t.
    She’d only ever written all those letters to her because it was what you did. You always wrote letters to old friends, even if you weren’t very friendly with them.
    She sat on the bed and stared at the wall until the shouting started, and when the shouting started she knew Sam was alive and well, because only Sam made people that angry.
    She heard the key click in the lock.
    Sybil rebelled.
    She was large, and she was kind. She hadn’t enjoyed school much. A society of girls is not a good one in which to be large and kind, because people are inclined to interpret that as “stupid” and worse, “deaf.”
    Lady Sybil looked out of the window. She was two floors up.
    There were bars across the window, but they’d been designed to keep something out; from the inside, they could be lifted out of their slots. And there were musty but heavy sheets and blankets on the bed. None of this might have suggested very much to the average person, but life in a rather strict school for well brought-up young ladies can give someone a real insight into the tricks of escapology.
    Five minutes after the key had turned, there was only one bar in the window and it jerked and creaked in the stonework, suggesting that quite a heavy weight was on the sheets that had been neatly knotted around it.

    Torches streamed all along the castle walls. The ghastly red and black flag snapped in the wind. Vimes looked over the side of the bridge. The water was a long way down, and pure white even before it reached the waterfall. Forward and back were the only possible directions here.
    He reviewed his troops. Unfortunately, this did not take long. Even a policeman could count up to five. Then there was Gavin and his wolves, who were lurking in the trees. And finally, very definitely finally, there was Gaspode, the Corporal Nobbs of the canine world, who’d attached himself to the group uninvited.
    What else was on his side? Well, the enemy preferred not to use weapons. This bonus evaporated somewhat when you remembered that they had, at will, some very nasty teeth and claws.
    He sighed, and turned to Angua.
    “I know this is your family,” he said. “I won’t blame you if you hang back.”
    “We’ll see, sir, shall we?”
    “How are we going to get in, sir?” said Carrot.
    “How would you go about it, Carrot?”
    “Well, I’d start by knocking, sir.”
    “Really? Sergeant Detritus, forward please.”
    “Sir!”
    “Blow the bloody doors off!”
    “Yessir!”
    Vimes turned back to Carrot as the troll gazed thoughtfully at the door and began making extra turns on his crossbow’s winch, grunting as the springs fought back. Their fight was unsuccessful.
    “This isn’t Ankh-Morpork, see?” said Vimes.
    Detritus hoisted the bow onto his shoulders and took a step forward.
    There was a thunk . Vimes didn’t see the bundle of