The Fifth Elephant

front row. No one had said anything. The four of them had simply been led there and left, although the murmurings suggested that the presence of Detritus was causing considerable comment. Senior, long-bearded and richly clothed dwarfs were all around them, and the troll stood out like a tower.
    Someone was being taught something. Vimes wondered who the lesson was directed at.
    Finally, the Scone was brought in, small and dull and yet carried by twenty-four dwarfs on a large bier. It was laid, reverentially, on a stool.
    He could sense the change in the air of the huge cavern, and once again he thought: There’s no magic, you poor devils, there’s no history. I’ll bet my wages the damn thing was molded with rubber from a vat that had last been used in the preparation of Sonky’s Eversure Dependables, and there’s your holy relic for you…
    There were still more readings, much shorter this time.
    Then the dwarfs who had been participating in the endless and baffling hours withdrew from the center of the cavern, leaving the king looking as small and alone as the Scone itself.
    He stared around him and, although it was surely impossible for him to have seen Vimes among the thousands in the gloom, it did seem that his gaze rested on the Ankh-Morpork party for a fraction of a second.
    The king sat down.
    A sigh began. It grew louder and louder, a hurricane made up of the breath of a nation. It echoed back and forth among the rocks until it drowned out all other sounds.
    Vimes had half expected the Scone to explode, or crumble, or flash red-hot. Which was stupid, said a dwindling part of himself—it was a fake, a nonsense, something made in Ankh-Morpork for money, something that had already cost lives. It was not, it could not be real.
    But in the roaring air he knew that it was, in the minds of all who needed to believe, and in a belief so strong that fact was not the same as truth…he knew that for now, and yesterday, and tomorrow, it was both the thing, and the whole of the thing.

    Angua noticed that Carrot was walking better even as they reached the forest below the falls, and the shovel over his shoulder hardly burdened him at all.
    There were wolf prints all over the snow.
    “They won’t have stayed,” she said, as they walked between the trees. “They felt things keenly when he died but…wolves look to the future. They don’t try to remember things.”
    “They’re lucky,” said Carrot.
    “They’re realistic, it’s just that the future contains the next meal and the next danger. Is your arm all right?”
    “It feels as good as new.”
    They found the freezing mass of fur lying at the water’s edge. Carrot pulled it out of the water, scraped off the snow higher up the shingle, and started to dig.
    After a while he took off his shirt. The bruises were already fading.
    Angua sat and looked over the water, listening to the thud of the spade and the occasional grunt when Carrot hit a tree root. Then she heard the soft slither of something being pulled over snow, a pause, and then the sound of sand and stones being shoveled into a hole.
    “Do you want to say a few words?” said Carrot.
    “You heard the howl last night. That’s how wolves do it,” said Angua, still looking out across the water. “There aren’t any other words.”
    “Perhaps just a moment’s silence, then—”
    She spun round. “Carrot! Don’t you remember last night? Didn’t you wonder what I might become? Didn’t you worry about the future?”
    “No.”
    “Why the hell not?”
    “It hasn’t happened yet. Shall we get back? It’ll be dark soon.”
    “And tomorrow?”
    “I’d like you to come back to Ankh-Morpork.”
    “Why? There’s nothing for me there.”
    Carrot patted the soil over the grave.
    “Is there anything left for you here?” he said. “Besides, I—”
    Don’t you dare say the words, Angua thought. Not at a time like this.
    And then they both became aware of the wolves. They were creeping through the trees, darker shadows in the evening light.
    “They’re hunting,” said Angua, grabbing Carrot’s arm.
    “Oh, don’t worry. They don’t attack human beings for no reason.”
    “Carrot?”
    “Yes?” The wolves were closing in.
    “I’m not human!”
    “But last night—”
    “That was different. They remembered Gavin. Now I’m just a werewolf to them…”
    She watched him turn to look at the advancing wolves. The hairs were up on their backs. They were growling. They moved with the