The Fifth Elephant

saying that he is a sh—”
    “Things are going to change,” said Lady Sybil. “That’s what the king was saying.”
    “I never shook hands with no king before,” said Detritus. “No dwarf, either, come to that.”
    “You shook hands with me once,” said Cheery.
    “Watchmen don’t count,” said Detritus firmly. “Watchmen is watchmen .”
    “I wonder if it’ll change anything?” said Lady Sybil.
    Vimes stared out of the window. It’d probably make people feel good, he thought. But trolls and dwarfs had been fighting for centuries. Ending that sort of thing took more than a handshake. It was just a symbol.
    On the other hand…the world wasn’t moved by heroes or villains or even by policemen. It might as well be moved by symbols. All he knew was that you couldn’t hope to try for the big stuff, like world peace and happiness, but you might just about be able to achieve some tiny deed that’d make the world, in a small way, a better place.
    Like shooting someone.
    “I forgot to say that I thought it was very kind of you, Cheery,” said Lady Sybil, “yesterday, when you comforted Dee.”
    “She would have had me killed by the werewolves,” said Vimes. He felt this was a point worth making.
    “Yes, of course. But…it was kind, anyway,” said Sybil.
    Cheery looked at her feet, avoiding Lady Sybil’s gaze. Then she coughed nervously and pulled a small piece of paper out of her sleeve, which she handed wordlessly to Vimes.
    He unfolded it, and read it. It was a list of names and addresses.
    “She gave you these?” he said. “Some of these are very senior dwarfs in Ankh-Morpork…”
    “Yes, sir,” said Cheery, she coughed again. “I knew she wanted someone to talk to, and…er…I suggested a few things she might like to talk about. Sorry, Lady Sybil. It’s very hard to stop being a copper.”
    “I worked that one out a long time ago,” said Sybil.
    “You know,” said Vimes, to break the silence, “if we leave at first light tomorrow, we could be through the pass before sundown…”
    And it was a comfortable night, somewhere in the depths of the feather mattress. Vimes awoke a couple of times, and thought he could hear voices. Then he’d sink back into the softness, and dream of warm snow.
    He was shaken awake by Detritus.
    “It’s gettin’ light, sir.”
    “Mm?”
    “And dere’s a Igor an’ a…a young man out in der hall,” said Detritus. “He got a big jar full of noses and a rabbit covered in ears.”
    Vimes tried to get back to sleep, Then he sat bolt upright.
    “What?”
    “It’s all covered in ears, sir.”
    “You mean one of those rabbits with big floppy ears?”
    “You better come and see dis rabbit,” sniffed the troll.
    Vimes left Sybil wallowing in sleep, pulled on his dressing gown, and pattered barefoot down to the freezing hall.
    An Igor was waiting anxiously in the middle of the floor. Vimes was getting the hang of Igor-recognition, * and this was a new one. He was with a much younger…er…man, probably barely out of his teens, at least in places, but already the scars and stitching indicated that relentless urge toward self-improvement that was the hallmark of a good Igor. They just never seemed to be able to get the eyes level.
    “Your Exthelenthy?”
    “You’re…Igor, right?”
    “Amathing guethth, thir. We haven’t met before, but I work for Dr. Thaumic on the other thide of the mountain, and thith is my thon, Igor.” He smacked the young man around the back of his head. “Thay hello to Hith Grathe, Igor!”
    “I don’t believe in the peerage,” said young Igor, sulkily. “Nor shall I call any man marthter.”
    “Thee?” said his father. “Thorry about this, Your Grathe, but thith is the younger generation for you. I hope you can find a job for him in the big thity, ’coth he’th totally unemployable in Uberwald. But he’th a very good thurgeon, even if he doeth have funny ideaths. He’th got his grandfather’s handth, you know.”
    “I can see the scars,” said Vimes.
    “Lucky little devil, they thould have been mine by rightth, but he wath old enough to go into the lottery.”
    “You want to join the Watch, Igor?” said Vimes.
    “Yes, sir. I believe Ankh-Morpork is where the future lies, thir.”
    His father leaned closer to Vimes. “We don’t menthion hith thlight thpeech impedient, marthter,” he whispered. “Of courthe, it counth againtht him here, you know, in the Igor buthinethth, but I’m thure people