The Fifth Elephant

screw-ups, Nobby, is that it’s hard for you to be, you know, precise. You might think you’re making a little screw-up and then it blows up in your face and it turns out to be in fact a big screw-up, and in those circumstances, Nobby, I’m sort of worried that what His Lordship might take away from me wouldn’t just be the job. I hope I don’t have to draw you a picture?”
    “Good point, Fred.”
    “What I’m saying is, screw-ups is like…well, screw-ups is…well, the thing about screw-ups is you never know what size they’re going to be.”
    “Well, Fred, the third choice is you putting up with it.”
    “That’s not helpful, Nobby.”
    “It’ll only be for a couple of weeks, then Mister Vimes’ll be back.”
    “Yeah, but supposing he isn’t? Nasty place, Uberwald. I heard where it’s a misery wrapped in an enema. That doesn’t sound too good. You can fall down things. Then I’m stuck, right? I don’t know how to do officering.”
    “ No one knows how to do officering, Fred. That’s why they’re officers. If they knew anything, they’d be sergeants.”
    Now Colon’s face screwed up again in desperate thought. As a lifelong uniformed man, a three-striped peg that had found a three-striped hole very early in its career, he subscribed automatically and unthinkingly to the belief that officers as a class could not put their own trousers on without a map. He conscientiously excluded Vimes and Carrot from the list, automatically elevating them to the rank of honorary sergeant.
    Nobby was watching him with an expression of combined concern, friendliness and predatory intent.
    “What shall I do , Nobby?”
    “Well, ‘Captain,’” said Nobby, and then he gave a little cough, “what officers mainly have to do, as you know, is sign things—”
    The door was knocked on and opened at the same time, by a flustered constable.
    “Sarge, Constable Shoe says he really does need an officer down at Sonky’s factory.”
    “What, the rubber wally man?” said Colon. “Right. An officer. Right. We’ll be along.”
    “And that’s Captain Colon,” said Nobby quickly.
    “Er…er…yes, and that’s Captain Colon, thank you very much,” said Colon, adding as his resolve stiffened, “and I’ll thank you not to forget it!”
    The constable stared at them, and then stopped trying to understand.
    “And there’s a troll downstairs who insists on speaking to whoever’s in charge—”
    “Can’t Stronginthearm deal with it?”
    “Er…is Sergeant Stronginthearm still a sergeant?” said the constable.
    “Yes!”
    “Even unconscious?”
    “What?”
    “He’s flat on the floor right now, Sa—Captain.”
    “What’s the troll want?”
    “Right now he wants to kill someone, but mainly I think he wants someone to take the clamp off’f his foot.”

    Gaspode ran up and down, nose barely an inch from the ground. Carrot waited, holding his horse. It was a good one. Carrot hadn’t spent a lot of his wages, up until now.
    Finally the dog sat down and looked depressed.
    “So tell me about this wonderful nose the Patrician has got, then,” he said.
    “Not a trace?”
    “You better get Vetinari down here, if he’s so good,” said Gaspode. “What’s the point of starting here? Worst place in the whole city! It’s the gate to the cattle market, am I right? Trying not to smell stuff is the trick here, is the point I’m makin’. There’s ground-in stink. If you wanted to get on the trail of somebody, this is the last place I’d start.”
    “Very good point,” said Carrot, carefully. “So…what’s the strongest smell heading hubward?”
    “Dung carts, o’course. Yesterday. Always a big clear-out of the pens first thing Friday morning.”
    “You can follow the smell?”
    Gaspode rolled his eyes. “With my head in a bucket.”
    “Good. Let’s go.”
    “So,” said Gaspode, as they began to leave the gate’s bustle behind, “We’re chasing this girl, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Just you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Not like with dogs, then, where there might be twenty or thirty?”
    “No.”
    “So we’re not looking at a bucket of cold water here?”
    “No.”

    Constable Shoe saluted, but a little testily. He’d been waiting rather a long time.
    “Afternoon, Sergeant—”
    “That’s Captain,” said Captain Colon. “See the pip on my shoulder, Reg?”
    Reg looked closely. “I thought it was bird doings, Sarge.”
    “That’s Captain,” said Colon automatically. “It’s only