The Fifth Elephant

noticing that you clenched your fist tightly as soon as you heard me, and I surmise therefore that you found…let me see…three dollars left in the chicken house. Three dollars would buy six fine birds in Ankh-Morpork.”
    The man opened his fist, wordlessly. The coins glinted in the sunlight.
    “But…but I sells ’em at the gate for ten pence!” he wailed. “They only had to arsk !”
    “Probably didn’t want to bother you,” said the horsemen. “Since I am here, sir, I would be grateful if you could sell me a chicken—”
    Behind the farmer the dog said “Woof woof!”
    “— two chickens, and I will not trespass further upon your time.”
    “Woof woof woof.”
    “ Three chickens,” said the rider, wearily. “And if you have them dressed and cooked while I tend to my horse, I will gladly pay a dollar apiece.”
    “Woof, woof.”
    “Without garlic or any seasoning on two of the chickens, please,” said the rider.
    The farmer nodded wordlessly. A dollar a chicken wasn’t chicken feed. You didn’t turn up your nose at an offer like that. But most importantly, you didn’t disobey a man with that faint little smile on his face. It didn’t seem to move, or change. As smiles went, you wanted this one to go as far away as possible.
    He hurried off to the yard that held his best fowls, reached down to select the fattest…and paused. A man who was fool enough to pay a dollar for a good chicken might be quite content with just a reasonable chicken, after all…He stood up.
    “Only the best, mister.”
    He spun around. No one was there except the little scruffy dog, which had followed him and was now raising a cloud of dust as it scratched itself.
    “Woof?” it said.
    He threw a stone at it, and it trotted off. Then he selected three of the very best chickens.
    Carrot was lying down under a tree, trying to make his head comfortable on a saddlebag.
    “Did you see in the dust where she’d almost rubbed out her footprints?” said Gaspode.
    “Yes,” said Carrot, closing his eyes.
    “Does she always pay for chickens?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    Carrot turned over.
    “Because animals don’t.”
    Gaspode looked at the back of Carrot’s head. On the whole he enjoyed the unusual gift of speech, but something about the reddening of Carrot’s ears told him that this was the time to employ the even rarer gift of silence.
    He settled down in the position he almost unconsciously categorized as Faithful Companion Keeping Watch, got bored, scratched himself absentmindedly, curled up in the pose known as Faithful Companion Curled Up With His Nose Pressed On His Bottom, * and fell asleep.
    He awoke shortly afterward, to the sound of voices. There was also a faint smell of roast chicken coming from the direction of the farmhouse.
    Gaspode rolled over, and saw the farmer talking to another man on a cart. He listened for a moment and then sat up, locked in a metaphysical conundrum.
    Finally he awoke Carrot by licking his ear.
    “Fzwl…what?”
    “You got to promise to collect the roast chicken first, all right?” said Gaspode urgently.
    “What?” Carrot sat up.
    “Get the chickens and then we gotta go, right? You gotta promise.”
    “All right, all right, I promise. What’s happening ?”
    “You ever heard of a town call Scant Cullot?”
    “I think it’s about ten miles from here…”
    “One of Mister Farmer’s neighbors has just told him that they’ve caught a wolf there.”
    “Killed it?”
    “No, no, no…but the wolf hunters…there’s wolf hunters in these parts, see, ’cos of the sheep up on the hills and…they have to train their dogs first remember you promised about the chickens !”

    At precisely eleven o’clock there was a smart rap on Lord Vetinari’s door.
    The Patrician gave the woodwork a puzzled frown. At last he said: “Come.”
    Fred Colon entered with difficulty. Vetinari watched him for a few moments until pity overcame even him.
    “Acting Captain, it is not necessary to remain at attention at all times,” he said, kindly. “You are allowed to unbend enough for the satisfactory manipulation of a doorknob.
    “Yes, sah!”
    Lord Vetinari raised a hand to his ear protectively.
    “You may be seated.”
    “Yes, sah!”
    “You may be quieter, too.”
    “Yes, sah!”
    Lord Vetinari retreated to the protection of his desk.
    “May I commend you on the gleam of your armor, Acting Captain—”
    “Spit and polish, sah! No substitute for it, sah!” Sweat was