The Fifth Elephant

agree with that sort of thing, sah.”
    “So I understand.”
    Colon drew himself up to attention again.
    “Not natural, in my view, sah. Not in favor of unnatural things.”
    Vetinari looked perplexed.
    “You mean…you eat your meat raw and sleep in a tree?”
    “Sah?”
    “Oh, nothing, nothing. Someone in Uberwald seems to be taking an interest in him lately. And now he’s dead. I would not dream of telling the Watch their job, of course.”
    He watched Colon carefully to see if this had sunk in.
    “I said that it is entirely up to you to choose what to investigate in this bustling city,” he prompted.
    Colon was lost in unfamiliar country without a map.
    “Thank you, sah!” he barked.
    Vetinari sighed. “And now, Acting Captain, I’m sure there’s much that needs your attention.”
    “Sah! I’ve got plans to—”
    “I meant, do not let me detain you.”
    “Oh, that’s all right, sir, I’ve got plenty of time—”
    “ Goodbye , Acting Captain Colon.”
    Out in the anteroom, Fred Colon stood very still for a while, until his heartbeat wound down from a whine to at least a purr.
    It had, on the whole, gone quite well. Very well. Amazingly well, really. His Lordship had practically taken him into his confidence. He’d called him “a man to watch.”
    Fred wondered why he’d been so scared of officering all these years. There was nothing to it, really, once you got the bull between your teeth. If only he’d started years ago! Of course, he wouldn’t hear a word said about Mr. Vimes, who should certainly be looking after himself in those dangerous foreign parts…but…well, Fred Colon had been a sergeant when Sam Vimes was a rookie, hadn’t he? It was only his nat’ral deference that’d held him back all these years. When Sam Vimes came back, and with the Patrician there to put in a good word for him, Fred Colon would definitely be on the promotion ladder.
    Only to full captain, of course, he thought as he strutted down the stairs—with great care, because strutting is usually impossible while walking downward. He wouldn’t want to outrank Captain Carrot. That would be…wrong.
    This fact shows that, however crazed with power someone may become, a tiny instinct for self-preservation always remains.

    He got the chickens first, thought Gaspode, winding his way through the legs of the crowd. Amazin’.
    They hadn’t stopped to eat them, though. Gaspode had been stuffed into the other saddlebag and would not like to have to go through ten miles like that again, especially so close to the smell of roast chicken.
    It looked as though there was a market going on, and the wolf-baiting had been saved as a sort of closing ceremony. Hurdles had been arranged on a rough circle. Men were holding the collars of dogs—big, heavy, unpleasant looking dogs, which were already wild with excitement and deranged stupidity.
    There was a coop by the hurdles. Gaspode made his way to it, and peered through the wooden bars at the heap of matted gray fur in the shadows.
    “Looks like you’re in a spot of strife, friend,” he said.
    Contrary to legend—and there are so many legends about wolves, although mostly they are legends about the way men think about wolves—a trapped wolf is more likely to whine and fawn than go wild with rage.
    But this one must have felt it had nothing to lose. Foam-flecked jaws snapped at the bars.
    “Where’s the rest of your pack, then?” said Gaspode.
    “No pack, shorty!”
    “Ah. A lone wolf, eh?” The worst kind, Gaspode thought.
    “Roast chicken isn’t worth this,” he muttered. Out loud, he growled, “You seen any other wolves around here?”
    “Yes!”
    “Good. You want to get out of here alive?”
    “I’ll kill them all!”
    “Right, right…but there’s dozens of ’em, see. You won’t stand a chance. They’ll tear you to bits. Dogs’re a lot nastier than wolves.”
    In the shade, the eyes narrowed.
    “Why’re you telling me, dog?”
    “’Cos I am here to help you, see? You do what I tell you, you could be out of here in half an hour. Otherwise you’re a rug on someone’s floor tomorrow. Your choice. O’course, there might not be enough of you left to make a rug.”
    The wolf listened to the baying of the dogs. There was no mistaking their intent.
    “What did you have in mind?” it said.
    A few minutes later the crowd was gently nudged aside as Carrot edged his horse toward the pen. The hubbub died. A sword on a horse always commands