The Fifth Elephant

else. It had, Vimes noticed, very heavy shutters on the window. It also had what he thought was a strange iron griddle over the fireplace until he recognized it for what it was, a sort of portcullis that could block off the chimney. This place expected to withstand the occasional siege that might include enemies who could fly.
    It was sleeting when they went out to the coaches.
    “A storm’s closing in, mmm, mhm,” said Inigo. “We shall have to hurry.”
    “Why?” said Sybil.
    “The pass will probably be closed for several days, Your Ladyship. If we wait, we may even miss the coronation. And…er…there may be slight bandit activity…”
    “ Slight bandit activity?” said Vimes.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You mean they wake up and decide to go back to bed? Or they just steal enough for a cup of coffee?”
    “Very droll, sir. They do, notoriously, take hostages—”
    “Bandits don’t frighten me,” said Sybil.
    “If I may—” Inigo began.
    “Mister Skimmer,” said Lady Sybil, drawing herself up to her full width, “I did in fact just tell you what we are going to do. See to it, please. There are servants at the consulate, aren’t there?”
    “There is one, I believe—”
    “Then we shall happily make do as best we can. Won’t we, Sam?”
    “Certainly, dear.”
    It was seriously snowing by the time they left, in great feather lumps which fell with a faint damp hiss, muffling all other sound. Vimes wouldn’t have known that they’d reached the pass if the coaches hadn’t stopped.
    “The coach with your…men on it should go in front,” said Inigo, as they stood in the snow beside the steaming horses. “We should follow close behind. I’ll ride with our driver, just in case.”
    “So that if we are attacked by anyone you can give them a potted summary of the political situation?” said Vimes. “No, you will ride inside with Lady Sybil, and I’ll ride on the box. Got to protect the civilians, eh?”
    “Your Grace, I—”
    “However, your suggestion is appreciated,” Vimes went on. “You get inside, Mister Skimmer.”
    The man opened his mouth. Vimes raised an eyebrow.
    “Very well, Your Grace, but it is extremely—”
    “Good man.”
    “I should like my leather case down from the roof, though.”
    “Certainly. A bit of fact-finding will take your mind of things.”
    Vimes walked forward to the other carriage, poked his head inside and said, “We’re going to be ambushed, lads.”
    “Dat’s interestin’,” said Detritus. He grunted slightly as he wound the windlass of his crossbow.
    “Oh,” said Cheery.
    “I don’t think they’ll try to kill us,” Vimes went on.
    “Does dat mean we don’t try to kill dem?”
    “Use your own judgment.”
    Detritus sighted along a thick bundle of arrows. They were his idea. Since his giant crossbow was capable of sending an iron bolt through the gates of a city under siege, he had felt it rather a waste to use it on just one person, so he had adapted it to fire a sheaf of several dozen arrows all at once. The threads holding them together were supposed to snap under acceleration. They did so. Quite often the arrows also shattered in midair as they failed to withstand the enormous pressure.
    He called it the Piecemaker. He’d only tried it once, down at the butts; Vimes had seen a target vanish. So had the targets on either side of it, the earth bank behind it, and a spiraling cloud of feathers floating down had been all that remained of a couple of seagulls who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. In this instance, the wrong place had been vertically above Detritus.
    Now no other watchmen would go on patrol with the troll unless they could stay at least a hundred yards directly behind him. But the test had the desired effect, because someone saw everything in Ankh-Morpork and news about the targets had got around. Now just the knowledge that Detritus was on his way cleared a street much faster than any weapon.
    “I got lots of judgment,” he said.
    “You be careful with that thing,” said Vimes. “You could hurt someone.”
    The party started out again, through the swirls of snow. Vimes made himself comfortable among the luggage, lit a cigar and then, when he was sure that the rattling of the coach would mask the sounds, rummaged farther under the tarpaulin and drew out Inigo’s cheap, scarred leather case.
    From his pocket he took a small roll of black cloth, and unrolled it on his knee. Intricate little lockpicks