The Fifth Elephant

was a whisper in the air followed by a second smack of steel into muscle. One of the hooded figures collapsed into the mud, clutching at its leg.
    Inigo slowly got to his feet. The man holding the crossbow appeared not to notice.
    “It is like chess, Your Grace Vimes! We have disarmed the troll and the dwarf! And I have the queen! And if you shoot at me, can you be sure I won’t have time to fire?”
    Firelight glowed on the twisted trees bordering the road.
    Several seconds passed.
    Then the sound of Vimes’s crossbow landing in the circle of light was very loud.
    “Well done, Your Grace Vimes! And now yourself, if you please!”
    Inigo made out the shape that appeared at the very edge of the light, with both hands up.
    “Are you all right, Sybil?” said Vimes.
    “A bit cold, Sam.”
    “You’re not hurt?”
    “No, Sam.”
    “Keep your hands where I can see them, Your Grace Vimes!”
    “And are you going to promise me you’ll let her go?” said Vimes.
    A flame flickered near Vimes’s face, a bright pool in the darkness, as he lit a cigar.
    “Now, Your Grace Vimes, why ever should I do that? But I am sure Ankh-Morpork will pay a lot for you!”
    “Ah. I thought so,” said Vimes. He shook the match out, and the cigar end glowed for a moment. “Sybil?”
    “Yes, Sam?”
    “Duck.”
    There was a second filled only with the indrawing of breath, and then, as Lady Sybil dived forward, Vimes’s hand came around from behind him in an arc, there was a silken sound, and the man’s head was flung back.
    Inigo leapt and caught his crossbow as it was dropped, then rolled and came up firing. Another figure staggered.
    Vimes was aware of a commotion elsewhere as he grabbed Sybil and helped her back into the coach. Inigo had vanished, but a scream in the dark didn’t sound like anyone that Vimes knew.
    And then…only the hiss of snow in the fire.
    “I…think they’re gone, sir,” said Cheery’s voice.
    “Not as fast as us! Detritus?”
    “Sir?”
    “Are you okay?”
    “Feelin’ very tactful, sir.”
    “You two take that coach, I’ll take this, and let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?”
    “Where’s Mister Skimmer?” said Sybil.
    There was another scream from the woods.
    “Forget him!”
    “But he’s—”
    “Forget him!”
    The snow was falling thicker as they climbed the pass. The deep snow dragged at the wheels, and all Vimes could see were the darker shapes of the horses against the whiteness. Then the clouds parted briefly, and he wished they hadn’t, because here they revealed that the darkness on the left of his wasn’t rock any more but a sheer drop.
    At the top of the pass the lights of an inn glowed out onto the thickening snow. Vimes drove the carriage into the yard.
    “Detritus?”
    “Sir?”
    “I’ll watch our backs. Make sure this place is okay, will you?”
    “Yessir.”
    The troll jumped down, slotting a fresh bundle of arrows into the Piecemaker. Vimes spotted his intention just in time.
    “Just knock , Sergeant.”
    “Right you are, sir.”
    The troll knocked and entered. The buzz of sound from inside suddenly ceased. Vimes heard, muffled by the door, “Der Duke of Ankh-Morpork is coming in. Anyone have a problem with dis? Just say der word.” And in the background, the little humming, singing noise the Piecemaker made under tension.
    Vimes helped Sybil down from the coach.
    “How do you feel now?” he said.
    She smiled faintly. “I think this dress will have to go for dusters,” she said. She smiled a little more when she saw his expression.
    “I knew you’d come up with something, Sam. You go all slow and cold and that means something really dreadful’s going to happen. I wasn’t frightened.”
    “Really? I was scared shi—stiff,” said Vimes.
    “What happened to Mister Skimmer? I remember him rummaging in his case and cursing—”
    “I suspect Inigo Skimmer is alive and well,” said Vimes grimly. “Which is more than can be said for those around him.”
    There was silence in the main room of the inn. A man and a woman, presumably the landlord and his wife, were standing flat against the back of the bar. The dozen or so other occupants lined the walls, hands in the air. Beer dribbled from a couple of spilled mugs.
    “Everyt’ing normal an’ peaceful,” said Detritus, turning around.
    Vimes realized that everyone was staring at him. He looked down. His shirt was torn. Mud and blood caked his clothes. Melted snow dripped off him. In his