The Fifth Elephant

carefully. He put down his pen.
    “Now…what do we have to discuss?” He pulled another document toward him and read it swiftly.
    “Ah…I see that the new traffic division is having the desired effect.” He indicated a large pile of paper. “I am getting any amount of complaints from the Carters’ and Drovers’ Guild. Well done. Do pass on my thanks to Sergeant Colon and his team.”
    “I will, sir.”
    “I see in one day they clamped seventeen carts, ten horses, eighteen oxen and one duck.”
    “It was parked illegally, sir.”
    “Indeed.”
    “However, a strange pattern seems to emerge.”
    “Sir?”
    “Many of the carters say that they were not in fact parked but had merely halted while an extremely old and extremely ugly lady crossed the road extremely slowly.”
    “That’s their story, sir.”
    “They know she was an old lady by her constant litany on the lines of ‘oh deary me, my poor old feet’ and similar expressions.”
    “Certainly sounds like an old lady to me, sir,” said Vimes, his face still wooden.
    “Quite so. What is rather strange is that several of them then report seeing the old lady subsequently legging it away along an alley rather fast. I’d discount this, of course, were it not for the fact that the lady has apparently been seen crossing another street, very slowly, some distance away shortly afterward. Something of a mystery, Vimes.”
    Vimes put his hand over his eyes. “It’s one I intend to solve quite quickly, sir.”
    The Patrician nodded, and made a short note on the list in front of him.
    As he went to move it aside he uncovered a much grubbier, much folded scrap of paper. He picked up two letter knives and, using them fastidiously, unfolded the paper and inched it across the desk toward Vimes.
    “Do you know anything about this?” he said.
    Vimes read, in large, round, crayoned letters:
    DeEr Cur, The CruELt to HOMLIss DoGs In thIs

    CITy Is A DIssGrays, Wat arE The WaTCH

    Do Ing A BouT IT¿

    SiNeD The LeAK AgyANsct CrUle T To DoGs.

    “Not a thing,” he said.
    “My clerks say that one like it is pushed under the door most nights,” said the Patrician. “Apparently no one is seen.”
    “Do you want me to investigate?” said Vimes. “It shouldn’t be hard to find someone in this city who dribbles when he writes and spells even worse than Carrot.”
    “Thank you, sir,” said Carrot.
    “None of the guards report noticing anyone,” said the Patrician. “Is there any group in Ankh-Morpork particularly interested in the welfare of dogs?”
    “I doubt it, sir.”
    “Then I shall ignore it pro tem,” said Vetinari. He let the soggy letter splash into the wastepaper basket.
    “On to more pressing matters,” he said briskly. “Now, then…what do you know about Bonk?”
    Vimes stared.
    There was a polite cough from Carrot.
    “The river or the town, sir?” he said.
    The Patrician smiled. “Ah, Captain, you have long ago ceased to surprise me. Yes, I was referring to the town.”
    “It’s one of the major towns in Überwald, sir,” said Carrot, balancing the umlaut perfectly. “Exports: precious metals, leather, timber and of course fat from the deep fat mines at Shmaltzberg—”
    “There’s a place called Bonk?” said Vimes, still marveling at the speed with which they’d got here from a damp letter about dogs.
    “Strictly speaking, sir, it’s more correctly pronounced Beyonk,” said Carrot.
    “Even so—”
    “And in Beyonk, sir, ‘morpork’ sounds exactly like their words for an item of ladies’ underwear,” said Carrot. “There’s only so many syllables in the world, when you think about it.”
    “How do you know all this stuff, Carrot?”
    “Oh, you pick it up, sir. Here and there.”
    “Really? So exactly which item of—”
    “Something extremely important will be taking place there in a few weeks,” said Lord Vetinari. “Something which, I have to add, is vital to the future prosperity of Ankh-Morpork.”
    “The crowning of the Low King,” said Carrot.
    Vimes stared from Carrot to the Patrician, and back again.
    “Is there some kind of circular that goes around that doesn’t get as far as me?” he said.
    “The dwarf community has been talking about little else for months, sir.”
    “Really?” said Vimes. “You mean the riots? Those fights every night in the dwarf bars?”
    “Captain Carrot is correct, Vimes. It will be a grand occasion, attended by representatives of many governments. And from