The Fifth Elephant

on one side and said “Hrurrrm?”
    It was almost a pleasant noise. But right down inside Gaspode’s bones it bounced a harmonic which said: At this point, we could go two ways. There is the easy way, and that is very easy.
    You’ll never know about the hard way.
    Awkward held eye contact for a while, and then looked down.
    Gavin snarled something. Half a dozen of the wolves, led by Angua, loped off toward the forest.
    They returned twenty minutes later. Angua was human again—at least, Gaspode corrected himself, human shaped —and the wolves were harnessed to a big dog sled.
    “Borrowed it from a man in the village over the hill,” she said, as it slid to a halt by Carrot.
    “Nice of him,” said Gaspode, and decided not to pursue the subject. “I’m surprised to see wolves in harness, though.”
    “Well, this was the easy way,” said Angua.
    It’s odd, Gaspode mused, as he lay in the sled alongside the slumbering Carrot. He was so int’rested when Bum talked about the howl and how it could send messages right up into the mountains. If I was a suspicious dog, I’d wonder if he knew that she’d come back for him if he was really in trouble, if he decided to gamble everything on it…
    He poked his head out from under the blanket. Snow stung his eyes. Running alongside the sled, only a few feet away from Carrot, and glowing silver in the moonlight, was Gavin.
    This is me, thought Gaspode, stuck between the humans and the wolves. It’s a dog’s life.

    This is the life, thought Acting Captain Colon. Hardly any paperwork was coming up here now, and by dint of much effort he’d entirely cleared the backlog. It was a lot quieter, too.
    When Vimes was here—and Fred Colon suddenly found himself thinking the word “Vimes” without prefixing it with the word “Mister”—the main office was full of so much noise and bustle you could hardly hear yourself speak. Completely inefficient, that was. How could anyone hope to get anything done?
    He counted the sugar again. Twenty-nine. But he’d had two in his tea, so that was all right. Toughness was paying off.
    Colon went and opened his door a fraction so that he could just see down into the office. It was amazing how you could catch them out that way.
    Quiet. And neat, too. Every desk was clear. Much better than the mess you used to get.
    He went back to the desk and counted the sugar lumps.
    There were twenty-seven.
    Ah-ha! Someone was trying to drive him mad. Well, two could play at that game.
    He counted the lumps again.
    There were twenty-six, and there was a knock at the door.
    This caused it to swing inward, and Colon to jump up in evil triumph.
    “Ah-ha! Burst in on me, eh?…oh…”
    The “oh” was because the knocker was Constable Dorfl, the golem. He was taller than the doorway and strong enough to tear a troll in half; he’d never done this, since he was an intensely moral being, but not even Colon was going to pick an argument with someone who had glowing red holes where his eyes should be. Ordinary golems would not harm a human because they had magic words in their head that ordered them not to. Dorfl had no magic words, but he didn’t harm people because he’d decided that it wasn’t moral. This left the worrying possibility that, given enough provocation, he might think again.
    Beside the golem was Constable Shoe, saluting smartly.
    “We’ve come to pick up the wages chitty, sir,” he said.
    “The what?”
    “The wages chitty, sir. The monthly chitty, sir. And then we take it to the palace and bring back the wages, sir.”
    “I don’t know anything about that!”
    “I put it on your desk yesterday, sir. Signed by Lord Vetinari, sir.”
    Colon couldn’t hide the flicker in his eyes. The black ash in the fireplace was, by now, overflowing.
    Shoe followed his gaze.
    “I haven’t seen any such thing,” said Colon, while the color drained from his face like a sucked popsicle.
    “I’m sure I did, sir,” said Constable Shoe. “I wouldn’t forget a thing like that, sir. In fact, I distinctly remember saying to Constable Visit, ‘Washpot, I’m just going to take this—’”
    “Look, you can see I’m a busy man!” snapped Colon. “Get one of the sergeants to sort it out!”
    “There’s no sergeants left except Sergeant Flint, sir, and he spends all his time going around asking people what he should be doing,” said Constable Shoe. “Anyway, sir , it’s the senior officer who must sign the chitty—”
    Colon