The Fifth Elephant

right? She said this morning she really thinks this place would be better for some decent carpet, and there’s no stopping her when she’s in a tape-measure mood. I’ll take Cheery and one of the lads from outside, for the look of the thing. I assume you’re coming?”
    “I won’t be required, sir. Mmm. The new coachman knows the way, Morporkian is the diplomatic language, after all, and…I shall be making inquiries.”
    “Delicate ones?”
    “Indeed, Your Grace.”
    “If he’s been killed, won’t that be an act of war?”
    “Yes and no, Your Grace.”
    “What? Sleeps was— is our man!”
    Inigo looked awkward. “It would depend on…exactly where he was and what he was doing…”
    Vimes gave him a blank look, and then the penny dropped and operated his brain.
    “Spying?”
    “Acquiring information. Everyone does it, mm, mmm.”
    “Yes, but if you find a diplomat going too far you just sent him home with a sharp note, don’t you?”
    “Around the Circle Sea, Your Grace, that is the case. Here…they may have a different approach…”
    “Something rather sharper than a note?”
    “Exactly. Mmm.”
    Captain Tantony was one of the guards. There was some minor difficulty, but the argument that, since he was guarding Vimes, he might as well be where Vimes was , eventually carried some weight. Tantony had the look of an agonizingly logical man.
    He kept giving Vimes curious looks as the coach rattled out of the town. Beside him, Cheery sat with her legs dangling. Vimes noticed, although it was not the kind of thing he generally made a habit of noticing, that the shape of her breastplate had been subtly altered, probably by the same armorer that Angua went to, to indicate that the chest underneath it was not quite the same shape of chest that you got under the armor of, say, Corporal Nobbs, although of course probably no one had a chest the same shape as that of Corporal Nobbs.
    She was wearing her high-heeled iron boots, too.
    “Look, you don’t have to come,” he said out loud.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “I mean I could go and get Detritus instead. Although I suppose there’d be even more upshot if I took a troll into a dwarf mine…I mean, rather than a…a…”
    “…girl,” said Cheery helpfully.
    “Er…yes.” Vimes felt the coach slow to a halt, even though they hadn’t left the town yet, and he looked out.
    In front of them, across a small square, was a fort of sorts, but with much larger gates than you’d expect for its size. As Vimes stared at them, they were swung open from within.
    Inside, there was a slope. All the fort consisted of was four walls around a large, sloping tunnel.
    “The dwarfs live underneath the town?” he said, as the light from outside was gradually replaced by the infrequent glow of torches. But they clearly showed the coach was rattling past a long, long line of stationary carts. The pools of light revealed horses, and drivers talking in groups.
    “Under quite a lot of Uberwald,” said Cheery. “This is just the nearest entrance, sir. We’ll probably have to stop in a minute, because the horses don’t like—ah.”
    The coach stopped again, and the coachman banged on the side to indicate that this was the end of the line. The queue of carts wound off down another tunnel, but the coach had stopped in a small cave with a big door. A couple of dwarfs were waiting there. They had axes slung across their backs, although by dwarf standards this counted merely as “politely dressed” rather than “heavily armed.” Their attitude, however, was in the international language of people guarding gates everywhere.
    “Commander Sam Vimes, Ankh-Morpork Ci—ambassador from Ankh-Morpork,” said Vimes, handing one of them his papers. At least it was not hard to assume a lofty air with dwarfs.
    To his surprise, the document was read thoroughly, one dwarf looking over the other one’s shoulder and pointing out interesting subclauses. The official seal was carefully examined.
    One guard pointed to Cheery.
    “Kra’k?”
    “My official guard,” said Vimes. “Included in ‘associated members of staff’ on page two,” he added helpfully.
    “Mhust searhch thy coash,” said the guard.
    “No. Diplomatic immunity,” said Vimes. “Tell ’em, Cheery.”
    They listened to Cheery’s urgent Dwarfish. Then the other guard, whose face had indicated that there was something on his mind and it was jumping up and down, nudged his companion and pulled him aside.
    There