The Fifth Elephant

patrol with Swires, and Angua’s on special duty in the Shades, sir. You remember? With Nobby?”
    “Oh gods, yes. Well, when they come in tomorrow you’d better get them to report to me. Incidentally, get that bloody wig off Nobby and hide it, will you?” Vimes leafed through the paperwork. “I’ve never heard of the Low King of the Dwarfs. I thought that ‘king’ in Dwarfish just meant a sort of senior engineer.”
    “Ah, well, the Low King is rather special,” said Carrot.
    “Why?”
    “Well, it all starts with the Scone of Stone, sir.”
    “The what?”
    “Would you mind a little detour on the way back to the Yard, sir? It’ll make things clearer.”

    The young woman stood on a corner of the Shades. Her general stance indicated that she was, in the specialized patois of the area, a lady in waiting. To be more precise a lady in waiting for Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Amount.
    She idly swung her handbag.
    This was a very recognizable signal, for anyone with the brains of a pigeon. A member of the Thieves’ Guild would have passed carefully by on the other side of the lane, giving her nothing more than a gentlemanly and above all nonaggressive nod. Even the less-polite freelance thieves that lurked in this area would have thought twice before eyeing the handbag. The Seamstresses’ Guild operated a very swift and nonreversible kind of justice.
    The skinny body of Done It Duncan however, did not have the brains of a pigeon. The little man had been watching the bag like a cat for fully five minutes, and now the very thought of its contents had hypnotized him. He could practically taste the money. He rose on his toes, lowered his head, dashed out of the alley, grabbed the bag and got several inches before the world exploded behind him and he ended up flat in the mud.
    Something right by his ear started to drool. And there was a long, very long drawn out growl, not changing in tone at all, just unrolling a deep promise of what would happen if he tried to move.
    He heard footsteps, and out of the corner of his eyes saw a swirl of lace.
    “Oh, Done It ,” said a voice. “Bag snatching? That’s a bit low, isn’t it? Even for you? You could’ve got really hurt. It’s only Duncan, miss. He’ll be no trouble. You can let him up.”
    The weight was removed from Duncan’s back. He heard something pad off into the gloom of an alley.
    “I done it, I done it,” said the little thief desperately, as Corporal Nobbs helped him to his feet.
    “Yes, I know you did. I saw you,” said Nobby. “And you know what’d happen to you if the Thieves’ Guild spotted you? You’d be dead in the river with no time off for good behavior.”
    “They hate me ’cos I’m so good,” said Duncan, through his matted beard. “’Ere, you know the robbery at All Jolson’s last month? I done that.”
    “That’s right, Duncan. You done that.”
    “An’ that haul at the gold vaults last week, I done that, too. It wasn’t Coalface and his boys.”
    “No, it was you, wasn’t it, Duncan.”
    “An’ that job at the goldsmith’s that everyone says Crunchie Ron done—”
    “You done it, did you?”
    “’S’right,” said Duncan.
    “And it was you what stole fire from the gods, too, wasn’t it, Duncan?” said Nobby, grinning evilly under his wig.
    “Yeah, that was me,” Duncan nodded. He sniffed. “I was a bit younger then, of course.” Duncan peered shortsightedly at Nobby Nobbs.
    “Why’ve you got a dress on, Nobby?”
    “It’s hush hush, Duncan.”
    “Ah, right.” Duncan shifted uneasily. “You couldn’t spare me a bob or two, could you, Nobby? I ain’t eaten for two days.”
    Small coins gleamed in the dark.
    “Now push off,” said Corporal Nobbs.
    “Thanks, Nobby. You got any unsolved crimes, you know where to find me.”
    Duncan lurched off into the night.
    Sergeant Angua appeared behind Nobby, buckling on her breastplate.
    “Poor old devil,” she said.
    “He was a good thief in his day,” said Nobby, taking a notebook out of his handbag and jotting down a few lines.
    “Kind of you to help him,” said Angua.
    “Well, I can get the money back out of petty cash,” said Nobby. “An’ now we know who did the bullion job, don’t we. That’ll be a feather in my cap with Mister Vimes.”
    “Bonnet, Nobby.”
    “What?”
    “Your bonnet, Nobby. It’s got a rather fetching band of flowers around it.”
    “Oh…yeah…”
    “It’s not that I’m complaining,” said Angua,