The Fifth Elephant

Grace. The sun will be setting soon. Mmm, mmm.”

    Corporal Nobbs, President and Convenor of the Guild of Watchmen, surveyed his troops.
    “All right, one more time,” he said. “Whadda we want?”
    The strike meeting had been going on for some time, and it had been going on in a bar. The watchmen were already a little forgetful.
    Constable Ping raised his hand.
    “Er…a proper grievance procedure, a complaints committee, an overhaul of the promotion procedures…er…”
    “—better crockery in the canteen,” someone supplied.
    “—freedom from unwarranted accusations of sucrose theft,” said someone else.
    “—no more than seven days straight on nights—”
    “—an increase in the boots allowance—”
    “—at least three afternoons off for grandmother’s funerals per year—”
    “—not having to pay for our own pigeon feed—”
    “—another drink.” This last demand met with general approval.
    Constable Shoe got to his feet. He was still, in his spare time, organizer of the Campaign for Dead Rights, and he knew how this sort of thing went.
    “No, no, no, no, no ,” he said. “You’ve got to get it a lot simpler than that. It’s got to have bounce . And rhythm. Like ‘Whadda we want? Dum -dee- dum -dee. When do we want it? Now!’ See? You need one simple demand. Let’s try it again. Whadda we want?”
    The watchmen looked at one another, no one quite wanting to be the first.
    “Another drink?” someone volunteered.
    “Yeah!” said someone at the back. “When do we want it? NOW!”
    “Well, that one seems to have worked,” said Nobby, as the policemen crowded round the bar. “What else are we going to need, Reg?”
    “Signs for the picket,” said Constable Shoe.
    “We’ve got to picket?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “In that case,” said Nobby firmly, “we’ve got to have a big metal drum to burn old scrap wood in, while we’re pickin’ at it.”
    “Why?” said Reg.
    “You got to stand around warmin’ your hands over a big drum,” said Nobby. “That’s how people know you’re an official picket and not a bunch of bums.”
    “But we are a bunch of bums, Nobby. People think we are, anyway.”
    “All right, but let’s be warm ones.”

    The sun was a finger’s width above the rim when Vimes’s coach set off from the tower. Igor whipped the horses up. Vimes looked out of the window at the road’s edge, a few feet away and several hundred feet above the river.
    “Why so fast?” he shouted.
    “Got to be home by thunthet!” Igor shouted. “It’th tradithional .”
    The big red sun was moving through bars of cloud.
    “Oh, let him, dear, if it gives the poor soul any pleasure,” said Lady Sybil, shutting the window. “Now, Sam, what happened at the tower?”
    “I don’t really want to worry you, Sybil…”
    “Well, now that you’ve got me really worried, you may as well tell me. All right?”
    Vimes gave in and explained the little that he knew.
    “Someone’s killed them?”
    “Possibly.”
    “The same people that ambushed us back in that gorge?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “This isn’t turning out to be much of a holiday, Sam.”
    “It’s not being able to do anything that makes me sick,” said Vimes. “Back in Ankh-Morpork…well, I’d have leads, contacts, some kind of a map. Everyone here is…well, hiding something, I think. The new king thinks I’m a fool, the werewolves treated me as if I was something the cat dragged in…the only person who’s been halfway civil was a vampire!”
    “Not the cat,” said Sybil.
    “What?” said Vimes, mystified.
    “Werewolves hate cats,” said Sybil. “I distinctly remember that. Definitely not cat people.”
    “Hah. No. Dog people. They don’t like words like bath or vet , either. I reckon if you threw a stick at the baron he’d leap out of his chair to catch it—”
    “I suppose I ought to tell you about the carpets,” said Sybil, as the coach rocked around a corner.
    “What, isn’t he house-trained?”
    “I meant the carpets in the embassy. You know I said I’d measure up for them? But the measurements aren’t right, on the first floor…”
    “I don’t want to sound impatient, dear, but is this a carpet moment?”
    “Sam?”
    “Yes, dear?”
    “Just stop thinking like a husband and start listening like a…a copper, will you?”

    Vimes marched into the embassy and summoned Detritus and Cheery.
    “You two are coming with us to the ball tonight,” he said. “It’ll be