The Fifth Elephant

you’re wearing silver on your…uniform. Those…insignias. Wolf heads biting the lightning…”
    Wolf shrugged. “Ah, the kind of thing a policeman would notice. But they are nickel!”
    “I don’t recognize the regiment.”
    “We are more of a…movement,” said Wolf.
    The stance was Angua’s, too. It was the poised, fight-or-flight look, as if the whole body was a spring eager to unwind and “flight” wasn’t an option. People in the presence of Angua when she was in a bad mood tended to turn up their collars without quite knowing why. But the eyes were different. They weren’t like Angua’s. They weren’t even like the eyes of a wolf.
    No animal had eyes like that, but Vimes saw them occasionally in some of Ankh-Morpork’s less salubrious drinking establishments, where if you were lucky you’d get out the door before the drink turned you blind.
    Colon called that sort of person a “bottle covey,” Nobby preferred “soddin’ nutter” but whatever the name Vimes recognized a head-butting, eye-gouging, down-and-dirty bastard when he saw one. In a fight you’d have no alternative but to lay him out or cut him down, because otherwise he’d do his very best to kill you. Most bar fighters wouldn’t usually go that far, because killing a copper was known to be bad news for the murderer and anyone else who knew him, but your true nutter wouldn’t worry about that because, while he was fighting, his brain was somewhere else.
    Wolf smiled.
    “There is a problem, Your Grace?”
    “What? No. Just…thinking. I feel I’ve met you before…?”
    “You called on my father this morning.”
    “Ah, yes.”
    “We don’t always Change for…visitors, Your Grace,” said Wolf. There was an orange light in his eyes now. Up until then, Vimes had thought that “glowing eyes” was just a figure of speech.
    “If you’ll excuse me, I do need to talk to the Ideas-taster for a moment,” said Vimes. “Politics.”
    Dee followed him into a quiet spot.
    “Yes?”
    “Did Dozy go to the Scone Cave at the same time every day?”
    “I believe so. It depended on his other duties.”
    “So he didn’t go in at the same time every day. Right. When does the guard change?”
    “At each three o’clock.”
    “Did he go in before the guard change or afterward?”
    “That would depend on—”
    “Oh dear. Don’t the guards write anything down?”
    Dee stared at Vimes.
    “Are you saying he could have gone in twice in one day?”
    “Very good . But I’m saying someone might have. A dwarf comes up in a boat alone, carrying a couple of candles…would the guards take that much interest? And if another dwarf carrying a couple of candles came up an hour or so later, when the new guards were there…well, is there any real risk? Even if our faker was noticed, he’d just have to mutter something about…oh, bad candles or something. Damp wicks. Anything.”
    Dee looked distant.
    “It is still a great risk,” he said at last.
    “If our thief was keeping an eye on the guard changes, and knew where the real Dozy was, it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it? For the Scone?”
    Dee shuddered, and then nodded. “In the morning the guards will be closely questioned,” he said.
    “By me.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I know what kind of questions get answers. We’ll set up an office here. We’ll find out the movements of everyone and talk to all the guards, okay? Even the ones on the gates. We’ll find out who went in and out.”
    “You already think you know something…”
    “Let’s say some ideas are forming, shall we?”
    “I will…see to matters.”
    Vimes straightened up and walked back to Lady Sybil, who stood like an island in a sea of dwarfs. She was talking animatedly to several of them who Vimes vaguely recognized as performers in the opera.
    “What have you been up to, Sam?” she said.
    “Politics, I’m afraid,” said Vimes. “And…trusting my instincts. Can you tell me who’s watching us?”
    “Oh, it’s that game, is it?” said Sybil. She smiled happily, and in the tones of someone chatting about inconsequential things, said, “Practically everyone. But if I was handing out prizes, I’d choose the rather sad lady in the little group just off to your left. She’s got fangs, Sam. And pearls, too. They don’t exactly accessorize.”
    “Can you see Wolfgang?”
    “Er…no, not now you come to mention it. That’s odd. He was around a moment ago. Have you been upsetting people?”
    “I