The Fifth Elephant

“but when we were assigned this job I thought it was me who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the backup, Nobby.”
    “Yeah, but what with you bein’…” Nobby’s expression creased as he edged his way into unfamiliar linguistic territory, “…mor…phor…log…ic…ally gifted…”
    “A werewolf, Nobby. I know the word.”
    “Right…well, obviously, you’d be a lot better at lurkin’, an’…an’ obviously it’s not right, women havin’ to act as decoys in police work…”
    Angua hesitated, as she so often did when attempting to talk to Nobby on difficult matters, and waved her hands in front of her as if trying to shape the invisible dough of her thoughts.
    “It’s just that…I mean, people might…” she began. “I mean…well, you know what people call men who wear wigs and gowns, don’t you?”
    “Yes, miss.”
    “You do?”
    “Yes, miss. Lawyers, miss.”
    “Good. Yes. Good,” said Angua slowly. “Now try another one…”
    “Er…actors, miss?”
    Angua gave up. “You look good in taffeta, Nobby,” she said.
    “You don’t think it makes me look too fat?”
    Angua sniffed.
    “Oh no…” she said, quietly.
    “I thought I’d better put scent on for verysillymitude,” said Nobby quickly.
    “What? Oh…” Angua shook her head, took another breath. “I can smell…some…thing…else…”
    “That’s surprising, ’cos this stuff’s a bit on the pungent side and frankly I don’t think lily of the valley is supposed to smell like this…”
    “…it’s not perfume…”
    “…but the lavender stuff they had you could clean brass with…”
    “Can you get back to the Chitterling station by yourself, Nobby?” said Angua. Despite her rising panic, she mentally added: After all, what could happen? I mean, really?
    “Yes, miss.”
    “There’s something I’d better…sort out…”
    Angua hurried away, the new scent filling her nostrils. It would have to be powerful to combat Eau de Nobbs, and it was. Oh, it was .
    Not here, she thought. Not now.
    Not him.

    The running man swung along a branch wet with snow, and managed at last to lower himself onto a branch belonging to the next tree. That took him a long way from the stream. How good was their sense of smell? Pretty damn good, he knew. But this good?
    He’d gotten out of the stream onto another overhanging branch. If they followed the banks, and they’d be bright enough to do that, they’d surely never know he’d left the stream.
    There was a howl, away to the left.
    He headed right, into the gloom of the forest.

    Vimes heard Carrot scrabble around in the gloom, and the sound of a key in the lock.
    “I thought the Campaign for Equal Heights was running this place now,” he said.
    “It’s so hard to find volunteers,” said Carrot, ushering him through the low door and lighting a candle. “I come in every day just to keep an eye on things, but no one else seems very interested.”
    “I can’t imagine why,” said Vimes, looking around the Dwarf Bread Museum.
    The one positive thing you could say about the bread products around him was that they were probably as edible now as they were on the day they were baked. “Forged” was a better term. Dwarf bread was made as a meal of last resort and also as a weapon and a currency. Dwarfs were not, as far as Vimes knew, religious in any way, but the way they thought about bread came close.
    There was a tinkle and a scrabbling noise somewhere in the gloom.
    “Rats,” said Carrot. “They never stop trying to eat dwarf bread, poor things…Ah, here we are. The Scone of Stone. A replica, of course.”
    Vimes stared at the misshaped thing on its dusty display stand. It was vaguely sconelike, but only if someone pointed this out to you beforehand. Otherwise, the term “a lump of rock” was pretty accurate. It was about the size, and shape, of a well sat-on cushion. There were a few fossilized currants visible.
    “My wife rests her feet on something like that when she’s had a long day,” he said.
    “It’s fifteen hundred years old,” said Carrot, with something like awe in his voice.
    “I thought this was the replica.”
    “Well, yes…but it’s a replica of a very important thing, sir,” said Carrot.
    Vimes sniffed. The air had a certain pungent quality.
    “Smells strongly of cats in here, doesn’t it?”
    “I’m afraid they get in after the rats, sir. A rat who’s nibbled on dwarf bread tends not to be able to run very