The Fifth Elephant

to all common sense, the blanket of snow above him seemed to make it warmer. It even smelled warm…sort of…animal…
    Three wolves, lying lazily around the trunk of the tree, were watching him with interest.
    Vimes added metaphorical freezing to the other sort. The animals didn’t seem frightened.
    Wolves!
    And that was about it. It made as much sense to say: Snow! Or: Wind! Right now, those were more certain killers.
    He heard somewhere that wolves wouldn’t attack you if you faced them down.
    The trouble was that he was going to sleep soon. He could feel it creeping over him. He wasn’t thinking right, and every muscle ached.
    Outside, the wind moaned. And His Grace the Duke of Ankh-Morpork fell asleep.
    He awoke with a snort and, to his surprise, all his arms and legs as well. A drop of chilled water, melted from the roof just above by the heat of his body, ran down his neck. His muscles didn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t feel most of them.
    And the wolves had gone. There was trampled snow at the far end of the makeshift lair, and light so bright that he groaned.
    It turned out to be daylight, from a bright sky bluer than any Vimes had seen, so blue that it seemed to shade into purple at the zenith. He stepped out into a sugar-frosted world, crunchy and glittering.
    Wolf tracks led away between the trees. It occurred to Vimes that following them would not be a life-enhancing move; perhaps last night had been understood as time out, but today was a new day and probably the search was on for breakfast.
    The sun felt warm, the air was cold, his breath hung in front of him.
    There should be people around, shouldn’t there? Vimes was hazy on rural issues, but weren’t there supposed to be charcoal burners, woodcutters and…he tried to think…little girls taking goodies to granny? The stories Vimes had learned as a kid suggested that all forests were full of bustle, activity and the occasional scream. But this place was silent.
    He set off in a direction that appeared to head downward, on general principles. Food was the important thing. He’d still got a couple of matches, and he could probably make a fire if he had to be out here another night, but it was a long time since the canapés at the reception.
    This is Ankh-Morpork, trudging over and through the snow…
    After half an hour he reached the bottom of a shallow valley, where a stream splashed between encroaching banks of ice. It steamed.
    The water was warm to the touch.
    He followed the banks for some way. They were crisscrossed with animal tracks. Here and there the water pooled in deep hollows that smelled of rotten eggs. Around them the leafless bushes were heavy with ice, where the steam had frozen.
    Food could wait. Vimes stripped off his clothes and stepped into one of the deeper pools, yelping at the heat, and then lay back.
    Didn’t they do something like this up in Nothingfjord? He’d heard stories. They had hot steamy baths and then ran around in the snow hitting one another with birch logs, didn’t they? Or something. There was nothing really daft that some foreigner wouldn’t do, somewhere.
    Gods, it felt good . Hot water was civilization. Vimes could feel the stiffness in his muscles melting away in the warmth.
    After a moment or two he splashed over to the bank and rummaged through his clothes until he found a flattened packet of cigars, containing a couple of things that, after the events of the past twenty-four hours, looked like fossilized twigs.
    He had two matches.
    Well, the hell with it. Anyone could light a fire with one match.
    He lay back in the water. That had been a good decision. He could feel himself coming back together again, pulled into shape by the heat within and without—
    “Ah. Your Grace…”
    Wolf von Uberwald was sitting on the other bank. He was stark naked. A little vapor rose off him, as if he’d just been exerting himself. Muscles gleamed as though they’d been oiled. They probably had been.
    “A run in the snow is such a thing, is it not?” said Wolf pleasantly. “You are certainly learning the ways of Uberwald, Your Grace. Lady Sybil is alive and well and free to go back to your city when the passes are cleared. I know you would wish to hear that.”
    Other figures were approaching through the trees, men and women, all of them as unselfconsciously naked as Wolf.
    Vimes realized he was a dead man bathing. He could see it in Wolf’s eyes.
    “Nothing like a hot dip before breakfast,” he