The Fifth Elephant

said.
    “Ah, yes. We also have not, as yet, breakfasted,” said Wolf. He stood up, stretched, and cleared the pool from a standing start. Vimes’s breeches were picked up and examined.
    “I threw Inigo’s damn thing away,” said Vimes. “I don’t think a friend put it there.”
    “It is all a great game, Your Grace,” said Wolf. “Do not reproach yourself! The strongest survive, which is as it should be!”
    “Dee planned this, did he?”
    Wolf laughed. “The dear little Dee? Oh, he had a plan. It was a good little plan, although a touch insane. Happily, it will no longer be required!”
    “You want the dwarfs to go to war?”
    “Strength is good ,” said Wolf, folding Vimes’s clothes neatly. “But like some other good things, it only remains good if it is not possessed by too many people.” He tossed the clothes as far as he could.
    “What is it you want me to say, Your Grace?” said Wolf. “Something like ‘you are going to die anyway so I might as well tell you,’ perhaps?”
    “Well, it’d be a help,” said Vimes.
    “You are going to die anyway.” Wolf smiled. “Why don’t you tell me ?”
    Talking gained time. Maybe those woodcutters and charcoal burners would be along at any minute.
    If they hadn’t brought their axes everyone was going to be in big trouble.
    “I’m…pretty sure why the replica Scone was stolen in Ankh-Morpork,” said Vimes. “I’ve just got the inkling of an idea that a copy was made of it, which was smuggled here on one of our coaches. Diplomats don’t get searched.”
    “Well done!”
    “Shame Igor came to unload when one of your boys was there, wasn’t it?”
    “Oh, it’s hard to hurt an Igor!”
    “You don’t care, do you?” said Vimes. “A bunch of dwarfs want Albrecht on the thro—the Scone because they want to hang onto that old-time certainty, and you just want dwarfs fighting. And old Albrecht wouldn’t even get the right Scone back!”
    “Let us say that just now we find our interests converge, shall we?” said Wolf.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Vimes saw the other werewolves spreading out around the pool.
    “And now you’ve set me up,” he said. “Pretty amateurishly, I’d say. But impressive, because Dee couldn’t have had much time after he thought I was getting close. It would have worked, too. People aren’t good eyewitnesses. I know . They believe what they want to see and what people told them they saw. It was a nice touch giving me that damn One-Shot. He really must have hoped I’d kill to escape—”
    “Is it not time you got out of that…pool?” said Wolfgang.
    “You mean bath ?” said Vimes. Yes, there was a wince. Vimes registered it. Oh, you’re walking upright and talking, my lad, and you look strong as an ox—but something between a human and a wolf has a bit of dog in them, doesn’t it?”
    “We have an ancient custom here,” said Wolf, looking away. “And it is a good one. Anyone can challenge us. It’s a little…chase. The great Game! A competition, if you like. If they outrun us, they win four hundred crowns. That is a very good sum! A man may start a small business with it. Of course, as I can see you realize, if they don’t outrun us…the question of money does not arise!”
    “Does anyone ever win?” said Vimes. Come on , woodcutters, the people need wood!
    “Sometimes. If they train well and know the country! Many a successful man in Bonk owes his start in life to our little custom. In your case, we will give you, oh, an hour’s lead. For the sport of it!” He pointed. “Bonk is five miles in that direction. The lore says that you must not enter a dwelling until you get there.”
    “And if I don’t run?”
    “Then it will be a really short event! We do not like Ankh-Morpork. We do not want you here!”
    “That’s odd,” said Vimes.
    Wolf’s broad brow wrinkled.
    “Your meaning?”
    “Oh, it’s just that everywhere I go in Ankh-Morpork I seem to bump into people who came from Uberwald, you see. Dwarfs, trolls, humans. All beavering away quite happily and writing letters home saying, come on, it’s great here—they don’t eat you alive for a dollar.”
    Wolf’s lip curled, revealed a glint of incisor. Vimes had seen that look on Angua’s face. It meant she was having a bad hair day. And a werewolf can have a bad hair day all over.
    He pushed his luck. It was clearly too weak to move by itself.
    “Angua’s getting on well—”
    “Vimes! Mister Civilized!