The Fifth Elephant

'The man is a... a nothing,' she said. 'A paper man. A man of straw. An insult.'

'The name Vimes goes back a long time,' said Wolfgang von Uberwald, who was doing one-handed press-ups in front of the fire.

'So does the name Smith. What of it?'

Wolf changed to the other hand, in mid-air. He was naked. He liked his muscles to get an airing. They shone. Someone with an anatomical chart could have picked out every one. They might also have remarked on the unusual way his blond hair grew not only on his head but down and across his shoulders as well.

'He is a duke, Mother.'

'Hah! Ankh-Morpork hasn't even got a king!'

'... nineteen, twenty... I hear stories about that, Mother...'

'Oh, stories. Sybil writes silly little letters to me every year! Sam this, Sam that. Of course, she had to be grateful for what she could get, but... the man is just a thief-taker, after all. I shall refuse to see him.'

'You will not do that, Mother,' Wolf grunted. 'That would be... twenty-nine, thirty... dangerous. What do you tell Lady Sybil about us?'

'Nothing! I don't write back, of course. A rather sad and foolish woman.'

'And she still writes every year?... thirty-six, thirty-seven...'

'Yes. Four pages, usually. And that tells you everything about her you need to know. Where is your father?'

A flap in the bottom of a nearby door swung back and a large, heavy-set wolf trotted in. It glanced around the room and then shook itself vigorously. The Baroness bridled.

'Guye! You know what I said! It's after six! Change when you come in from the garden!'

The wolf gave her a look and strolled behind a massive oak screen at the far end of the room. There was a... noise, soft and rather strange, not so much an actual sound as a change in the texture of the air.

The Baron walked around from behind the screen, doing up the cord of a tattered dressing gown. The Baroness sniffed.

'At least your father wears clothes,' she said.

'Clothes are unhealthy, Mother,' said Wolf calmly. 'Nakedness is purity.'

The Baron sat down. He was a large, red-faced man, insofar as a face could be seen under the beard, hair, moustache and eyebrows, which were engaged in a bitter four-way war over the remaining areas of bare skin.

'Well?' he growled.

'Vimes the thief-taker from Ankh-Morpork is going to be the alleged ambassador!' snapped the Baroness.

'Dwarfs?'

'Of course they'll be told.'

The Baron sat staring at nothing, with the same expression Detritus used when a new thought was being assembled.

'Bad?' he ventured, at last.

'Guye, I've told you about this a thousand times!' said the Baroness. 'You're spending far too much time changed! You know what you're like afterwards. Supposing we had official visitors?'

'Bite 'em!'

'You see? Go on off to bed and don't come down until you're fit to be human!'

'Vimes could ruin everything, Father,' said Wolfgang. He was now doing handstands, using one hand.

'Guye! Down!'

The Baron stopped trying to scratch his ear with his leg. 'Do?' he said.

Wolfgang's gleaming body dipped a moment as he changed hands again.

'City life makes men weak. Vimes will be fun. They do say he likes running, though.' He gave a little laugh. 'We shall have to see how fast he is.'

'His wife says he's very soft-hearted— Guye! Don't you dare do that! If you're going to do that sort of thing do it upstairs!'

The Baron looked only moderately ashamed, but readjusted his clothing anyway.

'Bandits!' he said.

'Yes, they could be a problem at this time of year,' said Wolfgang.

'At least a dozen,' said the Baroness. 'Yes, that should—'

Wolf grunted, upside down. 'No, Mother. You are being stupid. His coach must get here safely. You understand? When he is here... that is a different matter.'

The Baron's massive eyebrows tangled with a thought. 'Plan! King!'

'Exactly.'

The Baroness sighed. 'I don't trust that little dwarf.'

Wolf somersaulted on to his feet. 'No. But trustworthy or not, he's all we've got. Vimes must get here, with his soft heart. He may even be useful. Perhaps we should... assist matters.'

'Why?' snapped the Baroness. 'Let Ankh-Morpork look after their own!'

There was a knock on the door while Vimes was having breakfast. Willikins ushered in a small thin man in neat but threadbare black clothes, whose overlarge head gave him the appearance of a lolly nearing the last suck. He carried a black bowler hat the way a soldier carries his helmet, and walked like a man who had something wrong with his knees.

'I am so sorry to disturb your grace...'

Vimes laid down his knife. He'd been peeling an orange. Sybil insisted he eat fruit.

'Not your grace,' he said. 'Just Vimes. Sir Samuel, if you must. Are you Vetinari's man?'

'Inigo Skimmer, sir. Mhm-mhm. I am to travel with you to Uberwald.'

'Ah, you're the clerk who's going to do all the whispering and winking while I hand around the cucumber sandwiches, are you?'