The Fifth Elephant

Only to full captain, of course, he thought as he strutted down the stairs—with great care, because strutting is usually impossible while walking downwards. He wouldn't want to outrank Captain Carrot. That would be... wrong.

This fact shows that, however crazed with power someone may be, a tiny instinct for selfpreservation always remains.

He got the chickens first, thought Gaspode, winding his way through the legs of the crowd. Amazin'.

They hadn't stopped to eat them, though. Gaspode had been stuffed into the other saddlebag and would not like to have to go through ten miles like that again, especially so close to the smell of roast chicken.

It looked as though there was a market going on, and the wolf-baiting had been saved as a sort of closing ceremony. Hurdles had been arranged in a rough circle. Men were holding the collars of dogs—big, heavy, unpleasant-looking dogs—which were already wild with excitement and deranged stupidity.

There was a coop by the hurdles. Gaspode made his way to it and peered through the wooden bars at the heap of matted grey fur in the shadows.

'Looks like you're in a spot of strife, friend,' he said.

Contrary to legend—and there are so many legends about wolves, although mostly they are legends about the way men think about wolves—a trapped wolf is more likely to whine and fawn than go wild with rage.

But this one must have felt it had nothing to lose. Foam-flecked jaws snapped at the bars.

'Where's the rest of your pack, then?' said Gaspode.

'No pack, shorty!'

'Ah. A lone wolf, eh?' The worst kind, Gaspode thought.

'Roast chicken isn't worth this,' he muttered. Out loud, he growled, 'You seen any other wolves around here?'

'Yes!'

'Good. You want to get out of here alive?'

'I'll kill them all!'

'Right, right, but there's dozens of 'em, see. You won't stand a chance. They'll tear you to bits. Dogs're a lot nastier than wolves.'

In the shade the eyes narrowed.

'Why're you telling me, dog?'

' 'Cos I'm here to help you, see? You do what I tell you, you could be out of here in half an hour. Otherwise you're a rug on someone's floor tomorrow. Your choice. O'course, there might not be enough of you left to make a rug.'

The wolf listened to the baying of the dogs. There was no mistaking their intent.

'What did you have in mind?' it said.

A few minutes later the crowd was gently nudged aside as Carrot edged his horse towards the pen. The hubbub died. A sword on a horse always commands respect; the rider is often a mere courtesy detail, but in this case it was not so. The Watch had put the final swell and polish on Carrot's muscles.

And there was that faint smile. It was the sort you backed away from.

'Good day. Who is in charge here?' he said.

There was a certain amount of comparison of status, and a man cautiously raised his hand.

'I'm the deputy mayor, y'honour,' he said.

'And what is this event?'

'We'm about to bait a wolf, y'honour.'

'Really? I myself own a wolfhound of unusual strength and prowess. May I test it against the creature?'

There was more mumbling among the bystanders, the general consensus being: why not? Anyway, there was that smile...

'Go ahead, y'honour,' said the deputy mayor.

Carrot stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The townspeople watched in astonishment as Gaspode walked out from between their legs and sat down. Then the laughter started.

It died away after a while, because the faint smile didn't.

'Is there a problem?' said Carrot.

'It'll get torn limb from limb!'

'Well? Do you care what happens to a wolf?'

Laughter broke out again. The deputy mayor had a feeling he was being got at.

'It's your dog, mister,' he said, shrugging.

The little dog barked.

'And to make it interesting we'll wager a pound of steak,' said Carrot.

The dog barked again.

'Two pounds of steak,' Carrot corrected himself.

'Oh, I reckon it's going to be interesting enough as it is,' said the deputy mayor. The smile was beginning to prey on his nerves. 'All right, boys, fetch the wolf!'

The creature was dragged into the ring of hurdles, slavering and snarling.

'No, don't tie it up,' said Carrot, as a man went to wrap the halter around a post.

'It'll get away if we don't.'

'It won't have a chance, believe me.'

They looked at the smile, dragged the muzzle from the wolf and leapt to safety.

'Now, just in case you were havin' second thoughts about our agreement,' said Gaspode to the wolf, 'I suggest you look at the face of the bloke on the horse, right?'

The wolf glanced up. It saw the wolverine smile on the face of the rider.

Gaspode barked. The wolf yelped and rolled over.

The crowd waited. And then

'Is that it?'

'Yes, that's how it normally goes,' said Carrot. 'It's a special bark, you see. All the blood in the victim congeals in an instant, out of sheer terror.'

'It hasn't even worried the body!'

'What,' said Carrot, 'would be the point of that?'

He got down from the horse, pushed his way into the ring, picked up the body of the wolf and flung it across the saddle.

'It grunted! I heard it—' someone began.