The Fifth Elephant

Vimes looked out of the windows as the horses trotted away. The golden-haired wolf had come to the steps and was watching him leave.

He sat back as the coach rumbled out of the castle and closed his eyes. Cheery was wise enough to remain silent.

'No weapons on the walls, did you notice?' he said, after a while. His eyes were still shut, as if he was looking at a picture on the back of them. 'Most castles like that have the things hanging all over the place.'

'Well, they are werewolves, sir.'

'Does Angua ever talk about her parents?'

'No, sir.'

'They didn't want to talk about her, that's certain.' Vimes opened his eyes. 'Dwarfs?' he said. 'I've always got on with dwarfs. And werewolves... well, never had a problem with werewolves. So why is the only person who hasn't tried to blow me out this morning the blood-sucking vampire?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'Big fireplace they had.'

'Werewolves like to sleep in front of the fire at night, sir,' said Cheery.

'The Baron certainly didn't seem comfortable in a chair, I spotted that. And what was the motto carved into that great big mantelpiece? "Homini..." '

' "Homo Homini Lupus", sir,' said Cheery. 'It means "Every man is a wolf to another man".'

'Hah! Why haven't I promoted you, Cheery?'

'Because I get embarrassed about shouting at other people, sir. Sir, did you notice the strange thing about the trophies they had on the wall?'

Vimes shut his eyes again. 'Stag, bears, some kind of mountain lion... What're you asking me, corporal?'

'And did you notice something just below them?'

'Let's see... I think there was just space below them.'

'Yes, sir. With three hooks in it. You could just make them out.'

Vimes hesitated. 'Do you mean,' he said carefully, 'three hooks that might have had trophies hanging from them until they were removed?'

'Very much that sort of hook, sir, yes. Only perhaps the heads haven't been hung up yet.'

'Trolls' heads?'

'Who knows, sir?'

The coach entered the town.

'Cheery, have you still got that silver chainmail vest you used to have?'

'Er, no, sir. I stopped wearing it because it seemed a bit disloyal to Angua, sir. Why?'

'Just a passing thought. Oh, ye gods, is that Igor's parcel under the seat?'

'I think so, sir. But look, I know about Igors. If that's a real hand, the original owner hasn't got a use for it, believe me.'

'What? He cuts bits off dead people?'

'Better than live people, sir.'

'You know what I mean!'

'Sir, it's considered good manners, if one of the Igors has helped you, to put it in your will that they can help themselves to any... parts that might help someone else. They never ask for any money. People just carry little cards. They're very respected in Uberwald. Very good men with a scalpel and a needle. It's a kind of vocation, really.'

'But they're covered in scars and stitches!'

'They won't do to anyone else what they're not prepared to try on themselves.'

Vimes decided to explore the full horror of this. It took his mind off the missing trophies. 'Are there any... Igorinas? Igorettes?'

'Well, any Igor is considered a good catch for a young lady...'

'He is?'

'And their daughters tend to be very attractive.'

'Eyes at the same height, that sort of thing?'

'Oh, yes.'

But the door, when it was finally opened in response to impatient knocking, revealed not the switchback features of Igor but the business end of Detritus's crossbow, which was marginally worse.

'It's us, sergeant,' said Vimes.

The crossbow was removed, and the door opened further.

'Sorry, sir, but you said I was to be on guard,' said Detritus.

'There's no need to—'

'Igor's been hurt, sir.'

Igor was sitting in the huge kitchen, a bandage round his head. Lady Sybil was fussing over him.

'I went to look for him a couple of hours ago and there he was, flat on the snow,' she said. She leaned closer to Sam Vimes. 'He doesn't remember very much.'

'Can you recall what you were doing, old chap?' said Vimes, sitting down.

Igor gave him a bleary look. 'Well, thur, I went out to unpack the foodthtuffth from the other coach, and I'd jutht got hold of thomething and then all the lightth went out, thur. I reckon I mutht've thlipped.'

'Or someone hit you?'

Igor shrugged. For a moment both of his shoulders were at the same level.

'There's nothing on the coach worth stealing!' said Lady Sybil.

'Not unless someone was dying for a knuckle sandwich,' said Vimes. 'Was anything taken?'

'I checked everyt'ing against der list her ladyship gave me, sir,' said Detritus, meeting Vimes's gaze. 'Dere wasn't anyfing missing, sir.'

'I'll just go and take a look for myself,' said Vimes.

When they were outside he walked over to the coach and looked at the snow around it. The cobbles were visible here and there. Then he looked up at the grating.

'All right, Detritus,' he said. 'Talk to me.'

'Just a feelin', sir,' rumbled the troll. 'I know "fick" is my middle name...'

'I didn't know you had a first name, sergeant.'

'I don't fink dis was one of dem accidents dat happens by accident.'