The Fifth Elephant Read Free

streets?”
    “They’ll say it’s another day in the life of the big city, sir,” said Carrot woodenly.
    “Yes, I suppose they would, at that. However—” Vimes picked up a groaning dwarf. “Who did this?” he demanded. “I’m not in the mood for being messed around. Come on, I want a name!”
    “Agi Hammerthief,” muttered the dwarf, struggling.
    “All right,” said Vimes, letting him go. “Write that down, Carrot.”
    “No, sir,” said Carrot.
    “Excuse me?”
    “There is no Agi Hammerthief in the city, sir.”
    “You know every dwarf?”
    “A lot of them, sir. But Agi Hammerthief is only found down mines, sir. He’s a sort of mischievous spirit, sir. For example, ‘put it where Agi puts the coal,’ sir, means—”
    “Yes, I can guess,” said Vimes. “You’re telling me that dwarf just said this riot was started by Sweet Fanny Adams?” The dwarf had disappeared smartly around a corner.
    “More or less, sir. Excuse me a moment, sir.” Carrot stepped across the street, pulling two white painted paddles out of his belt. “I’ll just get a line of sight on a tower,” he said. “I’d better send a clacks.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, we’ve kept the Patrician waiting, sir, so it’d be good manners to let him know we’re late.”
    Vimes pulled out his watch and stared at it. It was turning out to be one of those days…the sort that you got every day.

    It is in the nature of the universe that the person who always keeps you waiting ten minutes will, on the day you are ten minutes tardy, have been ready ten minutes early and will make a point of not mentioning this .
    “Sorry we’re late, sir,” said Vimes, as they entered the Oblong Office.
    “Oh, are you late?” said Lord Vetinari, looking up from his paperwork. “I really hadn’t noticed. Nothing serious, I trust.”
    “The Fools’ Guild caught fire, sir,” said Carrot.
    “Many casualties?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Well, that is a blessing,” said Lord Vetinari carefully. He put down his pen.
    “Now…what do we have to discuss?” He pulled another document toward him and read it swiftly.
    “Ah…I see that the new traffic division is having the desired effect.” He indicated a large pile of paper. “I am getting any amount of complaints from the Carters’ and Drovers’ Guild. Well done. Do pass on my thanks to Sergeant Colon and his team.”
    “I will, sir.”
    “I see in one day they clamped seventeen carts, ten horses, eighteen oxen and one duck.”
    “It was parked illegally, sir.”
    “Indeed.”
    “However, a strange pattern seems to emerge.”
    “Sir?”
    “Many of the carters say that they were not in fact parked but had merely halted while an extremely old and extremely ugly lady crossed the road extremely slowly.”
    “That’s their story, sir.”
    “They know she was an old lady by her constant litany on the lines of ‘oh deary me, my poor old feet’ and similar expressions.”
    “Certainly sounds like an old lady to me, sir,” said Vimes, his face still wooden.
    “Quite so. What is rather strange is that several of them then report seeing the old lady subsequently legging it away along an alley rather fast. I’d discount this, of course, were it not for the fact that the lady has apparently been seen crossing another street, very slowly, some distance away shortly afterward. Something of a mystery, Vimes.”
    Vimes put his hand over his eyes. “It’s one I intend to solve quite quickly, sir.”
    The Patrician nodded, and made a short note on the list in front of him.
    As he went to move it aside he uncovered a much grubbier, much folded scrap of paper. He picked up two letter knives and, using them fastidiously, unfolded the paper and inched it across the desk toward Vimes.
    “Do you know anything about this?” he said.
    Vimes read, in large, round, crayoned letters:
    DeEr Cur, The CruELt to HOMLIss DoGs In thIs

    CITy Is A DIssGrays, Wat arE The WaTCH

    Do Ing A BouT IT¿

    SiNeD The LeAK