The Fifth Elephant: A Novel of Discworld by Terry Pratchett

Author:Terry Pratchett [Pratchett, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Humorous, General
ISBN: 9780061806759
Google: GMNrM7mcKLkC
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2009-10-13T16:16:08+00:00

‘Igor and Igor send their regards, Igor.’

‘Thank you, your exthellenthy. Thinthe you mention it, could I put a parthel on your coach for Igor?’

‘You mean the Igor at the embassy?’

‘That’th who I thaid, thur,’ said Igor patiently. ‘He athked me if I could lend him a hand.’

‘Yes, no problem there.’

‘Good. It’th well wrapped up and the ithe will keep it nithe and freth. Would you thtep thith way? The marthter ith changing at the moment.’

Igor shambled into a wide hall, one side of which was mostly fireplace, and bowed out.

‘Did he say what I thought he said?’ said Vimes. ‘About the hand and ice?’

‘It’s not what it sounds like, sir,’ said Cheery.

‘I hope so. My gods, look at that damned thing!’

A huge red flag hung from the rafters. In the middle of it was a black wolf’s head, its mouth full of stylized flashes of lightning.

‘Their new flag, I think,’ said Cheery.

‘I thought it was just a crest with the doubled-headed bat?’

‘Perhaps they thought it was time for a change, sir—’

‘Ah, your excellency! Isn’t Sybil with you?’

The woman who had entered was Angua, but padded somewhat with years. She was wearing a long, loose green gown, very old fashioned by Ankh-Morpork standards, although there are some styles that never go out of date on the right figure. She was brushing her hair as she walked across the floor.

‘Er, she’s staying at the embassy today. We had rather a difficult journey. You would be the Baroness Serafine von Uberwald?’

‘And you’re Sam Vimes. Sybil’s letters are all about you. The Baron won’t be long. We were out hunting and lost track of time.’

‘I expect it’s a lot of work, seeing to the horses,’ said Vimes politely.

Serafine’s smile went strange for a moment. ‘Hah. Yes,’ she said. ‘Can I get Igor to fetch you a drink?’

‘No, thank you.’

She sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs and beamed at him. ‘You’ve met the new king, your excellency?’

‘This morning.’

‘I believe he’s having trouble.’

‘What makes you think that?’ said Vimes.

Serafine looked startled. ‘I thought everyone knew?’

‘Well, I’ve hardly been here five minutes,’ said Vimes. ‘I probably don’t count as everyone.’

Now, he was pleased to note, she looked puzzled.

‘We … just heard there was some problem,’ she said.

‘Oh, well … a new king, a coronation to organize … A few problems are bound to occur,’ he said. Well, he thought, so this is diplomacy. It’s like lying, only to a better class of people.

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Angua is well,’ said Vimes.

‘Are you sure you won’t have a drink?’ said Serafine quickly, standing up. ‘Ah, here is my husband—’

The Baron entered the room like a whirlwind that had swept up several dogs. They bounded ahead of him and danced around him.

‘Hello! Hello!’ he boomed.

Vimes looked at an enormous man – not fat, not tall, just built to perhaps one-tenth over scale. He didn’t so much have a face with a beard as a beard with, peeking over the top in that narrow gap between the moustache and the eyebrows, small remnants of face.

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