Discworld - The Fifth Elephant Part 6

Vimes shook his head sadly.

"I don't get it, Cheery. There's all this fuss about a female dwarf trying to act like, like-"

"A lady, sir?"

"Right, and yet no one says anything about Carrot being called a dwarf, but he's a human-"

"No, sir. Like he says, he's a dwarf. He was adopted by dwarfs, he's performed the Y'grad Y'grad, he observes the j'kargra j'kargra insofar as that's possible in a city. He's a dwarf." insofar as that's possible in a city. He's a dwarf."

"He's six foot high!"

"He's a tall dwarf, sir. We don't mind if he wants to be a human as well. Not even the drudak'ak drudak'ak would have a problem with that." would have a problem with that."

"I'm running out of cough drops here, Cheery. What was that?"

"Look, sir, most of the dwarfs here are...well, I suppose you'd call them liberal, sir. They're mainly from the mountains behind Copperhead, you know? They get along with humans. Some of them even acknowledge that...they've got daughters, sir. But some of the more...old-fas.h.i.+oned...Uberwald dwarfs haven't gotten out so much. They still act as if B'hrian Bloodaxe were still alive. That's why we call them drudak'ak drudak'ak."

Vimes had a go, but he knew that to really speak Dwarfish you needed a lifetime's study and, if at all possible, a serious throat infection.

"...'above ground'...'they negatively'..." he faltered.

"'They do not get out in the fresh air enough,'" Cheery supplied.

"Ah, right. And everyone thought the new king was going to be one of these?"

"They say Albrecht's never seen sunlight in his life. His clan never goes above ground in daylight. Everyone was certain it'd be him."

And as it turned out it wasn't, thought Vimes. Some of the Uberwald dwarfs hadn't supported him. And the world had moved on. There were plenty of dwarfs around now who had been born born in Ankh-Morpork. Their kids went around with their helmets on back to front and spoke Dwarfish only at home. Many of them wouldn't know a pick-ax if you hit them with it. in Ankh-Morpork. Their kids went around with their helmets on back to front and spoke Dwarfish only at home. Many of them wouldn't know a pick-ax if you hit them with it.* They weren't about to be told how to run their lives by an old dwarf sitting on a stale bun under some distant mountain. They weren't about to be told how to run their lives by an old dwarf sitting on a stale bun under some distant mountain.

He tapped his pencil on his notebook thoughtfully. And because of this, he thought, dwarfs are punching one another on my my streets. streets.

"I've seen more of those dwarf sedan chair things around lately," he said. "You know, the ones carried by a couple of trolls. They have thick leather curtains..."

"Drudak'ak," said Cheery. "Very... said Cheery. "Very...traditional dwarfs. If they dwarfs. If they have have to go out in daylight, they don't look at it." to go out in daylight, they don't look at it."

"I don't recall them a year ago..."

Cheery shrugged. "There's lots of dwarfs here now, sir. The drudak'ak drudak'ak feel they're among dwarfs now. They don't have to deal with humans for anything." feel they're among dwarfs now. They don't have to deal with humans for anything."

"They don't like us?"

"They won't even talk to a human. They're fairly choosy about talking to most dwarfs, to tell you the truth."

"That is daft!" said Vimes. "How do they get food? You can't live on fungi! How do they trade ore, dam streams, get wood for shoring up their shafts?"

"Well, either other dwarfs are paid to do it, or humans are employed," said Cheery. "They can afford it. They're very very good miners. Well...they own very good mines, in any case." good miners. Well...they own very good mines, in any case."

"Sounds to me they're a bunch of..." Vimes stopped himself. He was aware that a wise man should always respect the folkways of others, to use Carrot's happy phrase, but Vimes often had difficulty with this idea. For one thing, there were people in the world whose folkways consisted of gutting other people like clams and this was not a procedure that commanded, in Vimes, any kind of respect at all.

"I'm not thinking diplomatically, am I?" he said. Cheery watched him with a carefully blank expression.

"Oh, I don't know about that, sir," she said. "You didn't actually finish the sentence. And...well, a lot of dwarfs respect them. You know...feel better for seeing them."

Vimes looked puzzled. Then understanding dawned.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "I bet they say things like 'thank goodness people are keeping up the old ways,' eh?"

"That's right, sir. I suppose that inside every dwarf in Ankh-Morpork is a little part of him-or her-that knows real dwarfs live underground."

Vimes doodled on his notepad. "Back home," he thought. Carrot had innocently talked about dwarfs "back home." To all dwarfs far away, the mountains were "back home." It was funny how people were people everywhere you went, even if the people concerned weren't the people the people who made up the phrase "people are people everywhere" had traditionally thought of as people. And even if you weren't virtuous, as you had been brought up to understand the term, you did like to see virtue in other people, provided it did not cost you anything.

"Why have these have these d'r d'r...these traditional dwarfs come here, though? Ankh-Morpork's full of humans. They must have their work cut out avoiding humans."

"They're...needed, sir. Dwarf law is complicated, and there's often disputes. And they conduct marriages and that sort of thing."

"You make them sound more like priests."

"Dwarfs aren't religious, sir."

"Of course. Oh well. Thank you, Corporal. Off you go. Any fallout from last night? No sulfurous incontinent cats have come forward to confess?"

"No, sir. The Campaign for Equal Heights has put out a pamphlet saying it was another example of the second-cla.s.s treatment of dwarfs in the city, but it was the same one they always put out. You know, the one with blanks to fill in the details."

"Nothing changes, Cheery. See you tomorrow morning, then. Send Detritus up."

Why him him? Vimes thought. Ankh-Morpork was lousy with diplomats. It was practically what the upper cla.s.ses were for for, and it was easy for them because half the foreign bigwigs they'd meet were old chums they'd played Wet Towel Tag with back at school. They tended to be on first-name terms, even with people whose names were Ahmed or Fong. They knew which forks to use. They hunted, shot and fished. They moved in circles that more or less overlapped the circles of their foreign hosts, and were a long way from the rather grubby circles that people like Vimes went around in every working day. They knew all the right nods and winks. What chance had he got against a tie and a crest?

Vetinari was throwing him among the wolves. And the dwarfs. And the vampires. Vimes shuddered. And Vetinari never did anything without a reason.

"Come in, Detritus."

It always amazed Sergeant Detritus that Vimes knew he was at the door. Vimes had never mentioned that the office wall creaked and bent inward as the big troll made his way along the corridor.

"You want to see me, sir."

"Yes. Sit down, man. It's this Uberwald business."

"Yessir."

"How do you you feel about visiting the old country?" feel about visiting the old country?"

Detritus's face remained impa.s.sive, as it always did when he was waiting patiently for things to make sense.

"Uberwald, I mean," Vimes prompted.

"Dunno, sir. I was a just a pebble when we left dere. Dad wanted a better life in der big city."

"There'll be a lot of dwarfs, Detritus." Vimes didn't bother to mention vampires and werewolves. Either of those who attacked a troll was making the last big mistake of its career in any case. Detritus carried a two-thousand-pounddraw crossbow as a hand weapon.

"Dat's okay, sir. I'm very modern 'bout dwarfs."

"These might be a bit old-fas.h.i.+oned about you, though."

"Dem deep-down dwarfs?"

"That's right."

"I heard about dem."

"There's still wars with trolls up near the Hub, I hear. Tact and diplomacy will be called for."

"You have come to der right troll for that, sir," said Detritus.

"You did push that man through that wall last week, Detritus."

"It was done with tact, sir. Quite a fin fin wall." wall."

Vimes let it go at that. The man in question had just laid out three watchmen with a club, which Detritus had broken in one hand before selecting the suitably tactful wall.

"See you tomorrow, then. Best dress armor, remember. Send Angua now, please."

"She's not here, sir."

"Blast. Put out some messages for her, will you?"

Igor lurched through the castle corridors, dragging one foot after the other in the approved fas.h.i.+on.

He was Igor, son of Igor, nephew of several Igors, brother of Igors and cousin of more Igors than he could remember without checking up in his diary. Igors did not change a winning formula.*

And, as a clan, Igors liked working for vampires. They kept regular hours, were generally polite to their servants and, an important extra, didn't require much work in the bed-making and cookery department, and tended to have cool, roomy cellars where an Igor could pursue his true calling. This more than made up for those occasions when you had to sweep up their ashes.

He entered Lady Margolotta's crypt and knocked politely on the coffin lid. It moved aside a fraction.

"Yes?"

"Thorry to wake you in the middle of the afternoon, Your Ladythip, but you did thay thay-"

"All right. And-?"

"It's going to be Vimeth, Ladythip. You were right."

A dainty hand came out of the partly opened coffin and punched the air.

"Yes!"

"Well thpotted, Ladythip."

"Well, well. Samuel Vimes. Poor devil. Do the doggies know?"

Igor nodded. "The baron'th Igor was altho collecting a methage, Ladythip."

"And the dwarfs?"

"It ith ith an official appointment, Ladythip. Everyone knows. Hith Grace the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, Thir Thamuel Vimeth, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork Thity Watch." an official appointment, Ladythip. Everyone knows. Hith Grace the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, Thir Thamuel Vimeth, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork Thity Watch."

"Then the midden has. .h.i.t the windmill, Igor."

"Very well put, Ladythip. No one liketh a thort thower of thit."

"I imagine, Igor, that he'll leave them them behind." behind."

Let us consider a castle from the point of view of its furniture.

This one has chairs, yes, but they don't look very lived in. There is is a huge sofa near the fire, and that is ragged with use, but other furnis.h.i.+ngs look as if they're there merely for show. a huge sofa near the fire, and that is ragged with use, but other furnis.h.i.+ngs look as if they're there merely for show.

There is a long oak table, well polished and looking curiously unused for such an old piece of furniture. Possibly the reason for this is that on the floor around it are a large number of white earthenware bowls.

One of them has FATHER FATHER written on it. written on it.

The Baroness Serafine von Uberwald slammed shut Twurp's Peerage Twurp's Peerage, irritably.

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

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

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

Wolf changed to the other hand, in midair. 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 is a Duke, Mother." a Duke, Mother."

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

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

"Oh, stories stories. Sybil writes a silly little letter 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 back, of course. A rather sad and foolish woman."

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