The Fifth Elephant - Terry Pratchett [123]
“Oh,” said Cheery, shocked.
“What?” said Vimes.
The dwarfs were staring at Lady Sybil as she changed up through the gears into full, operatic voice. For an amateur soprano she had an impressive delivery and range, a touch too wobbly for the professional stage but exactly the kind of high coloratura to impress the dwarfs.
Snow slid off roofs. Icicles vibrated. Good grief, thought Vimes, impressed, with a spiky corset and a hat with wings on it she could be ferrying dead warriors off a battlefield…
“It’s Ironhammer’s ‘Ransom’ song,” said Cheery. “Every dwarf knows it! Er, it doesn’t translate well, but…‘I come now to ransom my love, I bring a gift of great wealth, none but the king can have power over me now, standing in my way is against all the laws of the world, the value of truth is greater than gold’…er, there’s always been some debate about that last line, sir, but generally considered acceptable if it’s a really big truth—”
Vimes looked at the dwarfs. They were fascinated, and one or two of them were mouthing along to the words.
“Is it going to work?” he whispered.
“It’s hard to think of a bigger precedent than this, sir. I mean…it’s the song of songs! The ultimate appeal! It’s built into dwarf law, almost! They can’t refuse. It’d be…not being a dwarf, sir!”
As Vimes watched, one dwarf pulled a fine chain-mail handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose with a wet, jingling noise. Several others were in tears.
When the last note died away there was silence, and then the sudden thunder of axes banging on shields.
“It’s all right!” said Cheery. “They’re clapping!”
Sybil, panting with the effort, turned to her husband. She gleamed in the torchlight.
“Do you think that was all right?” she said.
“By the sound of it, you’re an honorary dwarf,” said Vimes. He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”
News was going on ahead. Dwarfs were pouring out of the entrance to Downtown when the duke and duchess arrived.
There were dwarfs behind them now. They were being swept along. And all the time, hands would reach out to touch the Scone as it passed.
Dwarfs crowded into the elevator with them. Down below the roar of conversation stopped abruptly as Vimes stepped out and raised the Scone above his head. Then the rock echoed and re-echoed to one enormous cheer.
They can’t even see it, said Vimes. To most of them, it’s a tiny white dot. And that was what the plotters had known, wasn’t it? You don’t have to steal something to hold it hostage…
“They are to be arrested!”
Dee was hurrying forward, with more guards behind him.
“Again?” said Vimes. He kept the stone aloft.
“You attempted to kill the king! You escaped from your cell!”
“That’s something about which we could hear more evidence,” said Vimes, as calmly as he could. The Scone was getting heavier. “You can’t keep people in the dark all the time, Dee.”
“You shall certainly not see the king!”
“Then I will drop the Scone!”
“Do so! It won’t—”
Vimes heard the gasp of the dwarfs behind him.
“It won’t what?” he said, quietly. “It won’t matter? But this is the Scone!”
One of the dwarfs that had accompanied them from the embassy shouted something, and several others took it up.
“Precedent is on your side,” Cheery translated. “They say they can always kill you after you’ve seen the king.”
“Well, not exactly what I was hoping but it’ll have to do.” Vimes looked at Dee again. “You said you wanted me to find the thing, didn’t you? And now, how fitting that I return it to its rightful owner…”
“You…the king is…you may give it to me,” said Dee, pulling himself up to the height of Vimes’s chest.
“Absolutely not!” snapped Lady Sybil. “When Ironhammer returned the Scone to Bloodaxe, would he have given it to Slogram?”
There was a general chorus of dissent.
“Of course not,” said Dee, “Slogram was a trait—”
He stopped.
“I think,” said Vimes, “that we had better see the king, don’t you think?”
“You can’t demand that!”
Vimes indicated the press of dwarfs behind them.
“You’re going to be amazed at how difficult it’s going to be for you,