The Fifth Elephant - Terry Pratchett [77]
Vimes was ready for the handshake when it came but even so had to grimace as his bones were ground together.
“Good of you to come, hey? Heard so much about you!”
But not enough, Vimes thought. He wondered if he’d ever have the use of his hand again. It was still being gripped. The dogs had transferred their attention to him. He was being sniffed.
“Greatest respect for Ankh-Morpork, hey?” said the baron.
“Er…good,” said Vimes. Blood was getting no farther than his wrist.
“Have seat!” the baron barked. Vimes had been trying to avoid the word, but that was exactly how the man spoke—in short, sharp, sentences, every one an exclamation.
He was herded toward a chair. Then the baron let go of his hand and flung himself onto the huge carpet, the excited dogs piling on top of him.
Serafine made a noise somewhere between a growl and the “tch!” of wifely disapproval. Obediently the baron pushed the dogs aside and flung himself into a chair.
“You’ll have to take us as you find us,” said Serafine, smiling with her mouth alone. “This has always been a very informal household.”
“It is a very nice place,” said Vimes weakly, staring around the enormous room. Trophy heads lined the walls, but at least there were no trolls. No weapons, either. There were no spears, no rusty old swords, not even a broken bow had been hung up anywhere, which was practically against the law of castle furnishing. He stared at the wall again, and then at the carving over the fireplace. And then his gaze traveled down.
One of the dogs, and Vimes had to be clear about this, he was using the term dogs merely because they were indoors and that was a place where the word wolf was not usually encountered, was watching him. He’d never seen such an appraising look on a creature’s face. It was weighing him up.
There was something familiar about the pale gold hair that was a sort of mane. In fact, the dog looked quite like Angua, but heavier set. And there was another difference, which was small yet horribly significant. As with Angua, he had this sensation of movement stilled; but, whereas Angua always looked as if she was poised to flee, this one looked poised to leap.
“The embassy is to your liking? We owned it, you know, before we sold it to Lord V…Ve…”
“Vetinari,” said Vimes, reluctantly taking his eyes off the wolf.
“Of course, your people made a lot of changes,” she went on.
“We’ve made a few more,” said Vimes, recalling all those patches of shiny woodwork where the hunting trophies had been removed. “I must say I was really impressed with the bathroo—I’m sorry?”
There had been almost a yelp from the baron. Serafine was glaring at her husband.
“Yes,” she said sharply, “I gather interesting things have been done.”
“You’re so lucky to have the thermal springs,” said Vimes. And this was diplomacy, too, he thought, when you let your mouth chatter away while you watched people’s eyes. It’s just like being a copper. “Sybil wants to go to take the waters at Bad Heisses Bad—”
Behind him he heard a faint growl from the baron and saw the look of annoyance flash across Serafine’s face.
“I’m saying the wrong thing?” he said innocently.
“My husband is a little unwell at the moment,” said Serafine, in the special wife voice which Vimes recognized as meaning “he thinks he’s fine right now but just you wait until I get him alone.”
“I suppose I’d better present my credentials,” said Vimes, pulling out the letter.
Serafine reached across quickly and took it from his hand.
“I shall read it,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Of course, it’s a mere formality. Everyone’s heard of Commander Vimes. I mean no offense, of course, but we were a little surprised when the Patrician—”
“Lord Vetinari,” said Vimes helpfully, putting a slight stress on the first syllable and hearing the growl on cue.
“Yes, indeed…said that you would be coming. We were expecting one of the more…experienced…diplomats…”
“Oh, I can hand around the thin cucumber sandwiches like anything,” said Vimes. “And if you