Part 35 (1/2)
”Not glittery enough?” said Cheery.
”No! No...if I was going to carry a large ax on my back to a diplomatic function, I think I'd want it glittery, too. Er. It is such a very large large ax, of course,” she finished lamely. ax, of course,” she finished lamely.
”You think perhaps a smaller one might be better? For evening wear?”
”That would be a start, yes.”
”Perhaps with a few rubies set in the handle?”
”Yes,” said Lady Sybil weakly. ”Why not, after all?”
”What about me, Ladys.h.i.+p?” Detritus rumbled.
Igor had certainly risen to the occasion, applying to a number of suits found in the emba.s.sy wardrobes the same pioneering surgical skills that he used on unfortunate loggers and other people who may have strayed too close to a band saw. It had taken him just ninety minutes to construct something around Detritus. It was definitely evening dress. You couldn't get away with it in daylight. The troll looked like a wall with a bow tie.
”How does all it feel?” said Lady Sybil, playing for safety.
”It are rather tight around der-what's this bit called?”
”I really have no idea,” said Lady Sybil.
”It makes me lurch a bit,” said Detritus. ”But I feel very diplomatic.”
”Not the crossbow, however,” said Lady Sybil.
”She got her ax,” said Detritus accusingly. got her ax,” said Detritus accusingly.
”Dwarf axes are accepted as a cultural weapon,” said Lady Sybil. ”I don't know the etiquette here, but I suppose you could get away with a club.” After all, she added to herself, it's not as though anyone would try to take it off you.
”Der crossbow ain't cultural?”
”I'm afraid not.”
”I could put, like, glitter on it.”
”Not enough, I'm afraid-Oh, Sam...”
”Yes, dear?” said Vimes, coming down the stairs.
”That's just your Watch dress uniform! What about your ducal regalia?”
”Can't find it anywhere,” said Vimes innocently. ”I think the bag must have fallen off the coach in the pa.s.s, dear. But I've got a helmet with feathers in it and Igor's buffed up the breastplate until he could see his face in it, although I'm not sure why.” He quailed at her expression. ”Duke is a military term, dear. No soldier would ever go to war in tights. Not if he thought he might be taken prisoner.”
”I find this highly highly suspicious, Sam.” suspicious, Sam.”
”Detritus will back me up on this,” said Vimes.
”Dat's right, sir,” the troll rumbled. ”You distinctly said to say dat-”
”Anyway, we'd better be goi-Good grief, is that Cheery?”
”Yes, sir,” said Cheery nervously.
Well, thought Vimes, she comes from a family where people go off in strange clothes to face explosions far away from the sun.
”Very nice,” he said.
Lamps were lit all along the tunnel to what Vimes had come to think of as Downtown Bonk. Dwarf guards waved the coach through after mere glances at the Ankh-Morpork crest. The ones around the giant elevator were more uncertain. But Sam Vimes had learned a lot from watching Lady Sybil. She didn't mean to act like that, but she'd been born to it, into a cla.s.s which had always behaved this way: You went through the world as if there was no possibility no possibility that anyone would stop you or question you, and most of the time that's exactly what didn't happen. that anyone would stop you or question you, and most of the time that's exactly what didn't happen.
There were others in the elevator as it rumbled downward. Mostly they were diplomats that Vimes didn't recognize, but there was also, now, in a roped-off corner, a quartet of dwarf musicians playing pleasant yet slightly annoying music that ate its way into Vimes's head as the interminable descent went on.
When the doors opened he heard Sybil gasp.
”I thought you said it was like a starry night down here, Sam!”
”Er...they've certainly turned the wick up...”
Candles by the thousand burned in brackets all around the walls of the huge cavern, but it was the chandeliers that caught the eye.
There were scores of them, each at least four stories high. Vimes, always ready to look for the wires behind the smoke and mirrors, made out the dwarfs working inside the gantries and the baskets of fresh candles being lowered through holes in the ceiling. If the Fifth Elephant wasn't a myth, at least one whole toe must be being burned tonight.
”Your Grace!”
Dee was advancing through the crowds.
”Ah, Ideas-taster,” said Vimes. as the dwarf approached, ”do allow me to introduce the d.u.c.h.ess of Ankh-Morpork...Lady Sybil.”
”Uh...er...yes...indeed...so delighted to make your acquaintance...” Dee murmured, caught off-guard by the charm offensive. ”But, er...”
Sybil had picked up the code. Vimes loathed the word ”d.u.c.h.ess,” so if he was using it then he wanted her to out-dutch everyone. She enveloped Dee's pointy head in delighted d.u.c.h.essness.
”Mister Dee, Sam has told me so so much about you!” she trilled. ”I understand you're much about you!” she trilled. ”I understand you're quite quite the right-hand man-” the right-hand man-”
”-dwarf-” hissed Vimes.
”-dwarf to his majesty! Please, you must must tell how you have achieved such a tell how you have achieved such a delightful delightful lighting effect here!” lighting effect here!”
”Er...lots of candles...” Dee muttered, glaring at Vimes.
”I think Dee wishes to discuss some political matters with me, dear,” said Vimes smoothly, putting his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. ”If you'll just take the others down, I'll join you shortly, I'm sure.” And he knew that no power in the world was going to prevent Sybil sweeping on down to the reception. That woman could sweep sweep. Things stayed swept after she'd gone past.
”You brought a troll, you brought a troll troll!” muttered Dee.
”And he's an Ankh-Morpork citizen, remember,” said Vimes. ”Covered by diplomatic immunity and a rather bad suit.”
”Even so-”
”There is no 'even so,'” said Vimes.