He remembered a word.
"Fat," he said blankly.
"Aha. The Fifth Elephant. Are you sure? There"s some good iron now. Iron makes you strong. Fat only makes you slippery."
"Fat," parroted Vimes, feeling the darkness closing in. "Lots of fat."
"Well, certainly. The price is ten Ankh-Morpork cents a barrel but, your excellency, since I have come to know you, I feel that perhaps - "
"Five cents a barrel for grade one high-rendered, three cents for grade two, ten cents per barrel for heavy tallow, safe and delivered to Ankh-Morpork," said Sybil. "And all from the Schmaltzberg Bend levels and measured on the Ironcrust scale. I have some doubt about the long-term quality of the Big Tusk wells."
Vimes tried to focus on his wife. She seemed, inexplicably, a long way away. "Wha"?"
"Er, I caught up with some reading when I was in the embassy, Sam. Those notebooks. Sorry."
"Would you beggar us, madam?" said the King, throwing up his hands.
"We may be flexible on delivery," said Lady Sybil. ,
"Klatch would pay at least nine for grade one," said the King.
"But the Klatchian ambassador isn"t sitting here," said Sybil.
The King smiled. "Or married to you, my lady, much to his loss. Six, five and fifteen."
"Six, dropping to five after twenty thousand, three and half across the board for grade two. I can give you thirteen on tallow."
"Acceptable, but give me fourteen on white tallow and I"ll allow seven on the new pale suets we"re finding. They"re making an acceptable candle, look you."
"Six, I"m afraid. You haven"t plumbed the full extent of those deposits, and I think it may be reasonable to expect high levels of scrattle and BCBs in the lower layers. Besides, I think your forecasts about the amount of those deposits are erring on the optimistic side."
"Wha" BCBs?" murmured Vimes.
"Burnt crunchy bits," said Sybil. "Mostly unbelievably huge and ancient animals, deep fried."
"You astonish me, Lady Sybil," said the King. "I did not know you were trained in fat extraction."
"Cooking Sam"s breakfasts is an education in itself, your majesty."
"Oh, well, far be it for a mere king to argue. Six, then. Price to remain stable for two years - " The King saw Sybil"s mouth open. "All right, all right, three years. I"m not an unreasonable king."
"Prices on the dock?"
"How can I refuse?"
"Agreed, then."
"The paperwork will be with you in the morning. And now we really must go our separate ways," said the King. "I can see his excellency has had a long day. Ankh-Morpork will be swimming in fat. I can"t imagine what you"ll use it all for."
"Make light," said Vimes, and, as darkness fell at last, fell forward gently into the welcoming arms of sleep.
Sam Vimes awoke to the smell of hot fat.
Softness enveloped him. It practically imprisoned him.
For a moment he thought it was snow, except that snow wasn"t usually this warm. Finally, he identified it as the cloud-like softness of the mattress on the ambassadorial bed.
He let his attention drift back to the fat smell. It had... overtones. There was a definite burnt component. Since Sam Vimes"s spectrum of gastronomic delight mainly ranged from "well fried" to "caramelized", it was decidedly promising.