Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (11 page)

 
 
  
‘He’ll be fine, tharge,’ said Igor. ‘It looked worthe than it wath, really. Jutht ath well,
because until we get to the battlefield I won’t get any thpareth.’
‘Got a couple of legs for ol’ Threeparts?’ said Jackrum.
‘Now then, sarge, none of that,’ said Scallot evenly. He was sitting on the other side of the
fireplace. ‘You just leave me their horses and saddles. Your lads could do with their sabres,
I’ve no doubt.’
‘They were looking for us, sarge,’ said Polly. ‘We’re just a bunch of untrained recruits and
they were looking for us. I could’ve been killed, sarge!’
‘No, I know talent when I sees it,’ said Jackrum. ‘Well done, lad. Had to piss off myself,
on account of a big man in full enemy uniform isn’t easy to miss. Besides, you lads needed to
be woke up. That’s milit’ry thinking, that is.’
‘But if I hadn’t . . .’ Polly hesitated. ‘If I hadn’t tricked them, they might’ve killed the
lieutenant!’
‘See? There’s always a positive side, any way you look at it,’ said Scallot.
The sergeant stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and hitched up his belt. He
ambled over to the captain, reached down, and lifted him up by his jacket.
‘Why were you looking for these boys, sir?’ he enquired.
The captain opened his eye and focused on the fat man.
‘I am an officer and a gentleman, sergeant,’ he muttered. ‘There are rules.’
‘Not many gentlemen around here at this moment, sir,’ said the sergeant.
‘Damn right,’ whispered Maladict. Polly, feeling drunk with relief and released tension,
had to put her hand over her mouth to stop giggling.
‘Oh, yeah. The rules. Prisoners of war and that,’ Jackrum went on. ‘That means you even
have to eat the same things as us, you poor devils. So you’re not going to talk to me?’
‘I am . . . Captain Horentz of the First Heavy Dragoons. I’ll say nothing more.’ And
something about the way he said it elbowed Polly in the brain. He’s lying.
Jackrum stared at him blankly for a moment, and then said: ‘Well, now . . . it looks like
what we have here is an embugger-ance which, my lads of the Cheesemongers, is defined as
an obstruction in the way of progress. I propose to deal with it in this wise!’ He let go of the
man’s jacket and the captain fell back.
Sergeant Jackrum removed his hat. Then he removed his jacket, too, revealing a stained
shirt and bright red braces. He was still almost spherical; from his neck, folds of skin lapped
their way down to the tropical regions. The belt must have been there just to conform to
regulations, Polly thought.
He reached up and undid a piece of string from around his neck. It was looped through a
hole in a tarnished coin.
‘Corporal Scallot!’ he said.
‘Yes, sarge!’ said Scallot, saluting.
‘You will note I am divestering myself of my insignia and am handing you my official
shilling, which means, since last time I signed up it was for twelve years and that was sixteen
years ago, I am now fully and legally a damn civilian!’

 
 
  
‘Yes, Mister Jackrum,’ said Scallot cheerfully. Among the prisoners, heads jerked up at the
sound of the name.
‘And that being the case, and since you, captain, are invading our country by night under
the cover of darkness, and I am a humble civilian, I think there’s no rule to stop me beating
seven kinds of crap out of you until you tell me why you came here and when the rest of your
mates are going to arrive. And that may take me some time, sir, because up until now I’ve
only ever discovered five types of crap.’ He rolled up his sleeves, hauled up the captain again
and drew back a fist—
‘We just had to take the recruits into custody,’ said a voice. ‘We weren’t going to hurt
them! Now put him down, Jackrum, damn you! He’s still seeing stars!’
It was the sergeant from the inn. Polly looked at the other prisoners. Even with
Carborundum and Maladict watching them, and Tonker glowering at them, there was a
definite sense that the first blow landed on the captain was going to start a riot. And Polly
thought: they are very protective, aren’t they . . .
Jackrum must have picked it up, too. ‘Ah, now we’re talking,’ he said, lowering the captain
gently but still holding his coat. ‘Your men speak up for you well, captain.’
‘That’s because we’re not slaves, you bloody beeteater,’ growled one of the troopers.
‘Slaves? All my lads joined up of their own free will, turniphead.’
‘Maybe they thought they did,’ said the sergeant. ‘You just lied to ‘em. Lied to ‘em for
years. They’re all gonna die because of your stupid lies! Lies and your raddled, rotting, lying
old whore of a duchess!’
‘Private Goom, as you were! That is an order! As you were, I said! Private Maladict, take
that sword off’f Private Goom! That is another order! Sergeant, order your men to ease back
slowly! Slowly! Do it now! Upon my oath I am not a violent man, but any man, any man who
disobeys me, bigod, that man is lookin’ at a broken rib!’
Jackrum screamed all that in one long explosion of sound without taking his eyes off the
captain.
Reaction, order and breathless stillness had taken just a few seconds. Polly stared at the
sudden tableau as her muscles untensed.
The Zlobenian troopers were settling back. Carborundum’s raised club began to lower
itself gently. Little Wazzer was held off the ground by Maladict, who’d wrenched a sword
from her hand; possibly only a vampire could have moved faster than Wazzer as she’d
charged the prisoners.
‘Custody,’ said Jackrum, in a quiet voice. ‘That’s a funny word. Look at my little lads, will
you? Not a whisker between them yet, save for the troll, and lichen don’t count. Still wet
behind the ears, they are. What’s dangerous about a harmless bunch of farm boys that’d
concern a fine bunch of horse-wallopers like yourselves?’
‘Can thomeone pleathe come and put their finger on thith knot?’ said Igor, from his
makeshift operating table. ‘I’ve jutht about done.’
‘Harmless?’ said the sergeant, staring at the struggling Wazzer. ‘They’re a bunch of
bloody madmen!’
‘I want to speak to your officer, damn you,’ said the captain, who looked a little less
unfocused now. ‘You do have an officer, don’t you?’

 
 
  
‘Yeah, we’ve got one somewhere, as I recall,’ said Jackrum. ‘Perks, go and fetch the
rupert, will you? Best if you take that dress off first, too. You never know, with ruperts.’ He
carefully lowered the captain on to a bench, and straightened up.
‘Carborundum, Maladict, chop something off any prisoner who moves, and any man who
tries to attack a prisoner!’ he said. ‘Now then . . . oh, yes. Threeparts Scallot, I wish to enlist
in your wonderful army, with its many opportunities for a young man willing to apply
himself.’
‘Any previous soldierin’?’ said Scallot, grinning.
‘Forty years fighting every bleeder within a hundred miles of Borogravia, corporal.’
‘Special skills?’
‘Stayin’ alive, corporal, come what may.’
‘Then allow me to present you with one shilling and immediate acceleration to the rank of
sergeant,’ said Scallot, handing back the coat and the shilling. ‘Want to Osculate the Doxie?’
‘Not at my time o’ life,’ said Jackrum, putting on his jacket again. ‘There,’ he said. ‘All
smart, all neat, all legal. Go on, Perks, I gave you an order.’
Blouse was snoring. His candle had burned down. A book was open on his blanket. Polly
gently pulled it out from under his fingers. The title, almost invisible on the stained cover,
was: Tacticus: The Campaigns.
‘Sir?’ she whispered.
Blouse opened his eyes, saw her, and then turned and frantically scrabbled by the bed.
‘Here they are, sir,’ said Polly, handing him his spectacles.
‘Ah, Perks, thank you,’ said the lieutenant, sitting up. ‘Midnight, is it?’
‘A bit after, sir.’
‘Oh, dear! Then we must hurry! Quick, pass me my breeches! Have the men had a good
night?’
‘We were attacked by Zlobenian troops, sir. First Heavy Dragoons. We took them prisoner,
sir. No casualties, sir.’ . . . because they didn’t expect us to fight. They wanted to take us
alive. And they walked in on Carborundum and Maladict and . . . me.
It had been hard, very hard, to force herself to swing that cudgel. But once she had done it,
it had been easy. And then she’d felt embarrassed about being caught in a petticoat, even
though she had her breeches on underneath. She’d gone from boy to girl just by thinking it,
and it had been so . . . easy. She needed some time to consider this. She needed time to think
about a lot of things. She suspected that time was going to be in short supply.
Blouse was still sitting there with his breeches half on, staring at her.
‘Run that past me again one more time, will you, Perks?’ he said. ‘You have captured
some of the enemy?’
‘Not just me, sir, I only got two of ‘em,’ said Polly. ‘We all, er, piled in, sir.’
‘Heavy Dragoons?’
‘Yessir.’
‘That’s the Prince’s personal regiment! They’ve invaded?’

 
 
  
‘I think it was more of a patrol, sir. Seven men.’
‘And none of you are hurt?’
‘Nosir.’
‘Pass me my shirt! Oh, blast!’
It was then that Polly noticed the bandage around his right hand. It was red with blood. He
saw her expression.
‘Bit of a self-inflicted wound, Perks,’ he said nervously. ‘ “Brushing up” on my sword drill
after supper. Nothing serious. Just a bit “rusty”, you know. Can’t quite manage buttons. If
you would be so good . . .’
Polly helped the lieutenant struggle into the rest of his clothes, and threw his few other
possessions in a bag. It took a special kind of man, she reflected, to cut his sword hand with
his own sword.
‘I should pay my bill . . .’ the lieutenant muttered, as they hurried down the darkened stairs.
‘Can’t, sir. Everyone’s fled, sir.’
‘Perhaps I should leave them a note, do you think? I wouldn’t like them to think that I had
“done a runner” without—’
‘They’ve all gone, sir!’ said Polly, pushing him towards the front door. She stopped
outside the barracks, straightened his coat and stared at his face. ‘Did you wash last night,
sir?’
‘There was no—’ Blouse began.
The response was automatic. Even though she was fifteen months younger, she’d been
mothering Paul for too long.
‘Handkerchief!’ she demanded. And, since some things get programmed into the brain at
an early age, one was obediently produced.
‘Spit!’ Polly commanded. Then she used the damp hanky to wipe a mark off Blouse’s face
and realized, as she was doing it, that she was doing it. There was no going back. The only
way out was ahead.
‘All right,’ she said brusquely. ‘Have you got everything?’
‘Yes, Perks.’
‘Have you been to the privy this morning?’ her mouth went on, while her brain cowered in
fear of a court martial. I’m in shock, she thought, and so’s he. So you cling to what you
know. And you can’t stop . . .
‘No, Perks,’ said the lieutenant.
‘Then you must go properly before we get on the boat, all right?’
‘Yes, Perks.’
‘In you go, then, there’s a good lieutenant.’
She leaned against the wall and got her breath back in a few hurried gulps as Blouse
stepped into the barracks, then slipped in after him.

 
 
  
‘Officer present!’ Jackrum barked. The squad, already lined up, stood to varying degrees of
attention. The sergeant jerked a salute in front of Blouse, causing the young man to sway
backwards.
‘Apprehended enemy scouting party, sir! Dangerous business all round, sir! In view of the
emergency nature of the emergency sir, and seeing as how you have no NCO what with
Corporal Strappi having scarpered, and seeing as how I’m an old soldier in good standing,
you are allowed to conscript me as an auxiliary under Duchess’s Regulations, Rule 796,
Section 3 [a], Paragraph ii, sir, thank you, sir!’
‘What?’ said Blouse, staring around blearily and becoming aware that in a world of sudden
turmoil there was a big red coat that seemed to know what it was doing. ‘Oh. Yes. Fine. Rule
796, you say? Absolutely. Well done. Carry on, sergeant.’
‘Are you in command here?’ barked Horentz, standing.
‘Indeed I am, captain,’ said Blouse.
Horentz looked him up and down. ‘You?’ he said, disdain oozing from the word.
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Blouse, his eyes narrowing.
‘Oh well, we shall have to do what we can. That fat bastard,’ said Horentz, pointing a
threatening finger at Jackrum, ‘that bastard offered me violence! As a prisoner! In chains!
And that . . . boy,’ the captain added, spitting the word towards Polly, ‘kicked me in the
privates and almost clubbed me to death! I demand that you let us go!’
Blouse turned to Polly. ‘Did you kick Captain Horentz in the “privates”, Parts?’
‘Er . . . yessir. Kneed, actually. And it’s Perks actually, sir, although I can see why you
made the mistake.’
‘What was he doing at the time?’
‘Er . . . embracing me, sir.’ Polly saw Blouse’s eyebrows rise, and plunged on. ‘I was
temporarily disguised as a girl, sir, in order to allay suspicion.’
‘And then you . . . clubbed him?’
‘Yessir. Once, sir.’
‘What in the world possessed you to stop at once?’ said Blouse.
‘Sir?’ said Polly, as Horentz gasped. Blouse turned with an almost seraphic look of
pleasure on his face.
‘And you, sergeant,’ he went on, ‘did you in fact lay a hand on the captain?’
Jackrum took a step forward and saluted smartly. ‘Not as in fact per se and such, sir, no,’
he said, keeping his eyes fixed on a point some twelve feet high on the far wall. ‘I just
considered, since he had invaded our country to capture our lads, sir, that it wouldn’t hurt if
he experienced temporary feelings of shock and awe, sir. On my oath, sir, I am not a violent
man.’
‘Of course not, sergeant,’ said Blouse. And now, while he still smiled, it was edged with a
kind of malevolent glee.
‘For heaven’s sake, you fool, you can’t believe these ignorant yokels, they’re the dregs
of—’ Horentz began.