Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (17 page)

 
 
  
Jade was rising over the grass. As she plodded nearer they saw she was dragging a man by
one foot. When she was closer it was obvious that the man was dead. Living people have
more head.
‘I heard the shoutin’ and he come runnin’ and I jumped up and he come straight into me,
head first!’ Jade complained. ‘I didn’t even get a chance to hit him!’
‘Well, private, at least we can definitely say he was stopped,’ said Blouse.
Thur, thith man is dying,’ said Igorina, who was kneeling by the man Sergeant Jackrum
had so positively saved from choking. ‘He hath been poithened!’
‘Hath he? By whom?’ said Blouse. ‘Are you sure?’
‘The green foam coming out of hith mouth ith a definite clue, thur.’
‘What’s funny, Private Maladict?’ said Blous
The vampire chuckled. ‘Oh, sorry, sir. They say to spies “If you’re caught, eat the
documents”, don’t they? A good way of making sure they don’t give away any secrets.’
‘But you’ve got the . . . soggy book in your hands, corporal!’
‘Vampires can’t be poisoned that easily, sir,’ said Maladict calmly.
‘It wath probably only fatal by mouth in any case, thur,’ said Igorina. ‘Terrible stuff.
Thtuff. He’th dead, thur. Nothing I can do.’
‘Poor fellow. Well, we have the codes, anyway,’ said Blouse. ‘This is a great discovery,
men.’
‘And a prisoner, sir, and a prisoner,’ said Jackrum.
The one surviving man, who had been operating the clacks, groaned and tried to move.
‘A bit bruised, I expect,’ Jackrum added, with some satisfaction. ‘When I land on
someone, sir, they stay landed on.’
‘Two of you, bring him with us,’ said Blouse. ‘Sergeant, there’s a few hours to dawn, and I
want to be well away from here. I want the other two buried somewhere down in the woods,
and—’
‘You just have to say “carry on, sergeant”, sir,’ said Jackrum, and it was almost a wail.
‘That’s how it works, sir! You tell me what you want, I give ‘em the orders!’
‘Times are changing, sergeant,’ said Blouse.
Messages, flying across the sky. They were an Abomination unto Nuggan.
The logic sounded impeccable to Polly as she helped Wazzer to dig two graves. Prayers
from the faithful ascended unto Nuggan, going upwards. A variety of unseen things, such as
sanctity and grace and a list of this week’s Abominations, descended from Nuggan to the
faithful, going downwards. What was forbidden was messages from one human to another
going, as it were, from side to side. There could be collisions. If you believed in Nuggan, that
is. If you believed in prayer.
Wazzer’s real name was Alice, she confided as she dug, but it was hard to apply the name
to a small stick-thin lad with a bad haircut and not much skill with a shovel, who had a habit
of standing just slightly too close to you and stared just slightly to the left of your face when

 
 
  
she talked to you. Wazzer believed in prayer. She believed in everything. That made her kind
of . . . awkward to talk to, if you didn’t. But Polly felt she should make the effort.
‘How old are you, Wazz?’ she said, shovelling dirt.
‘N-n-nineteen, Polly,’ said Wazzer.
‘Why’d you join?’
‘The Duchess told me to,’ said Wazzer.
That was why people didn’t talk to Wazzer much.
‘Wazz, you do know that wearing men’s clothes is an Abomination, don’t you?’
‘Thank you for reminding me, Polly,’ said Wazzer, without a trace of irony. ‘But the
Duchess told me that nothing I do in pursuit of my quest will be held Abominable.’
‘A quest, eh,’ said Polly, trying to sound jovial. ‘And what kind of quest is that?’
‘I am to take command of the army,’ said Wazzer.
Hairs rose on the back of Polly’s neck. ‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Yes, the Duchess stepped out of her picture when I was asleep and told me to go at once
to Kneck,’ said Wazzer. ‘The Little Mother spoke to me, Ozz. She commanded me. She
guides my steps. She led me out of vile slavery. How can that be an Abomination?’
She’s got a sword, thought Polly. And a shovel. This needs careful handling. ‘That’s nice,’
she said.
‘And . . . and I must tell you that . . . I . . . never in my life have I felt such love and
camaraderie,’ Wazzer went on earnestly. ‘The last few days have been the happiest of my
life. You have all shown me such kindness, such gentleness. The Little Mother guides me.
She guides us all, Ozz. You believe that, too. Don’t you?’ The moonlight revealed the tracks
of tears in the grime on Wazzer’s cheeks.
‘Um,’ said Polly, and sought wildly for a way to avoid lying.
She found it. ‘Er . . . you know I want to find my brother?’ she said.
‘Well, that does you credit, the Duchess knows,’ said Wazzer quickly.
‘And, well . . . I’m also doing it for The Duchess,’ said Polly, feeling wretched. ‘I think
about The Duchess all the time, I must admit.’ Well, that was true. It just wasn’t honest.
‘I’m so very glad to hear that, Ozz, because I had thought you were a backslider,’ said
Wazzer. ‘But you said that with such conviction. Perhaps this would be the time for us to get
down on our knees and—’
‘Wazz, you’re standing in another man’s grave,’ said Polly. ‘There’s a time and place, you
know? Let’s get back to the others, eh?’
The happiest days of the girl’s life had been spent tramping through forests, digging graves
and trying to dodge soldiers on both sides? The trouble with Polly was that she had a mind
that asked questions even when she really, really didn’t want to know the answers.
‘So . . . the Duchess is still talking to you, is she?’ she said, as they made their way among
the dark trees.
‘Oh, yes. When we were in Plotz, sleeping in the barracks,’ said Wazzer. ‘She said it was
all working.’

Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment

Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment

 
 
  
Don’t, don’t ask another question, said part of Polly’s mind, but she ignored it out of sheer
horrible curiosity. Wazzer was nice - well, sort of nice, in a slightly scary way - but talking to
her was like picking at a scab; you knew what was likely to be under the crust, but you picked
anyway.
‘So . . . what did you use to do back in the world?’ she said.
Wazzer gave her a haunting smile. ‘I used to be beaten.’
Tea was brewing in a small hollow near the track. Several of the squad were standing
guard. No one liked the idea of men in dark clothes sneaking around.
‘Mug of saloop?’ said Shufti, holding them up. A few days ago they’d have called it ‘sweet
milky tea’, but even if they couldn’t walk the walk yet they were determined to talk the talk
as soon as possible.
‘What’s happening?’ said Polly.
‘Dunno,’ said Shufti. ‘Sarge and the rupert went off over that way with the prisoner but no
one tells us groans anything.’
‘It’s “grunts”, I think,’ said Wazzer, taking the tea.
‘I’ve done them a couple of mugs, anyway. See what you can find out, eh?’
Polly gulped her tea down, grabbed the mugs and hurried away.
On the edge of the hollow Maladict was lounging against a tree. There was this about
vampires: they could never look scruffy. Instead, they were . . . what was the word . . .
déshabille. It meant untidy, but with bags and bags of style. In this case Maladict’s jacket was
open and he’d stuck his packet of cigarettes in the band of his shako. He saluted her with his
crossbow as she went past.
‘Ozz?’ he said.
‘Yes, corp?’
‘Any coffee in their packs?’
‘Sorry, corp. Only tea.’
‘Damn!’ Maladict thumped the tree behind him. ‘Hey, you went straight for the man who
was swallowing the cipher. Straight for him. How come?’
‘Just luck,’ said Polly.
‘Yeah, right. Try again. I have very good night vision.’
‘Oh, all right. Well, the one on the left started to run and the one in the middle was
dropping the clacks tube and reaching for his sword, but the one on the right thought that
putting something into his mouth was more important even than fighting or running away.
Satisfied?’
‘You worked out all that in a couple of seconds? That was smart.’
‘Yeah, right. Now please forget it, okay? I don’t want to be noticed. I don’t particularly
want to be here. I just want to find my brother. Okay?’
‘Fine. I just thought that you’d like to know someone saw you. And you’d better get that
tea to ‘em before they try to kill one another.’

 
 
  
At least I was someone watching the enemy, Polly thought furiously as she walked away. I
wasn’t someone watching another soldier. Who does he think he is? Or she is?
She heard the raised voices as she pushed through a thicket.
‘You can’t torture an unarmed man!’ That was Blouse’s voice.
‘Well, I’m not waiting for him to arm himself, sir! He knows stuff! And he’s a spy!’
‘Don’t you dare kick him in the ribs again! That is an order, sergeant!’
‘Asking nicely didn’t work, did it, sir? “Pretty please with sprinkles on top” is not a
recognized method of interrogation! You shouldn’t be here, sir! You should say “Sergeant,
find out what you can from the prisoner!” and then go somewhere and wait until I tell you
what I got out of him, sir!’
‘You did it again!’
‘What? What?’
‘You kicked him again!’
‘No, I didn’t!’
‘Sergeant, I gave you an order!’
‘And?’
‘Tea’s up!’ said Polly cheerfully.
Both men turned. Their expression changed. If they had been birds, their feathers would
have gently settled back.
‘Ah, Perks,’ said Blouse. ‘Well done.’
‘Yeah . . . good lad,’ said Sergeant Jackrum.
Polly’s presence seemed to lower the temperature. The two men drank their tea and eyed
one another warily.
‘You’ll have noticed, sergeant, that the men were wearing the dark-green uniform of the
First Battalion the Zlobenian Fifty-ninth Bowmen. A skirmishing battalion,’ said Blouse,
with cold politeness. ‘That is not the uniform of a spy, sergeant.’
‘Yessir? But they’d let their uniforms get very dirty, then. No shine on the buttons, sir.’
‘Patrolling behind enemy lines is not spying, sergeant. You must have done it in your
time.’
‘More times than you could count, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘And I knew full well that if I got
caught I was due a good kicking in the nadgers. But skirmishers is the worst, sir. You think
you’re safe in the lines, next moment it turns out that some bastard sitting in the bushes on a
hill has been working out windage and yardage and has dropped an arrow right through your
mate’s head.’ He picked up a strange-looking longbow. ‘See these things they’ve got?
Burleigh and Stronginthearm Number Five Recurved, made in bloody Ankh-Morpork. A real
killing weapon. I say we give him a choice, sir. He can tell us what he knows, and go out
easy. Or keep mum, and go out hard.’
‘No, sergeant. He is an enemy officer taken in battle and entitled to fair treatment.’
‘No, sir. He’s a sergeant, and they don’t deserve no respect at all, sir. I should know.
They’re cunning and artful, if they’re any good. I wouldn’t mind if he was an officer, sir. But
sergeants are clever.’

 
 
  
There was a grunt from the bound prisoner.
‘Loosen his gag. Perks,’ said Blouse. Instinctively, even if the instinct was only a couple of
days old, Polly glanced at Jackrum. The sergeant shrugged. She pulled the rag down.
‘I’ll talk,’ said the prisoner, spitting out cotton fluff. ‘But not to that tub of lard! I’ll talk to
the officer. You keep that man away from me!’
‘You’re in no position to negotiate, soldier boy!’ snarled Jackrum.
‘Sergeant,’ said the lieutenant, ‘I’m sure you have things to see to. Please do so. Send a
couple of men back here. He can’t do anything against four of us.’
‘But—’
‘That was another order, sergeant,’ said Blouse. He turned to the prisoner as Jackrum
stumped off. ‘What is your name, man?’
‘Sergeant Towering, lieutenant. And if you are a sensible man, you will release me and
surrender.’
‘Surrender?’ said Blouse, as Igorina and Wazzer ran into the clearing, armed and
bewildered.
‘Yep. I’ll put in a good word for you when the boys catch up with us. You don’t want to
know how many men are looking for you. Could I have a drink, please?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Of course,’ said Blouse, as if caught out in a display of bad manners.
‘Perks, fetch some tea for the sergeant. Why are people looking for us, pray?’
Towering gave him a cockeyed grin. ‘You don’t know?’
‘No,’ said Blouse coldly.
‘You really don’t know?’ Now Towering was laughing. He was far too relaxed for a bound
man, and Blouse sounded far too much like a nice but worried man trying to appear firm and
determined. To Polly, it was like watching a child bluffing in poker against a man called Doc.
‘I don’t wish to play games, man. Out with it!’ said Blouse.
‘Everyone knows about you, lieutenant. You’re the Monstrous Regiment, you are!’ he said.
‘No offence meant, of course. They say you’ve got a troll and a vampire and an Igor and a
werewolf. They say you . . .’ he began to chuckle ‘. . . they say you overpowered Prince
Heinrich and his guard and stole his boots and made him hop away in the altogether!’
In a thicket some way off, a nightingale sang. For quite a while, uninterrupted. Then
Blouse said, ‘Hah, no, you are in fact wrong. The man was Captain Horentz—’
‘Yeah, right, like he’d tell you who he was with you pointing swords at him!’ said
Towering. ‘I heard from one of my mates that one of you kicked him in the meat-and-two-
veg, but I haven’t seen the picture yet.’
‘Someone took a picture of him getting kicked?’ squeaked Polly, drenched in a sudden
horror.
‘Not of that, no. But there’s copies all over the place of him in chains and I hear it’s been
sent by the clacks to Ankh-Morpork.’
‘Is . . . is he annoyed?’ Polly quavered, cursing Otto Chriek and his picture-making.

 
 
  
‘Well, now, let me see,’ said Towering sarcastically. ‘Annoyed? No, I shouldn’t think he’s
annoyed. “Livid” is the word, I think. Or “raging”? Yeah, I think “raging” ’s the word.
There’s a lot of people looking for you lads now. Well done!’
Even Blouse could see Polly’s distress. ‘Er . . . Perks,’ he said, ‘it was you, wasn’t it,
who—’
Over and over in Polly’s head the words ogodIkickedthePrinceinthefruitandveg were going
round and round like a hamster in a runaway treadmill until, suddenly, it ran up against
something solid.
‘Yessir,’ she snapped. ‘He was forcing himself upon a young woman, sir. If you recall?’
Blouse’s frown faded, and became a grin of childlike duplicity. ‘Ah, yes, indeed. He was
“pressing his suit” in no small way, was he not?’
‘He didn’t have ironing in mind, sir!’ said Polly fervently.
Towering glanced at Wazzer, grimly clutching a crossbow that Polly knew for a fact she
was scared of, and Igorina, who’d much rather be holding a surgeon’s knife than the sabre in
her hand and looked worried sick. Polly saw his brief smile.
‘And there you have it, Sergeant Towering,’ said the lieutenant, turning to the prisoner. ‘Of
course, we all know there is some atrocious behaviour in times of war, but it is not the sort of
thing we would expect of a royal prince.* If we are to be pursued because a gallant young
soldier prevented matters from becoming even more disgusting, then so be it.’
*Lieutenant Blouse read only the more technical history books.
‘Now I am impressed,’ said Towering. ‘A real knight errant, eh? He’s a credit to you,
lieutenant. Any chance of that tea?’
Blouse’s skinny chest visibly swelled at the compliment. ‘Yes, Perks, the tea, if you would
be so good.’
Leaving the three of you with this man who’s positively radiating an intention to escape,
Polly thought. ‘Could perhaps Private Goom go and fetch—’ she began.
‘A word in private, Perks?’ snapped Blouse. He drew her closer, but Polly kept her eye on
Sergeant Towering. He might be bound hand and foot, but she wouldn’t have trusted a man
who grinned like that if he’d been nailed to the ceiling.
‘Perks, you are making a great contribution but I really will not have my orders continually
questioned,’ said Blouse. ‘You are my batman, after all. I think I run a “happy ship” here, but
I will be obeyed. Please?’
It was like being savaged by a goldfish, but she had to admit he had a point. ‘Er . . . sorry,
sir,’ she said, backing away as long as possible so as not to miss the end of the tragedy. Then
she turned and ran.
Jackrum was sitting by the fire, with the prisoner’s bow across his huge knees, slicing
some sort of black sausage with a big clasp-knife. He was chewing.
‘Where’s the rest of us, sir?’ said Polly, scrabbling for a mug.