Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (19 page)

 
 
  
‘How good would they have to be, d’you think? Four of you against a man tied up?’ said
Jackrum. ‘Nah. That sergeant was dead the moment we got ‘im, and he knew it. It took a
bloody genius like your rupert to make him think he’d got a chance. We’re out in the woods,
lad. What was Blouse gonna do with him? Who’d we hand him over to? Would the lieutenant
cart him around with us? Or tie him to a tree and leave him to kick wolves away until he gets
too tired? Much more gentlemanly than giving him a quiet cigarette and a swift chop where
you go quick, which is what he was expecting and what I’d have given him.’
Jackrum popped the tobacco into his mouth. ‘You know what most of the milit’ry training
is, Perks?’ he went on. ‘All that yelling from little spitbubs like Strappi? It’s to turn you into a
man who will, on the word of command, stick his blade into some poor sod just like him who
happens to be wearing the wrong uniform. He’s like you, you’re like him. He doesn’t really
want to kill you, you don’t really want to kill him. But if you don’t kill him first, he’ll kill
you. That’s the start and finish of it. It don’t come easy without trainin’. Ruperts don’t get
that trainin’, ‘cos they are gentlemen. Well, upon my oath I am no gentleman, and I’ll kill
when I have to, and I said I’d keep you safe and no damn rupert’s going to stop me. He gave
me my discharge papers!’ Jackrum added, radiating indignance. ‘Me! And expected me to
thank him! Every other rupert I’ve served under has had the sense to write “Not posted here”
or “On extended patrol” or something and shove it back in the mail, but not him!’
‘What was it you said to Corporal Strappi that made him run away?’ said Polly, before she
could stop herself.
Jackrum looked at her for a while, with no expression in his eyes. Then he gave a strange
little chuckle. ‘Now why would a little lad like you say a little thing like that?’ he said.
‘Because he just vanished and suddenly some old rule means you’re back on the strength,
sarge,’ said Polly. ‘That’s why I said that little thing.’
‘Hah! And there’s no such rule, either, not like that one,’ said Jackrum, splashing his feet.
‘But ruperts never read the book of rules unless they’re trying to find a reason to hang you, so
I was safe there. Strappi was scared shitless, you know that.’
‘Yes, but he could have slipped away later on,’ said Polly. ‘He wasn’t stupid. Rushing off
into the night? He must’ve had something real close to run from, right?’
‘Cor, that’s an evil brain you have there, Perks,’ said Jackrum happily. Once again Polly
had the definite feeling that the sergeant was enjoying this, just as he’d seemed pleased when
she’d protested about the uniform. He wasn’t a bully like Strappi - he treated Igorina and
Wazzer with something approaching fatherly concern - but with Polly and Maladict and
Tonker he pushed all the time, wanting you to push back.
‘It does the job, sarge,’ she said.
‘I just had a little tate-ah-tate with him, as it were. Quiet, like. Explained all the nasty
things that can happen vees-ah-vee the confusion o’ war.’
‘Like being found with his throat cut?’ said Polly.
‘Has been known to happen,’ said Jackrum innocently. ‘You know, lad, you’re going to
make a damn good sergeant one day. Any fool can use his eyes and ears, but you uses that
brain to connect ‘em up.’
‘I’m not going to be a sergeant! I’m going to get the job done and go home!’ said Polly
vehemently.

 
 
  
‘Yes, I said that once, too.’ Jackrum grinned. ‘Perks, I don’t need no clacky thing. I don’t
need no newsy paper. Sergeant Jackrum knows what’s going on. He talks to the men coming
back, the ones that won’t talk to anyone else. I know more than the rupert, for all that he gets
little letters from HQ that worry him so much. Everyone talks to Sergeant Jackrum. And in
his big fat head, Sergeant Jackrum puts it all together. Sergeant Jackrum knows what’s going
on.’
‘And what’s that, sarge?’ said Polly innocently.
Jackrum didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he reached down with a grunt and rubbed one
of his feet. The corroded shilling on a string, which had lain innocently on the woollen vest,
swung forward. But there was something else. For a moment something golden slipped out of
the vest’s open neck. Something oval and golden, on a golden chain, flashed in the sunlight.
Then he straightened up and it was dragged back out of sight.
‘This is a bloody odd war, lad,’ he said. ‘It’s true there’s not just Zlobenian soldiers out
there. Lads say there’s uniforms they’d never seen before. We’ve kicked a lot of backsides
over the years, so maybe they really have ganged up and it’s gonna be our turn. But what I
reckon is, they’re stuck. They took the keep. Oh, yes, I know. But they’ve got to hold on to it.
And winter’s coming and all those lads from Ankh-Morpork and everywhere are a long way
from home. We might have a chance yet. Hah, especially now the Prince is dead set on
finding the young soldier that kneed him in the wedding tackle. That means he’s angry. He’ll
make mistakes.’
‘Well, sarge, I think—’
‘I’m glad you do, Private Perks,’ said Jackrum, suddenly becoming a sergeant again. ‘And
I think that after you’ve seen to the rupert and had a nap, you and me is going to show the
lads some swordsmanship. Whatever bleedin’ war this is, sooner or later young Wazzer is
going to have to use that blade he waggles about. Get going!’
Polly found Lieutenant Blouse sitting with his back to the cliff, eating scubbo out of a
bowl. Igorina was packing away her medical kit, and Blouse’s ear was bandaged.
‘Everything all right, sir?’ she said. ‘Sorry I wasn’t—’
‘I quite understand, Perks, you must stand your turn like the other “lads”,’ said Blouse, and
Polly heard the inverted commas clank into place. ‘I had a refreshing nap and the bleeding
and, indeed, the shaking has quite stopped. However . . . I do still need a shave.’
‘You want me to shave you,’ said Polly, her heart sinking.
‘I must set an example, Perks, but I have to say you “lads” make such an effort it puts me
to shame. You all seem to have faces “as smooth as a baby’s bottom”, I must say!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Polly pulled out the shaving gear and walked over to the fire, where the kettle
was permanently boiling. Most of the squad was dozing, but Maladict was sitting cross-
legged by the fire, doing something to his hat.
‘Heard about the prisoner last night,’ he said, without looking up. ‘I don’t think the el-tee
is going to last very long, do you?’
‘The who?’
‘The lieutenant. From what I hear, Blouse’s probably going to have a nasty accident.
Jackrum thinks he’s dangerous.’
‘He’s learning, just like us.’

 
 
  
‘Yes, but the el-tee’s supposed to know what to do. Do you think he does?’
‘Jackrum’s stuck, too,’ said Polly, topping up the kettle with cold water. ‘I think we just
keep going.’
‘If there’s anything there to get to,’ said Maladict. He held up the shako. ‘What do you
think?’
The words ‘Born To Die’ had been chalked on the side of the hat, next to the packet of
cigarettes.
‘Very . . . individual,’ said Polly. ‘Why do you smoke? It’s not very . . . vampire, really.’
‘Well, I’m not supposed to be very vampire,’ said Maladict, lighting up with a shaking
hand. ‘It’s the sucking. I need it. I’m on edge. I’m getting the no-coffee jitters. I’m not good
with woods in any case.’
‘But you’re a vam—’
‘Yeah, yeah, if this was crypts, no problem. But I keep thinking I’m surrounded by lots of
pointy stakes. Truth is . . . I’m beginning to hurt. It’s like going cold bat all over again! I’m
getting the voices and the sweats . . .’
‘Sssh,’ said Polly, as Shufti grunted in her sleep. ‘You can’t be,’ she hissed. ‘You said
you’d been going straight for two years!’
‘Oh, bl . . . blur . . . blood?’ said Maladict. ‘Who said anything about blood? I’m talking
about coffee, dammit!’
‘We’ve got plenty of tea—’ Polly began.
‘You don’t understand! This is about . . . craving. You never stop craving, you just switch
it to something that doesn’t cause people to turn you into a short kebab! I need coffee!’
Why me? Polly thought. Do I have this little sign on me saying ‘Tell me your troubles’?
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, and hastily filled the shaving mug.
Polly hurried back with the water, ushered Blouse to a rock, and stirred up some foam. She
sharpened the razor, taking as long as she dared. When he coughed impatiently she took up
position, raised the razor, and prayed . . .
. . . but not to Nuggan. Never to Nuggan, since her mother died . . .
And then Lofty was running across the ground, trying to shout a whisper. ‘Movement!’
Blouse nearly lost another earlobe.
Out from nowhere came Jackrum, boots on but braces dangling. He grabbed Lofty by the
shoulder and swung her round. ‘Where?’ he demanded.
‘There’s a track down there! Troopers! Carts! What do we do, sarge?’
‘We keep the noise down!’ muttered Jackrum. ‘Are they heading up here?’
‘No, they went right past, sarge!’
Jackrum turned and gave the rest of the squad a satisfied look. ‘O-kay. Corporal, take
Carborundum and Perks and go and have a look. The rest of you, tool up and try to be brave.
Eh, lieutenant?’
Blouse bemusedly dabbed foam off his face. ‘What? Oh. Yes. See to it, sergeant.’

 
 
  
Twenty seconds later, Polly was running after Maladict, down the slope. Here and there the
bottom of the valley could be seen through the trees, and as she glanced down she saw
sunlight flash off something metal. At least the trees had coated the woodland floor with a
thick layer of needles, and, contrary to received opinion, most woods aren’t littered with
branches that snap loudly. They reached the edge of the wood, where bushes fought one
another for their place in the sun, and found a spot with a view.
There were only four troopers, in an unfamiliar uniform, riding in pairs ahead of and
behind a cart. It was small, and had a canvas cover.
‘What’s in a little cart that four men have to protect?’ said Maladict. ‘It must be valuable!’
Polly pointed to the huge flag that hung limply from a pole on the wagon. ‘I think it’s the
newspaper man,’ she said. ‘It’s the same cart. Same flag, too.’
‘Then it’s a good thing they’ve gone right past,’ hissed Maladict. ‘Let’s just see them out
of sight and creep away like good little mice, okay?’
The party was travelling at the speed of the cart and, at this point, the two riders in the lead
stopped and turned in their saddles, waiting for it to catch up. Then one of them pointed, back
past the hidden watchers. There was a shout, too far away to be understood. The troopers in
the rear trotted up to the cart, met with their comrades, and all four turned to look up. There
was some discussion, and two riders trotted back along the road.
‘Oh, darn,’ said Polly. ‘What have they spotted?’
The horsemen went past their hiding place. A few moments later, they heard the horses
enter the woods.
‘Do we run an’ get ‘em?’ said Jade.
‘Let Jackrum do that,’ said Maladict.
‘But if he does, and the men don’t come back—’ Polly began.
‘When they don’t come back,’ Maladict corrected her.
‘—then those other two will get suspicious, won’t they? One will probably stay here, the
other will go to get help.’
‘Then we’ll sneak up and wait,’ said Maladict. ‘Look, they’ve dismounted. The cart’s
pulled in, too. If they look as though they’re worried, we’ll move in.’
‘And do what, exactly?’ said Polly.
‘Threaten to shoot them,’ said Maladict firmly.
‘And if they don’t believe us?’
‘Then we’ll threaten to shoot them in a much louder voice,’ said Maladict. ‘Happy? And I
hope to hell they’ve got some coffee!’
There are three things a soldier wants to do when there’s a respite on the road. One
involves lighting a cigarette, one involves lighting a fire, and the other one involves no
flames at all but does, generally, require a tree.*

 
 
  
* Actually a tree is not, technically, required, but seems to be insisted upon for reasons
of style.
The two troopers had a fire going and a billy-can steaming when a young man jumped
down from the cart, stretched his arms, looked around, yawned, and sauntered a little way
into the forest. He found a convenient tree and, a moment later, was apparently examining the
bark at eye height with studied enthusiasm.
The tip of a steel crossbow bolt pressed against the back of his neck and a voice said:
‘Raise your hands and turn around slowly!’
‘What, right now?’
‘Um . . . all right, no. You can finish what you’re doing.’
‘Actually I think that’s going to be quite impossible. Let me just, er . . . right. Okay.’ The
man raised his hands again. ‘You realize I just have to shout?’
‘So?’ said Polly. ‘I just have to pull this trigger. Shall we have a race?’
The man turned round.
‘See?’ said Polly, stepping back. ‘It’s him again. De Worde. The writer man.’
‘You’re them!’ he said.
‘Dem who?’ said Jade.
‘Oh dear,’ said Maladict.
‘Look, I’d give anything to talk to you!’ said de Worde. ‘Please?’
‘You’re with the enemy!’ hissed Polly.
‘What? Them? No! They’re from Lord Rust’s regiment. From Ankh-Morpork! They’ve
been sent to protect us!’
‘Troops to protect you in Borogravia?’ said Maladict. ‘Who from?’
‘You mean from whom? Er . . . well . . . you, in theory.’
Jade leaned down. ‘Efficient, aren’t dey . . .’
‘Look, I must talk to you,’ said the man urgently. ‘This is astounding! Everyone’s looking
for you! Did you kill that old couple in the woods?’
Birds sang. Far off, there was the call of the female blue-capped woodpecker.
‘A patrol found the fresh graves,’ said de Worde.
High above an ice heron, a winter migrant from the Hub, gave an ugly honk as it searched
for lakes.
‘I take it you didn’t, then,’ said de Worde.
‘We buried them,’ said Maladict coldly. ‘We don’t know who killed them.’
‘We did take some vegetables,’ said Polly. She remembered laughing about it. Admittedly
it was only because it was that or start crying, but even so . . .
‘You’ve been living off the land?’ He’d tugged a notebook out of his pocket and was
scribbling in it with a pencil.

 
 
  
‘We don’t have to talk to you,’ said Maladict.
‘No, no, you must! There’s so much you need to know! You’re in the . . . Ups-and-Downs,
right?’
‘Ins-and-Outs,’ said Polly.
‘And you—’ the man began.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said Maladict, and marched away from the tree and into the
clearing. The two cavalry men looked up from their fire, and there was a moment of
immobility before one reached for his sword.
Maladict swung the bow quickly from one to the other, its point hypnotizing them like a
swinging watch. ‘I’ve got only one shot but there’s two of you,’ he said. ‘Who shall I shoot?
You choose. Now, listen very carefully: where’s your coffee? You’ve got coffee, haven’t
you? C’mon, everyone’s got coffee! Spill the beans!’
They stared at the crossbow and slowly shook their heads.
‘What about you, writer man?’ snarled Maladict. ‘Where’re you hiding the coffee?’
‘We only have cocoa,’ said the writer, raising his hands quickly as Maladict turned on him.
‘You’re welcome to—’
Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air*, and sat down with his
head in his hands. ‘We’re all gonna die,’ he said. The troopers shifted as though to stand up,
and Jade raised her sapling.
* And failed to hit anything, especially a duck. This is so unusual in situations like this
that it should be reported under new humour regulations. If it had hit a duck, which
quacked and then landed on somebody’s head, this would of course have been very droll
and would certainly have been reported. Instead, it drifted in the breeze a little and landed
in an oak tree some thirty feet away, where it missed a squirrel.
‘Don’t even fink about it,’ she said.
Polly turned to the writer man. ‘You want us to talk to you, sir? Then you talk to us. Is this
about . . . Prince Heinrich’s . . . socks?’
Maladict stood up in one mad movement. ‘I say we grease the lot of them and go home!’
he said, to no one in particular. ‘One, Two, Three! What We Are Fighting For!’
‘Socks?’ said the writer, looking nervously at the vampire. ‘What’ve socks got to do with
it?’
‘I just gave you an order, Polly,’ said Maladict.
‘What is it you think we don’t know?’ Polly insisted, glaring at de Worde.
‘Well, to start with you’re just about all that’s left of the Ins-and-Outs—’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Oh, there’s prisoners and wounded, I think. But why should I lie to you? Why did he call
you Polly?’
‘Because I know a lot about birds,’ said Polly, mentally cursing. ‘How do you know what’s
been happening to the regiment?’