Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (26 page)

 
 
  
‘In a proper stand-up fight, sir, not getting beaten over the head by a bunch of nasty men
for creeping around their fort. You know I’ve never been one for spies an’ hidin’ your
colours, sir, never.’
‘Sergeant, we have no choice. We must take advantage of the “tide of fortune”.’
‘I know about tides, sir. They leave little fish gaspin’.’ The sergeant stood up, fists
clenching.
‘Your concern for your men does you credit, sergeant, but it falls to us—’
‘A famous last stand, sir?’ said Jackrum. He spat expertly into the fire in the tumbledown
hearth. ‘To hell with them, sir. That’s just a way of dyin’ famous!’
‘Sergeant, your insubordination is getting—’
‘I’ll go,’ said Polly quietly.
Both men stopped, turned and stared.
‘I’ll go,’ Polly repeated, louder. ‘Someone ought to.’
‘Don’t be daft, Perks!’ snapped Jackrum. ‘You don’t know what’s in there, you don’t
know what guards are waitin’ just inside the door, you don’t know—’
‘I’ll find out, then, sarge, won’t I,’ said Polly, smiling desperately. ‘Maybe I can get to
somewhere where you can see and send signals, or . . .’
‘On this issue, at least, the sergeant and I are of one mind, Perks,’ said Blouse. ‘Really,
private, it would simply not work. Oh, you’re brave, certainly, but what makes you think you
stand a chance of passing yourself off as a woman?’
‘Well, sir . . . what?’
‘Your keenness will not go unrecorded, Perks,’ said Blouse, smiling. ‘But, y’know, a good
officer keeps an eye on his men and I have to say that I’ve noticed in you, in all of you, little .
. . habits, perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, like the occasional deep exploration of a
nostril maybe, and a tendency to grin after passing wind, a natural boyish inclination to,
ahem, scratch your . . . selves in public . . . that sort of thing. These are the kind of little
details that’d give you away in a trice and tell any observer that you were a man in women’s
clothing, believe me.’
‘I’m sure I could pull it off, sir,’ said Polly weakly. She could sense Jackrum’s eyes on her.
You bloomi— you bloody well know, don’t you. How long have you known?
Blouse shook his head. ‘No, they would see through you in a flash. You are a fine bunch of
lads, but there is only one man here who’d stand a chance of getting away with it. Manickle?’
‘Yessir?’ said Shufti, rigid with instant panic.
‘Can you find me a dress, do you think?’
Maladict was the first to break the silence. ‘Sir, are you telling us . . . you’re going to try to
get in dressed as a woman?’
‘Well, I’m clearly the only one who’s had any practice,’ said Blouse, rubbing his hands
together. ‘At my old school, we were in and out of skirts all the time.’ He looked around at
the circle of absolutely expressionless faces. ‘Theatricals, you see?’ he said brightly. ‘No gels
at our boarding school, of course. But we didn’t let that stop us. Why, my Lady Spritely in A
Comedy of Cuckolds is still talked about, I understand, and as for my Yumyum— Is Sergeant
Jackrum all right?’

 
 
  
The sergeant had folded up, but with his face level with his knees he managed to croak:
‘Old war wound, sir. Come upon me sudden, like.’
‘Please help him, Private Igor. Where was I . . . I can see you all look puzzled, but there’s
nothing strange about this. Fine old tradition, men dressing up as gels. In the sixth form, the
chaps used to do it for a jape all the time.’ He paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully,
‘Especially Wrigglesworth, for some reason . . .’ He shook his head as if dislodging a thought
and went on: ‘Anyway, I have some experience in this field, d’ye see?’
‘And . . . what would you do if— I mean when you got in, sir?’ said Polly. ‘You won’t just
have to fool the guards. There’ll be other women in there.’
‘That will not present a problem, Perks,’ said Blouse. ‘I shall act in a feminine way and I
have this stage trick, d’ye see, where I make my voice sound quite high-pitched, like this.’
The falsetto could have scratched glass. ‘See?’ he said. ‘No, if we need a woman, I’m your
man.’
‘Amazing, sir,’ said Maladict. ‘For a moment I could have sworn there was a woman in the
room.’
‘And I could certainly find out if there are any other badly guarded entrances,’ Blouse went
on. ‘Who knows, I might even be able to procure a key off one of the guards by means of
feminine wiles! In any case, if things are all clear I shall send a signal. A towel hanging from
a window, perhaps. Something clearly unusual, anyway.’
There was some more silence. Several of the squad were staring at the ceiling.
‘Ye-es,’ said Polly. ‘I can see you’ve thought this out carefully, sir.’
Blouse sighed. ‘If only Wrigglesworth were here,’ he said.
‘Why, sir?’
‘Amazingly clever chap at layin’ his hands on a dress, young Wrigglesworth,’ said the
lieutenant.
Polly caught Maladict’s eye. The vampire made a face and shrugged.
‘Um . . .’ said Shufti.
‘Yes, Manickle?’
‘I do have a petticoat in my pack, sir.’
‘Good heavens! Why?’
Shufti went red. She hadn’t worked out an answer.
‘Bandageth, thur,’ Igorina cut in smoothly.
‘Yes! Yes! That’s right!’ said Shufti. ‘I . . . found it in the inn, back in Plün . . .’
‘I athked the lads to acquire any thuitable linen they might find, thur. Jutht in cathe.’
‘Very sound thinking, that man!’ said Blouse. ‘Anyone else got anything?’
‘I wouldn’t be at all thurprithed, thur,’ said Igorina, staring round the room.
Glances were exchanged. Packs were unslung. Everyone except Polly and Maladict had
something, produced with downcast eyes. A shift, a petticoat and, in most cases, a dimity
scarf, carried out of some sort of residual, unexplainable need.
‘You obviously must’ve thought we’d take serious damage,’ said Blouse.

 
 
  
‘Can’t be too careful, thur,’ said Igorina. She grinned at Polly.
‘Of course, I have rather short hair at present . . .’ Blouse mused.
Polly thought of her ringlets, now lost and probably stroked by Strappi. But desperation
spooled through her memory.
‘They looked like older women, mostly,’ she said quickly. ‘They wore headscarves and
wimples. I’m sure Igori— sure Igor can make up something, sir.’
‘We Igorth are very rethortheful, thur,’ Igorina agreed. She pulled a black leather wallet
out of her jacket. ‘Ten minuteth with a needle, thur, that’th all I need.’
‘Oh, I can do old women wonderfully well,’ said Blouse. With a speed that made Lofty
jump, he suddenly thrust out both hands twisted like claws, contorted his face into an
expression of mad imbecility and screeched, ‘Oh deary me! My poor old feet! Things today
aren’t what they used to be! Lawks!’
Behind him, Sergeant Jackrum put his head in his hands.
‘Amazing, sir,’ said Maladict. ‘I’ve never seen a transformation like it!’
‘Perhaps just a wee bit less old, sir?’ Polly suggested, although in truth Blouse had
reminded her of her Auntie Hattie two-thirds of the way through a glass of sherry.
‘You think so?’ said Blouse. ‘Oh, well, if you’re really sure.’
‘And, er, if you do meet a guard, er, old women don’t usually try to, try to—’
‘—canoodle—’ whispered Maladict, whose mind had clearly been hurtling down the same
horrible slope.
‘—canoodle with them,’ Polly finished, blushing, and then after a second’s thought added,
‘Unless she’s had a glass of sherry, anyway.’
‘And I do thuggetht you go and have a thhave, thur . . .’
‘Thhave?’ said Blouse.
‘Shave, sir,’ said Polly. ‘I’ll lay out the kit, sir.’
‘Ooh, yes. Of course. Don’t see many old women with beards, eh? Except my Auntie
Parthenope, as I recall. And . . . er . . . no one’s got a couple of balloons, have they?’
‘Er, why, sir?’ said Tonker.
‘A big bosom always gets a laugh,’ said Blouse. He looked round the row of faces. ‘Not a
good idea, perhaps? I got a huge round of applause as the Widow Trembler in ‘Tis Pity She’s
A Tree. No?’
‘I think Igor could sew something a bit more, er, realistic, sir,’ said Polly.
‘Really? Oh, well, if you really think so . . .’ said Blouse dejectedly. ‘I’ll just go and get
myself into character.’
He disappeared into the building’s only other room. After a few seconds, the rest of them
heard him reciting ‘Lawks, my poor feet!’ in varying tones of fingernail screech.
The squad went into a huddle.
‘What was all that about?’ said Tonker.
‘He was talking about the theatre,’ said Maladict.

 
 
  
‘What’s that?’
‘An Abomination unto Nuggan, of course,’ said the vampire. ‘It’d take too long to explain,
dear child. People pretending to be other people to tell a story in a huge room where the
world is a different place. Other people sitting and watching them and eating chocolate. Very,
very abominable.’
‘I saw a Punch and Judy show in the town once,’ said Shufti. ‘Then they dragged the man
away and it became an Abomination.’
‘I remember that,’ said Polly. Crocodiles should not be seen to eat figures of authority,
apparently, although until the puppet show no one in the town knew what a crocodile was.
The bit where the clown had beaten his wife had also constituted an Abomination, because
he’d used a stick thicker than the regulation one inch.
The lieutenant won’t last a minute, you know,’ she said.
‘Yes, but he won’t lithten, will he?’ said Igorina. ‘I’ll do my betht with my scissorth and
needle to make a woman of him, but—’
‘Igorina, when it’s you talking about this sort of thing some very strange pictures turn up in
my head,’ said Maladict.
‘Sorry,’ said Igorina
‘Can you pray for him, Wazzer?’ said Polly. ‘I think we’re going to need a miracle here.’
Wazzer obediently closed her eyes and folded her hands for a moment and then said shyly:
‘I’m afraid she says it will take more than a turkey.’
‘Wazz?’ said Polly. ‘Do you really—’ Then she stopped, with the bright little face
watching her.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Wazzer. ‘I really talk to the Duchess.’
‘Yeah, well, I used to, too,’ snapped Tonker. ‘I used to beg her, once. That stupid face just
stared and did nothing. She never stopped anything. All that stuff, all that stupid—’ The girl
stopped, too many words blocking her brain. ‘Anyway, why should she talk to you?’
‘Because I listen,’ said Wazzer quietly.
‘And what does she say?’
‘Sometimes she just cries.’
‘She cries?’
‘Because there are so many things that people want, and she can’t give them anything.’
Wazzer gave them all one of her smiles that lit up the room. ‘But everything will be fine
when I am in the right place,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s all right, then—’ Polly began, in that cloud of deep embarrassment that
Wazzer called up within her.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Tonker. ‘But I’m not praying to anyone, okay? Ever again. I don’t like
this, Wazz. You’re a decent kid, but I don’t like the way you smile—’ She stopped. ‘Oh, no .
. .’
Polly stared at Wazzer. Her face was thin and all angles, and the Duchess in the painting
had looked, well, like an overfed turbot, but now the smile, the actual smile . . .

 
 
  
‘I’m not putting up with that!’ Tonker snarled. ‘You stop that right now! I mean it! You’re
giving me the creeps! Ozz, you stop her— him smiling like that!’
‘Just calm down, all of you—’ Polly began.
‘Bleedin’ well shut up!’ said Jackrum. ‘A man can’t hear himself chew. Look, you’re all
edgy. That happens. And Wazzer here’s just got a bit of religion before the fight. That
happens, too. And what you do is, you save it all up for the enemy. Quieten down. That is
what we in the milit’ry call an order, okay?’
‘Perks?’ It was Blouse.
‘You’d better hurry,’ said Maladict. ‘His corset probably wants lacing . . .’
In fact Blouse was sitting on what remained of a chair.
‘Ah, Perks. A shave, please,’ he said.
‘Oh, I thought your hand was better, sir . . .’
‘Er . . . yes.’ Blouse looked awkward. ‘The problem, Perks, is . . . I have never actually
shaved myself at all, to be honest. I had a man to do it for me at school, and then of course in
the army I shared a batman with Blitherskite and, er, those attempts I made on my own behalf
have been somewhat bloody. I never really thought about it until I got to Plotz and, er . . .
suddenly it was embarrassing . . .’
‘Sorry about that, sir,’ said Polly. It was a strange old world.
‘Later on perhaps you could give me a few tips,’ Blouse went on. ‘You keep yourself
beautifully shaven, I can’t help noticing. General Froc would be pleased. He’s very anti-
whiskers, they say.’
‘If you like, sir,’ said Polly. There was no getting out of it. She made a show of sharpening
the razor. Perhaps she could manage it with only a few small cuts . . .
‘Do you think I should have a reddened nose?’ said Blouse.
‘Probably, sir,’ said Polly. Sarge knows about me, I’m sure, she thought. I know he does.
Why’s he keeping quiet?
‘Probably, Perks?’
‘What? Oh. No . . . why a red nose, sir?’ said Polly, applying the lather with vigour.
‘It would look more pff amusing, perhaps.’
‘Not sure that’s the purpose of the exercise, sir. Now, if you’d just, er, lie back, sir—’
‘There’s something you should know about young Perks, sir.’
Polly actually yelped. Walking as silently as only a sergeant can, Jackrum had stolen into
the room.
‘pff Sergeant?’ said Blouse.
‘Perks doesn’t know how to shave a man, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘Give me the razor, Perks.’
‘Doesn’t know how to shave?’ said Blouse.
‘Nosir. Perks lied to us, right, Perks?’
‘All right, sarge, no need to drag it out,’ sighed Polly. ‘Lieutenant, I’m—’

 
 
  
‘—under age,’ said Jackrum. ‘Right, Perks? Only fourteen, aren’t you?’ He looked at Polly
over the top of the lieutenant’s head, and winked.
‘Er . . . I told a lie to get enlisted, sir, yes,’ said Polly.
‘I don’t think a lad like that ought to be dragged into the keep, however game he is,’ said
Jackrum. ‘And I don’t think he’s the only one. Right, Perks?’
Oh, so that’s the game. Blackmail, Polly thought.
‘Yes, sarge,’ she said wearily.
‘Can’t have a massacre of little lads, sir, now can we?’ said Jackrum.
‘I see your pff point, sergeant,’ said the lieutenant, as Jackrum gently drove the blade down
his cheek. ‘That is a tricky one.’
‘Best to call it a day, then?’ said Jackrum.
‘On the other hand, sergeant, I do know that you pff yourself joined up as a child,’ said
Blouse. The blade stopped moving.
‘Well, it was all different in those—’ Jackrum began.
‘You were five years old, apparently,’ the lieutenant went on. ‘You see, when I heard that I
would be meeting you, a legend in the army, of course I had a look at our files so that I could,
perhaps, make a few timely jokes in presenting you with your honourable discharge. You
know, humorous little reminiscences about times gone by? Imagine how puzzled I was,
therefore, to find that you appear to have been drawing actual wages for, well, it was a little
hard to be certain, but possibly as much as sixty years.’
Polly had put a keen edge on the razor. It rested against the lieutenant’s cheek. Polly
thought about the murder - oh, all right, the killing of an escaping prisoner - in the wood. It
won’t be the first officer I’ve killed . . .
‘Probably one of them clerical errors, sir,’ said Jackrum coldly. In the gloomy room, with
moss now colonizing the walls, the sergeant loomed large.
An owl, perched on the chimney, gave a screech. It echoed down into the room.
‘In fact no, sergeant,’ said Blouse, apparently oblivious of the razor. ‘Your package,
sergeant, had been tampered with. On numerous occasions. Once, even by General Froc. He
deducted ten years from your age and signed the change. And he wasn’t the only one.
Frankly, sergeant, I’m forced to only one conclusion.’
‘And what’s that, sir?’ The razor halted again, still pressed against Blouse’s neck. The
silence seemed to last for some time, sharp and drawn out.
‘That there was some other man called Jackrum,’ said Blouse slowly, ‘whose records have
. . . got mixed up with yours and . . . every attempt to sort it out by officers who were, er, not
entirely at home with figures only made it more confusing.’
The razor started to move again, with silky smoothness. ‘I think you’ve put your finger
right on it, sir,’ said Jackrum.
‘I am going to write an explanatory note and add it to the packet,’ Blouse went on. ‘It
seems to me the sensible thing to do would be to ask you here and now how old you are. How
old are you, sergeant?’
‘Forty-three, sir,’ said Jackrum instantly. Polly looked up, expecting the generic
thunderclap that ought to accompany such a universe-sized untruth.