Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (15 page)

 
 
  
But Wazzer prayed for everyone. Wazzer prayed like a child, eyes screwed up and hands
clenched until they were white. The reedy little voice trembled with such belief that Polly felt
embarrassed, and then ashamed and, finally, after the ringing ‘amen’, amazed that the world
appeared no different from before. For a minute or two, it had been a better place . . .
There was a cat in the hut. It cowered under the crude bed and spat at anyone who came
close.
‘All the food’s been taken but there’s carrots and parsnips in a little garden down the hill a
bit,’ Shufti said, as they walked away.
‘It’d be s-stealing from the dead,’ said Wazzer.
‘Well, if they object they can hold on, can’t they?’ said Shufti. ‘They’re underground
already!’
For some reason that was, at this time, funny. They’d have laughed at anything.
Now there was Jade, Lofty, Shufti and Polly. Everyone else was on guard duty. They sat
by the fire, on which a small pot seethed. Lofty tended the fire. She always seemed more
animated near a fire, Polly noticed.
‘I’m doing horse scubbo for the rupert,’ said Shufti, easily dropping into a slang learned all
of twenty hours ago. ‘He specifically asked for it. Got lots of dry horse jerky from
Threeparts, but Tonker says she can knock over some pheasants while she’s on duty.’
‘I hope she spends some time watching for enemies too,’ said Polly.
‘She’ll be careful,’ said Lofty, prodding the fire with a stick.
‘You know, if we’re found out, we’ll be beaten and sent back,’ said Shufti.
‘Who by?’ said Polly, so suddenly she surprised herself. ‘By whom? Who’s going to try,
out here? Who cares out here?’
‘Well, er, wearing men’s clothes is an Abomination unto Nuggan—’
‘Why?’
‘It just is,’ said Shufti firmly. ‘But—’
‘—you’re wearing them,’ said Polly.
‘Well, it was the only way,’ said Shufti. ‘And I tried them on and they didn’t seem all that
abominable to me.’
‘Have you noticed men talk to you differently?’ said Lofty shyly.
‘Talk?’ said Polly. ‘They listen to you differently, too.’
‘They don’t keep looking at you all the time,’ said Shufti. ‘You know what I mean. You’re
just a . . . another person. If a girl walked down the street wearing a sword a man would try to
take it off her.’
‘Wi’ trolls, we ain’t allowed to carry clubs,’ said Jade. ‘Only large rocks. An’ it ain’t right
for a girl to wear lichen, ‘cos der boys say bald is modest. Had to rub bird doin’s inna my
head to grow this lot.’
That was quite a long speech for a troll.
‘We didn’t know that,’ said Polly. ‘Er . . . trolls all look the same to us, more or less.’
‘I’m nat’rally craggy,’ said Jade. ‘I don’t see why I should polish.’

 
 
  
‘There is a difference,’ said Shufti. ‘I think it’s the socks. It’s like they pull you forward all
the time. It’s like the whole world spins around your socks.’ She sighed and looked at the
horsemeat, which had been boiled almost white. ‘It’s done,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and
give it to the rupert, Polly . . . I mean, Ozzer. I told the sarge I could do something better but
he said the lieutenant said how good it was last night—’
A small wild turkey, a brace of pheasants and a couple of rabbits, all tied together, landed
in front of Shufti.
‘Good job we were guarding you, eh?’ said Tonker, grinning and whirring an empty sling
around in one hand. ‘One rock, one lunch. Maladict’s staying on guard. He said he’ll smell
anyone before they see him and he’s too edgy to eat. What can you do with that lot?’
‘Casserole of game,’ said Shufti firmly. ‘We’ve got the veg and I’ve still got half an
onion.* I’m sure I can make an oven out of one of those—’
* A woman always has half an onion left over, no matter what the size of the onion, the
dish, or the woman.
‘On your feet! Attention!’ snapped the silently moving Jackrum, behind them. He stood
back with a faint smile on his face as they scrambled to their feet. ‘Private Halter, I must have
bleedin’ amazin’ eyesight,’ he said, when they were approximately upright.
‘Yes, sarge,’ said Tonker, staring straight ahead.
‘Can you guess why, Private Halter?’
‘No, sarge.’
‘It’s because I knows you are on perimeter guard, Halter, but I can see you as clear as if
you was standing right here in front of me, Halter! Can’t I, Halter?’
‘Yes, sarge!’
‘It’s just as well you are still on perimeter duty, Halter, because the penalty for absenting
yourself from your post in time of war is death, Halter!’
‘I only—’
‘No onlys! I don’t want to hear no onlys! I don’t want you to think that I am a shouty man,
Halter! Corporal Strappi was a shouty man, but he was a damn political! Upon my oath I am
not a shouty man but if you ain’t back at your post inside of thirty seconds I’ll rip yer tongue
out!’
Tonker fled. Sergeant Jackrum cleared his throat and continued, in a level voice: ‘This, my
lads, is what we call a real orientation lectchoor, not one of the fancy political ones like
Strappi gave yer.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The purpose of this lectchoor is to let you know
where we are. We are in the deep cack. It couldn’t be worse if it was raining arseholes. Any
questions?’
Since there were none from the bemused recruits, he continued, while beginning a slow
stroll around the squad, ‘We know enemy forces are in the area. Currently they have no
boots. But there will be others with boots aplenty. Also, there may be deserters in the area.
They will not be nice people! They will be impolite! Therefore Lieutenant Blouse has
decreed that we will travel off the roads and by night. Yes, we have met the enemy, and we

 
 
  
have prevailed. That was a fluke. They weren’t expecting you to be rough, tough soldiers.
Nor were you, so I don’t want you to feel cocky about it.’ He leaned forward until his face
was inches from Polly’s. ‘Are you feeling cocky, Private Perks?’
‘No, sarge!’
‘Good. Good.’ Jackrum stepped back. ‘We are heading for the front, lads. The war. And in
a nasty war, where’s the best place to be? Apart from on the moon, o’ course? No one?’
Slowly, Jade raised a hand.
‘Go on, then,’ said the sergeant.
‘In the army, sarge,’ said the troll. ‘ ‘cos . . .’ She began to count on her fingers. ‘One, you
got weapons an’ armour an’ dat. Two, you are surrounded by other armed men. Er . . . Many,
youse gettin’ paid and gettin’ better grub than the people in Civilian Street. Er . . . Lots, if’n
you gives up, you getting taken pris’ner and dere’s rules about that like Not Kicking Pris’ners
Inna Head and stuff, ‘cos if you kick their pris’ners inna head they’ll kick your pris’ners inna
head so dat’s, like, you’re kickin’ your own head, but dere’s no rule say you can’t kick enemy
civilians inna head. There’s other stuff too, but I ran outa numbers.’ She gave them a
diamond grin. ‘We may be slow but we ain’t stoopid,’ she added.
‘I am impressed, private,’ said Jackrum. ‘And you are right. The only wasp in the jam is
that you ain’t soldiers! But I can help you there. Bein’ a soldier is not hard. If it was, soldiers
would not be able to do it. There is only three things you need to remember, which are, viz:
one obey orders two give it to the enemy good and hard three don’t die. Got that? Right!
You’re nearly there! Well done! I propose to assist you in the execution of all three! You are
my little lads and I will look after you! In the meantime, you got duties! Shufti, get cooking!
Private Perks, see to the rupert! And after that, practise your shaving! I will now visit those
on guard and deliver unto them the holy word! Dismissed!’
They remained at something like attention until he was probably out of earshot, and then
sagged.
‘Why does he always shout?’ said Shufti. ‘I mean, he only has to ask . . .’
Polly upended the horrible scubbo into a tin bowl, and almost ran to the lieutenant’s
shelter. He looked up from a map and smiled at her as if she was delivering a feast.
‘Ah, scubbo,’ he said.
‘We are actually having other stuff, sir,’ Polly volunteered. ‘I’m sure there’s enough to go
round—’
‘Good heavens, no, it’s been years since I’ve had food like this,’ said Blouse, picking up
the spoon. ‘Of course, at school we didn’t appreciate it so much.’
‘You had food like this at school, sir?’ said Polly.
‘Yes. Most days,’ said Blouse happily.
Polly couldn’t quite fit this in her head. Blouse was a nob. Nobs ate nobby food, didn’t
they? ‘Had you done something bad, sir?’
‘I can’t imagine what you mean, Perks,’ said Blouse, slurping at the horrible thin gruel.
‘Are the men rested?’
‘Yes, sir. The dead people were a bit of a shock—’

 
 
  
‘Yes. Bad business,’ sighed the lieutenant. ‘Such is war, alas. I am only sorry you had to
learn so fast. Such a terrible waste all the time. I am sure things can be sorted out when we
reach Kneck, though. No general can expect young men like yourselves to be instant soldiers.
I shall have something to say about that.’ His rabbity features looked unusually determined,
as if a hamster had spotted a gap in its treadmill.
‘Do you require me for anything else, sir?’ said Polly.
‘Er . . . do the men talk about me, Perks?’
‘Not really, sir, no.’
The lieutenant looked disappointed. ‘Oh. Oh, well. Thank you. Perks.’
Polly wondered if Jackrum ever slept. She did a spell of guard duty, and he stepped out
from behind her with ‘Guess who, Perks! You’re on lookout. You should see the dreadful
enemy before they see you. What’re the four Ss?’
‘Shape, shadow, silhouette and shine, sarge!’ said Polly, snapping to attention. She’d been
expecting this.
That caused a moment’s pause from the sergeant before he said: ‘Just knew that, did yer?’
‘Nosir! A little bird told me when we changed guard, sir! Said you’d asked him, sir!’
‘Oh, so Jackrum’s little lads are gangin’ up on their kindly ol’ sergeant, are they?’ said
Jackrum.
‘Nosir. Sharing information important to the squad in a vital survival situation, sarge!’
‘You’ve got a quick mouth on you, Perks, I’ll grant you that.’
‘Thank you, sarge!’
‘But I see you’re not standing in a bleedin’ shadow, Perks, nor have you done anything to
change your bleedin’ shape, you’re silhouetted against the bleedin’ light and your sabre’s
shining like a diamond in a chimney-sweep’s bleedin’ ear’ole! Explain!’
‘It’s because of the one C, sarge!’ said Polly, still staring straight ahead.
‘And that is?’
‘Colour, sarge! I’m wearing bleedin’ red and white in a bleedin’ grey forest, sarge!’
She risked a sideways glance. In Jackrum’s little piggy eyes there gleamed a gleam. It was
the one you got when he was secretly pleased.
‘Ashamed of your lovely, lovely uniform, Perks?’ he said.
‘Don’t want to be seen dead in it, sarge,’ said Polly.
‘Hah. As you were, Perks.’
Polly smiled, straight ahead.
When she came off guard for a bowl of game casserole, Jackrum was teaching basic
swordcraft to Lofty and Tonker, using hazel sticks as swords. By the time Polly had finished
he was teaching Wazzer some of the finer points of using a high-performance pistol
crossbow, especially the one about not turning round with it cocked and saying ‘W-what is
this bit for, sarge?’ Wazzer handled weapons like a houseproud woman disposing of a dead

 
 
  
mouse - at arm’s length and trying not to look. But even she was better with them than Igor,
who just didn’t seem at home with the idea of what was, to him, d surgery.
Jade was dozing. Maladict was hanging by his knees under the roof of one of the sheds,
with his arms folded across his chest; he must have been telling the truth when he said there
were some aspects of being a vampire that were hard to give up.
Igor and Maladict . . .
She still wasn’t sure about Maladict, but Igor had to be a boy, with those stitches around
the head, and that face that could only be called homely.* He was quiet, and neat, but maybe
that’s how Igors behaved . . .
* And even then it was the kind of home that has a burned-out vehicle on the lawn.
She woke up with Shufti shaking her.
‘We’re moving! Better go and see to the rupert!’
‘What? Huh? Oh . . . right!’
There was a bustle all around her. Polly staggered to her feet and hurried over to
Lieutenant Blouse’s shed, where he was standing in front of his wretched horse and holding
the bridle with a lost expression.
‘Ah, Perks,’ he said. ‘I’m not at all sure I’m doing this right . . .’
‘No, sir. You’ve got the waffles twisted and the snoffles are upside down,’ said Polly,
who’d often helped in the inn’s yard.
‘Ah, that would be why he was so difficult last night,’ said Blouse. ‘I suppose I ought to
know this sort of thing, but at home we had a man to do it . . .’
‘Let me, sir,’ said Polly. She untwisted the bridle with a few careful movements. ‘What’s
his name, sir?’
Thalacephalos,’ said Blouse sheepishly. ‘That was the legendary stallion of General
Tacticus, you know.’
‘I didn’t know that, sir,’ said Polly. She leaned back and glanced between the horse’s rear
legs. Wow, Blouse really was short-sighted, wasn’t he . . .
The mare looked at her partly with its eyes, which were small and evil, but mostly with its
yellowing teeth, of which it had an enormous amount. She had the impression that it was
thinking about sniggering.
‘I’ll hold him for you while you mount, sir,’ she said.
‘Thank you. He certainly moves about a bit when I try!’
‘I expect he does, sir,’ said Polly. She knew about difficult horses; this one had all the
hallmarks of a right bastard, one of those not cowed at all by the obvious superiority of the
human race.
The mare eyeballed and yellowtoothed her as Blouse mounted, but Polly had positioned
herself carefully away from the uprights of the shelter. Thalacephalos wasn’t the sort to buck
and kick. She was the sneaky kind, Polly could see, the sort that stepped on your foot—

 
 
  
She moved her foot just as the hoof came down. But Thalacephalos, angry at being
thwarted, turned, twisted, lowered her head, and bit Polly sharply on the rolled-up socks.
‘Bad horse!’ said Blouse severely. ‘Sorry about that, Perks. I think he’s anxious to get to
the fray! Oh, my word!’ he added, looking down. ‘Are you all right, Perks?’
‘Well, he’s pulling a bit, sir—’ said Polly, being dragged sideways. Blouse had gone white
again.
‘But he’s bitten . . . he’s caught you by the . . . right on the . . .’
The penny dropped. Polly looked down, and hastily remembered what she’d heard during
numerous rule-free bar fights.
‘Oh . . . ooo . . argh . . . blimey! Right inna fruit! Aargh!’ she lamented, and then, since it
seemed a good idea at the time, brought both fists down heavily on the mare’s nose. The
lieutenant fainted.
It took some time to bring Blouse round, but at least it gave Polly time to think.
He opened his eyes and focused on her.
‘Er, you fell off your horse, sir,’ Polly volunteered.
‘Perks? Are you all right? Dear boy, he had you by the—’
‘Only needs a few stitches, sir!’ said Polly cheerfully.
‘What? From Igor?’
‘Nosir. Just the cloth, sir,’ said Polly. ‘The trousers are a bit big for me, sir.’
‘Ah, right. Too big, eh? Phew, eh? Near miss there, eh? Well, I mustn’t lie around here all
day—’
The squad helped him on to Thalacephalos, who was still sniggering unrepentantly. On the
subject of ‘too big’, Polly made a mental note to do something about his jacket next time they
stopped. She wasn’t much good with a needle, but if Igor couldn’t do something to make it
look better then he wasn’t the man she thought he was. And that was a sentence that begged a
question.
Jackrum bellowed them into order. They were better at that now. Neater, too.
‘All right, Ins-and-Outs! Tonight we—’
A set of huge yellow teeth removed his cap.
‘Oh, I do apologize, sergeant!’ said Blouse behind him, trying to rein back the mare.
‘No bother, sir, these things happen!’ said Jackrum, furiously tugging his hat back.
‘I should like to address my men, sergeant.’
‘Oh? Er . . . yes, sir,’ said Jackrum, looking worried. ‘Of course, sir. Ins-and-Outs!
Attenwaitforitshun!’
Blouse coughed. ‘Er . . . men,’ he said. ‘As you know, we must make all speed to the
Kneck valley where, apparently, we are needed. Travelling by night will prevent . . .
entanglements. Er . . . I . . .’ He stared at them, his face contorted by some inner struggle. ‘Er
. . . I have to say I don’t think we are . . . that is, all the evidence is . . . er . . . it doesn’t seem
to me that . . . er . . . I think I should tell you . . . er . . .’