Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (37 page)

 
 
  
‘You cannot prove anything, sergeant,’ said Froc eventually, with the calm of an icefield.
‘Well now, not as such. But they keep telling me this is the modern world, sir. I don’t need
proof, exactly. I know a man who’d have such a tale to tell, and it’d be in Ankh-Morpork in a
couple of hours.’
‘If you leave this room alive,’ said a voice.
Jackrum smiled his evillest smile, and bore down on the source of the threat like an
avalanche. ‘Ah! I thought one of yez would try that, Chloe, but I note you never made it
beyond major, and no wonder since you try to bluff with no bleedin’ cards in your hand. Nice
try, though. But, first, I could take you to the bleedin’ cleaners before those guards were back
in here, upon my oath, and, second, you don’t know what I’ve writ down and who else
knows. I trained all you girls at one time or another, and some of the cunning you got, some
of the mustard, some of the sense . . . well, you got it from me. Didn’t you? So don’t any of
you go thinking you can be artful about this, because when it comes to cunning I am Mister
Fox.’
‘Sergeant, sergeant, sergeant,’ said Froc wearily, ‘what is it you want?’
Jackrum completed his circuit of the table and finished in front of it, once again like a man
before his judges.
‘Well, blow me down,’ he said quietly, looking along the row of faces. ‘You didn’t know,
did you . . . you didn’t know. Is there a . . . a man among you that knew? You thought, every
one of you, that you were all alone. All alone. You poor devils. And look at you. More’n a
third of the country’s High Command. You made it on your own, ladies. What could you
have done if you’d acted tog—’
He stopped, and took a step towards Froc, who looked down at her cloven paperwork.
‘How many did you spot, Mildred?’
‘That will be “general”, sergeant. I’m still a general, sergeant. Or “sir” will do. And your
answer is: one or two. One or two.’
‘And you promoted them, did you, if they was as good as men?’
‘Indeed not, sergeant. What do you take me for? I promoted them if they were better than
men.’
Jackrum opened his arms wide, like a ringmaster introducing a new act. ‘Then what about
the lads I brought with me, sir? As cracking a bunch of lads as I’ve ever seen.’ He cast a
bloodshot eye around the table. ‘And I’m good at weighing up a lad, as you all know. They’d
be a credit to your army, sir!’
Froc looked at her colleagues on either side. An unspoken question harvested unsaid
answers.
‘Yes, well,’ she said. ‘All seems clear to us, in the light of new developments. When
beardless lads dress up as gels, there’s no doubt that people will get confused. And that’s
what we’ve got here, sergeant. Mere confusion. Mistaken identities. Much ado, in fact, about
nothing. Clearly they are boys, and may return home right now with an honourable
discharge.’
Jackrum chuckled and stuck out a palm, flexing the fingers upwards like a man bargaining.
Once again, there was the communion of spirits.
‘Very well. They can, if they wish, continue in the army,’ said Froc. ‘With discretion, of
course.’

 
 
  
‘No, sir!’
Polly stared at Jackrum, and then realized the words had, in fact, come from her own
mouth.
Froc raised her eyebrows. ‘What is your name again?’ she said.
‘Corporal Perks, sir!’ said Polly, saluting.
She watched Froc’s face settle into an expression of condescending benevolence. If she
uses the words ‘my dear’ I shall swear, she thought.
‘Well, my dear—’
‘Not your dear, sir or madam,’ said Polly. In the theatre of her mind The Duchess Inn
burned to a cinder and her old life peeled away, black as charcoal, and she was flying,
ballistic, too fast and too high and unable to stop. ‘I am a soldier, general. I signed up. I
kissed the Duchess. I don’t think generals call their soldiers “my dear”, do they?’
Froc coughed. The smile remained, but had the decency to be a bit more restrained. ‘And
private soldiers don’t talk like that to generals, young lady, so we’ll let that pass, shall we?’
‘Just here, in this room, I don’t know what passes and what stays, sir,’ said Polly. ‘But it
seems to me that if you are still a general then I’m still a corporal, sir. I can’t speak for the
others, but the reason I’m holding out, general, is that I kissed the Duchess and she knew
what I was and she . . . didn’t turn away, if you understand me.’
‘Well said, Perks,’ said Jackrum.
Polly plunged on. ‘Sir, a day or two ago I’d have rescued my brother and gone off home
and I’d have thought it a job well done. I just wanted to be safe. But now I see there’s no
safety while there’s all this . . . this stupidity. So I think I’ve got to stay and be a part of it. Er
. . . try to make it less stupid, I mean. And I want to be me, not Oliver. I kissed the Duchess.
We all did. You can’t tell us we didn’t and you can’t tell us it doesn’t count, because it’s
between us and her—’
‘You all kissed the Duchess,’ said a voice. It had an . . . echo.
You all kissed the Duchess . . .
‘Did you think that it meant nothing? That it was just a kiss?’
Did you think it meant nothing . . .
. . . just a kiss . . .
The whispered words washed against the walls like surf, and came back stronger, in
harmonies.
Did you kiss meant nothing meant a kiss just think a kiss meant a kiss . . .
Wazzer was standing up. The squad stood petrified as she walked unsteadily past them.
Her eyes focused on Polly.
‘How good to wear a body again,’ she said. ‘And to breathe. Breathing is wonderful . . .’
How good . . .
To breathe wonderful a body again to breathe . . .
Something was in Wazzer’s face. Her features were all there, all correct, her nose was as
pointed and as red, her cheekbones as hollow . . . but there were subtle changes. She held up a
hand and flexed her fingers.

 
 
  
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘So . . .’ There was no echo this time, but the voice was stronger and deep.
No one would ever have said that Wazzer’s voice had been attractive but this one was. She
turned to Jackrum, who dropped on to his fat knees and whipped off his shako.
‘Sergeant Jackrum, I know that you know who I am. You have waded through seas of
blood for me. Perhaps we should have done better things with your life, but at least your sins
were soldier’s sins, and not the worst of them, at that. You are hereby promoted to sergeant
major, and a better candidate for the job I have never met. You are steeped in deviousness,
cunning and casual criminality, Sergeant Jackrum. You should do well.’
Jackrum, eyes cast down, raised a knuckle to his forehead. ‘. . . not worthy, your grace,’ he
muttered.
‘Of course you aren’t.’ The Duchess looked around. ‘Now, where is my army . . . ah.’
There was no echo at all in the voice now, and none of Wazzer’s cowering and downcast
eyes. She positioned herself directly in front of Froc, who was staring with his mouth open.
‘General Froc, you must do one final service for me.’
The general glared. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘You need to ask? As always, Jackrum thinks faster than you. You know me. I am the
Duchess Annagovia.’
‘But you are—’ one of the other officers began, but Froc held up a hand again.
‘The voice . . . is familiar,’ she said, in a faraway whisper.
‘Yes. You remember the ball. I remember it, too. Forty years ago. You were the youngest
captain ever. We danced, stiffly in my case. I asked you how long you had been a captain,
and you said—’
‘Three days,’ breathed Froc, with her eyes shut.
‘And we ate Brandy Pillows, and a cocktail that I believe was called—’
‘Angel’s Tears,’ said Froc. ‘I kept the menu, your grace. And the dance card.’
‘Yes,’ said the Duchess. ‘You did. And when old General Scaffer led you away, he said,
“That’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, my boy.” But you were . . . so dedicated that
you never had children . . . my boy . . .’
. . . my boy . . . my boy . . .
‘I see heroes!’ said the Duchess, staring at the tableau of officers. ‘All of you gave up . . .
much. But I demand more. Much more. Is there any amongst you who for the sake of my
memory will not die in battle?’ Wazzer’s head turned and looked along the row. ‘No. I see
there is not. And now I demand that you do what the ignorant might feel is the easier thing.
You must refrain from dying in battle. Revenge is not redress. Revenge is a wheel, and it
turns backwards. The dead are not your masters.’
‘What is it you want of me, ma’am?’ Froc managed.
‘Call in your other officers. Make what truces are necessary, for now. This body, this poor
child, will lead you. I am weak, but I can move small things. Thoughts, perhaps. I will leave
her . . . something, a light in the eye, a tone in the voice. Follow her. You must invade.’
‘Certainly! But how—’
‘You must invade Borogravia! In the name of sanity, you must go home. The winter is
coming, the trusting animals are not fed, old men die of cold, women mourn, the country

 
 
  
corrodes. Fight Nuggan, because he is nothing now, nothing but the poisonous echo of all
your ignorance and pettiness and malicious stupidity. Find yourself a worthier god. And let . .
. me . . . go! All those prayers, all those entreaties . . . to me! Too many hands clasped, that
could more gainfully answer your prayers by effort and resolve! And what was I? Just a
rather stupid woman when I was alive. But you believed I watched over you, and listened to
you . . . and so I had to, I had to listen, knowing that there was no help . . . I wish people
would not be so careless about what they believe. Go. Invade the one place you’ve never
conquered. And these women will help. Be proud of them. And, lest you think to twist my
meaning, lest you doubt. . . let me, as I leave, return to you this gift. Remember. A kiss.’
. . . a kiss . . .
. . . a kiss a kiss return to you kiss . . .
. . . remember . . .
As one woman, as one man, the crowd in the room reached up hesitantly to their left cheek.
And Wazzer folded up, very gently, collapsing like a sigh.
Froc was the first to speak. ‘This is . . . I think we need to . . .’ She faltered into silence.
Jackrum got to his feet, brushed the dust off his shako, placed it on his head and saluted.
‘Permission to speak, sir?’ he said.
‘Oh, good heaven, Jackrum!’ said Froc distractedly. ‘At a time like this? Yes, yes . . .’
‘What are your orders, sir?’
‘Orders?’ Froc blinked, and looked around. ‘Orders, orders . . . yes. Well, I am the
commander, I can request a . . . yes, I can request a truce, sergeant—’
‘That’s sergeant major, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘Right you are, sir, I’ll organize a runner to go
to the alliance.’
‘I suppose a . . . white flag would be—’
‘Good as done, sir. Leave it to me,’ said Jackrum, radiating efficiency.
‘Yes, of course . . . Er, before, before we go any further . . . ladies and gentlemen, I . . . er .
. . some of the things said here . . . the whole issue of women joining as . . . women . . .
obviously . . .’ She raised her hand to her cheek again, in a kind of wonderment. ‘They are
welcome. I . . . salute them. But for those of us that went before, perhaps it is not . . . not yet
the time. You understand?’
‘What?’ said Polly.
‘Lips sealed, sir!’ said Jackrum. ‘You can leave it all to me, sir! Captain Blouse’s squad,
attention! You will obtain uniforms! You can’t go around still dressed as washerwomen, oh
dear me!’
‘We are soldiers?’ said Polly.
‘O’ course you are, otherwise I wouldn’t be shouting at you, you ‘orrible little woman! The
world’s turned upside down! It’s a bit more important than you right now, eh? You’ve got
what you’re after, right? Now get hold of a uniform, find yourself a shako and wipe your
face, at least. You are taking the official truce to the enemy.’
‘Me, sarge?’ said Polly.

 
 
  
‘Right! Just as soon as the officers have done the official letter. Tonker, Lofty . . . see what
you can find for Perks to wear. Perks, don’t be cowed, and bull yourself up. The rest of you,
hurry up and wait!’
‘Sergeant Jac— er, sergeant major?’ said Blouse.
‘Yessir?’
‘I’m not a captain, you know.’
‘Are you not?’ said Jackrum, grinning. ‘Well, leave it to Jackrum, sir. We shall see what
the day brings, eh? Minor point, sir. I should lose the dress if I was you!’
Jackrum marched off, his inflated chest as red as a robin’s and twice as threatening. He
shouted at orderlies, harried guards, saluted officers and, despite everything, hammered the
blade of purpose out of the red-hot steel of panic. He was a sergeant major in a roomful of
confused ruperts, and he was happier than a terrier in a barrel of rats.
Stopping a battle is much harder than starting it. Starting it only requires you to shout
‘Attack!’ but when you want to stop it, everyone is busy.
Polly could feel the news spreading. They’re girls! The orderlies scuttling in and out once
more kept staring at them, as if they were some kind of strange insects. I wonder how many
Jackrum missed, Polly thought. I wonder . . .
Bits of uniform turned up. Jade found some trousers that fitted by locating a clerk who was
Polly’s height, lifting him up and pulling them off him. A jacket was acquired. Lofty even
stole a shako of the right size and polished the badge with her sleeve until it gleamed. Polly
was just doing up her belt when she spotted a figure on the far side of the room. She’d
completely forgotten about him.
She pulled the belt tight and thrust the leather through the buckle as she walked and then
strode through the crowds of figures. Strappi saw her coming, but it was too late. There was
no escape short of running, and captains didn’t run from corporals. He stood his ground, like
a rabbit hypnotized by the approaching vixen, and raised his hands as she approached.
‘Now then, Perks, I’m a captain and I had a job to—’ he began.
‘And how long do you think you’ll hold that rank, now, sir?’ hissed Polly. ‘When I tell the
general about our little fight? And how you sicked the Prince on to us? And how you bullied
Wazzer? And about my hair, you sticky little miserable apology for a man! Shufti’s a better
man than you and she’s pregnant!’
‘Oh, we knew there were women getting in,’ said Strappi. ‘We just didn’t know how far
the rot went—’
‘You took my hair because you thought it meant something to me,’ hissed Polly. ‘Well,
you can keep it! I’ll grow some more, and no one is going to stop me, understand? Oh, and
one other thing. This is how far the rot goes!’
It was a blow rather than a slap, and it knocked him down so hard that he rolled. But he
was Strappi, and staggered upright with a finger pointed for vengeance.
‘She struck a superior officer!’ he screamed.
A few heads turned. They looked at Strappi. They looked at Polly. Then they looked back
grinning to what they had been doing.