Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (7 page)

 
 
  
The red-headed Tonker stepped forward smartly. ‘I’ve butchered pigs for me mam, sarge,’
he said.
‘Capital! Better than an army surgeon, upon my oath. Off you go. Twenty minutes,
remember!’
‘And don’t let Igor bring back any souvenirs!’ said Strappi, and laughed his scraping laugh
again.
The rest of the boys sat down on the grass by the road, and one or two of them disappeared
into the bushes. Polly went on the same errand, but pushed in a lot further, and took the
opportunity to make a little sock adjustment. They had a tendency to creep if she wasn’t
careful.
She froze at a rustling behind her, and then relaxed. She’d been careful. No one would
have seen anything. So what if someone else was taking a leak? She’d just push her way back
to the road and take no notice—
Lofty sprang up as Polly parted the bushes, breeches round one ankle, face red as a
beetroot.
Polly couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was the socks. Maybe it was the pleading expression
on Lofty’s face. When someone’s broadcasting ‘Don’t look!’ the eyes have a mind of their
own, and go where they’re not wanted. Lofty jumped up, dragging at her clothes.
‘No, look, it’s all right—’ Polly began, but it was too late. The girl had gone.
Polly stared at the bushes, and thought: Blast! There’s two of us! But what would I have
said next? ‘It’s okay, I’m a girl too. You can trust me. We could be friends. Oh, and here’s a
good tip about socks’?
Igor and Tonker arrived back late, without a word. Sergeant Jackrum said nothing. The
squad moved off.
Polly marched at the back, with Carborundum. This meant she could keep a wary eye on
Lofty, whoever she was. For the first time, Polly really looked at her. She was easy to miss,
because she was always, as it were, in Tonker’s shadow. She was short, although now Polly
knew she was female the word ‘petite’ could be decently used, dark and dark-haired and had
a strange, self-absorbed look, and she was always marching with Tonker. Come to think of it,
she always slept close to him, too.
Ah, so that was it. She’s following her boy, Polly thought. It was kind of romantic, and
very, very dumb. Now she knew to look beyond the clothes and haircut, she could see all the
little clues that Lofty was a girl, and a girl who hadn’t planned enough. She saw Lofty
whisper something to Tonker, who half turned and gave Polly a look of instant hatred and a
hint of threat.
I can’t tell her, she thought. She would tell him. I can’t afford to let them know. I’ve put
too much into this. I didn’t just cut my hair and wear trousers. I planned . . .
Ah, yes . . . the plans.
It had begun as a sudden strange fancy, but it had continued as a plan. First, Polly had
started to watch boys closely. This had been reciprocated hopefully by a few of them, to their
subsequent disappointment. She observed how they moved, she listened to the rhythm of

 
 
  
what passed, among boys, for conversation, she’d noted how they punched one another in
greeting. It was a new world.
She already had good muscles for a girl, because running a large inn was all about moving
heavy things, and she took over a number of the grittier chores, which coarsened her hands
nicely. She’d even worn a pair of her brother’s old breeches under her long skirt, to get the
feel of them.
A woman could be beaten for that sort of thing. Men dressed like men and women like
women; doing it the other way round was ‘a blasphemous Abomination unto Nuggan’,
according to Father Jupe.
And that was probably the secret of her success so far, she thought, as she trudged through
a puddle. People didn’t look for a woman in trousers. To the casual observer, men’s clothes
and short hair and a bit of swagger were what it took to be a man. Oh, and a second pair of
socks.
That had been gnawing at her, too. Someone knew about her, just as she knew about Lofty.
And he hadn’t given her away. She’d suspected it was Eyebrow, but doubted it; he’d have
told the sergeant about her, he was that sort. Right now she was guessing it was Maladict, but
perhaps that was just because he seemed so knowing all the time.
Carbor— no, he’d been out cold, and in any case . . . no, not the troll. And Igor lisped.
Tonker? After all, he’d know about Lofty so maybe . . . No, because why would he want to
help Polly? No, there was nothing but danger in owning up to Lofty. The best she could do
was try to see to it that the girl didn’t give both of them away.
She could hear Tonker whispering to his girl. ‘. . . had just died so he cut off one of his legs
and an arm and sewed ‘em on men who needed ‘em, just like I’d darn a tear! You should’ve
seen it! You couldn’t see his fingers move! And he has all these ointments that just . . .’
Tonker’s voice died away. Strappi was haranguing Wazzer again.
‘Dat Strappi really gets on my crags,’ muttered Carborundum. ‘You want I should pull the
head off f him? I c’d make it look like a accident.’
‘Better not,’ said Polly, but she did entertain the thought for a moment.
They’d reached a junction, where the road down from the mountains joined what passed
for a main highway. It was crowded. There were carts and wheelbarrows, people driving
herds of cows, grandmothers carrying all the household possessions on their backs, a general
excitement of pigs and children . . . and it was all heading one way.
It was the opposite way to the way the squad was going. The people and animals flowed
around it like a stream around an inconvenient rock. The recruits bunched up. It was that or
be separated by cows.
Sergeant Jackrum stood up in the cart. ‘Private Carborundum!’
‘Yes, sergeant?’ rumbled the troll.
‘To the front!’
That helped. The stream still flowed, but at least the crowds parted some distance further
ahead and gave the squad a wide berth. No one wants to barge up against even a slow-moving
troll.
But faces stared as the people hurried by. An old lady darted out for a moment, pressed a
loaf of stale bread into Tonker’s hands, and said, ‘You poor boys!’ before being swept away
in the throng.

 
 
  
‘What’s this all about, sarge?’ said Maladict. ‘These look like refugees!’
‘Talk like that spreads Alarm and Despondency!’ shouted Corporal Strappi.
‘Oh, you mean they’re just people getting away early for the holidays to avoid the rush?’
said Maladict. ‘Sorry, I got confused. It must be that woman carrying a whole haystack we
just passed.’
‘D’you know what can happen to you for cheeking a superior officer?’ screamed Strappi.
‘No! Tell me, is it worse than whatever it is these people are running away from?’
‘You signed up, Mr Bloodsucker! You obey orders!’
‘Right! But I don’t remember anyone ordering me not to think!’
‘Enough of that!’ snapped Jackrum. ‘Less shouting down there! Move on! Carborundum,
you give people a push if they don’t make way, y’hear?’
They moved on. After a while the press of people abated a little, so that what had been a
torrent became a trickle. Occasionally there would be a family group, or just one hurrying
woman, burdened with bags. One old man was struggling with a wheelbarrow full of turnips.
They’re even taking the crops out of the fields, Polly noted. And everyone moved at a kind of
half-run, as if things would be a little better when they’d caught up with the mass of people
ahead. Or merely passed the squad, perhaps.
They made way for an old woman bent double under the weight of a black and white pig.
And then there was just the road, rutted and muddy. An afternoon mist was rising from the
fields on either side, quiet and clammy. After the noise of the refugees, the silence of the low
countryside was suddenly oppressive. The only sound was the trudge and splash of the
recruits’ boots.
‘Permission to speak, sarge?’ said Polly.
‘Yes, private?’ said Jackrum.
‘How far is it to Plotz?’
‘You don’t have to tell ‘em, sarge!’ said Strappi.
‘About five miles,’ said Sergeant Jackrum. ‘You’ll get your uniforms and weapons at the
depot there.’
‘That’s a milit’ry secret, sarge,’ Strappi whined.
‘We could shut our eyes so’s we don’t see what we’re wearing, how about that?’ said
Maladict.
‘Stop that, Private Maladict,’ said Jackrum. ‘Just keep moving, and guard that tongue.’
They plodded on. The road grew muddier. A breeze sprang up, but instead of carrying the
mist away it merely streamed it across the damp fields in twisty, clammy, unpleasant shapes.
The sun became an orange ball.
Polly saw something large and white flutter across the field, blown by the wind. At first
she thought it was a migratory lesser egret that had left things a little late, but it was clearly
being blown by the wind. It flopped down once or twice and then, as a gust caught it, blew
across the road and wrapped itself across Corporal Strappi’s face.
He screamed. Lofty grabbed at the fluttering thing, which was damp. It tore in his— her
hands, and most of it dropped away from the struggling corporal.

Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment

Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment

 
 
  
‘It’s just a bit of paper,’ she said.
Strappi flailed at it. ‘I knew that,’ he said. ‘I never asked you!’
Polly picked up one of the torn scraps. The paper was thin, and stained with mud, although
she recognized the word Ankh-Morpork. The godawful city. And the genius of Strappi was
that anything he was against automatically sounded attractive.
‘Ankh-Morpork Times . . .’ she read aloud, before the corporal snatched it out of her hand.
‘You can’t just read anything you see, Parts!’ he shouted. ‘You don’t know who wrote it!’
He dropped the damp scrap pages on to the mud and stamped on them. ‘Now let’s move on!’
he said.
They moved on. When the squad were more or less in rhythm, and staring at nothing more
than their boots or the mist ahead of them, Polly raised her right hand to chest height and
carefully turned it palm up so that she could see the fragment of paper that had soggily stayed
behind when the rest had been pulled away.
‘No Surrender’ to Alliance says Duchess (97)
From William de Worde Valley of the Kneck, Sektober 7
Borogrovian troops assisted by Lord V
Light Infantry took Kneck Keep this mo
after fierce hand-to-hand fig
I write its armaments which are
being turned on the remn
Borogravian forces acr
His Grace Commander Sir S
told the Times that
surrender had been rej
view the enemy commande
load of stiff-necked fools, don’
in the paper.’
It is understoo
desperate situ
-spread fami
across t
No altern
invas
They were winning, weren’t they? So where did the word ‘surrender’ come from? And
what was the Alliance?
And then there was the problem of Strappi, which had been growing on her. She could see
he got on Jackrum’s nerves as well, and he had a struttiness about him, a certain - er . . .
sockiness, as if he was really the one in charge. Perhaps it was just general unpleasantness,
but . . .
‘Corporal?’ she said.
‘Yes, Parts?’ said Strappi. His nose was still very red.

 
 
  
‘We are winning this war, aren’t we?’ said Polly. She’d given up correcting him.
Suddenly, every ear in the squad was listening.
‘Don’t you bother yourself about that, Parts!’ snapped the corporal. ‘Your job is to fight!’
‘Right, corp. So . . . I’ll be fighting on the winning side, will I?’
‘Oho, we’ve got someone who asks too many questions here, sarge!’ said Strappi.
‘Yeah, don’t ask questions, Perks,’ said Jackrum, absent-mindedly.
‘So we’re losing, then?’ said Tonker. Strappi turned on him.
‘That’s spreading Alarm and Despondency again, that is!’ he shrieked. ‘That’s aiding the
enemy!’
‘Yeah, knock it off, Private Halter,’ said Jackrum. ‘Okay? Now get a—’
‘Halter, I’m placing you under arrest for—’
‘Corporal Strappi, a word in your shell-like ear, please? You men, you stop here!’ growled
the sergeant, clambering down from the cart.
Jackrum walked back down the road about fifty feet. Glaring round at the squad, the
corporal strutted after him.
‘Are we in trouble?’ said Tonker.
‘You guess,’ said Maladict.
‘Bound to be,’ said Shufti. ‘Strappi can always get you for something.’
‘They’re having an argument,’ said Maladict. ‘Which is odd, don’t you think? A sergeant
is supposed to give orders to a corporal.’
‘We are winning, aren’t we?’ said Shufti. ‘I mean, I know there’s a war, but . . . I mean,
we get weapons, don’t we, and we’ll . . . well, they’ve got to train us, right? It’ll probably be
all over by then, right? Everyone says we’re winning.’
‘I will ask the Duchess in my prayers tonight,’ said Wazzer.
The rest of the squad looked at one another with a shared expression.
‘Yeah, right, Wazz,’ said Tonker kindly. ‘You do that.’
The sun was setting fast, half hidden in the mist. Here, on the muddy road between damp
fields, it suddenly felt as cold as it could be.
‘No one says we’re winning, except maybe Strappi,’ said Polly. ‘They just say that
everyone says we’re winning.’
‘The men Igor . . . repaired didn’t even say that,’ said Tonker. ‘They said “you poor
bastards, you’ll leg it if you’ve any sense.” ’
‘Thank you for sharing,’ said Maladict.
‘It looks as though everyone’s feeling sorry for us,’ said Polly.
‘Yeah, well, so am I, and I am uth,’ said Igor. ‘Thome of thothe men—’
‘All right, all right, stop lollygagging, you lot!’ shouted Strappi, marching up.
‘Corporal?’ said the sergeant quietly, hauling himself back on to the cart. Strappi paused,
and then in a voice dripping with syrup and sarcasm went on: ‘Excuse me. The sergeant and

 
 
  
myself would be obleejed if you brave heroes to be would join us in a little light marching?
Jolly good! And there will be embroidery later on. Best foot forward, ladies!’
Polly heard Tonker gasp. Strappi turned, eyes glinting with sinister anticipation. ‘Oh,
someone doesn’t like being called a lady, eh?’ he said. ‘Dear me, Private Halter, you’ve got a
lot to learn, haven’t you? You’re a sissy little lady until we make a man of you, right? And I
dread to think how long that’s going to take. Move!’
I know, thought Polly, as they set off. It takes about ten seconds, and a pair of socks. One
sock, and you could make Strappi.
Plotz turned out to be like Plün, but it was worse because it was bigger. The rain started
again as they marched into the cobbled square. It looked as though it always rained here. The
buildings were grey, and mud-spattered near the ground. Roof gutters overflowed, pouring
rain on to the cobbles and sending a spray over the recruits. There was no one about. Polly
saw open doors banging in the wind, and bits of debris in the streets, and remembered the
lines of hurrying people on the road. There was no one here.
Sergeant Jackrum climbed down from the cart as Strappi bawled them into line. Then the
sergeant took over, leaving the corporal to glower from the sidelines.
‘This is wonderful Plotz!’ he said. ‘Have a look round, so that if you is killed and goes to
hell, it won’t come as a shock! You’ll be bivvying in that barracks over there, what is milit’ry
property!’ He waved a hand towards a crumbling stone building that looked about as military
as a barn. ‘You will be issued with your equipment. And tomorrow it’s a nice long march to
Crotz, where you will arrive as boys and leave as men did I just say something funny, Perks?
No, I thought so, too! Attention! That means stand up straight!’
‘That’s straight!’ yelled Strappi.
A young man was riding across the square on a tired, skinny brown horse, which was quite
suitable because he was a tired, skinny man. The skinniness was helped by the fact that he
wore a tunic which had clearly been made for someone a couple of sizes larger. The same
applied to his helmet. He must have padded it, Polly thought. One cough and it’ll be over his
eyes.
Sergeant Jackrum snapped off a salute as the officer approached. ‘Jackrum, sir. You’ll be
Lieutenant Blouse, sir?’
‘Well done, sergeant.’
‘These are the recruits from upriver, sir. Fine body of men, sir.’
The rider peered at the squad. He actually leaned forward over the horse’s neck, causing
rain to pour off his helmet.
‘This is all, sergeant?’
‘Yessir.’
‘Most of them look very young,’ said the lieutenant, who didn’t look very old.
‘Yessir.’
‘And isn’t that one a troll?’
‘Yessir. Well spotted, sir.’