Terry Pratchett - Monstrous Regiment

Polly was watching the officers. They looked nervous…

…except for one at the back. She’d thought all the guards had gone and, while this man was dressed like a guard—dressed, that is, like a badly dressed guard—he wasn’t acting like one. He was leaning against the wall by the door, smoking half a cigar, and grinning. He looked like a man enjoying a show.

“Very generously,” Rust went on, “this offer applies to you too, Lieutenant… Blouse, wasn’t it? But in your case you would be on parole in a house in Zlobenia, very pleasant I understand, healthy walks in the countryside and all that sort of thing. This offer has not been extended to your superior officers here, I may add.”

So why make it to us? Polly thought. Are you frightened? Of a bunch of girls? That makes no sense…

Behind the officers, the man with the cigar winked at Polly. His uniform was very old-fashioned—an ancient helmet, a breastplate, some slightly rusted chain mail, and big boots. He wore it like a workman wears his overalls. Unlike the braid and brilliance in front of her, the only statement his clothes made was that he didn’t intend to get hurt. They had no insignia that Polly could see, apart from a small shield hooked onto the breastplate.

“If you will excuse me a moment,” said Blouse, “I will consult with my men.”

“Men?” said Rust. “They’re a bunch of women, man!”

“But at this moment, sir,” said Blouse coolly, “I would not exchange them for any six men you offered me. If you gentlemen would care to wait outside?”

Behind the group, the badly dressed man burst into silent laughter. His sense of humour was not shared by the rest of the group, however.

“You cannot possibly consider refusing this offer!” said Lord Rust.

“Nevertheless, sir,” said Blouse. “We will take a few minutes. I think the ladies would prefer some privacy. One of them is expecting a child.”

“What, here ?” As one man, the group drew back.

“Not yet, I believe. But if you would just step outside—”

When the officers had retreated to the masculine safety of the corridor the lieutenant turned to his squad. “Well, men? For you, it is a very attractive offer, I have to say.”

“Not for us,” said Tonker. Lofty nodded.

“Nor me,” said Shufti.

“Why not?” said Blouse. “You would get your husband.”

“That might be a bit difficult,” mumbled Shufti. “Anyway, what about the invasion?”

“I’m not going to be sent home like a package,” said Igorina. “Anyway, that man has an objectionable bone structure.”

“Well, Private Goom can’t join us right now,” sighed Blouse. “So that leaves you, Polly.”

“Why are they doing this?” said Polly. “Why do they want us out of the way? Why aren’t they just leaving us locked up? This place must be full of cells.”

“Ah, perhaps they are sensible of the frailties of your sex,” said Blouse, and then fried in their stares. “I didn’t say I was,” he added quickly.

“They could just kill us,” said Tonker. “Well, they could,” she added. “Why not? Who’d care? I don’t think we count as prisoners of war.”

“But they haven’t,” said Polly. “And they’re not even threatening us. They’re being very careful . I think they’re frightened of us.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” said Tonker. “Maybe they think we’re going to chase them and give them a big wet sloppy kiss?”

“Good, then we’re agreed that we’re not going to accept,” said Blouse. “Damn right… oh, I do apologize…”

“We all know the words, sir,” said Polly. “I suggest we see how much we frighten them, sir.”

The officers were waiting with unconcealed impatience, but Rust managed a brief smile when he stepped back into the kitchen. “Well, lieutenant?” he said.

“We have given your offer due consideration, sir,” said Blouse, “and our reply is: stick it up your…” He leaned down to Polly, who whispered urgently. “Who? Oh, yes, right. Your jumper, sir. Stick it, in fact, up your jumper. Named after Colonel Henri Jumper, I believe. A useful woollen garment akin to a lightweight sweater, sir, which if I recall correctly was named after Regimental Sergeant-Major Sweat. That, sir, is where you may stick it.”

Rust received this calmly, and Polly wondered whether it was because he hadn’t understood it. The scruffy man once more leaning against the wall had understood it, though, since he was grinning.

“I see,” said Rust. “And that is the answer from all of you? Then you leave us no choice. Good evening to you.”

His attempt to stride out was hindered by the other officers, who had less sense of the dramatic moment. The door slammed behind them, but not before the last man out turned very briefly and made a hand gesture. You would have missed it if you weren’t watching him—but Polly was watching.

“That seemed to go well,” said Blouse, turning away.

“I hope we’re not going to get into trouble for that,” said Shufti.

“Compared to what?” said Tonker.

“The last man out stuck his thumb up and winked,” said Polly. “Did you notice him? He wasn’t even wearing an officer’s uniform.”

“Probably wanted a date,” said Tonker.

“In Ankh-Morpork that means ‘jolly good’,” said Blouse. “In Klatch, I think, it means ‘I hope your donkey explodes’. I spotted the man. Looked like a guard sergeant to me.”

“Didn’t have stripes,” said Polly. “Why’d he want to say jolly good to us?”

“Or hate our donkey so much?” said Shufti. “How’s Wazzer?”

“Sleeping,” said Igorina. “I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s dead.”

“You don’t think she is?” said Polly.

“Yes,” said Igorina. “It’s like that. I wish I could keep her warmer.”

“I thought you said she was burning up?”

“She was. Now she’s freezing cold.”

Lieutenant Blouse strode over to the door, grabbed its handle and, to the surprise of all, pulled it open. Four swords were levelled at him.

“We have a sick man here!” he snapped to the astonished guards. “We need blankets and firewood! Get them now! ” He slammed the door. “It might work,” he said.

“That door doesn’t have a lock,” said Tonker. “Useful fact, Polly.”

Polly sighed. “Right now, I just want something to eat. This is a kitchen, after all. There could be food here.”

“This is a kitchen,” said Tonker. “There could be cleavers!”

But it is always upsetting to find that the enemy is as bright as you. There was a well, but a web of bars across the top allowed for the passage of nothing bigger than a bucket. And someone with no sense of the narrative of adventure had removed from the room anything with an edge and, for some reason, anything that could be eaten.

“Unless we want to dine on candles,” said Shufti, pulling a bundle of them out of a creaking cupboard. “’s tallow, after all. I bet old Scallot’d make candle scubbo.”

Polly checked the chimney, which smelled as though there had not been a fire in it for a long time. It was big and wide, but six feet up a heavy grille was hung with sooty cobwebs. It looked rusted and ancient, and could probably be shifted by twenty minutes’ work with a crowbar, but there’s never a crowbar when you want one.

There were some couple of sacks of ancient, dry and dusty flour in the storeroom. It smelled bad. There was a thing with a funnel and a handle and some mysterious screws. 10There were a couple of rolling pins, a lettuce strainer, some ladles… and there were forks. Lots of toasting forks. Polly felt let down. It was ridiculous to expect that someone imprisoning people in some ad hoc cell would leave in all the ingredients to effect an escape but, nevertheless, she felt that some universal rule had been broken. They had nothing better than a club, really. The toasting forks might prick, the lettuce strainer might pack a punch, and the rolling pins were at least a traditional female weapon, but all you could do with the thing with a funnel and a handle and mysterious screws was baffle people.