Terry Pratchett - Monstrous Regiment

“Aren’t you that sergeant I saw in the old kitchen? Making faces behind Lord Rust from Ankh-Morpork?”

“I was not making faces, miss. That’s how I always look when Lord Rust is talking. And I was a sergeant once, it’s true, but, look, no stripes.”

“Make der faces once too often?” said Jade.

The man laughed. He hadn’t shaved today, by the look of it. “Something like that, yes. Come along to my office, it’s warmer. I only came out here because people complain about the smoke. Don’t worry about that lot in there, they can wait. I’m only down the passage.”

They followed him. The door was, indeed, only a few steps away. The man pushed it open, walked across the little room beyond, and sat down in a chair. The table in front of it overflowed with papers.

“I think we can get enough food up here to see you through the winter,” he said, picking up a sheet of paper apparently at random. “Grain’s a bit short but we’ve got a handy surplus of white drumhead cabbage, keeps wonderfully, full of vitamins and minerals… but you might want to keep your windows open, if you follow me. Don’t stare. I know the country’s a month away from starvation.”

“But I haven’t even shown this letter to anyone!” Polly protested. “You don’t know what we—”

“I don’t have to,” said the man. “This is about food and mouths. Good grief, we don’t have to fight you. Your country is going to fall over anyway. Your fields are overgrown, most of your farmers are old men, the bulk of the grub goes to the army. And armies don’t do much for agriculture except marginally raise the fertility of the battlefield. The honour, the pride, the glory… none of that matters. This war stops, or Borogravia dies. Do you understand?”

Polly remembered the gale-swept fields, the old people salvaging what they could…

“We’re just messengers,” she said. “I can’t negotiate—”

“You know your god’s dead?” said the man. “Nothing left but a voice, according to some of our priests. The last three Abominations were against rocks, ears and accordion players. Okay, I might be with him on the last one, but… rocks? Hah! We can advise you if you’re going to look for a new one, by the way. Om’s very popular at the moment. Very few abominations, no special clothing, and hymns you can sing in the bath. You won’t get Offler the Crocodile God up here with your winters, and the Unorthodox Potato Church is probably a bit too uncomplicated for—”

Polly started to laugh. “Look, sir, I’m just a… what is your name, please?”

“Sam Vimes. Special envoy, which is kind of like an ambassador but without the little gold chocolates.”

“Vimes the Butcher?” said Maladicta.

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard that one,” said Vimes, grinning. “Your people haven’t really mastered the fine art of propaganda. And I’m telling you because—well, have you heard of Om?”

They shook their heads.

“No? Well, in the Old Book of Om there’s a story about some city full of wickedness, and Om decided to destroy it with holy fire, this being back in the old smiting days before he’d got religion. But Bishop Horn protested about this plan, and Om said he’d spare the city if the bishop could find one good man. Well, the bishop knocked on every door, and turned up empty-handed. It turned out, after the place had been reduced to a glass plain, that there were probably plenty of good people there and, being good, they weren’t the sort to admit it. Death by modesty, a terrible thing. And you, ladies, are the only Borogravians I know much about, apart from the military who, frankly, aren’t chatty. You don’t appear to be as insane as your country’s foreign policy. You’re the one piece of international goodwill it has. A bunch of young boys outwitting crack cavalrymen? Kicking the Prince in the fork? People at home liked that. And now it turns out that you’re girls? They’ll love that. Mr de Worde is going to have fun with that when he finds out.”

“But we don’t have any power! We can’t negotiate a—”

“What does Borogravia want? Not the country. I mean the people.”

Polly opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again and thought about the answer. “To be left alone,” she said. “By everybody. For a while, anyway. We can change things.”

“You’ll accept the food?”

“We are a proud country.”

“What are you proud of?”

It came swiftly, like a blow, and Polly realized how wars happened. You took that shock that had run through her, and let it boil.

… it may be corrupt, benighted and stupid, but it’s ours …

Vimes was watching her face. “From this desk here,” he said, “the only thing your country has to be proud of right now is you women.”

Polly stayed silent. She was still trying to cope with the anger. It made it worse to know that he was right. We have our pride. And that’s what we’re proud of. We’re proud of being proud …

“Very well, then, will you buy some food?” said Vimes, watching her carefully. “On credit? I suppose you still have someone in your country who knows about the kind of international affairs that don’t involve edged weapons?”

“People would accept that, yes,” said Polly hoarsely.

“Good. I’ll send a clacks back tonight.”

“And why would you be so generous, Mr Ankh-Morpork?”

“Because I’m from a wonderfully warm-hearted city, corporal… hah, no, I can’t say that and keep a straight face,” said Vimes. “Do you want to know the truth? Most people in Ankh-Morpork hadn’t even heard of your country until the clacks went down. There’s dozens of little countries round here selling one another hand-painted clogs or beer made from turnips. Then they knew you as the bloody mad idiots who fight everyone. Now they know you as… well, people who’d do just what they’d do. And tomorrow they’ll laugh. And there’re other people, people who sit and think about the future every day, who believe it’s worth a little to be friends with a country like that.”

“Why?” said Maladicta suspiciously.

“Because Ankh-Morpork is a friend to all freedom-loving people everywhere!” said Vimes. “Gods, it must be the way I tell ’em. Ze chzy Brogocia proztfik! ” He saw their blank expressions. “Sorry, I’ve been away from home too long. And frankly, I’d rather be back there.”

“But why did you say you were a cherry pancake?” said Polly.

“Didn’t I say I am a citizen of Borogravia?”

“No. Brogocia is the cherry pancake, Borogvia is the country.”

“Well, I made the effort, at least. Look, we’d rather Prince Heinrich wasn’t ruler of two countries. That’d make one quite big country, much bigger than the other ones round here. So it’d probably get bigger still. He wants to be like Ankh-Morpork, you see. But what he means is he wants power, and influence. He doesn’t want to earn them, he doesn’t want to grow into them or learn the hard way how to use them. He just wants them.”

“That’s playing politics!” said Maladicta.

“No. It’s just telling the truth. Make peace with him, by all means. Just leave the road and the towers alone. You’ll get the food anyway, at whatever price. Mr de Worde’s article will see to that.”

“You sent the coffee,” said Polly.

“Oh, yes. That was Corporal Buggy Swires, my eye in the sky. He’s a gnome.”

“And you set a werewolf on us?”

“Well, set is a bit strong. Angua followed you, just to be on the safe side. She’s a werewolf, yes.”

“The girl we met? She didn’t look like one!”

“Well, they don’t, usually,” said Vimes. “Right up until the moment when they do, if you see what I mean. And she was following you because I was looking for anything that’d stop thousands of people dying. And that’s not politics either,” said Vimes. He stood up. “And now, ladies, I have to go and present your document to the Alliance leaders.”