It was a sudden strange fancy...
Polly Perks had to become a boy in a hurry. Cutting off her hair and wearing trousers was easy. Learning to fart and belch in public and walk like an ape took more time...
And now she's enlisted in the army, and searching for her lost brother. But there's a war on. There's always a war on. And Polly and her fellow recruits are suddenly in the thick of it, without any training, and the enemy is hunting them.
All they have on their side is the most artful sergeant in the army and a vampire with a lust for coffee. Well... they have the Secret. And as they take the war to the heart of the enemy, they have to use all the resources of... the Monstrous Regiment.
Forget you were ever Polly. Think young male, that was the thing. Fart loudly and with self-satisfaction at a job well done, move like a puppet that'd had a couple of random strings cut, never hug anyone and, if you meet a friend, punch them.
* * *
And then there was the young male walk to master. At least women swung only their hips. Young men swung everything, from the shoulders down. You have to try to occupy a lot of space, she thought. It makes you look bigger, like a tomcat fluffing his tail.
* * *
[The troll bridge] cost one penny to cross, or one hundred gold pieces if you had a billygoat. [Footnote: Trolls might not be quick thinkers but they don't forget in a hurry, either.]
* * *
There was always a war. Usually it was a border dispute, the national equivalent of complaining that the neighbour was letting his hedge grow too long.
* * *
The sergeant turned to Polly and grinned, which made his scars move oddly and caused a tremor to shake all his chins. The word "fat" could not honestly be applied to him, not when the word "gross" was lumbering forward to catch your attention.
* * *
He was one of those people who didn't have a waist. He had an equator.
* * *
Chinny cleared his throat. "The Borogravian National Anthem," he announced, for the second time."Awake sorry, your grace, ye sons of the Motherland!
Taste no more the wine of the sour apples
Woodsmen, grasp your choppers!
Farmers, slaughter with the tool formerly used for lifting beets the foe!
Frustrate the endless wiles of our enemies
We into the darkness march singing
Against the whole world in arms coming
But see the golden light upon the mountain tops!
The new day is a great big fish!"
* * *
"Do you think it's possible for an entire nation to be insane?"
* * *
...all of that for this cold castle over this cold river between these stupid countries, with their stupid war. He knew what he wanted to do. If they'd been people, scuffling in the gutter, he'd have known what to do. He'd have banged their heads together and maybe shoved them in the cells overnight. You couldn't bang countries together.
* * *
"This is a holy book with an appendix?"
"Exactly, sir."
"In a ring binder?"
* * *
Vimes: "The colour blue?"
Chinney: "Correct, sir."
Vimes: "What's abominable about the colour blue? It's just a colour! The sky is blue!"
Chinney: "Yes, sir. Devout Nugganites try not to look at it these days."
* * *
"You mean [the god] Nuggan objects to dwarfs, cats and the colour blue and there're more insane commandments?"
* * *
"So what we have here is a country that tries to run itself on the commandments of a god who, the people feel, may be wearing his underpants on his head. Has he Abominated underpants?"
"No, sir," Chinny sighed. "But it's probably only a matter of time."
* * *
Strappi: "Yeah? Well, I heard about people waking up and findin' their friendly Igor had whipped out their brains in the middle of the night and buggered off to flog 'em."
Igor: "I promith you your brain ith entirely thafe from me, corporal."
* * *
Most of the vampire families were highly nobby. You never knew who was connected to who... not just connected to who, in fact, but to whom. Whoms were likely to be far more trouble than your common everyday who.
* * *
Polly sniffed at the tankard. The contents smelled like something she wouldn't feed to pigs. She took a sip, and completely changed her opinion. She would feed it to pigs.
* * *
"I've only taken a pledge not to drink human blood. It doesn't mean I can't kick you in the fork so hard you suddenly go deaf."
* * *
The mothers of Borogravia were very definite about wanting to send their sons off to war against the Zlobenian Aggressor and used a great many exclamation marks to say so.
* * *
It was very patriotic. That is, it talked about killing foreigners.
* * *
At Paul's insistence, she'd read the whole of "From the Mothers of Borogravia!" to him, including the bits about heroes and there being no greater good than to die for your country. She wished, now, she hadn't done that. Paul did what he was told. Unfortunately, he believed what he was told, too.
* * *
[The privy] was just a rotten old shed! Oh, there were a few cubicles, but the smell alone suggested very strongly that the woods outside would be a much better proposition. Even on a wild night. Even with extra wolves.
* * *
"Few things interest a young man more than the contents of his nostrils."
* * *
Strappi: "So you think you're smart, Parts?"
Polly: "No, corporal."
Strappi: "Oh? So you're stupid, are you?"
Polly: "Well, I did enlist, corporal."
* * *
You needed time and good teeth to work your way through a slice of horse-bread, just as you needed a complete lack of imagination to eat a modern sausage.
* * *
It was funny to watch a girl waving a sword around, and they'd been kind enough when they weren't laughing. She was a quick learner, but she'd made a point of staying clumsy long after she'd got the feel for the blade, because using a sword was also "the work of an Man" and a woman doing it was an Abomination unto Nuggan. Old soldiers, on the whole, were on the easygoing side when it came to Abominations. She'd be funny just as long as she was useless, and safe as long as she was funny.
* * *
There was a general murmuring and shrugging from the squad, who recognized a right little bullying bastard when they saw one but, treacherously, were glad he hadn't picked on them.
* * *
"We'll just see what you're made of, Parts."
Flesh, thought Polly. Blood. Easily cut things.
* * *
Jackrum: "Any good with [the sword]?"
Maladict: "Not really, sir. Never had training. I carry it for protection, sir."
Jackrum: "How can you protect yourself by carrying a sword if you don't know how to use it?"
Maladict: "Not me, sir. Other people. They see the sword and don't attack me."
Jackrum: "Yes, but if they did, lad, you wouldn't be any good with it."
Maladict: "No, sir. I'd probably settle for just ripping their heads off, sir."
* * *
Strappi: "Ankh-Morpork is a godless city--"
Maladict: "I thought it had more than three hundred places of worship?"
Strappi: "Ankh-Morpork is a godawful city."
* * *
Maladict: "And what you've got there, my friend, is patriotism. My country, right or wrong."
Shufti: "You should love your country."
Tonker: "Okay, what part? The morning sunlight on the mountains? The horrible food? The damn mad Abominations? All of my country except whatever bit Strappi is standing on?"
Shufti: "But we are at war!"
Polly: "Yes, that's where they've got you."
Tonker: "Well, I'm not buying into it. It's all trickery. They keep you down and when they piss off some other country, you have to fight for them! It's only your country when they want you to get killed!"
* * *
"We fight for liars."
"Ah, they may be liars," snapped Polly, in a passable imitation of Strappi's yap, "but they're our liars!"
* * *
"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.
* * *
"You signed up, Mr. Bloodsucker! You obey orders!"
"Right! But I don't remember anyone ordering me not to think!"
* * *
"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.
* * *
"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!"
* * *
Blouse: "And the one with stitches all round his head?"
Jackrum: "He's an Igor, sir. Sort of like a special clan up in the mountains, sir."
Blouse: "Do they fight?"
Jackrum: "Can take a man apart very quickly, sir, as I understand it."
* * *
"What's this? One Size, Doesn't Fit Anyone?"
* * *
Scallot: "Got plenty to eat, at least. If you like horse, that is. Personally I prefer rat, but there's no accounting for taste."
Shufti: "I can't eat horse!"
Scallot: "Ah, you'd be a rat man?"
* * *
"Ever eaten scubbo? No? Nothing like a bowl of scubbo when you're hungry. You can put anything in scubbo. Pork, beef, mutton, rabbit, chicken, duck... anything. Even rats, if you've got 'em. It's food for the marching man, scubbo. Got some on the boil out there right now. You can have some of that, if you like."
The squad brightened up.
"Thoundth good," said Igor. "What'th in it?"
"Boiling water," said the corporal. "It's what we call 'blind scubbo'."
* * *
"We have to steal our food?" said Maladict.
"No, you can starve if that takes your fancy," said the corporal.
* * *
"And keep out of the way of officers, 'cos they ain't healthy. That's what you learn in the army. The enemy dun't really want to fight you, 'cos the enemy is mostly blokes like you who want to go home with all their bits still on. But officers'll get you killed."
* * *
Polly had been soldiering for only a couple of days, but already an instinct had developed. In summary, it was this: lie to officers.
* * *
Food hygiene here consisted of making a half-hearted effort not to gob in the stew.
* * *
"No fresh vegetables, no fruit," said Shufti. "That's a very binding diet, corp."
"Yeah, well, once battle commences I reckon you'll find constipation's the last thing on your mind," said Scallot.
* * *
"Look, you were good, you had me fooled right up until 'sugar'."
"Yes, yes, I know," Shufti whispered. "I can do the belching and the walking stupidly and even the nose-picking, but I wasn't brought up to swear like you men!"
* * *
He gave her what is known as an old-fashioned look; this one had dinosaurs in it.
* * *
"Good evening, gentlemen!" said the vampire. "Please pay attention. I am a reformed vampire, which is to say, I am a bundle of suppressed instincts held together with spit and coffee. It would be wrong to say that violent, tearing carnage does not come easily to me. It's not tearing your throats out that doesn't come easily to me. Please don't make it any harder."
* * *
"But if I hadn't..." Polly hesitated. "If I hadn't tricked them, they might've killed the lieutenant!"
"See? There's always a positive side, any way you look at it," said Scallot.
* * *
"...since you, captain, are invading our country by night under the cover of darkness, and I am a humble civilian, I think there's no rule to stop me beating seven kinds of crap out of you until you tell me why you came here and when the rest of your mates are going to arrive. And that may take me some time, sir, because up until now I've only ever discovered five types of crap."
* * *
Blouse: "And you, sergeant, did you in fact lay a hand on the captain?"
Jackrum: "Not as in fact per se and such, sir, no. I just considered, since he had invaded our country to capture our lads, sir, that it wouldn't hurt if he experienced temporary feelings of shock and awe, sir."
* * *
"I don't want unnecessary violence, sergeant," said Blouse.
"Right you are, sir!" said the sergeant. "Carborundum! First man comes through that door runnin', I want him nailed to the wall!" He caught the lieutenant's eye, and added: "But not too hard!"
* * *
Anyway, why would you trust anything written down? She certainly didn't trust "Mothers of Borogravia!" and that was from the government. And if you couldn't trust the government, who could you trust?
Very nearly everyone, come to think of it...
* * *
Maladict: "Anyway, he told me de Worde just tries to find out the truth. And then he writes it down and sells it to anyone who wants it."
Polly: "And people let him do that?"
Maladict: "Apparently."
* * *
She was embarrassed, of course. But not for the obvious reason. It was for the other one, the little lesson that life sometimes rams home with a stick: you are not the only one watching the world. Other people are people; while you watch them they watch you, and they think about you while you think about them. The world isn't just about you.
* * *
Angua: "Is that a carrier pigeon, sir?"
Vimes: "No. Hold it a minute, will you? I want to have a look inside the message capsule."
Angua: "It does look like a carrier pigeon."
Vimes: "Ah, but messages flying through the air are an Abomination unto Nuggan. The prayers of the faithful bounce off them, apparently. No, I think I've found someone's lost pet and I'm looking in this little tube here to see if I can find the owner's name and address, because I am a kind man."
Angua: "So you're not actually waylaying field reports from the Times, then, sir?"
Vimes: "Not as such, no. I'm just such a keen reader that I want to see tomorrow's news today."
* * *
Vimes: "What did you think of him? Just between ourselves."
Angua: "An arrogant son-of-a-bitch, sir, and I know what I'm talking about. The kind of man who thinks he knows what a woman likes and it's himself. All very friendly right up until they say no."
* * *
[Vimes] thought war was simply another crime, like murder.
* * *
Polly didn't know whether to be proud that they'd taken her for a boy. I mean, she thought, I'd worked hard to get it right, I mastered the walk, except I suppose what I really did was mistress the walk, haha, I invented the fake shaving routine and the others didn't even think of that, I haven't cleaned my fingernails for days and I pride myself I can belch with the best of them. So, I mean, I was trying. It was just slightly annoying to find that she'd succeeded so well.
* * *
The squad had made camp upwind of the smoke. It was supposed to be a rest stop, since no one had got much sleep last night, but as Jackrum handed out tasks he reminded them: "There is an old milit'ry saying, which is: Hard Luck For You."
* * *
Well, when in doubt, bustle. Milit'ry rule. Bustle, and hope there's a surprise attack.
* * *
Blouse: "The great General Tacticus says that in dangerous times the commander must be like the eagle and see the whole, and yet still be like the hawk and see every detail."
Jackrum: "Yessir. And if he acts like a common tit, sir, he can hang upside down all day and eat fat bacon."
* * *
She'd never prayed since the day the bird burned, not even when her mother was dying. A god that burned painted birds would not save a mother. A god like that was not worth a prayer.
* * *
A woman always has half an onion left over, no matter what the size of the onion, the dish or the woman.
* * *
"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!"
* * *
Jackrum: "Ashamed of your lovely, lovely uniform, Perks?"
Polly: "Don't want to be seen dead in it, sarge."
* * *
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?"
* * *
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. [Footnote: And even then it was the kind of home that has a burned-out vehicle on the lawn.]
* * *
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.
* * *
But there is an old milit'ry saying: better me firing it at you than you firing it at me, you bastard.
* * *
You needed a lack of graphic imagination to talk about personal issues with an Igor.
* * *
Igorina: "Okay, then say it's a lock of hair from the sweetheart you left behind you. Lots of soldiers carry a locket or something like that. You know: 'Her golden hair in ringletth fair', like the song says."
Polly: "It was all my hair! A locket? You couldn't hold it all in your hat!"
Igorina: "Ah. Then you could thay you loved her very much?"
* * *
Igorina: "He hath been poithened!"
Blouse: "Hath he? By whom? Are you sure?"
Igorina: "The green foam coming out of hith mouth ith a definite clue, thur."
* * *
The happiest days of the girl's life had been spent tramping through forests, digging graves and trying to dodge soldiers on both sides? The trouble with Polly was that she had a mind that asked questions even when she really, really didn't want to know the answers.
* * *
There was this about vampires: they could never look scruffy. Instead, they were... what was the word... déshabillé. It meant untidy, but with bags and bags of style.
* * *
"You can't torture an unarmed man!" That was Blouse's voice.
"Well, I'm not waiting for him to arm himself, sir!"
* * *
"'Pretty please with sprinkles on top' is not a recognized method of interrogation!"
* * *
Now Towering was laughing. He was far too relaxed for a bound man, and Blouse sounded far too much like a nice but worried man trying to appear firm and determined. To Polly, it was like watching a child bluffing in poker against a man called Doc.
* * *
"Of course, we all know there is some atrocious behaviour in times of war, but it is not the sort of thing we would expect of a royal prince." [Footnote: Lieutenant Blouse read only the more technical history books.]
* * *
"Steal the boots off a dead man, sarge?" said Wazzer, still in shock.
"Easier than getting "em off a live one!"
* * *
"You know what most of the milit'ry training is, Perks?" he went on. "All that yelling from little spitbubs like Strappi? It's to turn you into a man who will, on the word of command, stick his blade into some poor sod just like him who happens to be wearing the wrong uniform. He's like you, you're like him. He doesn't really want to kill you, you don't really want to kill him. But if you don't kill him first, he'll kill you. That's the start and finish of it."
* * *
Maladict: "Truth is... I'm beginning to hurt. It's like going cold bat all over again! I'm getting the voices and the sweats..."
Polly: "Sssh. You can't be. You said you'd been going straight for two years!"
Maladict: "Oh, bl... blur... blood? Who said anything about blood? I'm talking about coffee, dammit!"
* * *
Why me? Polly thought. Do I have this little sign on me saying "Tell me your troubles"?
* * *
Maladict: "Look, they've dismounted. The cart's pulled in, too. If they look as though they're worried, we'll move in."
Polly: "And do what, exactly?"
Maladict: "Threaten to shoot them."
Polly: "And if they don't believe us?"
Maladict: "Then we'll threaten to shoot them in a much louder voice."
* * *
There are three things a soldier wants to do when there's a respite on the road. One involves lighting a cigarette, one involves lighting a fire, and the other one involves no flames at all but does, generally, require a tree.
[Footnote: Actually a tree is not, technically, required, but seems to be insisted upon for reasons of style.]
* * *
"Who shall I shoot? You choose. Now, listen very carefully: where's your coffee? You've got coffee, haven't you? C'mon, everyone's got coffee! Spill the beans!"
* * *
Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air [Footnote: And failed to hit anything, especially a duck. This is so unusual in situations like this that it should be reported under new humour regulations.]
* * *
There was a bird whistle as Polly neared the hiding place. She identified this one as the sound of the Very Bad Bird Impersonator, and made a note to teach the girls some bird calls that at least sounded real.
* * *
Polly climbed into the back of the cart as it lumbered off. It was full of boxes and equipment, and while it might once have been neatly organized, that organization was now but a distant memory, a clear indication that this cart was the property of a man.
* * *
A vampire's face does not look any better upside down, and a smile in these circumstances does nothing to improve matters.
* * *
Sergeant Jackrum goggled. Polly had never really seen proper goggling before, but the sergeant had the face to do it at championship level.
* * *
Blouse: "Borogravia doesn't know the meaning of the word 'surrender', Mr. de Worde."
William de Worde: "Can I lend you a dictionary, sir? It's very similar to the meaning of 'making some kind of peace while you"ve got a chance', sir! It's rather like 'quitting while you"ve still got a head', sir!"
* * *
"Civis Morporkias sum, sir. I am an Ankh-Morpork citizen. You could say that Ankh-Morpork shelters me under her wide and rather greasy wing, although I agree the metaphor could use some work."
* * *
"You see, the curious thing is that although Ankh-Morpork is probably the biggest bully around, in a subtle kind of way, we nevertheless have a soft spot for people who stand up to bullies. Especially royal ones. We tend to be on their side, provided it doesn't cost us too much."
* * *
Otto Chriek stood up and bowed to Blouse. He unslung his picture box.
"This vill only take vun minute," he said.
It never does. Polly watched in horrified fascination as Otto took picture after picture of Lieutenant Blouse in a variety of what the lieutenant thought were heroic poses. It is a terrible thing to see a man trying to jut out a chin he does not, in fact, have.
* * *
"Him with his airs and graces," he said. "Did you see that? He insulted me by giving me a tip!" He glanced at his palm. "Hmm, five Morpork dollars? Well, at least he's a man who knows how to insult you handsomely."
* * *
Jackrum: "I've worn this uniform for more'n fift-- all my life, sir, and sneaking around without a uniform is downright dishonourable! It's for spies, sir!"
Blouse: "How can we be spies, sergeant, in our own country?"
Maladict: "The el-tee's got a point, sarge."
Jackrum: "All right, all right. Upon my oath, I am not a man to disobey orders."
Blouse: "Well done, sergeant."
Jackrum: "I don't want to be a sunflower, though."
Blouse: "Happily there are only fir trees in this area, sergeant."
Jackrum: "Point well made, sir. All right, Last Detail. You heard the man! Spruce up!"
* * *
"I dare say our enemy feels impregnable just because he commands a heavily armed fort on a rocky crag with walls a hundred feet high and twenty feet thick," Blouse continued... "But he is in for a surprise!"
* * *
Blouse: "General Tacticus said the fate of a battle may depend upon the actions of one man in the right place, sergeant."
Jackrum: "And having a lot more soldiers than the other bugger, sir."
* * *
Birds sang. The effect was peaceful, if you didn't know about birdsong, but Polly could recognize the alarm calls close by and the territorial threats far off and, everywhere, the preoccupation with sex. That took the edge off the pleasure.
[Footnote: It's hard to be an ornithologist and walk through a wood when all around you the world is shouting: "Bugger off, this is my bush! Aargh, the nest thief! Have sex with me, I can make my chest big and red!"]
* * *
"Polly?" said Igorina.
"Hmm?"
"Could you kill someone if you had to?"
Polly came right back to the here and now. "What sort of question is that to ask anyone?"
"I think it's the sort you"d ask a tholdier," said Igorina.
* * *
"We have a great respect for life, Polly," said Igorina solemnly. "It's easy to kill thomeone, and almost impossible to bring them back again."
"Almost?"
"Well, if you don't have a really good lightning rod. And even if you have, they're never quite the same. Cutlery tends to stick to them."
* * *
Igorina: "Are we in a forest or a jungle? Any flying screws? How many fingers am I holding up?"
Maladict: "You know, that's something an Igor should never say."
* * *
The presence of those seeking the truth is infinitely to be preferred to those who think they've found it.
* * *
...you only thought the world would be better if it was run by women if you didn't actually know many women. Or old women, at least. Take the whole thing about the dimity scarves. Women had to cover their hair on Fridays, but there was nothing about this in the Book... It was done because it was always done. And if you forgot, or didn't want to, the old women got you. They had eyes like hawks. They could practically see through walls. And the men took notice, because no man wanted to cross the crones in case they started watching him, so half-hearted punishment would be dealt out. Whenever there was an execution, and especially when there was a whipping, you always found the grannies in the front row, sucking peppermints.
* * *
Maladict had hallucinations, but Wazzer had a certainty you could bend steel round. It was the opposite of a hallucination, somehow. It was as if she could see what was real and you couldn't.
* * *
"You don't believe in the Duchess, do you? I mean the real Duchess, not your inn."
Polly looked into the small, pinched, intense face. "Well, I mean, they say she's dead, and I prayed to her when I was small, but since you ask I don't exactly, um, believe as--" she gabbled.
"She is standing just behind you. Just behind your right shoulder."
In the silence of the wood, Polly turned. "I can't see her," she said.
"I am happy for you," said Wazzer, handing her the empty mug.
"But I didn't see anything," said Polly.
"No," said Wazzer. "But you turned round..."
* * *
...if you were Wazzer, dealt a poor hand to start with, and locked up, and starved, and beaten, and mistreated Nuggan knew how (and yes, Polly thought, Nuggan probably did know how) and pushed deeper and deeper into yourself, what would you find down there? And then you'd look up from those depths into the only smile you ever saw.
* * *
Blouse: "And yet you have acquired beef?"
Shufti: "Er... yes, sir. Er... when that writer man came up in his cart, well, when you were talking, er, I crept round and took a look inside..."
Blouse: "There's a name for someone who does that sort of thing, private."
Jackrum: "Yeah, it's quartermaster, Shufti."
* * *
"It's not lying when you do it to officers!"
* * *
"Igor, I'm sure you have some scissors, although I'd rather you didn't attempt to repeat the word."
* * *
There was an old, very old Borogravian song with more Zs and Vs in it than any lowlander could pronounce. It was called "Plogviehze!" It meant "The Sun Has Risen! Let's Make War!" You needed a special kind of history to get all that in one word.
* * *
...in a few weeks it would start to snow. The passes would fill up. Nothing would be able to get through. And every day, thousands of men and horses would need feeding. Of course, the men could, eventually, eat the horses, thus settling two feeding problems at a stroke.
* * *
Heinrich had a reputation locally for cunning, but Ankh-Morpork had overtaken cunning a thousand years ago, had sped past devious, had left artful far behind and had now, by a roundabout route, arrived at straightforward.
* * *
There was a knock on the door, and Reg came in with a tray of raw meat. "Saw Buggy overhead, so I thought I'd nip down to the kitchens, sir."
"Well done, Reg. Don't they ask why you want raw meat?"
"Yes, sir. I tell them you eat it, sir."
* * *
If there is a fairy-tale scale for castles, where the top end is occupied by those white, spire-encrusted castles with the blue pointy roofs, then Kneck Keep was low, black and clung to its outcrop like a storm cloud.
* * *
"There must be a secret entrance, sergeant. No one would build a place like that with only one entrance. Agreed?"
"Yessir. Only, perhaps they kept it a secret, sir."
* * *
Jackrum: "I have, myself, prayed many times on the field of battle. Many times have I said the Soldier's Prayer, sir, and I don't mind admitting it."
Blouse: "Er... I don't think I know that one."
Jackrum: "Oh, I reckon the words'll come to you soon enough, sir, once you're up against the foe. Gen'rally, though, they're on the lines of 'O god, let me kill this bastard before he kills me'."
* * *
The man would walk right past her. He'd be alert, but not that alert. A slash would be better than a stab. Yes, a good swipe at head height would kill...
...some mother's son, some sister's brother, some lad who'd followed the drum for a shilling and his first new suit. If only she'd been trained, if only she'd had a few weeks stabbing straw men until she could believe that all men were made of straw...
* * *
Blouse: "Washerwomen? Is that usual, Sergeant Jackrum?"
Jackrum: "Oh, yes, sir. I expect the women in the villages round here do it, just like they did when we held the keep."
Blouse: "You mean they give aid and comfort to the enemy? Why?"
Jackrum: "Better than starving, sir. Fact of life. It doesn't always stop at washing, neither."
Blouse: "Sergeant, there are young men here!"
Jackrum: "They'll have to find out about ironing and darning sooner or later, sir."
* * *
Blouse: "Oh, you're brave, certainly, but what makes you think you stand a chance of passing yourself off as a woman?"
Polly: "Well, sir... what?"
Blouse: "Your keenness will not go unrecorded, Perks. But, y'know, a good officer keeps an eye on his men and I have to say that I've noticed in you, in all of you, little... habits, perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, like the occasional deep exploration of a nostril maybe, and a tendency to grin after passing wind, a natural boyish inclination to, ahem, scratch your... selves in public... that sort of thing. These are the kind of little details that'd give you away in a trice and tell any observer that you were a man in women's clothing, believe me."
* * *
"Oh, I can do old women wonderfully well," said Blouse. With a speed that made Lofty jump, he suddenly thrust out both hands twisted like claws, contorted his face into an expression of mad imbecility and screeched, "Oh deary me! My poor old feet! Things today aren't what they used to be! Lawks!"
Behind him, Sergeant Jackrum put his head in his hands.
* * *
Wazzer: "Yes, I do. I really talk to the Duchess."
Tonker: "Yeah, well, I used to, too. I used to beg her, once. That stupid face just stared and did nothing. She never stopped anything. All that stuff, all that stupid-- Anyway, why should she talk to you?"
Wazzer: "Because I listen."
-- Why praying isn't enough
* * *
"How old are you, sergeant?"
"Forty-three, sir," said Jackrum instantly. Polly looked up, expecting the generic thunderclap that ought to accompany such a universe-sized untruth.
* * *
They watched Lieutenant Blouse walk down through the trees to the path. They watched him join the erratic, straggling line of women on their way to the door. They listened for screams, and heard none.
"D-does any woman sway that much?" said Wazzer, peering through the bushes.
"Not legally, I think."
* * *
"He's got fair hair and blue eyes, and I think he had one gold earring, and... and a funny-shaped... what d'you call it? Oh, yes... sort of carbuncle on his, his... bottom."
"Right. Right."
"Um... now I come to tell someone, it doesn't sound very helpful, I suppose."
Not unless we're in a position to have a very unusual identity parade, Polly thought, and I can't imagine what position that would be.
* * *
Polly wanted to knock the wretched tobacco out of the sergeant's hand. Now that she had got over the surprise, there was something offensive about this lack of reaction. It was like someone opening a door just before your battering ram hit it; suddenly you were running through the building and not certain how to stop.
* * *
"Look, Blouse was a fool. It was prob'ly all them books. He read all that stuff about it being a noble thing to die for your country, I expect. I was never that keen on readin', but I know the job is making some other poor devil die for his."
* * *
Polly saw teeth in the gloom as the sentry grinned. "My dad told me he fought with you at Blunderberg!"
"Ah, that was a hot battle, that was!" said Jackrum.
"No, he meant in the pub afterwards. He pinched your drink and you smacked him in the mouth and he kicked you in the nadgers and you hit him in the guts and he blacked your eye and then you hit him with a table and when he came round his mates stood him beer for the evening for managing to lay nearly three punches on Sergeant Jackrum. He tells the story every year, when it's the anniversary and he's pis-- reminiscing."
* * *
"Wheresoever men are gathered together, someone will find something to ferment in a rubber boot, distil in an old kettle and flog to his mates. Made from rats, by the smell of it. Ferments well, does your average rat. Fancy a taste?"
* * *
Inside was a stuffy little area, a sort of canvas antechamber. A lady, lumpy and crowlike in a black bombazine dress, rose from a chair and gave the trio the most calculating look Polly had ever met. It finished off by putting a price on her boots.
* * *
There are times when a plan suddenly isn't going to work. When you're in the middle of it is not the time to find this out.
* * *
[Prostitutes] were an Abomination unto Nuggan, but men have always found space in their religion for a little sinning here and there.
* * *
The word to describe the four ladies seated in the room beyond, if you wanted to be kind, was "tired". If you didn't want to be kind a whole range of words were just hanging in the air.
* * *
Trousers. That's the secret. Trousers and a pair of socks. I never dreamed it was like this. Put on trousers and the world changes. We walk different. We act different. I see these girls and I think: idiots! Get yourself some trousers!
* * *
She'd even restyled one of the dresses into a dirndl, and looked like a fresh young maid from the beer cellar. Just to look at her was to mentally order a large pretzel.
* * *
"Did you bring a weapon, Tonk-- Magda?"
"No, Polly."
"No item of any sort with a certain weapon-like quality?" Polly insisted.
"No, Polly," said Tonker demurely.
"Anything, perhaps, with an edge?"
"Oh, you mean this?"
"Yes, Magda."
"Well, a woman can carry a knife, can't she?"
"It's a sabre, Magda. You're trying to hide it, but it's a sabre."
"But I'm only using it like a knife, Polly."
"It's three feet long, Magda."
"Size isn't important, Polly."
"No one believes that."
* * *
This wasn't a laundry, but clearly some hot, damp afterlife for those who required punishment with extra scrubbing.
* * *
Tonker: "Sorry, I want to be clear, sir. You have a date with a guard?"
Blouse: "Yes, and I'll suggest we go somewhere dark and then when I've got what I want I shall break his neck."
Tonker: "Isn't that going a bit far on a first date?"
* * *
Polly's native tongue had no word for "freaky", but if she had known about the word she would have welcomed its inclusion.
* * *
"People don't mind believing in, you know, gods and so on, but they get very nervous if you tell them they're showing up."
* * *
It is an established fact that, despite everything society can do, girls of seven are magnetically attracted to the colour pink.
* * *
Igorina had good eyes. Polly wondered if they'd ever belonged to someone else.
* * *
Polly: "Do you know how to break a man's neck, sir?"
Blouse: "I read a book on martial arts, Perks."
Polly: "But you haven't actually done it, sir?"
Blouse: "Well, no! I was at HQ, and you are not allowed to practise on real people, Perks."
* * *
Blouse: "Perhaps I may win the highest accolade that a gallant officer may obtain!"
Polly: "What's that, sir?"
Blouse: "Having either a foodstuff or an item of clothing named after one. General Froc got both, of course. The frock coat and Beef Froc. Of course, I could never aspire that high. But I have to say, Perks, that I have devised several recipes, just in case!"
* * *
"We'll have to find a way to pass the time, eh?" said one of the guards. Polly sighed. That was one of those phrases, like "Well, lookee what we have here", that meant things were only going to get a lot worse.
* * *
"Here, let me," said Igorina, producing her stick. "Blows to the head are potentially harmful and should not be undertaken lightly. Turn round, sir. Remove your helmet, please. Would twenty minutes' unconsciousness be okay?"
"Yes, thanks very mu--"
* * *
Shufti: "I really hope I didn't hurt the other one."
Polly: "He's swearing. That sounds like he's okay."
* * *
Shufti: "I don't want to worry anyone, but I can hear the sound of sort of feet, sort of dragging."
Tonker: "If you didn't want to worry anyone, why the hell did you just tell us that?"
* * *
"O-kay," said the subdued voice of Tonker. "Walking dead people. So?"
"The one near the archway was the late General Puhloaver!" said Blouse. "I have his book on The Art of Defence!"
"Best not to ask him to autograph it, sir," said Polly, as the squad bunched together.
* * *
Blouse: "Every great commander of the last five hundred years was buried here, Perks!"
Polly: "I'm very pleased for you, sir. If we could just move a little faster..."
Blouse: "It is my fondest hope that I'll spend the rest of eternity here, you know."
Polly: "Wonderful, sir, but not starting today."
* * *
"I can see a sign. Um. It's at the end of this passage. Um... just behind those three rather puzzled armed men with the, um... efficient-looking crossbows. Um. I think what you've just been saying was important and needed to be said. Only, um... not just now, perhaps? And not so loudly?"
* * *
Polly: "I was a-- I am a girl, and I cut my hair and pretended I was a boy and took the Duchess's shilling, sir. Take my word for it, sir, because I really don't want to have to draw you a picture. We played a trick on you, sir. Well, not a trick, really, but we, all of us, had reasons for being somewhere else, sir, or at least not being where we were. We lied."
Blouse: "You're sure?"
Polly: "Yes, sir. I am of the female persuasion. I check every day, sir."
* * *
"You're sure about all this, are you?"
What are you expecting me to say? Polly thought. "Whoops, now I come to think about it, yes, we're really men after all"?
* * *
It seemed to Polly that the lieutenant was having a lot of difficulty with all this; he kept asking the same basic question in different ways, in the hope of getting something other than the answer he didn't want to hear.
* * *
"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."
* * *
Polly: "The last man out stuck his thumb up and winked. Did you notice him? He wasn't even wearing an officer's uniform."
Tonker: "Probably wanted a date."
Blouse: "In Ankh-Morpork that means 'jolly good'. In Klatch, I think, it means 'I hope your donkey explodes'. I spotted the man. Looked like a guard sergeant to me."
Polly: "Didn't have stripes. Why'd he want to say jolly good to us?"
Shufti: "Or hate our donkey so much?"
* * *
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.
[Footnote: Every long-established kitchen has one of these, and no one ever remembers why. It is generally for something that no one does any more and, even when it was done, it wasn't done with any real enthusiasm, such as celery basting, walnut shredding or, in the worst case, edible dormouse stuffing.]
* * *
Tonker: "Tilda knows a lot about fire, believe me."
Polly: "When you say she knows a lot..."
Tonker: "I mean every place she worked at burned down."
* * *
The word was not whoomph. The experience was whoomph.
* * *
"Permission to yell in a bloodcurdling way, sir?"
* * *
Igorina: "Some of these men are badly hurt, Polly. There's one here with multiple."
Polly: "Multiple what?"
Igorina: "Just...multiple. Multiple everything. But I know I can save his arm, because I've just found it over there."
* * *
"We all are, sir. Really women. Not just dressed up as women. And right now I don't want to put any trousers on because then I'd be a woman dressed up as a man dressed up as a woman dressed up as a man, and then I'd be so confused I wouldn't know how to swear. And I want to swear right now, sir, very much."
* * *
Polly:"I'm told [hanging's] a very painful way to die."
Shufti: "Who by?"
* * *
"Who are we fooling, sir? The enemy wanted just to be quietly rid of us, and the general wants the same thing. That's the trouble about the good guys and the bad guys. They're all guys!"
* * *
"The trouble is, when you say to a general 'You and whose army?' he just has to point out of the window."
* * *
"The army may be crazy, but at least it's crazy by numbers. It's reliably insane."
* * *
What was happening out there now was a brawl, a midnight bar fight but on a huge scale. And, since there were various war engines atop the towers now occupied by either side, the keep was shooting at itself, in the finest traditions of the circular firing squad.
* * *
"To be frank, the problem here is not that you are women. As such, that is. But you persist in maintaining that you are. You see? We can't have that."
"You mean if we put on uniforms again, and swaggered around belching and saying 'har har, fooled you all' that would be all right?" said Polly.
* * *
"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."
* * *
"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 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.
* * *
Maladict: "Just like that? What's to stop us taking over the place?"
Polly: "All those men with crossbows we passed on the way up?"
* * *
"Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: vampires have a pretty good time of it whatever sex they are, right? But it's the same everywhere. Velvet dresses, underwired nightgowns, acting crazy all the time, and don't let's even go near the whole 'bathing in virgin's blood' thing."
* * *
Polly: "Aren't you that sergeant I saw in the old kitchen? Making faces behind Lord Rust from Ankh-Morpork?"
Vimes: "I was not making faces, miss. That's how I always look when Lord Rust is talking."
* * *
"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."
* * *
"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!"
* * *
Polly: "Look, sir, I'm just a... what is your name, please?"
Vimes: "Sam Vimes. Special envoy, which is kind of like an ambassador but without the little gold chocolates."
* * *
Maladicta: "Vimes the Butcher?"
Vimes: "Oh, yes. I've heard that one Your people haven't really mastered the fine art of propaganda."
* * *
"You don't appear to be as insane as your country's foreign policy."
* * *
"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...
* * *
"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."
* * *
If the landslide is big enough, even square pebbles will roll.
* * *
A credit to the women of your country. We're proud of you. Somehow those words locked you away, put you in your place, patted you on the head and dismissed you with a sweetie.
* * *
The pencil was hovering. Around it, the world turned. It wrote things down, and then they got everywhere. The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press was heavier than the siege weapon.
* * *
He smiled again, or at least allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up.
* * *
Polly was learning that an art form which happens in a fraction of a second nevertheless needs a long time to take place, allowing a smile to freeze into a mad grimace or, in the worst cases, a death rictus.
-- Fun with photography
* * *
Life was a process of finding out how far you could go, and you could probably go too far in finding out how far you could go.
* * *
She marched away, singing inside. This was not a fairy-tale castle and there was no such thing as a fairy-tale ending, but sometimes you could threaten to kick the handsome prince in the ham-and-eggs.
* * *
"...when all's said and done, I've had a good life. Saw the cavalry break at the Battle of Slomp. I was part of the Thin Red Line that turned aside the Heavy Brigade at Sheep's Drift, I saved the Imperial flag from four real bastards at Raladan, and I've been to a lot of foreign countries and met some very interesting people, who I mostly subsequently killed before they could do me over good and proper."
* * *
"I thought they'd be better at it than men. Trouble was, they were better than men at being like men. They do say the army can make a man of you, eh?"
* * *
Someone had been drawing in the gents' privy again. Polly couldn't wash it off, so she contented herself with correcting the anatomy.
* * *
When they're laughing at you, their guard is down. When their guard is down, you can kick them in the fracas.
* * *
Caring for small things had to start with caring for big things, and maybe the world wasn't big enough.
* * *
The vampire gave her the kind of smile only a vampire can give.
* * *
The enemy wasn't men, or women, or the old, or even the dead. It was just bleedin' stupid people, who came in all varieties. And no one had the right to be stupid.