MR 4

[KingSize]

That was Shufti.
‘I think it’s called deserting and they cut your head off,’ said the
voice of Maladict.
‘In my case that would be a drawback but you, dear Shufti, would find
it puts a crimp
in your social life.’
‘I never kissed their damn picture,’ said Tonker. ‘I swivelled it
round when Strappi
wasn’t looking and kissed it on the back!’
‘They’ll still say you kissed the Duchess, though,’ said Maladict.
‘You k-kissed the D-Duchess on the b-bottom?’ said Wazzer, horrified.
‘It was the back of the picture, okay?’ said Tonker. ‘It wasn’t her
real backside.
Huh, wouldn’t have kissed it if it was!’ There was some unidentified
sniggering from
various corners and just a hint of giggle.
‘That was w-wicked!’ hissed Wazzer. ‘Nuggan in heaven saw you d-do
that!’
‘It was just a picture, all right?’ muttered Tonker. ‘Anyway, what’s
the difference?
Front or back, we’re all here together and I don’t see any steak and
bacon!’
Something rumbled overhead. ‘I joined t’ see exciting forrin places
and meet erotic
people,’ said Carborundum.
That caused a moment’s thought. ‘I think you mean exotic?’ said Igor.
‘Yeah, that kind of stuff,’ agreed the troll.
‘But they always lie,’ said someone, and then Polly realized it was
her. ‘They lie
all the time. About everything.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Tonker. ‘We fight for liars.’
‘Ah, they may be liars,’ snapped Polly, in a passable imitation of
Strappi’s yap,
‘but they’re our liars!’
‘Now, now, children,’ said Maladict. ‘Let’s try to get some sleep,
shall we? But
here’s a happy little dream from your Uncle Maladict. Dream that when
we go into
battle, Corporal Strappi is leading us. Wouldn’t that be fun?’
After a while, Tonker said: ‘In front of us, you mean?’
‘Oh, yes. I can see you’re with me, Tonk. Right in front of you. On
the noisy,
frantic, confusing battlefield, where oh so much can go wrong.’
‘And we’ll have weapons?’ said Shufti wistfully.
‘Of course you’ll have weapons. You’re soldiers. And there’s the
enemy, right in
front of you . . .’
‘That’s a good dream, Mai.’
‘Sleep on it, kid.’
Polly turned over, and tried to make herself comfortable. It’s all
lies, she thought
muzzily. Some of them are just prettier than others, that’s all.
People see what they
think is there. Even I’m a lie. But I’m getting away with it.
A warm autumnal wind was blowing leaves off the rowan trees as the
recruits
marched among the foothills. It was the morning of the next day, and
the mountains
were behind them. Polly passed the time identifying the birds in the
hedgerows. It was
a habit. She knew most of them.
She hadn’t set out to be an ornithologist. But birds brought Paul
alive. All the . . .
slowness in the rest of his thinking became a flash of lightning in
the presence of
birds. Suddenly he knew their names, habits and habitats, could
whistle their songs
and, after Polly had saved up for a box of paints off a traveller at
the inn, had painted
a picture of a wren so real you could hear it.
Their mother had been alive then. The row had gone on for days.
Pictures of living
creatures were an Abomination in the Eyes of Nuggan. Polly had asked
why there
were pictures of the Duchess everywhere, and had been thrashed for it.
The picture
had been burned, the paints thrown away.
It was a terrible thing. Her mother had been a kind woman, or as kind
as a devout
woman could be who tried to keep up with the whims of Nuggan, and
she’d died
slowly amidst pictures of the Duchess and amongst the echoes of
unanswered prayers,
but that was the memory that crawled treacherously into Polly’s mind
every time: the
fury and the scolding, while the little bird seemed to flutter in the
flames.
In the fields women and old men were getting in the spoilt wheat after
last night’s
rain, hoping to save what they could. There weren’t any young men
visible. Polly saw
some of the other recruits steal a glance at the scavenging parties,
and wondered if
they were thinking the same thing.
They saw no one else on the road until midday, when the party was
marching
through a landscape of low hills; the sun had boiled away some of the
clouds and, for
a moment at least, summer was back - moist and sticky and mildly
unpleasant, like a
party guest who won’t go home.
A red blob in the distance became a rather larger blob and resolved
itself into a
loose knot of men. Polly knew what to expect as soon as she saw it. By
the reaction of
some of the others, they did not. There was a moment of collision and
confusion as
people walked into one another, and then the party stopped, and
stared.
It took the wounded men some time to draw level, and some time to
pass. Two
able-bodied men, as far as Polly could tell, were trundling a handcart
on which a third
man lay. Others were limping on crutches, or had arms in slings, or
wore red jackets
with an empty sleeve. Perhaps worse were the ones like the man in the
inn, greyfaced,
staring straight ahead, jackets buttoned tight despite the heat.
One or two of the injured glanced at the recruits as they lurched
past, but there was
no expression in their eyes beyond a terrible determination.
Jackrum reined in the horse.
‘All right, twenty minutes’ breather,’ he muttered.
Igor turned, nodded to the party of wounded heading grimly onward, and
said,
‘Permithion to thee if I can do anything for them, tharge?’
‘You’ll get your chance soon enough, lad,’ said the sergeant.
‘Tharge?’ said Igor, looking hurt.
‘Oh, all right. If you must. D’you want someone to give you a hand?’
There was a nasty laugh from Corporal Strappi.
‘Some athithtance would be a help, yeth, thargeant,’ said Igor, with
dignity.
The sergeant looked at the squad, and nodded. ‘Private Halter, step
forward! Know
anything about doctorin’?’
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.
‘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.’
‘And the one with stitches all round his head?’
‘He’s an Igor, sir. Sort of like a special clan up in the mountains,
sir.’
‘Do they fight?’
‘Can take a man apart very quickly, sir, as I understand it,’ said
Jackrum, his
expression not changing.
The young lieutenant sighed. ‘Well, I’m sure they’re all good
fellows,’ he said.
‘Now then, er . . . men, I—’
‘Pay attention and listen to what the lieutenant has to say!’ bawled
Strappi.
The lieutenant shuddered. ‘—thank you, corporal,’ he said. ‘Men, I
have good
news,’ he added, but in the voice of one who hasn’t. ‘You were
probably expecting a
week or two in the training camp in Crotz, yes? But I’m glad to be
able to tell you that
the . . . the war is progressing so . . . so . . . so well that you
are to go directly to the
front.’
Polly heard one or two gasps, and a snigger from Corporal Strappi.
‘All of you are to go to the lines,’ said the lieutenant. ‘That
includes you too,
corporal. Your time for action has come at last!’
The snigger stopped. ‘Sorry, sir?’ said Strappi. ‘The front? But you
know that
I’m— well, you know about the special duties—’
‘My orders said all able-bodied men, corporal,’ said Blouse. ‘I expect
that you’ll
be itching for the fray after all these years, eh, a young man like
you?’
Strappi said nothing.
‘However,’ said the lieutenant, fumbling under his soaking cloak, ‘I
do have a
package here for you, Sergeant Jackrum. A very welcome one, I’ve no
doubt.’
Jackrum took the packet gingerly. ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll look at this
later on—’ he
began.
‘On the contrary, Sergeant Jackrum!’ said Blouse. ‘Your last recruits
should see
this, since you are both a soldier and, as it were, a “father of
soldiers”! And so it’s
only right that they see a fine soldier get his reward: an honourable
discharge,
sergeant!’ Blouse spoke the words as if they had cream and a little
cherry on top.
Apart from the rain, the only sound now was Jackrum’s pudgy finger
slowly
ripping open the package.
‘Oh,’ he said, like a man in shock. ‘Good. A picture of the Duchess.
That’s
eighteen I have now. Oh, and, oo, a piece of paper saying it’s a
medal, so it’s looks
like we’ve even run out of pot metal now. Oh, and my discharge with a
printing of the
Duchess’s very own signature itself!’ He turned the packet over and
shook it. ‘Not my
three months’ back pay, though.’
‘Three loud hurrahs for Sergeant Jackrum!’ said the lieutenant to the
rain and
wind. ‘Hip-hip—’
‘But I thought we needed every man, sir!’ said Jackrum.
‘Judging by all the notes pinned on that packet, it has been following
you around
for years, sergeant,’ said Blouse. ‘You know the military. That is
your official
discharge, I am afraid. I cannot rescind it. I am sorry.’
‘But—’ Jackrum began.
‘It bears the Duchess’s signature, sergeant. Will you argue with that?
I said I am
sorry. In any case, what would you do? We will not be sending out any
more
recruiting parties.’
‘What? But we always need men, sir!’ Jackrum protested. ‘And I’m fit
and well
again, got the stamina of a horse—’
‘You were the only man to return with recruits, sergeant. That is how
the matter
is.’
The sergeant hesitated for a moment, and then saluted. ‘Yessir! Very
good, sir!
Will see the new lads settled in, sir! Pleasure to have served, sir!’
‘Can I ask something?’ said Maladict.
‘You do not address an officer directly, private,’ snapped Jackrum.
‘No, let the man speak, sergeant,’ said the lieutenant. ‘These
are . . . unusual times,
after all. Yes, my man?’
‘Did I hear you say we’re going into battle without training, sir?’
‘Oh, well, most of you will almost certainly be pikemen, haha,’ said
the lieutenant
nervously. ‘Not a lot of training there, eh? You just need to know
which end is which,
haha.’ He looked as though he wanted to die.
‘Pikemen?’ said Maladict, looking puzzled.
‘You heard the lieutenant, Private Maladict,’ snapped the sergeant.
‘Yes, sir. Thank you,”sir,’ said Maladict, stepping back into the
ranks.