Monstrous Regiment

“Indeed I am, captain,” said Blouse.

Horentz looked him up and down. “You?” he said, disdain oozing from the word.

“Indeed, sir,” said Blouse, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh well, we shall have to do what we can. That fat bastard,” said Horentz, pointing a threatening finger at Jackrum, “that bastard offered me violence! As a prisoner! In chains! And that… boy,” the captain added, spitting the word towards Polly, “kicked me in the privates and almost clubbed me to death! I demand that you let us go!”

Blouse turned to Polly. “Did you kick Captain Horentz in the ‘privates’, Parts?”

“Er… yessir. Kneed, actually. And it’s Perks actually, sir, although I can see why you made the mistake.”

“What was he doing at the time?”

“Er… embracing me, sir.” Polly saw Blouse’s eyebrows rise, and plunged on. “I was temporarily disguised as a girl, sir, in order to allay suspicion.”

“And then you… clubbed him?”

“Yessir. Once, sir.”

“What in the world possessed you to stop at once?” said Blouse.

“Sir?” said Polly, as Horentz gasped. Blouse turned with an almost seraphic look of pleasure on his face.

“And you, sergeant,” he went on, “did you in fact lay a hand on the captain?”

Jackrum took a step forward and saluted smartly. “Not as in fact per se and such, sir, no,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on a point some twelve feet high on the far wall. “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. On my oath, sir, I am not a violent man.”

“Of course not, sergeant,” said Blouse. And now, while he still smiled, it was edged with a kind of malevolent glee.

“For heaven’s sake, you fool, you can’t believe these ignorant yokels, they’re the dregs of—” Horentz began.

“I do believe them, indeed I do,” said Blouse, shaking with nervous defiance. “I would believe their testimony against yours, sir, if they told me the sky was green. And it would appear that untrained as they are, they have bested some of Zlobenia’s finest soldiers by wit and daring. I have every confidence that they have further surprises in store for us—”

“Dropping your drawers would do it,” whispered Maladict.

“Shutup!” hissed Polly, and then had to cram a fist into her mouth again.

“I know you, Captain Horentz,” said Blouse, and just for a moment the captain looked worried. “I mean I know your sort. I’ve had to put up with them all my life. Big jovial bullies, with their brains in their breeches. You dare to come riding into our country and think we’re going to be frightened of you? You think you can appeal to me over the heads of my men? You demand? On the soil of my country?”

“Captain?” murmured the cavalry sergeant, as Horentz stared open-mouthed at the lieutenant, “they’ll be here soon…”

“Ah,” said Horentz uncertainly. Then he seemed, with some effort, to regain his composure. “Reinforcements are coming,” he snapped. “Free us now, you idiot, and I might just put this down to native stupidity. Otherwise I shall see to it that things go very, very badly for you and your… ha… men.”

“Seven cavalrymen were considered not enough to deal with farm boys?” said Blouse. “You’re sweating, captain. You are worried. And yet you have reinforcements coming?”

“Permission to speak, sir!” barked Jackrum, and went straight on to: “Cheesemongers! Get bleedin’ armed again right now! Maladict, you give Private Goom his sword back an’ wish him luck! Carborundum, you grab a handful of them twelve-foot pikes! The rest of—”

“There’s these as well, sarge,” said Maladict. “Lots of them. I got them off our friends’ saddles.” He held up what looked to Polly like a couple of large pistol crossbows, steely and sleek.

“Horsebows?” said Jackrum, like a child opening a wonderful Hogswatch present. “That’s what you gets for leading an honest and sober life, my lads. Dreadful little engines they are. Let’s have two each!”

“I don’t want u

“Right you are, sir!” said the sergeant. “Carborundum! First man comes through that door ru

…and someone did knock at the door.

Maladict levelled two bows at it. Carborundum lifted a couple of pikes in either hand. Polly raised her cudgel, a weapon she at least knew how to use. The other boys, and girls, raised whatever weapon Threeparts Scallot had been able to procure. There was silence. Polly looked around.

“Come in?” she suggested.

“Yeah, right, that should do it,” said Jackrum, rolling his eyes.

The door was pushed open and a small, dapper man stepped through carefully. In build, colouring and hairstyle he looked rather like Mala—

“A vampire?” said Polly softly.

“Oh, damn,” said Maladict.

The newcomer’s clothing, however, was unusual. It was an old-fashioned evening dress coat with the sleeves removed and many, many pockets sewn all over it. In front of him, slung around his neck, was a large black box. Against all common sense, he beamed at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.

“Vonderful!” he said, lifting up the box and unfolding three legs to form a tripod for it. “But… could zer troll move a little to his left please?”

“Huh?” said Carborundum. The squad looked at one another.

“Yes, and if the sergeant vould be so kind as to move into the centre more, and raise those swords a little bit higher?” the vampire went on. “Great! And you, sir, if you could give me a grrrrh…?”

“Grrrrh?” said Blouse.

“Very good! Really fierce now…”

There was a blinding flash and a brief cry of “Oh, sh—”, followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.

Where the vampire had been standing was a little cone of dust. Blinking, Polly watched it fountain up into a human shape which coalesced once more into the vampire.

“Oh dear, I really thought ze new filter vould do it,” he said. “Oh vell, ve live und learn.” He gave them a bright smile and added, “Now—vhich vun of you is Captain Horentz, please?”

Half an hour had passed. Polly was still bewildered. The trouble was not that she didn’t understand what was going on. The problem was that before she could understand that, she had to understand a lot of other things. One of them was the concept of a “newspaper”.

Blouse was looking proud and worried by turns, but nervous all the time. Polly watched him carefully, not least because he was talking to the man who had come in behind the iconographer. He was wearing a big leather coat and jodhpurs, and spent most of the time writing things down in a notebook, with occasional puzzled glances at the squad. Finally, Maladict, who had good hearing, sauntered over to the recruits from his lounging spot by the wall.

“Okay,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s all a bit complicated, but… do any of you know about newspapers?”

“Yeth, my thecond couthin Igor in Ankh-Morpork told me about them,” said Igor. “They’re like a kind of government a

“Um… sort of. Except they’re not written by the government. They’re written by ordinary people who write things down,” said Maladict.

“Like a diary?” said Tonker.

“Um… no…”

Maladict tried to explain. The squad tried to understand. It still made no sense. It sounded to Polly like some kind of Punch and Judy show. 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…

“Mr de Worde works for a newspaper in Ankh-Morpork,” said Maladict. “He says we’re losing. He says casualties are mounting and troops are deserting and all the civilians are heading for the mountains.”