Monstrous Regiment

…but not to Nuggan. Never to Nuggan, since her mother died…

And then Lofty was ru

Blouse nearly lost another earlobe.

Out from nowhere came Jackrum, boots on but braces dangling. He grabbed Lofty by the shoulder and swung her round. “Where?” he demanded.

“There’s a track down there! Troopers! Carts! What do we do, sarge?”

“We keep the noise down!” muttered Jackrum. “Are they heading up here?”

“No, they went right past, sarge!”

Jackrum turned and gave the rest of the squad a satisfied look. “O-kay. Corporal, take Carborundum and Perks and go and have a look. The rest of you, tool up and try to be brave. Eh, lieutenant?”

Blouse bemusedly dabbed foam off his face. “What? Oh. Yes. See to it, sergeant.”

Twenty seconds later, Polly was ru

There were only four troopers, in an unfamiliar uniform, riding in pairs ahead of and behind a cart. It was small, and had a canvas cover.

“What’s in a little cart that four men have to protect?” said Maladict. “It must be valuable!”

Polly pointed to the huge flag that hung limply from a pole on the wagon. “I think it’s the newspaper man,” she said. “It’s the same cart. Same flag, too.”

“Then it’s a good thing they’ve gone right past,” hissed Maladict. “Let’s just see them out of sight and creep away like good little mice, okay?”

The party was travelling at the speed of the cart and, at this point, the two riders in the lead stopped and turned in their saddles, waiting for it to catch up. Then one of them pointed, back past the hidden watchers. There was a shout, too far away to be understood. The troopers in the rear trotted up to the cart, met with their comrades, and all four turned to look up. There was some discussion, and two riders trotted back along the road.

“Oh, darn,” said Polly. “What have they spotted?”

The horsemen went past their hiding place. A few moments later, they heard the horses enter the woods.

“Do we run an’ get ’em?” said Jade.

“Let Jackrum do that,” said Maladict.

“But if he does, and the men don’t come back—” Polly began.

“When they don’t come back,” Maladict corrected her.

“—then those other two will get suspicious, won’t they? One will probably stay here, the other will go to get help.”

“Then we’ll sneak up and wait,” said Maladict. “Look, they’ve dismounted. The cart’s pulled in, too. If they look as though they’re worried, we’ll move in.”

“And do what, exactly?” said Polly.

“Threaten to shoot them,” said Maladict firmly.

“And if they don’t believe us?”

“Then we’ll threaten to shoot them in a much louder voice,” said Maladict. “Happy? And I hope to hell they’ve got some coffee!”

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.6

The two troopers had a fire going and a billy-can steaming when a young man jumped down from the cart, stretched his arms, looked around, yawned, and sauntered a little way into the forest. He found a convenient tree and, a moment later, was apparently examining the bark at eye height with studied enthusiasm.

The tip of a steel crossbow bolt pressed against the back of his neck and a voice said: “Raise your hands and turn around slowly!”

“What, right now?”

“Um… all right, no. You can finish what you’re doing.”

“Actually I think that’s going to be quite impossible. Let me just, er… right. Okay.” The man raised his hands again. “You realize I just have to shout?”

“So?” said Polly. “I just have to pull this trigger. Shall we have a race?”

The man turned round.

“See?” said Polly, stepping back. “It’s him again. De Worde. The writer man.”

“You’re them!” he said.

“Dem who?” said Jade.

“Oh dear,” said Maladict.

“Look, I’d give anything to talk to you!” said de Worde. “Please?”

“You’re with the enemy!” hissed Polly.

“What? Them? No! They’re from Lord Rust’s regiment. From Ankh-Morpork! They’ve been sent to protect us!”

“Troops to protect you in Borogravia?” said Maladict. “Who from?”

“You mean from whom? Er… well… you, in theory.”

Jade leaned down. “Efficient, aren’t dey…”

“Look, I must talk to you,” said the man urgently. “This is astounding! Everyone’s looking for you! Did you kill that old couple in the woods?”

Birds sang. Far off, there was the call of the female blue-capped woodpecker.

“A patrol found the fresh graves,” said de Worde.

High above an ice heron, a winter migrant from the Hub, gave an ugly honk as it searched for lakes.

“I take it you didn’t, then,” said de Worde.

“We buried them,” said Maladict coldly. “We don’t know who killed them.”

“We did take some vegetables,” said Polly. She remembered laughing about it. Admittedly it was only because it was that or start crying, but even so…

“You’ve been living off the land?” He’d tugged a notebook out of his pocket and was scribbling in it with a pencil.

“We don’t have to talk to you,” said Maladict.

“No, no, you must! There’s so much you need to know! You’re in the… Ups-and-Downs, right?”

“Ins-and-Outs,” said Polly.

“And you—” the man began.

“I’ve had enough of this,” said Maladict, and marched away from the tree and into the clearing. The two cavalry men looked up from their fire, and there was a moment of immobility before one reached for his sword.

Maladict swung the bow quickly from one to the other, its point hypnotizing them like a swinging watch. “I’ve got only one shot but there’s two of you,” he said. “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!”

They stared at the crossbow and slowly shook their heads.

“What about you, writer man?” snarled Maladict. “Where’re you hiding the coffee?”

“We only have cocoa,” said the writer, raising his hands quickly as Maladict turned on him. “You’re welcome to—”

Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air7. and sat down with his head in his hands. “We’re all go

“Don’t even fink about it,” she said.

Polly turned to the writer man. “You want us to talk to you, sir? Then you talk to us. Is this about… Prince Heinrich’s… socks?”

Maladict stood up in one mad movement. “I say we grease the lot of them and go home!” he said, to no one in particular. “One, Two, Three! What We Are Fighting For!”

“Socks?” said the writer, looking nervously at the vampire. “What’ve socks got to do with it?”

“I just gave you an order, Polly,” said Maladict.

“What is it you think we don’t know?” Polly insisted, glaring at de Worde.

“Well, to start with you’re just about all that’s left of the Ins-and-Outs—”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, there’s prisoners and wounded, I think. But why should I lie to you? Why did he call you Polly?”

6. Actually a tree is not, technically, required, but seems to be insisted upon for reasons of style.

7. 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. If it had hit a duck, which quacked and then landed on somebody’s head, this would of course have been very droll and would certainly have been reported. Instead, it drifted in the breeze a little and landed in an oak tree some thirty feet away, where it missed a squirrel.