Discworld 30 - Monstrous Regiment (29 page)

 
 
  
‘He’s just had a bit too much to drink,’ said Polly loudly, as all four of the girls stood up.
‘But he—’ Shufti got a nudge in the ribs before she could say any more. One of the girls
carefully laid down her knitting, took Polly’s arm, flashed her finely crafted expression of
interest and said, ‘You’re a well-set-up young man, aren’t you . . . what’s your namer dear?
I’m Gracie.’
‘Oliver,’ said Polly. And what the hell is the fine tradition of the Ins-and-Outs?
‘Ever seen a woman with no clothes on before, Oliver?’ The girls giggled.
Polly’s brow wrinkled as, just for a moment, she was caught unawares. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of
course.’
‘Ooo, it looks like we’ve got ourselves a regular Don Joo-ann, girls,’ said Gracie, stepping
back. ‘We may have to send out for reinforcements! Why don’t you an’ me and Prudence go
off to a little nook I know, and your little friend will be the guest of Faith and Comfort.
Comfort’s very good with young men, ain’t you, Comfort?’
Sergeant Jackrum had been wrong in his description of the girls. Three of them were
indeed several meals short of a healthy weight, but when Comfort got up out of her large
armchair you realized that it had, in fact, been quite a small armchair and had mostly been
Comfort. For a large woman she had a small face, locked in a piggy-eyed scowl. There was a
death’s head tattoo on one arm.
‘He’s young,’ said Gracie. ‘He’ll heal. Come along, Don Joo-ann . . .’
In a way, Polly was relieved. She didn’t take to the girls. Oh, the profession could bring
anyone down, but she’d got to know some of her town’s ladies of uneasy virtue and they had
an edge she couldn’t find here.
‘Why do you work here?’ she said, as they entered a smaller, canvas-walled room. There
was a rickety bed taking up most of the space.
‘You know, you look a bit too young to be that sort of customer,’ said Gracie.
‘What sort?’ said Polly.
‘Oh, a holy joe,’ said Gracie. ‘ “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” and all
that stuff. Feel sorry for us, do you? At least if someone cuts up rough we’ve got Garry
outside and after he’s finished with the bloke the colonel gets told and the bastard gets
bunged in clink.’
‘Yeah,’ said Prudence. ‘From what we hear we’re the safest ladies within twenty-five
miles. Old Smother’s not too bad. We get money to keep and we get fed and she don’t beat
us, which is more than can be said for husbands, and you can’t wander around loose, now,
can you?’
Jackrum put up with Blouse because you’ve got to have an officer, Polly thought. If you
don’t have an officer, some other officer’ll take you over. And a woman by herself as missing
a man, while a man by himself is his own master. 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!
‘Can you please get your clothes off?’ she said. ‘I think we’d better hurry.’
‘One of the Ins-and-Outs, this one,’ said Gracie, slipping her dress off her shoulders. ‘Keep
an eye on your cheeses, Pru!’

 
 
  
‘Er . . . why does that mean we’re in the Ins-and-Outs?’ said Polly. She made a show of
unbuttoning her jacket, wishing that she believed in anyone there to pray to so that she could
pray for the whistle.
‘That’s ‘cos you lads always have your eye on business,’ said Gracie.
And maybe there was someone listening, at that. The whistle blew.
Polly grabbed the dresses and ran out, oblivious of the yells behind her. She collided with
Shufti outside, tripped over the groaning form of Garry, saw Sergeant Jackrum holding the
tent flap open, and bulleted into the night.
‘This way!’ the sergeant hissed, grabbing her by the collar before she’d gone a few feet
and swinging her round. ‘You too, Shufti! Move!’
He ran up the side of the wash like a child’s balloon being blown by the wind, leaving
them to scramble after him. His arms were full of clothing, which snagged and danced behind
him. Up above was knee-deep scrub, treacherous in the gloom. They tripped and staggered
across it until they reached heavier growth, whereupon the sergeant got hold of both of them
and pushed them into the bushes. The shouts and screams were fainter now.
‘Now we’ll just keep quiet, like,’ he whispered. ‘There’s patrols about.’
‘They’ll be bound to find us,’ Polly hissed, while Shufti wheezed.
‘No, they won’t,’ said Jackrum. ‘First, they’ll all be running towards the shoutin’, because
that’s natur— there they go . . .’ Polly heard more shouts in the distance. ‘And bloody fools
they are, too. They’re supposed to be guarding the perimeter, and they’re running towards
trouble in the camp. And they’re running straight towards lamplight, so there goes their night
eyes! If I was their sergeant they’d be due a fizzer! C’mon.’ He stood up, and hauled Shufti to
her feet. ‘Feeling all right, lad?’
‘It w-was horrible, sarge! One of them put her hand . . . on . . . on my socks!’
‘Something that doesn’t often happen, I’ll bet any man,’ said Jackrum. ‘But you did a good
job. Now, we’ll walk nice and quiet, and no more talking ‘til I say, okay?’
They plodded on for ten minutes, skirting the camp. They heard several patrols, and saw a
couple of others on the hilltops as the moon rose, but it dawned on Polly that, loud though the
shouting had been, it was only part of the huge patchwork of sound that rose from the camp.
The patrols this far away probably hadn’t heard it, or at least were commanded by the kinds
of soldiers who didn’t want to get put on a fizzer.
In the dark, she heard Jackrum take a deep breath. ‘Okay, that’s far enough. Not a bad job
of work, lads. You’re real Ins-and-Outs now!’
‘That guard was out cold,’ said Polly. ‘Did you hit him?’
‘Y’see, I’m fat,’ said Jackrum. ‘People don’t think fat men can fight. They think fat men
are funny. They think wrong. Gave ‘im a chop to the windpipe.’
‘Sarge!’ said Shufti, horrified.
‘What? What? He was coming at me with his club!’ said Jackrum.
‘Why was he doing that, sarge?’ said Polly.
‘Ooh, you cunning soldier, you,’ said Jackrum. ‘All right, I grant you that I’d just given
madarm the ol’ quietus, but to be fair I know when someone’s just handed me a bleedin’
drink full o’ sleepy drops.’

 
 
  
‘You hit a woman, sarge?’ said Polly.
‘Yeah, and maybe when she wakes up in her corsets she’ll decide that next time a poor ol’
drunk fat man wanders in it mightn’t be such a good idea to try to roll him for his wad,’
growled Jackrum. ‘I’d be in a ditch wi’out my drawers on and a damned great headache if
she’d had her way, and if you two was daft enough to complain to an officer she’d swear
black was blue that I didn’t have a penny on me when I came in and was drunk and
disorderly. And the colonel wouldn’t care a fig, ‘cos he’d reckon a sergeant daft enough to
get caught like that had it coming to him. I know, you see. I look after my lads.’ There was a
clink in the dark. ‘Plus a few extra dollars won’t go amiss.’
‘Sarge, you didn’t steal the cashbox, did you?’ said Polly.
‘Yeah. Got a good armful of her wardrobe, too.’
‘Good!’ said Shufti fervently. ‘It wasn’t a nice place!’
‘It was mostly my money in any case,’ said Jackrum. ‘Business has been a bit slow today,
by the feel of it.’
‘But it’s immoral earnings!’ said Polly, and then felt a complete fool for saying it.
‘No,’ said Jackrum. ‘It was immoral earnings, now it’s the proceeds of common theft.
Life’s a lot easier when you learns to think straight.’
Polly was glad there was no mirror. The best that could be said for the squad’s new
clothing was that it covered them up. But this was a war. You seldom saw new clothes on
anybody. Yet they felt awkward. And there was no sense in that at all. But they looked at one
another in the chilly light of dawn and giggled in embarrassment. Wow, Polly thought, look
at us: dressed as women.
Oddly enough, it was Igorina who really looked the part. She’d disappeared into the other
tumbledown room carrying her pack. For ten minutes the squad had heard the occasional
grunt or ‘ouch’, and then she’d returned with a full head of fair, shoulder-length hair. Her
face was the right shape, missing the lumps and bumps they’d come to know. And the
stitches on her forehead shrank and disappeared as Polly watched in astonishment.
‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ she said.
‘It smarts a bit for a few minutes,’ said Igorina. ‘You just have to have the knack. And the
special ointment, of course.’
‘But why’s there a curved scar on your cheek now?’ said Tonker. ‘And those stitches are
staying.’
Igorina looked down demurely. 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.
‘You’ve got to have something to show,’ she said. ‘Otherwise you’re letting down the clan.
And actually I think the stitches are rather fetching . . .’
‘Well, okay,’ Tonker conceded. ‘But lisp a bit, will you? I know this is completely wrong,
but now you look, oh, I don’t know . . . weird, I suppose.’
‘Okay, line up,’ said Jackrum. He stood back, and gave them a look of theatrical disdain.
‘Well, I’ve never seen such a lot of scrubb— washerwomen in all my life,’ he said. ‘I wish

 
 
  
you all the luck you’re bleeding well gonna need. There’ll be someone watching the door for
you to come out, and that’s all I can promise. Private Perks, you’re acting, unpaid corporal on
this one. I hope you’ve picked up one or two little lessons on our stroll. In and out, that’s
what you should do. No famous last stands, please. When in doubt, kick ‘em in the nadgers
and scarper. Mind you, if you frighten them like you frighten me, you should have no
trouble.’
‘Are you sure you won’t join us, sarge?’ said Tonker, still trying not to laugh.
‘No, lad. You won’t get me in skirts. Everyone has their place, right? The place where they
draw the line? Well, that’s mine. I’m pretty steeped in sin, one way and another, but Jackrum
always shows his colours. I’m an old soldier. I’ll fight like a soldier does, in the ranks, on the
battlefield. Besides, if I went in there simpering in petticoats I’d never hear the end of it.
‘The Duchess says there is a d-different path for Sergeant Jackrum,’ said Wazzer.
‘And I don’t know if you don’t frighten me worst of all, Private Goom,’ said Jackrum. He
hitched up his equatorial belt. ‘You’re right, though. When you’re inside I shall nip down,
nice and quiet, and slip into our lines. If I can’t raise a little diversionary attack, my name’s
not Sergeant Jackrum. And since it is Sergeant Jackrum, that proves it. Hah, there’s plenty of
men in this man’s army that owe me a favour’ - he gave a little sniff - ‘or wouldn’t say no to
my face. And plenty of likely lads who’ll want to tell their grandchildren they fought
alongside Jackrum, too. Well, I’ll give ‘em their chance at real soldierin’.’
‘Sarge, it’ll be suicide to attack the main gates!’ said Polly.
Jackrum slapped his belly. ‘See this lot?’ he said. ‘It’s like having yer own armour. Bloke
once stuck a blade in this up to the hilt and was as surprised as hell when I nutted him.
Anyway, you lads’ll be making so much fuss the guards will be distracted, right? You’re
relying on me, I’m relying on you. That’s milit’ry, that is. You give me a signal, any signal.
That’s all I’ll need.’
‘The Duchess says your path takes you further,’ said Wazzer.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Jackrum jovially. ‘And where’s that, then? Somewhere with a good pub, I
hope!’
‘The Duchess says, um, it should lead to the town of Scritz,’ said Wazzer. She said it
quietly while the rest of the squad were laughing, less at the comment than as a way of losing
some of the tension. But Polly heard it.
Jackrum really, really was good, she thought. The fleeting expression of terror was gone in
an instant. ‘Scritz? Nothing there,’ he said. ‘Dull town.’
‘There was a sword,’ said Wazzer.
Jackrum was ready this time. There was not a flicker of expression, just the blank face that
he was so good at. And that was odd, Polly thought, because there should have been
something, even if it was only puzzlement.
‘Handled lots of swords in my time,’ he said dismissively. ‘Yes, Private Halter?’
‘There’s one thing you didn’t tell us, sarge,’ said Tonker, lowering her hand. ‘Why is the
regiment called the Ins-and-Outs?’
‘First into battle, last out of the fray,’ said Jackrum automatically.
‘So why are we nicknamed the Cheesemongers?’

 
 
  
‘Yes,’ said Shufti. ‘Why, sarge? Because the way those girls were talking, it sounded like
it’s something we ought to know.’
Jackrum made a clicking noise of exasperation. ‘Oh, Tonker, why the hell did you wait ‘til
you’d got your trousers off before asking me that? I’ll feel embarrassed telling yer now!’ And
Polly thought: that’s bait, right? You want to tell us. You want to get any conversation away
from Scritz . . .
‘Ah,’ said Tonker. ‘It’s about sex, then, is it?’
‘Not as such, no . . .’
‘Well, tell me, then,’ said Tonker. ‘I’d like to know before I die. If it makes you feel any
better I’ll nudge people and go gnher, gnher, gnher.’
Jackrum sighed. ‘There’s a song,’ he said. ‘It starts ‘Twas on a Monday morning, all in the
month of May—’
‘Then it is about sex,’ said Polly flatly. ‘It’s a folk song, it starts with ‘twas, it takes place
in May, QED it’s about sex. Is a milkmaid involved? I bet there is.’
‘There could be,’ Jackrum conceded.
‘Going for to market? For to sell her wares?’ said Polly.
‘Very likely.’
‘O-kay. That gives us the cheese. And she meets, let’s see, a soldier, a sailor, a jolly
ploughboy or just possibly a man clothed all in leather, I expect? No, since it’s about us, it’ll
be a soldier, right? And since it’s one of the Ins-and-Outs . . . oh dear, I feel a humorous
double-entendre coming on. Just one question: what item of her clothing fell down or came
untied?’
‘Her garter,’ said Jackrum. ‘You’ve heard it before, Perks.’
‘No, but I just know how folk songs go. We had folk singers in the lower bar for six
months back hom— where I worked. In the end we had to get a man in with a ferret. But you
remember stuff . . . oh, no . . .’
‘Was there canoodling, sarge?’ said Tonker, grinning.
‘Kayaking, I expect,’ said Igorina, to general sniggering.
‘No, he stole the cheese, didn’t he?’ sighed Polly. ‘As the poor girl was lying there waiting
for her garter to be tied, hem hem, he damn well made off with her cheese, right?’
‘Er . . . not damn. Not with the skirt on, Ozz,’ Tonker warned.
‘Then it’s not Ozz, either,’ said Polly. ‘Fill yer hat with bread, fill yer boots with soup!
And steal the cheese, eh, sarge?’
‘That’s right. We’ve always been a very practical regiment,’ said Jackrum. ‘An army
marches on its stomach, lads. On mine, o’ course, it could troop the colour!’
‘It was her own fault. She should have been able to tie up her own garters,’ said Lofty.
‘Yeah. Probably wanted her cheese stolen,’ said Tonker.
‘Wise words,’ said Jackrum. ‘Off you go, then . . . cheesemongers!’