Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [107]
“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 the 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 is 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 to 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 around. “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 pulled 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