Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [124]
Behind the officers, the man with the cigar winked at Polly. His uniform was very old-fashioned—an ancient helmet, a breastplate, some slightly rusted chain mail, and big boots. He wore it like a workman wears his overalls. Unlike the braid and brilliance in front of her, the only statement his clothes made was that he didn’t intend to get hurt. It had no insignia that Polly could see, apart from a small shield hooked onto the breastplate.
“If you will excuse me a moment,” said Blouse, “I will consult with my men.”
“Men?” said Rust. “They’re a bunch of women, man!”
“But at this moment, sir,” said Blouse coolly, “I would not exchange them for any six men you could offer me. If you gentlemen would care to wait outside?”
Behind the group, the badly dressed man burst into silent laughter. His sense of humor was not shared by the rest of the group, however.
“You cannot possibly consider refusing this offer!” said Lord Rust.
“Nevertheless, sir,” said Blouse. “We will take a few minutes. I think the ladies would prefer some privacy. One of them is expecting a child.”
“What, here?” As one man, the group drew back.
“Not yet, I believe. But if you would just step outside—”
When the officers had retreated to the masculine safety of the corridor, the lieutenant turned to his squad.
“Well, men? For you, it is a very attractive offer, I have to say.”
“Not for us!” said Tonker. Lofty nodded.
“Nor me,” said Shufti.
“Why not?” said Blouse. “You would get your husband.”
“That might be a bit difficult,” mumbled Shufti. “Anyway, what about the invasion?”
“I’m not going to be sent home like a package,” said Igorina. “Anyway, that man has an objectionable bone structure.”
“Well, Private Goom can’t join us right now,” sighed Blouse. “So that leaves you, Polly.”
“Why are they doing this?” said Polly. “Why do they want us out of the way? Why aren’t they just leaving us locked up? This place must be full of cells.”
“Ah, perhaps they are sensible to the frailties of your sex,” said Blouse, and then fried in their stares. “I didn’t say I was,” he added quickly.
“They could just kill us,” said Tonker. “Well, they could,” she added. “Why not? Who’d care? I don’t think we count as prisoners of war.”
“But they haven’t,” said Polly. “And they’re not even threatening us. They’re being very careful. I think they’re frightened of us.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” said Tonker. “Maybe they think we’re going to chase them and give them a big wet sloppy kiss?”
“Good, then we’re agreed that we’re not going to accept,” said Blouse. “Damn right…oh, I do apologize…”
“We all know the words, sir,” said Polly. “I suggest we see how much we frighten them, sir.”
The officers were waiting with unconcealed impatience, but Rust managed a brief smile when he stepped back into the kitchen.
“Well, lieutenant?” he said.
“We have given your offer due consideration, sir,” said Blouse, “and our reply is: Stick it up your…” he leaned down to Polly, who whispered urgently. “Who? Oh, yes, right. Your jumper, sir. Stick it, in fact, up your jumper. Named after Colonel Henri Jumper, I believe. A useful woolen garment akin to a lightweight sweater, sir, which, if I recall correctly, was named after Regimental Sergeant Major Sweat. That, sir, is where you may stick it.”
Rust received this calmly, and Polly wondered if it was because he hadn’t understood it. The scruffy man once more leaning against the wall had understood it, though, since he was grinning.
“I see,” said Rust. “And that is the answer from all of you? Then you leave us no choice. Good evening to you.”
His attempt to stride out was hindered by the other officers, who had less sense of the dramatic moment. The door slammed behind them, but not before the last man out turned very briefly and made a hand gesture. You would have missed it if you weren’t watching him—but Polly was watching.
“That seemed to go well,” said Blouse, turning away.
“I hope we’re not going to get into trouble for that,” said Shufti.
“Compared