Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [148]
“Can he do anything about it?”
De Worde shrugged. “He left some very senior officers here. It would be rather shocking if he did.”
The tall figure had dismounted, and was striding toward Polly, or rather, she realized, the big doorway next to her. Frantic clerks and officers trailed after him, and were brushed off. But when a white oblong was waved in front of his face by one man, he grabbed it and stopped so quickly that several other officers bumped into him.
“Um,” said de Worde. “The edition with the cartoon, I expect. Um.”
The paper was thrown down.
“Yes, probably that was it,” de Worde went on.
Heinrich advanced. Now Polly could make out his expression. It was thunderous.
Beside her, de Worde turned over to a fresh page in his notebook and cleared his throat.
“You’re going to talk to him?” said Polly. “In that mood? He’ll cut you down!”
“I have to,” said de Worde. And, as the prince and his retinue reached the doorway, he took a step forward and said, in a voice that cracked slightly, “Your Highness? I wonder if I could have a word?”
Heinrich turned to scowl at him and saw Polly. For a moment, their gazes locked.
The prince’s adjutants knew their master. As the man’s hand flew to his sword, they closed on him in a mob, completely surrounding him, and there was some frantic whispering, in which some rather louder injections from Heinrich on the broad theme of “What?” could be heard, followed by a toccata on “The hell you say!” and a riff in the key of “What, seriously?”
The crowd parted again. The prince slowly and carefully brushed some dust off his spotless jacket, glanced only briefly at Otto and de Worde, and, to Polly’s horror, strolled toward her, suddenly all shiny smiles…
…and with one white-gloved hand extended.
Oh no, she thought. But he’s cleverer than Vimes thinks he is, and he can control his temper. And, suddenly, I’m everyone’s mascot.
“For the good of our great countries,” said Heirich, “it is suggested that we publicly shake the hand of friendship.” He smiled again, or at least allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up.
Because she could think of no other way out, Polly took the huge hand and obediently shook it.
“Oh, ver’ good,” said Otto, grasping his picture box. “I can only take zer vun, of course, because unfortunately I shall haf to use flash. Just vun moment…”
Polly was learning that an art form that happens in a fraction of a second nevertheless needs a long time to take place, allowing a smile to freeze into a mad grimace or, in the worst cases, a death rictus. Otto muttered to himself as he adjusted the equipment.
Heinrich and Polly maintained the grip and stared at the picture box.
“So,” muttered the prince out of the corner of his mouth, “the soldier boy isn’t a soldier boy. That is your good luck!”
Polly kept her fixed grin.
“Do you often menace frightened women?” she said.
“Oh, that was nothing! You are only a peasant girl, after all! What do you know of life? And you showed spirit!”
“Everyvun say chiz!” Otto commanded. “Vun, two, three…oh, bug—”
By the time the after-images had died away, Otto was back on his feet again. “Vun day I really hope to find a filter zat works,” he muttered. “Thank you, everyvun, neverzerless.”
“That was for peace and goodwill between nations,” said Polly, smiling sweetly and letting go of the prince’s hand. She took a step back. “And this, Your Highness, is for me…”
Actually, she didn’t kick. Life was a process of finding out how far you could go too far, and you could probably go too far in finding out how far you could go. But a mere twitch of a leg was enough, just to see the idiot collapse in the ridiculous, knock-kneed, protective crouch that is as instinctive to a man as saving half an onion is to a woman.
She marched away, singing inside. This was not a fairy-tale castle and there was no such thing as a fairy-tale ending, but sometimes you could threaten to kick the handsome prince in the ham-and-eggs.
And now, there was one