Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [31]
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Getting everything they need?”
The aforesaid instinct weighed the chances of them getting anything more than they’d got already as a result of a complaint, and Polly said, “Yes, sir.”
“Of course, it is not up to us to question our orders,” said Blouse.
“Wasn’t doing so, sir,” said Polly, momentarily perplexed.
“Even though at times we might feel—” the lieutenant began, and started again. “Obvious warfare is a very volatile thing, and the tide of battle can change in a moment.”
“Yessir,” said Polly, still staring. The man had a small spot where his spectacles had rubbed on his nose.
The lieutenant seemed to have something on his mind, too.
“Why did you join up, Perks?” he said, groping on the table and finding his spectacles at the third attempt. He had woollen gloves on, with the fingers cut out.
“Patriotic duty, sir!” said Polly promptly.
“You lied about your age?”
“Nosir!”
“Just patriotic duty, Perks?”
There were lies, and then there were lies. Polly shifted awkwardly.
“Would quite like to find out what’s happened to my brother, Paul, sir,” she said.
“Ah, yes.” Lieutenant Blouse’s face, not a picture of happiness to begin with, suddenly bore a hunted look.
“Paul Perks, sir,” Polly prompted.
“I’m, er, not really in a position to know, Perks,” said Blouse. “I was working as a, I was, er, in charge of, er, I was engaged in special work back at headquarters, er…obviously I don’t know all the soldiers, Perks. Older brother, w—is he?”
“Yessir. Joined the Ins-and-Outs last year, sir.”
“And, er, have you any younger brothers?” said the lieutenant.
“No, sir.”
“Ah, well. That’s something to be thankful for, at any rate,” said Blouse. It was a strange thing to say. Polly’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
“Sir?” she said.
And then she felt an unpleasant sensation of movement. Something was slipping slowly down the inside of her thigh.
“Anything the matter, Perks?” said the lieutenant, catching her expression.
“Nosir! Just a…a bit of cramp, sir! All the marching, sir!” She clamped both hands around one knee and edged backwards toward the door. “I’ll just go and…go and see to your supper, sir!”
“Yes, yes,” said Blouse, staring at her leg. “Yes…please…”
Polly paused outside the door to pull her socks up, re-tucked the end of one under her belt as an anchor, and hurried down to the inn’s kitchens. A look told her all she wanted to know. Food hygiene here consisted of making a half-hearted effort not to gob in the stew.
“I want onions, salt, pepper—” she began.
The maid who was stirring the soot-black pot on the soot-black stove glanced up, realized she had been addressed by a man, and hastily pushed her damp hair our of her eyes.
“It’s stoo, sir,” she announced.
“I don’t want any. I just want the stuff,” said Polly. “For the officer,” she added.
The kitchen maid pointed a soot-blackened thumb to a nearby door and gave Polly what she probably thought was a saucy grin.
“I’m sure you can have anything that takes your fancy, sir,” she said.
Polly glanced at the couple of shelves that had been dignified by the name of pantry, and grabbed a couple of large onions, one in each hand.
“May I?” she said.
“Oh, sir!” giggled the maid. “I do hope you’re not one of them coarse soldiers who’d take advantage of a helpless maiden, sir!”
“No, er…no. I’m not one of them,” said Polly.
“Oh.” This didn’t seem to be the right answer. The maid put her head on one side. “Have you had much to do with young women, sir?” she asked.
“Er…yes. Quite a lot,” said Polly. “Er…lots, really.”
“Really?”
The maid drew closer. She smelled mostly of sweat, tinged with soot. Polly raised the onions as a kind of barrier.
“I’m sure there’s things you’d like to learn,” the maid purred.
“I’m sure there’s something you wouldn’t!” said Polly, and turned and ran. As she made it out into the cold night air, a plaintive voice behind her called out, “I’m off at eight o’clock!”
Ten minutes later, Corporal Scallot was impressed. Polly