Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [66]
“Can I—”
“Too late,” said Jackrum.
Polly never forgot the sound the arrow made.
Jackrum laid the bow aside carefully. “Found out who he was messing with,” he said as if nothing much had happened. “Shame, really. Seemed like a decent sort. Any saloop left, Perks?”
There was silence, and then a thump as Towering’s body finally overbalanced and hit the ground.
Very slowly, Lieutenant Blouse raised his hand to his ear, which the arrow had perforated en route to its target, and then looked with strange detachment at the blood on his fingers.
“Oh, sorry about that, sir,” said Jackrum jovially. “Just saw the one chance and I thought, well, it’s the fleshy part. Get yourself a gold earring, sir, and you’ll be the height of fashion! Quite a large gold earring, maybe.”
“Don’t you all believe that stuff about the Ins-and-Outs,” Jackrum went on. “That was just lies. So what we do now is…can anyone tell me what we do now?”
“Er…bury the body?” hazarded Igorina.
“Yeah, but check his boots. He’s got small feet and the Zlobenians have much better boots than us.”
“Steal the boots off a dead man, Sarge?” said Wazzer, still in shock.
“Easier that getting ’em off a live one!”
Jackrum softened his voice a little when he saw their expressions. “Lads, this is war, understand? He was a soldier, they were soldiers, you are soldiers…more or less. No soldier will see grub or good boots go to waste. Bury ’em decent and say what prayers you can remember, and hope they’ve gone where there’s no fighting.” He raised his voice back to the normal bellow. “Perks, round up the others! Igor, cover the fire, try to make it look like we were never here! We are moving out in number ten minutes! Can make a few miles before full daylight! That’s right, eh, Lieutenant?”
Blouse was still transfixed, but seemed to wake up now.
“What? Oh. Yes. Right. Yes, indeed. Er…yes. Carry on, Sergeant.”
The fire gleamed off Jackrum’s triumphal face. In the red glow, his little dark eyes were like holes in space, his grinning mouth the gateway to a Hell, his bulk some monster from the Abyss.
He let it happen, Polly knew. He obeyed orders. He didn’t do anything wrong. But he could have sent Maladict and Jade to help us, instead of Wazzer and Igorina, who aren’t quick with weapons. He sent the others away. He had the bow ready. He played a game with us as pieces, and won…
Poor old soldier! her father and his friends had sung while frost formed on the window panes. Poor old soldier! If ever I ’list for a soldier again…the Devil shall be my sergeant!
In the firelight, the grin of Sergeant Jackrum was a crescent of blood, his coat the color of a battlefield sky.
“You are my little lads,” he roared. “And I will look after you.”
They made more than six miles before Jackrum called a halt, and already the land was changing. There were more rocks, fewer trees. The Kneck Valley was rich and fertile and it was from here that the fertility had been washed; it was a land-cape of ravines and thick scrub woodland, with a few small communities scratching a living from the poverty-stricken soil.
It was a good place to hide. And, in here, someone had already hidden. It was a stream-carved gully, but, at the end of summer, the stream here was just a trickle between the rocks. Jackrum must have found it by smell, because you couldn’t see it from the track.
The ashes of the fire in the small gully were still warm. The sergeant got up, awkwardly, after inspecting them.
“Some lads like our pals from last night,” he said.
“Couldn’t it just be a hunter, Sarge?” said Maladict.
“It could, Corporal, but it ain’t,” said Jackrum. “I brought you in here ’cos it looks like a blind gully and there’s water and there’s good vantages points up there and over there,” he pointed, “and there’s a decent overhang to keep the weather off and it’s hard for anyone to creep up on us. Milit’ry, in other words. And someone else thought the same as me last night. So while they’re out there looking for us, we’ll sit snug here, where they’ve already looked. Get a couple of lads