Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [71]
“—then those other two will get suspicious, won’t they? One will probably stay here, the other will go to get help.”
“Then we’ll sneak up and wait,” said Maladict. “Look, they’ve dismounted. The cart’s pulled in, too. If they look as though they’re worried, we’ll move in.”
“And do what, exactly?” said Polly.
“Threaten to shoot them,” said Maladict firmly.
“And if they don’t believe us?”
“Then we’ll threaten to shoot them in a much louder voice,” said Maladict. “Happy? And I hope to hell they’ve got some coffee!”
There are three things a soldier wants to do when there’s a respite on the road. One involves lighting a cigarette, one involves lighting a fire, and the other one involves no flames at all but does, generally, require a tree.*
The two troopers had a fire going and a billycan steaming, when a young man jumped down from the cart, stretched his arms, looked around, yawned, and sauntered a little way into the forest.
He found a convenient tree and, a moment later, was apparently examining the bark at eye height with studied enthusiasm.
The tip of a steel crossbow bolt pressed against the back of his neck, and a voice said: “Raise you hands and turn around slowly!”
“What, right now?”
“Um…all right, no. You can finish what you’re doing.”
“Actually I think that’s going to be quite impossible. Let me just, er…right. Okay.” The man raised his hands again. “You realize I just have to shout?”
“So?” said Polly. “I just have to pull this trigger. Shall we have a race?”
The man turned around.
“See?” said Polly, stepping back. “It’s him again. De Worde. The writer man.”
“You’re them!” he said.
“Dem who?” said Jade.
“Oh dear,” said Maladict.
“Look, I’d give anything to talk to you!” said de Worde. “Please?”
“You’re with the enemy!” hissed Polly.
“What? Them? No! They’re from Lord Rust’s regiment. From Ankh-Morpork! They’ve been sent to protect us!”
“Troops to protect you in Borogravia?” said Maladict. “Who from?”
“You mean from whom? Er…well…you, in theory.”
Jade leaned down. “Efficient, aren’t dey…”
“Look, I must talk to you,” said the man urgently. “This is astounding! Everyone’s looking for you! Did you kill that old couple in the woods?”
Birds sang. Far off, there was the call of the female blue-capped woodpecker.
“A patrol found the fresh graves,” said de Worde.
High above, an ice heron, a winter migrant from the Hub, gave an ugly honk as it searched for lakes.
“I take it you didn’t, then,” said de Worde.
“We buried them,” said Maladict coldly. “We don’t know who killed them.”
“We did take some vegetables,” said Polly. She remembered laughing about it. Admittedly, it was only because it was that or start crying, but even so…
“You’ve been living off the land?” He’d tugged a notebook out of his pocket and was scribbling in it with a pencil.
“We don’t have to talk to you,” said Maladict.
“No, no, you must! There’s so much you need to know! You’re in the…Ups-and-Downs, right?”
“Ins-and-Outs,” said Polly.
“And you—” the man began.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Maladict and marched away from the tree and into the clearing. The two cavalrymen looked up from their fire, and there was a moment of immobility before one reached for his sword.
Maladict swung the bow quickly from one to the other, its point hypnotizing them like a swinging watch. “I’ve got only one shot but there’s two of you,” he said. “Who shall I shoot? You chose. Now, listen very carefully: where’s your coffee? You’ve got coffee, haven’t you? C’mon, everyone’s got coffee! Spill the beans!”
They stared at the crossbow and slowly shook their heads.
“What about you, writer man?” snarled Maladict. “Where’re you hiding the coffee?”
“We only have cocoa,” said the writer, raising his hands quickly as Maladict turned on him. “You’re welcome to—”
Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air,* and sat down with his head in his hands.
“We’re all gonna die,” he said. The troopers shifted as though to stand up, and Jade raised her sapling.
“Don’t even fink about it,