Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [77]
A sort of balloon was coming out of Polly’s mouth, containing the words: “That for your Royal Prerogative, you Blaggard!” The balloon issuing from the mouth of the ogre, who could only be Prince Heinrich, said: “Oh my Succession! That such A Small Thing could Hurt So Much!”
And in the background, a fat woman in a rumpled ball-gown and a huge old-fashioned helmet was clasping her hands to an unbelievably large bosom, staring at the fight with a mixture of concern and admiration, and ballooning: “Oh, my Swain! I fear our Liaison is Cut Short!”
Since no one else was saying much, but was simply staring, de Worde said, rather nervously: “Fizz is rather, er, direct in these matters, but amazingly popular. Ahem. You see, the curious thing is that although Ankh-Morpork is probably the biggest bully around, in a subtle kind of way, we nevertheless have a soft spot for people who stand up to bullies. Especially royal ones. We tend to be on their side, provided it doesn’t cost us too much.”
Blouse cleared his throat.
“It’s quite a good likeness of you, Perks,” he said hoarsely.
“I only used my knee, sir!” Polly protested. “And that fat lady certainly wasn’t there!”
“That’s Morporkia,” said de Worde. “She’s a sort of representation of the city, except that, in her case, she’s not covered in mud and soot.”
“And I have to add, for my part,” said Blouse in his talking-to-a-meeting voice, “that Borogravia is in fact larger than Zlobenia, although most of the country is little more than barren mountainside—”
“That doesn’t actually matter,” said de Worde.
“It doesn’t?” said Blouse.
“No, sir. It’s just a fact. It’s not politics. In politics, sir, pictures like this are powerful. Sir, even the Alliance commanders are talking about you, and the Zlobenians are angry and bewildered. If you, the heroes of the hour, could make a plea for a little common sense—”
The lieutenant took a long, deep breath.
“This is a foolish war, Mr. de Worde. But I am a soldier. I have ‘kissed the Duchess,’ as we say. It’s an oath of loyalty. Don’t tempt me to break it. I must fight for my country. We will repel all invaders. If there are deserters, we will find them and rally them again. We know the country. While we are free, Borogravia will be free. You have ‘had your say.’ Thank you. Where is that tea, Perks?”
“What? Oh, nearly done, sir!” said Polly, turning back to the fire.
It had been a sudden strange fancy, but a stupid plan. Now, out here, all the drawbacks were visible. How would she have got Paul home? Would he have wanted to come? Could she have managed it? Even if he was still alive, how could she hope to get him out of a prison?
“So you’ll be guerrilla fighters, eh?” said Mr. de Worde, behind her. “Madmen, all of you.”
“No, we are not irregulars,” said Blouse. “We kissed the Duchess. We are soldiers.”
“Oh, well,” said de Worde. “Then I admire your spirit, at least. Ah, Otto…”
The vampire iconographer ambled up, and gave them a shy smile.
“Do not be afraid, I am a Black Ribboner, just like your corporal,” he said. “Light is mine passion now.”
“Oh? Er…well done,” said Blouse.
“Take the pictures, Otto,” said de Worde. “These gentlemen have a war to fight.”
“Out of interest, Mr. de Worde,’’ Blouse interrupted, “how did you get the pictures back to your city so quickly? Magic, I assume?”
“What?” De Worde looked momentarily off balance. “Oh no, sir. Wizards are expensive and Commander Vimes has said that there is going to be no first use of magic in this war. We send things by pigeon to our office in the Keep and then by clacks from the nearest trunk tower.”
“Oh, really?” said Blouse, showing rather more animation than Polly had seen up until now. “Using numbers to indicate a scale of gray shades, perhaps?”
“Mein Gots!” said Otto.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact we do,” said de Worde. “I’m very impressed that you—”