Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [96]
He looked around at the circle of absolutely expressionless faces.
“Theatricals, you see?” he said brightly. “No gels at our boarding school, of course. But we didn’t let that stop us. Why, my Lady Spritely in A Comedy of Cuckolds is still talked about, I understand, and as for my Yumyum is—is Sergeant Jackrum all right?”
The sergeant had folded up, but, with his face still level with his knees, he managed to croak: “Old war wound, sir. Come upon me sudden, like.”
“Please help him, Private Igor. Where was I…I can see you all look puzzled, but there’s nothing strange about this. Fine old tradition, men dressing up as gels. In the Sixth Form, the chaps used to do it for a jape all the time.” He paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully, “Especially Wrigglesworth, for some reason…” He shook his head as if dislodging a thought and went on: “Anyway, I have some experience in this field, d’ye see?”
“And…what would you do if—I mean when you got in, sir?” said Polly. “You won’t just have to fool the guards. There’d be other women in there.”
“That will not present a problem, Perks,” said Blouse. “I shall act in a feminine way and I have this stage trick, d’ye see, where I make my voice sound quite high-pitched, like this.” The falsetto could have scratched glass. “See?” he said. “No, if we need a woman, I’m your man.”
“Amazing, sir,” said Maladict. “For a moment I could have sworn there was a woman in the room.”
“And I could certainly find out if there are any other badly guarded entrances,” Blouse went on. “Who knows, I might even be able to procure a key off one of the guards by means of feminine wiles! In any case, if things are all clear I shall send a signal. A towel hanging from a window, perhaps. Something clearly unusual, anyway.”
There was some more silence. Several of the squad were staring at the ceiling.
“Ye-es,” said Polly. “I can see you’ve thought this out carefully, sir.”
Blouse sighed. “If only Wrigglesworth were here,” he said.
“Why, sir?”
“Amazingly clever chap at layin’ his hands on a dress, young Wrigglesworth,” said the lieutenant.
Polly caught Maladict’s eye. The vampire made a face and shrugged.
“Um…” said Shufti.
“Yes, Manickle?”
“I do have a petticoat in my pack, sir.”
“Good heavens! Why?”
Shufti went red. She hadn’t worked out an answer.
“Bandageth, thur,” Igorina cut in smoothly.
“Yes! Yes! That’s right!” said Shufti. “I…found it in the inn, back in Plün…”
“I athked the lads to acquire any thuitable linen they might find, thur. Jutht in cathe.”
“Very sound thinking, that man!” said Blouse. “Anyone else got anything?”
“I wouldn’t be at all thurprithed, thur,” said Igor, staring around the room.
Glances were exchanged. Packs were unslung. Everyone except Polly and Maladict had something, produced with downcast eyes. A shift, a petticoat, and, in most cases, a dimity scarf, carried out of some sort of residual, unexplainable need.
“You obviously must’ve thought we’d take serious damage,” said Blouse.
“Can’t be too careful, thur,” said Igorina. She grinned at Polly.
“Of course, I have rather short hair at present…” Blouse mused.
Polly thought of her ringlets, now lost and probably stroked by Strappi. But desperation spooled through her memory.
“They looked like older women, mostly,” she said quickly. “They wore headscarves and wimples. I’m sure Igori…sure Igor can make up something, sir.”
“We Igorth are very rethorthful, thur,” Igorina agreed. She pulled a black leather wallet out of her jacket. “Ten minuteth with a needle, thur, tha’th all I need.”
“Oh, I can do old women wonderfully well,” said Blouse. With a speed that made Lofty jump, he suddenly thrust out both hands twisted like claws, contorted his face into an expression of mad imbecility and screeched, “Oh deary me! My poor old feet! Things today aren’t like they used to be! Lawks!”
Behind him, Sergeant Jackrum put his head in his hands.
“Amazing, sir,” said Maladict. “I’ve never seen a transformation like it!”
“Perhaps just a wee bit less old, sir?” Polly suggested, although