Monstrous Regiment

in his book.
    “This is an amazing story,” he said. “You really fought your way here and got in disguised as washerwomen?”
    “Well, we were women, and we did do some washing,” said Polly. “I suppose it was quite a cunning disguise, really. We got in by not being disguised, you could say.”
    “General Froc and Captain Blouse say they’re very proud of you,” de Worde went on, scribbling.
    “Oh, he has got promoted, then?” said Polly.
    “Yes, and Froc said you did wonderfully well, for women.”
    “Yes, I suppose we did,” said Polly. “Yes. Very well, for women.”
    “The general went on to say…” de Worde consulted his notebook, “that you are a credit to the women of your country. I wonder if you’d care to comment?”
    He looked innocent, so possibly he didn’t understand the raging argument that had just broken out in Polly’s head. A credit to the women of your country. We’re proud of you. Somehow those words locked you away, put you in your place, patted you on the head and dismissed you with a sweetie. On the other hand, you had to start somewhere…
    “That’s very nice of them,” said Polly. “But we just want to get the job done and go home. That’s what soldiers want.” She thought for a moment, and then added: “And hot sweet tea.”
    To her amazement, he wrote this down, too.
    “Just one last question, miss: do you think the world would be a different place if more women were soldiers?” de Worde asked. He was smiling again, she noted, so this was probably a jokey kind of question.
    “Oh, I think you’d have to ask General Froc that,” said Polly. And I’d like to watch her expression if you do…
    “Yes, but what do you think, miss?”
    “That’s ‘Corporal,’ please.”
    “Sorry, Corporal…and?”
    The pencil was hovering. Around it, the world turned. It wrote things down, and then they got everywhere. The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press was heavier that the siege weapon. Just a few words can change everything…
    “Well,” said Polly, “I—”
    There was a sudden bustling around the gates at the other end of the courtyard, and some cavalry officers arrived. They must have been expected, because Zlobenian officers were converging in a great hurry.
    “Ah, I see the prince is back,” said de Worde. “He’s probably not going to be happy about the truce. They sent some gallopers out to meet him.”
    “Can he do anything about it?”
    De Worde shrugged. “He left some very senior officers here. It would be rather shocking if he did.”
    The tall figure had dismounted, and was striding toward Polly, or rather, she realized, the big doorway next to her. Frantic clerks and officers trailed after him, and were brushed off. But when a white oblong was waved in front of his face by one man, he grabbed it and stopped so quickly that several other officers bumped into him.
    “Um,” said de Worde. “The edition with the cartoon, I expect. Um.”
    The paper was thrown down.
    “Yes, probably that was it,” de Worde went on.
    Heinrich advanced. Now Polly could make out his expression. It was thunderous.
    Beside her, de Worde turned over to a fresh page in his notebook and cleared his throat.
    “You’re going to talk to him?” said Polly. “In that mood? He’ll cut you down!”
    “I have to,” said de Worde. And, as the prince and his retinue reached the doorway, he took a step forward and said, in a voice that cracked slightly, “Your Highness? I wonder if I could have a word?”
    Heinrich turned to scowl at him and saw Polly. For a moment, their gazes locked.
    The prince’s adjutants knew their master. As the man’s hand flew to his sword, they closed on him in a mob, completely surrounding him, and there was some frantic whispering, in which some rather louder injections from Heinrich on the broad theme of “What?” could be heard, followed by a toccata on “The hell you say!” and a riff in the key of “What, seriously?”
    The crowd parted again. The prince slowly and carefully brushed some dust off his spotless jacket, glanced only briefly at Otto and de Worde, and, to Polly’s horror, strolled toward her, suddenly all shiny smiles…
    …and with one white-gloved hand extended.
    Oh no, she thought. But he’s cleverer than Vimes thinks he is, and he can control his temper. And, suddenly, I’m everyone’s mascot.
    “For the good of our great countries,” said Heirich, “it is suggested