Monstrous Regiment

at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.
    “Vonderful!” he said, lifting up the box and unfolding three legs to form a tripod for it. “But…could zer troll move a little to his left please?”
    “Huh?” said Carborundum. The squad looked at one another.
    “Yes, and if the sergeant would be so kind as to move into ze center more, und raise zose swords a little bit higher?” the vampire went on. “Great! And you, sir, if you could give me a grrrrh…?”
    “Grrrrh?” said Blouse.
    “Very good! Really fierce now…”
    There was a blinding flash and a brief cry of “Oh, sh—,” followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.
    Where the vampire had been standing was a little cone of dust. Blinking, Polly watched it fountain up into a human shape that coalesced, once more, into the vampire.
    “Oh dear, I really thought ze new filter vould do it,” he said. “Oh vell, ve live und learn.” He gave them a bright smile, and added. “Now—vhich vun of you is Captain Horentz, please?”

    Half an hour had passed. Polly was still bewildered.
    The trouble was not that she didn’t understand what was going on. The trouble was that before she could understand that, she had to understand a lot of other things. One of them was the concept of a newspaper.
    Blouse was looking proud and worried by turns, but nervous all the time. Polly watched him carefully, not least because he was talking to the man who had come in with the iconographer. He wore a big leather coat and jodhpurs, and spent most of the time writing things down in a notebook, with occasional puzzled glances at the squad.
    Finally, Maladict, who had good hearing, sauntered over to the recruits from his lounging spot by the wall.
    “Okay,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s all a bit complicated, but…d’you any of you know about newspapers?”
    “Yeth, my thecond couthin Igor in Ankh-Morpork told me about them,” said Igor. “They’re like a kind of government announcement.”
    “Um…sort of. Except they’re not written by the government. They’re written by ordinary people who write things down,” said Maladict.
    “Like a diary?” said Tonker.
    “Um…no…”
    Maladict tried to explain. The squad tried to understand. It still made no sense.
    It sounded to Polly like some kind of Punch and Judy show. Anyway, why would you trust anything written down? She certainly didn’t trust “Mothers of Borogravia!!” and that was from the government. And if you couldn’t trust the government, who could you trust?
    Very nearly everyone, come to think of it…
    “Mr. de Worde works for a newspaper in Ankh-Morpork,” said Maladict. “He says we’re losing. He says casualties are mounting and troops are deserting and all the civilians are heading for the mountains.”
    “W-why should we believe him?” Wazzer demanded.
    “Well, we’ve seen a lot of casualties and refugees, and Corporal Strappi hasn’t been around since he heard he was going to the front,” said Maladict. “Sorry, but it’s true. We’ve all seen it.”
    “Yeah, but he’s just some man from a foreign country. Why w-would the Duchess lie to us? I mean, why would she send us out just to die?” said Wazzer. “She w-watches over us!”
    “Everyone says we’re winning,” said Tonker doubtfully, after that moment of embarrassment. Tears were running down Wazzer’s face.
    “No, they don’t,” said Polly. “I don’t think we are, either.”
    “Does anyone think we are?” said Maladict. Polly looked from face to face.
    “But saying so…it’s like treachery against the Duchess, isn’t it?” said Wazzer. “It’s Spreading Alarm and Despondency, isn’t it?”
    “Maybe we ought to be alarmed,” said Maladict. “Do you know how he came to be here? He travels around writing down things about the war for his paper of news. He met those cavalry just up the road. In our country! And they told him they’d just heard that the very last recruits from Borogravia were here and they were nothing but, er, ‘a wet little bunch of squeaking boys.’ They said they’d capture us for our own good and he could get a picture of us for his paper. He could show everybody how dreadful things were, they said, because we were scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
    “Yeah, but we beat ’em so that’s foxed him!” said Tonker, grinning nastily. “Nothing for him to write down now, eh?”
    “Um…not really. He says that this is even