Monstrous Regiment

cheerfully.
    Both men turned. Their expression changed. If they had been birds, their feathers would have gently settled back.
    “Ah, Perks,” said Blouse. “Well done.”
    “Yeah…good lad,” said Sergeant Jackrum.
    Polly’s presence seemed to lower the temperature. The two men drank their tea and eyed one another warily.
    “You’ll have noticed, Sergeant, that the men were wearing the dark-green uniform of the First Battalion of the Zlobenian Fifty-Ninth Bowmen. A skirmishing battalion,” said Blouse with cold politeness. “That is not the uniform of a spy, Sergeant.”
    “Yessir? But they’d let their uniforms get very dirty, then. No shine on the buttons, sir .”
    “Patrolling behind enemy lines is not spying, Sergeant. You must have done it in your time.”
    “More times that you could count, sir,” said Jackrum. “And I knew full well that if I got caught I was due a good kicking in the nadgers. But skirmishers is the worst, sir. You think you’re safe in the lines, next moment it turns out that some bastard sitting in the bushes on a hill had been working out windage and yardage and has dropped an arrow right through your mate’s head.” He picked up a strange-looking longbow.
    “See these things they’ve got? Burleigh and Strongin-thearm No. 5 Recurved, made in bloody Ankh-Morpork. A real killing weapon. I say we give him a choice, sir. He can tell us what he knows, and go out easy. Or keep mum, and go out hard.”
    “ No , Sergeant. He is an enemy officer taken in battle and entitled to fair treatment!”
    “No, sir. He’s a sergeant, and they don’t deserve no respect at all, sir. I should know. They’re cunning and artful, if they’re any good. I wouldn’t mind if he was an officer, sir. But sergeants are clever. ”
    There was a grunt from the bound prisoner.
    “Loosen his gag, Perks,” said Blouse. Instinctively, even if the instinct was only a couple of days old, Polly glanced at Jackrum. The sergeant shrugged.
    She pulled the rag down.
    “I’ll talk,” said the prisoner, spitting out cotton fluff. “But not to that tub of lard! I’ll talk to the officer! You keep that man away from me!”
    “You’re in no position to negotiate, soldier boy!” snarled Jackrum.
    “Sergeant,” said the lieutenant, “I’m sure you have things to see to. Please do so. Send a couple of men back here. He can’t do anything against four of us.”
    “But—”
    “That was another order, Sergeant,” said Blouse. He turned to the prisoner as Jackrum stumped off. “What is your name, man?”
    “Sergeant Towering, Lieutenant. And if you are a sensible man, you will release me and surrender.”
    “Surrender?” said Blouse, as Igorina and Wazzer ran into the clearing, armed and bewildered.
    “Yep. I’ll put in a good word for you when the boys catch up with us. You don’t want to know how many men are looking for you. Could I have a drink, please?”
    “What? Oh, yes. Of course,” said Blouse as if caught out in a display of bad manners. “Perks, fetch some tea for the sergeant. Why are people looking for us, pray?”
    Towering gave him a cockeyed grin. “You don’t know?”
    “No,” said Blouse coldly.
    “You really don’t know?” Now Towering was laughing. He was far too relaxed for a bound man, and Blouse sounded far too much like a nice but worried man trying to appear firm and determined. To Polly, it was like watching a child bluffing in poker against a man called Doc.
    “I don’t wish to play games, man. Out with it!” he said.
    “Everyone knows about you , Lieutenant. You’re the Monstrous Regiment, you are!” he said. “No offense meant, of course. They say you’ve got a troll and a vampire and an Igor and a werewolf. They say you…” he began to chuckle “…they say you overpowered Prince Heinrich and his guard and stole his boots and made him hop away in the altogether!”
    In a thicket, some way off, a nightingale sang. For quite a while, uninterrupted.
    Then Blouse said, “Hah, no, you are in fact wrong. The man was Captain Horentz—”
    “Yeah, right, like he’d tell you who he was with you pointing swords at him!” said Towering. “I heard from one of my mates that one of you kicked him in the meat-and-two-veg, but I haven’t seen the picture yet.”
    “Someone took a picture of him getting kicked?” squeaked Polly, drenched in a sudden horror.
    “Not of that, no. But there’s copies all over the place of him in chains and I hear