Monstrous Regiment

it’s been sent by the clacks to Ankh-Morpork.”
    “Is…is he annoyed?” Polly quavered, cursing Otto Chriek and his picture-making.
    “Well, now, let me see,” said Towering sarcastically. “Annoyed? No, I shouldn’t think he’s annoyed. ‘Livid’ is the word, I think. Or ‘raging’? Yeah, I think ‘raging’ is the word. There’s a lot of people looking for you lads now. Well done!”
    Even Blouse could see Polly’s distress.
    “Er…Perks,” he said. “It was you, wasn’t it, who—”
    Over and over, in Polly’s head, the words ogodIkickedtheprinceinthefruitandveg! were going around and around like a hamster in a runaway treadmill until, suddenly, it ran up against something solid.
    “Yessir,” she snapped. “He was forcing himself upon a young woman, sir. If you recall?”
    Blouse’s frown faded and became a grin of childlike duplicity. “Ah, yes, indeed. He was ‘pressing his suit’ in no small way, was he not?”
    “He didn’t have ironing in mind, sir!” said Polly fervently.
    Towering looked up at Wazzer, grimly clutching a crossbow that Polly knew for a fact she was scared of, and Igorina, who’d much rather be holding a surgeon’s knife than the saber in her hand. Polly saw his brief smile.
    “And there you have it, Sergeant Towering,” said the lieutenant, turning to the prisoner. “Of course, we all know there is some atrocious behavior in times of war, but it is not the sort of thing we would expect of a royal prince. * If we are to be pursued because a gallant young soldier prevented matters from becoming even more disgusting, then so be it.”
    “Now I am impressed,” said Towering. “A real knight errant, eh. He’s a credit to you, Lieutenant. Any chance of that tea?”
    Blouse’s skinny chest visibly swelled at the compliment.
    “Yes, Perks, the tea, if you would be so good.”
    Leaving the three of you with this man who’s positively radiating an intention to escape, Polly thought.
    “Could perhaps Private Goom go and fetch—” she began.
    “A word in private, Perks?” snapped Blouse. He drew her closer, but Polly kept her eye on Sergeant Towering. He might be bound hand and foot, but she wouldn’t have trusted a man who grinned like that if he’d been nailed to the ceiling.
    “Perks, you are making a great contribution but I really will not have my orders continually questioned,” said Blouse. “You are my batman, after all. I think I run a ‘happy ship’ here, but I will be obeyed. Please?”
    It was like being savaged by a goldfish, but she had to admit he had a point.
    “Er…sorry, sir,” said Polly, backing away as long as possible so as not to miss the end of the tragedy. Then she turned and ran.
    Jackrum was sitting by the fire, with the prisoner’s bow across his huge knees, and slicing some sort of black sausage with a big clasp-knife. He was chewing.
    “Where’s the rest of us, sir?” said Polly, scrabbling for amug.
    “I sent ’em to scout a wide perimeter, Perks. Can’t be too careful if matey-boy’s got pals out there.”
    …which was perfectly sensible. It just happened to mean that half the squad had been sent away…
    “Sarge, you know that captain back at the barracks? That was—”
    “I’ve got good hearing, Perks. Kicked him in the Royal Prerogative, eh? Hah! Make it all more interestin’, eh?”
    “It’s going to go wrong, Sarge, I just know it,” said Polly, dragging the kettle off the hob and spilling half the water as she topped up the teapot.
    “D’you chew at all, Perks?” said Jackrum.
    “What, Sarge?” said Polly distractedly.
    The sergeant held out a small piece of sticky, black…stuff.
    “Tobacco. Chewing tobacco,” said Jackrum. “I favor Blackheart to Jolly Sailor, ’cos it’s rum-dipped, but others say—”
    “Sarge, that man’s going to escape, Sarge! I know he is! The lieutenant isn’t in charge, he is. He’s all friendly and everything, but I can tell by his eyes, Sarge!”
    “I’m sure Lieutenant Blouse knows what he’s doing, Perks,” he said primly. “You’re not telling me a bound man can overcome four of you, are you?”
    “Oh, sugar! ” said Polly.
    “Just down there, in the old black tin,” said Jackrum. Polly tipped some into the worst cup of tea ever made by a serving soldier and ran back to the clearing.
    Amazing, the man was still in a sitting position, and still bound hand and foot. Her fellow Cheesemongers were watching him warily. Polly relaxed, but