Monstrous Regiment

only a little.
    “—nd there you have it, Lieutenant,” he was saying. “No disgrace in calling it quits, eh? He’ll hunt you down soon enough, ’cos it’s personal now. But if you were to come along with me, I’d do my best to see it goes easy with you. You don’t want to get caught by the Heavy Dragoons right now. They ain’t got much of a sense of humor—”
    “Tea’s up,” said Polly.
    “Oh, thank you, Perks,” said Blouse dejectedly. “I think we can at least cut Sergeant Towering’s hands free, don’t you?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Polly, meaning “no, sir.” The man offered his bound wrists, and Polly reached out gingerly with her knife while holding the mug like a weapon.
    “Artful lad you’ve got here, Lieutenant,” said Towering. “He reckons I’m going to grab his knife off of him. Good lad.”
    Polly sliced the rope, brought her knife hand back quickly, and then carefully proffered the mug.
    “ And he’s made the tea lukewarm so’s it won’t hurt when I splashes it in his face,” Towering went on. He gave Polly the steady, honest gaze of the born bastard.
    Polly held it, lie for lie.
    “Oh, yeah. The Ankh-Morpork people’ve got a little printing press on a cart, over on the other side of the river,” said Towering, still watching Polly. “For morale, they say. And they sent the picture back to the city, too, on the clacks. Don’t ask me how. Oh yeah, a good picture. ‘Plucky Rookies Trounce Zlobenia’s Finest,’ they wrote. Funny thing, but it looks like the writer man didn’t spot it was the prince. But we all did!”
    His voice became even more friendly. “Now look, mates, as a foot soldier like yourselves, I’m all for seeing the bloody donkey-boys made to look fools, so you come along with me and I’ll see to it that at least you don’t sleep in chains tomorrow. That’s my best offer.” He took a sip of tea, and added, “It’s a better one than most of the Tenth got, I’ll tell you. I heard your regiment got wiped out.”
    Polly’s expression didn’t change, but she felt herself curl up into a tiny ball behind it. Look at the eyes, look at the eyes. Liar. Liar.
    “Wiped out?” said Blouse.
    Towering dropped his mug of tea. He smacked the crossbow out of Wazzer’s grip with his left hand, grabbed the saber from Igorina with his right hand, and brought the curved blade down on the rope between his legs. It happened fast, before any of them could quite focus on the change in the situation, and then the sergeant was on his feet, slapping Blouse across the face and grabbing him in an armlock.
    “And you were right, kiddo,” he said to Polly, over Blouse’s shoulder. “Cryin’ shame you ain’t an officer, eh?”
    The last of the fallen tea dribbled into the soil. Polly reached slowly for her crossbow.
    “Don’t. One step, one move from any of you, and I’ll cut him,” said the sergeant. “Won’t be the first officer I’ve killed, believe me—”
    “The difference between them and me is, I don’t care.”
    Five heads turned. There was Jackrum, outlined against the distant firelight. He had the man’s own bow, drawn taut, and aimed directly at the sergeant in complete disregard of the fact that the lieutenant’s head was in the way. Blouse closed his eyes.
    “You’d shoot your own officer?” said Towering.
    “Yep. Won’t be the first officer I’ve killed, neither,” said Jackrum. “You ain’t going nowhere, friend, except down. Easy or hard…I don’t care.” The bow creaked.
    “You’re just bluffing, mister.”
    “Upon my oath, I am not a bluffing man. I don’t think we was ever introduced, by the way. Jackrum’s the name.”
    The change in the man was a whole-body event. He seemed to get smaller, as if every cell had said “oh dear” very quietly to itself. He sagged, and Blouse slumped a little.
    “Can I—”
    “Too late,” said Jackrum.
    Polly never forgot the sound the arrow made.
    Jackrum laid the bow aside carefully. “Found out who he was messing with,” he said as if nothing much had happened. “Shame, really. Seemed like a decent sort. Any saloop left, Perks?”
    There was silence, and then a thump as Towering’s body finally overbalanced and hit the ground.
    Very slowly, Lieutenant Blouse raised his hand to his ear, which the arrow had perforated en route to its target, and then looked with strange detachment at the blood on his fingers.
    “Oh, sorry about that, sir,” said Jackrum jovially. “Just