Monstrous Regiment

sir.”
    “Is it? Oh. Well…that’s good,” said Blouse.
    “She will bless this instrument of far seeing that I may use it,” said Wazzer.
    “Indeed?” said Blouse, nervously. “Well done. Now…are we ready? Send as follows…long…long…short…”
    The shutter in the tube clicked and rattled as the message flashed out across the sky. When the troll lowered the tube, there was half a minute of darkness. And then:
    “Short…long…” Wazzer began.
    Blouse held the code book up to his face, his lips moving as he read by the pinpoints of light escaping from the joints of the box.
    “W…R…U,” he said. “And M…S…G…P…R…”
    “That’s not a message!” said Jackrum.
    “On the contrary, they want to know where we are, because they’re having trouble seeing our light,” said Blouse. “Send as follows…short…”
    “I protest, sir!”
    Blouse lowered the book. “Sergeant, I am about to tell our spy that we are seven miles further away than we really are, do you understand? And I am certain they will believe us, because I have artificially reduced the light output from our device, do you understand? And I will tell them that their spies have encountered a very large party of recruits and deserters heading for the mountains and are in pursuit, do you understand? I am making us invisible , do you understand? Do you understand , Sergeant Jackrum?”
    The squad held their breath.
    Jack drew himself stiffly to attention.
    “Fully understood, sir!” he said.
    “Very well!”
    Jackrum stood to attention as the messages were exchanged, like a naughty pupil forced to stand by the teacher’s desk.
    Messages flashed across the sky, from hilltop to hilltop. Lights flickered. The clacks tube rattled. Wazzer called out the longs and shorts. Blouse scribbled in the book.
    “S…P…P…2,” he said aloud. “Hah. That’s an order to remain where we are.”
    “More flashes, sir,” said Wazzer.
    “T…Y…E…3…” said Blouse, still making notes. “That’s ‘be ready to give aid.’ N…V…A…S…N…That’s…”
    “That’s not a code, sir!” said Polly.
    “Private, send as follows right now!” Blouse croaked. “Long…long…”
    The message went. They watched while the dew fell and, overhead, the stars came out and twinkled messages no one ever tried to read.
    The clacks went silent.
    “Now we leave as soon as possible,” said Blouse. He gave a little cough. “I believe the phrase is ‘let us get the heck out of here.’”
    “Close, sir,” said Polly. “Quite…close.”

    There was an old, very old Borogravian song with more Z s and V s in it than any lowlander could pronounce. It was called “Plogviehze!” It meant “The Sun Has Risen! Let’s Make War!” You needed a special kind of history to get all that in one word.
    Sam Vimes sighed. The little countries here fought because of the river, because of idiot treaties, because of royal rows, but mostly they fought because they had always fought. They made war, in fact, because the sun came up.
    This war had tied itself in a knot.
    Downriver, the valley narrowed to a canyon before the Kneck plunged over a waterfall a quarter of a mile high. Anyone trying to get up through the jagged mountains there would find themselves in a world of gorges, knife-edged ridges, permanent ice, and even more permanent death. Anyone trying to cross the Kneck into Zlobenia now would be butchered on the shore. The only way out of the valley was back along the Kneck, which would put an army under the shadow of the Keep. That had been fine when the Keep was in Borogravian hands. Now that it had been captured, they’d be passing in range of their own weapons.
    …and such weapons! Vimes had seen catapults that would throw a stone ball three miles. When it landed, it would crack into needle-sharp shards. Or there was the other machine, which sent six-foot steel discs skimming through the air. Once they’d hit the ground and leaped up again, they were unreliable as hell, but that only made them more terrifying. Vimes had been told that the edged disc would probably keep going for several hundred yards, no matter how many men or horses it encountered on the way.
    And they were only the latest ideas. There were plenty of conventional weapons, if by that you meant giant bows, catapults, and mangonels that hurled balls of Ephebian fire, which clung while it burned.
    From up here, in his drafty tower, he could see the fires of the dug-in