Monstrous Regiment (Discworld 31)

"I do have a petticoat in my pack, sir."

"Good heavens! Why?"

Shufti went red. She hadn't worked out an answer.

"Bandageth, thur," Igorina cut in smoothly.

"Yes! Yes! That's right!" said Shufti. "I... found it in the inn, back in Pl¨¹n..."

"I athked the lads to acquire any thuitable linen they might find, thur. Jutht in cathe."

"Very sound thinking, that man!" said Blouse. "Anyone else got anything?"

"I wouldn't be at all thurprithed, thur," said Igorina, staring round the room.

Glances were exchanged. Packs were unslung. Everyone except Polly and Maladict had something, produced with downcast eyes. A shift, a petticoat and, in most cases, a dimity scarf, carried out of some sort of residual, unexplainable need.

"You obviously must've thought we'd take serious damage," said Blouse.

"Can't be too careful, thur," said Igorina. She grinned at Polly.

"Of course, I have rather short hair at present..." Blouse mused.

Polly thought of her ringlets, now lost and probably stroked by Strappi. But desperation spooled through her memory.

"They looked like older women, mostly," she said quickly. "They wore headscarves and wimples. I'm sure Igori - sure Igor can make up something, sir."

"We Igorth are very rethortheful, thur," Igorina agreed. She pulled a black leather wallet out of her jacket. "Ten minuteth with a needle, thur, that'th all I need."

"Oh, I can do old women wonderfully well," said Blouse. With a speed that made Lofty jump, he suddenly thrust out both hands twisted like claws, contorted his face into an expression of mad imbecility and screeched, "Oh deary me! My poor old feet! Things today aren't what they used to be! Lawks!"

Behind him, Sergeant Jackrum put his head in his hands.

"Amazing, sir," said Maladict. "I've never seen a transformation like it!"

"Perhaps just a wee bit less old, sir?" Polly suggested, although in truth Blouse had reminded her of her Auntie Hattie two-thirds of the way through a glass of sherry.

"You think so?" said Blouse. "Oh, well, if you're really sure."

"And, er, if you do meet a guard, er, old women don't usually try to, try to - "

" - canoodle - " whispered Maladict, whose mind had clearly been hurtling down the same horrible slope.

" - canoodle with them," Polly finished, blushing, and then after a second's thought added, "Unless she's had a glass of sherry, anyway."

"And I do thuggetht you go and have a thhave, thur..."

"Thhave?" said Blouse.

"Shave, sir," said Polly. "I'll lay out the kit, sir."

"Ooh, yes. Of course. Don't see many old women with beards, eh? Except my Auntie Parthenope, as I recall. And... er... no one's got a couple of balloons, have they?"

"Er, why, sir?" said Tonker.

"A big bosom always gets a laugh," said Blouse. He looked round the row of faces. "Not a good idea, perhaps? I got a huge round of applause as the Widow Trembler in 'Tis Pity She's a Tree. No?"

"I think Igor could sew something a bit more, er, realistic, sir," said Polly.