"Oh, I think you'd have to ask General Froc that," said Polly. And I'd like to watch her expression if you do...
"Yes, but what do you think, miss?"
"That's corporal, please."
"Sorry, corporal... and?"
The pencil was hovering. Around it, the world turned. It wrote things down, and then they got everywhere. The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press was heavier than the siege weapon. Just a few words can change everything...
"Well," said Polly, "I - "
There was a sudden bustling around the gates at the other end of the courtyard, and some cavalry officers arrived. They must have been expected, because Zlobenian officers were converging in a great hurry.
"Ah, I see the Prince is back," said de Worde. "He's probably not going to be happy about the truce. They sent some gallopers out to meet him."
"Can he do anything about it?"
De Worde shrugged. "He left some very senior officers here. It would be rather shocking if he did."
The tall figure had dismounted, and was striding towards Polly, or rather, she realized, the big doorway next to her. Frantic clerks and officers trailed after him, and were brushed off. But when a white oblong was waved in front of his face by one man he grabbed it and stopped so quickly that several other officers bumped into him.
"Um," said de Worde. "The edition with the cartoon, I expect. Um."
The paper was thrown down.
"Yes, probably that was it," said de Worde.
Heinrich advanced. Now Polly could make out his expression.
It was thunderous. Beside her, de Worde turned over to a fresh page in his notebook and cleared his throat.
"You're going to talk to him?" said Polly. "In that mood? He'll cut you down!"
"I have to," said de Worde. And, as the Prince and his retinue reached the doorway he took a step forward and said, in a voice that cracked slightly, "Your highness? I wonder if I could have a word?"
Heinrich turned to scowl at him, and saw Polly. For a moment, their gazes locked.
The Prince's adjutants knew their master. As the man's hand flew to his sword they closed on him in a mob, completely surrounding him, and there was some frantic whispering, in which some rather louder injections from Heinrich on the broad theme of "What?" could be heard, followed by a toccata on "The hell you say!"
The crowd parted again. The Prince slowly and carefully brushed some dust off his spotless jacket, glanced only briefly at Otto and de Worde and, to Polly's horror, strolled towards her...
...with one white-gloved hand extended.
Oh no, she thought. But he's cleverer than Vimes thinks he is, and he can control his temper. And, suddenly, I'm everyone's mascot.
"For the good of our great countries," said Heinrich, "it is suggested that we publicly shake the hand of friendship." He smiled again, or at least allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up.
Because she could think of no other way out, Polly took the huge hand and obediently shook it.
"Oh, ver' good," said Otto, grasping his picture box. "I can only take zer vun, of course, because unfortunately I shall have to use flash. Just vun moment..."
Polly was learning that an art form which happens in a fraction of a second nevertheless needs a long time to take place, allowing a smile to freeze into a mad grimace or, in the worst cases, a death rictus. Otto muttered to himself as he adjusted the equipment. Heinrich and Polly maintained the grip and stared at the picture box.
"So," muttered the Prince, "the soldier boy isn't a soldier boy. That is your good luck!"
Polly kept her fixed grin. "Do you often menace frightened women?" she said.
"Oh, that was nothing! You are only a peasant girl, after all! What do you know of life? And you showed spirit!"