Monstrous Regiment (Discworld 31)

"Oh? Where?"

"The Girls' Working School," said Tonker, and looked away.

And that's the kind of trap small talk can get you in, Polly thought. "Not a nice place, I think," she said, feeling stupid.

"It was not a nice place, yes. A very nasty place," said Tonker. "Wazzer was there, we think. We think it was her. Used to be sent out a lot on work hire." Polly nodded. Once, a girl from the School came and worked as a maid at The Duchess. She'd arrive every morning, scrubbed raw in a clean pinafore, peeling off from a line of very similar girls led by a teacher and flanked by a couple of large men with long sticks. She was skinny, polite in a dull, trained sort of way, worked very hard and never talked to anybody. She was gone in three months, and Polly never found out why.

Tonker stared into Polly's eyes, almost mocking her innocence. "We think she was the one they used to lock up sometimes in the special room. That's the thing about the School. If you don't toughen up you go funny in the head."

"I expect you were glad to leave," was all Polly could think of to say.

"The basement window was unlocked," said Tonker. "But I promised Tilda we'd go back one day next summer."

"Oh, so it wasn't that bad, then?" said Polly, grateful for some relief.

"No, it'll burn better," said Tonker. "Ever run across someone called Father Jupe?"

"Oh, yes," said Polly, and, feeling that something more was expected of her, added, "He used to come to dinner when my mother - he used to come to dinner. A bit pompous, but he seemed okay."

"Yes," said Tonker. "He was good at seeming."

Once again there was a dark chasm in the conversation that not even a troll could bridge, and all you could do was draw back from the edge.

"I'd better go and see to the lieu - to the rupert," Polly said, standing up. "Thank you very much for the soup."

She worked her way down through the scree and birch thickets until she emerged by the little stream that ran through the gully. And there, like some awful river god, was Sergeant Jackrum.

His red coat, a tent for lesser men, was draped carefully over a bush. He himself was sitting on a rock with his shirt off and his huge braces dangling, so that only a yellowing woolly vest saved the world from a sight of the man's bare chest. For some reason, though, he'd kept his shako on. His shaving kit, with a razor like a small machete and a shaving brush you could use to hang wallpaper, was on the rock beside him.

Jackrum was bathing his feet in the stream. He glanced up when Polly approached, and nodded amiably. "'Morning, Perks," he said. "Don't rush. Never rush for ruperts. Sit down for a spell. Get yer boots off. Let yer feet feel the fresh air. Look after your feet, and your feet will look after you." He pulled out his big clasp-knife and the rope of chewing tobacco. "Sure you won't join me?"

"No thanks, sarge." Polly sat down on a rock on the opposite side of the stream, which was only a few feet wide, and started to tug at her boots. She felt as though she'd been given an order. Besides, right now she felt she needed the shock of clean, cold water.

"Good lad. Filthy habit. Worse'n the smokes," said Jackrum, carving off a lump. "Got started on it when I was but a lad. Better'n striking a light at night, see? Don't want to give away your position. 'Course, you gotta gob a bundle every so often, but gobbin' in the dark don't show up."

Polly dabbled her feet. The icy water did indeed feel refreshing. It seemed to jolt her alive. In the trees around the gully, birds sang.

"Say it, Perks," said Jackrum, after a while.

"Say what, sarge?"

"Oh, bleedin' hell, Perks, it's a nice day, don't muck me around. I seen the way you've been looking at me."

"All right, sarge. You murdered that man last night."

"Really? Prove it," said Jackrum calmly.

"Well, I can't, can I? But you set it up. You even sent Igor and Wazzer to guard him. They're not good with weapons."

"How good would they have to be, d'you think? Four of you against a man tied up?" said Jackrum. "Nah. That sergeant was dead the moment we got 'im, and he knew it. It took a bloody genius like your rupert to make him think he'd got a chance. We're out in the woods, lad. What was Blouse gonna do with him? Who'd we hand him over to? Would the lieutenant cart him around with us? Or tie him to a tree and leave him to kick wolves away until he gets too tired? Much more gentlemanly than giving him a quiet cigarette and a swift chop where you go quick, which is what he was expecting and what I'd have given him."

Jackrum popped the tobacco into his mouth. "You know what most of the milit'ry training is, Perks?" he went on. "All that yelling from little spitbubs like Strappi? It's to turn you into a man who will, on the word of command, stick his blade into some poor sod just like him who happens to be wearing the wrong uniform. He's like you, you're like him. He doesn't really want to kill you, you don't really want to kill him. But if you don't kill him first, he'll kill you. That's the start and finish of it. It don't come easy without trainin'. Ruperts don't get that trainin', 'cos they are gentlemen. Well, upon my oath I am no gentleman, and I'll kill when I have to, and I said I'd keep you safe and no damn rupert's going to stop me. He gave me my discharge papers!" Jackrum added, radiating indignance. "Me! And expected me to thank him! Every other rupert I've served under has had the sense to write 'Not posted here' or 'On extended patrol' or something and shove it back in the mail, but not him!."

"What was it you said to Corporal Strappi that made him run away?" said Polly, before she could stop herself.

Jackrum looked at her for a while, with no expression in his eyes. Then he gave a strange little chuckle. "Now why would a little lad like you say a little thing like that?" he said.

"Because he just vanished and suddenly some old rule means you're back on the strength, sarge," said Polly. "That's why I said that little thing."