"D'you chew at all, Perks?" said Jackrum.

"What, sarge?" said Polly distractedly.

The sergeant held out a small piece of sticky, black... stuff. "Tobacco. Chewing tobacco," said Jackrum. "I favour Blackheart over Jolly Sailor, 'cos it's rum-dipped, but others say - "

"Sarge, that man's going to escape, sarge! I know he is! The lieutenant isn't in charge, he is. He's all friendly and everything, but I can tell by his eyes, sarge!"

"I'm sure Lieutenant Blouse knows what he's doing, Perks," said Jackrum primly. "You're not telling me a bound man can overcome four of you, are you?"

"Oh, sugar!" said Polly.

"Just down there, in the old black tin," said Jackrum. Polly tipped some into the worst cup of tea ever made by a serving soldier and ran back to the clearing.

Amazingly, the man was still in a sitting position, and still bound hand and foot. Her fellow Cheesemongers were watching him dejectedly. Polly relaxed, but 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 humour - "

"Tea up," said Polly.

"Oh, thank you, Perks," said Blouse. "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 hand with his left hand, grabbed the sabre 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 arm lock.

"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 anywhere, 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."

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net