Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett Page A

have—
    Maladict winked at her and made a tiny gesture with his head toward the other end of the room, and strolled in that direction. Polly followed.

Maladict always found something to lounge against. He relaxed in the shadows, looked up at the rafters, and said: “Now, I say a man who knows how to cook is no less of a man for that. But a man who says ‘sugar!’ when he swears? Have you ever heard a man say that? You haven’t. I can tell.”
    So it was you who gave me the socks, thought Polly. You know about me, I can tell you do, but do you know about Lofty? And maybe Shufti was very politely brought up…but one look at Maladict’s knowing smile made her decide not to try that road. Besides, the moment you looked at Shufti with the idea that maybe he was a girl, you saw that he was. No man would say “sugar!” Three girls now…
    “And I’m pretty sure about Lofty, too,” said Maladict.
    “What’re you going to do about…them?” she said.
    “Do? Why should I do anything about anyone?” said Maladict. “I’m a vampire officially pretending not to be one, right? I’m the last person who’ll say anyone has to play the hand they were dealt. So good luck to…him, say I. But you might like to take him aside later on and have a word with him. You know…man to man.”
    Polly nodded. Was there a knowingness to that comment?
    “I’d better go and take the lieutenant his scubbo,” she said. “And…blast it, I forgot about his laundry.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, old chap,” said Maladict and flashed a little smile. “The way things are going around here, Igor’s probably a washerwoman in disguise.”

    Polly did the laundry, in the end. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to dodge Molly a second time, and there wasn’t that much of it. Afterwards, she hung it in front of the fire, which was roaring.
    The horse had been surprisingly good, but not as surprising as Blouse’s reaction to the scubbo. He had sat there in his evening dress uniform—wearing special clothes just to sit down and eat all by yourself was a new one on Polly—and had yummed it up and sent her back with the bowl for more.
    The meat had been boiled white and there was scum on the top. The squad wondered what kind of a life an officer could have led that inclined him to like scubbo.
    “Dun’t know much about him,” said Scallot upon questioning. “He’s been here two weeks, frettin’ to get to the war. Brought a whole cartload of books with him, I heard. Looks like a typical rupert to me. They were all behind the door when the chins were handed out. A sergeant who went through said he’s not really a soldier at all, just some wonk from headquarters that’s good at sums.”
    “Oh, great,” said Maladict, who was brewing his coffee by the fire. The little engine gurgled and hissed.
    “I don’t think he can see very well without his glasses,” said Polly. “But he’s very, er, polite.”
    “Not been a rupert for long, then,” said Scallot. “They’re more ‘Hey there! You! Damn your eyes, fwah fwah fwah!’ I seen your sergeant before, though, old Jackrum. Been everywhere, he has. Everyone knows old Jackrum. He was with us in the snow up at Ibblestarn.’’
    “How many people did he eat?” said Maladict, to general laughter. The dinner had been good, and there had still been enough sherry for a glass each.
    “Let’s just say I heard he didn’t come down much thinner than when he went up,” said Scallot.
    “And Corporal Strappi?” said Polly.
    “Never seen him before, either,” said Scallot. “Cross-grained little bugger. Political, I’d say. Why’s he gone and left you here? Got a nice cushy bed in the inn, has he?”
    “I hope he’s not g-going to be our sergeant,” said Wazzer.
    “Him? Why?” said Scallot.
    Polly volunteered the events earlier in the evening. To her surprise, Scallot laughed.
    “They’re trying to get rid of the old bugger again, are they?” he said.