‘It was her own fault. She should have been able to tie up her own garters,’ said Lofty.
‘Yeah. Probably wanted her cheese stolen,’ said Tonker.
‘Wise words,’ said Jackrum. ‘Off you go, then . . . cheesemongers!’
The mist was still thick as they made their way down through the woods to the path by the river. Polly’s skirt kept catching in brambles. It must have done so before she’d joined up, but she’d never noticed it so much. Now it was seriously hindering her. She reached up and absent-mindedly adjusted the socks, which she’d separated to use as padding elsewhere. She was too skinny, that was the trouble. The ringlets had been useful there. They said ‘girl’. In their absence, she had to rely on a scarf and a socks change.
‘All right,’ she whispered, as the ground levelled out. ‘Remember, no swearing. Giggle, don’t snigger. No belching. No weapons, either. They can’t be that stupid in there. Anyone brought a weapon?’
There was a shaking of heads.
‘Did you bring a weapon, Tonk— Magda?’
‘No, Polly.’
‘No item of any sort with a certain weapon-like quality?’ Polly insisted.
‘No, Polly,’ said Tonker demurely.
‘Anything, perhaps, with an edge?’
‘Oh, you mean this?’
‘Yes, Magda.’
‘Well, a woman can carry a knife, can’t she?’
‘It’s a sabre, Magda. You’re trying to hide it, but it’s a sabre.’
‘But I’m only using it like a knife, Polly.’
‘It’s three feet long, Magda.’
‘Size isn’t important, Polly.’
‘No one believes that. Leave it behind a tree, please. That is an order.’
‘Oh, all right!’
After a while, Shufti, who had appeared to be thinking deeply, said: ‘I can’t understand why she didn’t just tie up her own garter . . .’
‘Shuft, what the hell—’Tonker began.
‘—heck,’ Polly corrected her, ‘and you’re talking to Betty, remember.’
‘What the heck are you talking about, Betty?’ said Tonker, rolling her eyes.
‘Well, the song, of course. And you don’t have to lie down to tie a garter in any case. It’d be more difficult,’ said Shufti. ‘It’s all a bit silly.’
No one said anything for a while. It was, perhaps, easy to see why Shufti was on her quest.
‘You’re right,’ said Polly eventually. ‘It’s a silly song.’
‘A very silly song,’ Tonker agreed.
They all agreed. It was a silly song.
They stepped out on to the river path. Ahead of them a small group of women were hurrying round the bend in the track. Automatically, the squad looked up. The keep grew out of the sheer cliff; it was hard to see where the unhewn rock ended and the ancient masonry began. They could see no windows. From here, it was just a wall extending to the sky. No way in, it said. No way out. In this wall are few doors, and they close with finality.
This close to the deep, slow river, the air was bone-chillingly cold, and grew colder the higher they looked. Around the curve they could see the little rock shelf where the back door was, and the women ahead of them talking to a guard.
‘This is not going to work,’ said Shufti under her breath. ‘They’re showing him some papers. Anyone brought theirs? No?’
The soldier had looked up and was watching the girls, with that blank official expression of someone who was not looking for excitement or adventure in his life.
‘Keep moving,’ murmured Polly. ‘If it all gets really bad, burst into tears.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ said Tonker.
Their treacherous feet were taking them closer all the time. Polly kept her eyes downwards, as was proper in an unmarried woman. There would be others watching, she knew it. They’d probably be bored, they might not be expecting any trouble, but up on those walls there were eyes fixed on her.
They reached the guard. Just inside the narrow stone doorway there was another one, lounging in the shadow.
‘Papers,’ said the guard.
‘Oh, sir, I have none,’ said Polly. She’d been working out the speech on the way down through the wood. War, fears of invasion, people fleeing, no food . . . you didn’t have to make things up, you just had to reassemble reality. ‘I had to leave—’
‘Oh, right,’ the guard interrupted. ‘No papers? No problem! If you’d just step in and see my colleague? Nice of you to join us!’ He stood aside and waved a hand towards the dark entrance.
Mystified, Polly stepped inside, with the others following. Behind them, the door swung shut. Inside, she saw that they were in a long passage with many slits in the walls to rooms on either side. Lamplight shone from the slits. She could see shadows beyond them. Bowmen concealed there could turn anyone trapped in here into mince.
At the end of the corridor another door swung open. It led into a small room in which there sat, at a desk, a young man in a uniform Polly didn’t recognize, although it had a captain’s insignia. Standing to one side was a much, much larger man in the same uniform, or possibly two uniforms stitched together. He had a sword. There was that about him: when this man held a sword, it was clearly being held, and held by him. The eye was drawn to it. Even Jade would have been impressed.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ said the captain. ‘No papers, eh? Take off your scarves, please.’
And that’s it, thought Polly, as the bottom of her stomach dropped away. And we thought we were being clever. There was nothing for it but to obey.
‘Ah. You’ll tell me your hair was shaved off as a punishment for fraternizing with the enemy, eh?’ said the man, barely looking up. ‘Except for you,’ he added to Igorina. ‘Didn’t feel like fraternizing with any enemies? Something wrong with decent Zlobenian boys?’
‘Er . . . no,’ said Igorina.
Now the captain gave them a bright little smile. ‘Gentlemen, let’s not mess about, shall we? You walk wrong. We do watch, you know. You walk wrong and you stand wrong. You,’ he pointed to Tonker, ‘have got a bit of shaving soap under one ear. And you, sir, are either deformed or you’ve tried the old trick of sticking a pair of socks down your vest.’
Crimson with embarrassment and humiliation, Polly hung her head.
‘Getting in or out disguised as washerwomen,’ said the captain, shaking his head. ‘Everyone outside this stupid country knows that one, lads, but most of them make more effort than you boys. Well, for you the war is over. This place has got big, big dungeons and I don’t mind telling you you’re probably going to be better off in here than outside— Yeah, what do you want?’
Shufti had raised a hand. ‘Can I show you something?’ she said. Polly didn’t turn, but watched the captain’s face as, beside Polly, cloth rustled. She couldn’t believe it. Shufti was raising her skirt . . .
‘Oh,’ said the captain, sitting back in his chair. His face went red.
There was an explosion from Tonker, but it was an explosion of tears. They came out accompanied by a long, mournful wail, as she threw herself on to the floor.
‘We walked so-oo far! We lay in ditches to hide from soldiers! There’s no food! We want to work! You called us boys! Why are you so-oo cruel?’
Polly knelt down and half picked her up, patting her on the back as Tonker’s shoulders heaved with the force of her sobs.
‘It’s been very hard for all of us,’ she said to the red-faced captain.
‘If you can take him down I can garrotte the other one with my apron string,’ whispered Tonker in her ear, between howls.
‘Have you seen everything you wish to see?’ said Polly to the blushing captain, every syllable tinkling with ice.
‘Yes! No! Yes! Please!’ said the captain, giving the guard the agonized glance of a man who knows that he’s going to be the laughing stock of the whole fort inside the hour. ‘Once was quite— I mean, I’ve seen . . . look, I’m completely satisfied. Private, go and fetch one
of the women from the laundry. I am so sorry, ladies, I . . . I have a job to do . . .’
‘Do you enjoy it?’ said Polly, still freezing.
‘Yes!’ said the captain hurriedly. ‘I mean, no! No, yes! We have to be careful . . . ah . . .’
The big soldier had returned, trailing a woman. Polly stared.
‘Some, er, new volunteers,’ said the captain, waving vaguely towards the squad. ‘I’m sure Mrs Enid will have some use for them . . . er . . .’
‘Certainly, captain,’ said the woman, curtsying demurely. Polly still stared.
‘Off you go . . . ladies,’ said the captain. ‘And if you’re hard workers Mrs Enid will I am sure give you a pass so’s we don’t have this trouble again . . . er . . .’
Shufti put both hands on his desk, leaned towards him and said ‘Boo’. His chair hit the wall.
‘I may not be clever,’ she said to Polly. ‘But I’m not stupid.’
But Polly was still staring at Lieutenant Blouse. He’d curtsied surprisingly well.
The soldier escorted them along a tunnel which opened on to a ledge overlooking what was either a cave or a room; it was at that level in the keep where there was not much difference. This wasn’t a laundry, but clearly some hot, damp afterlife for those who required punishment with extra scrubbing. Steam rolled across the ceiling, condensed, and dripped on to a floor that was already running with water. And it went on for ever, washtub after washtub. Women moved like ghosts through the drifting, tumbling clouds of fog.
‘There you go, ladies,’ he said, and slapped Blouse on the rump. ‘See you tonight, then, Daphne?’
‘Oh, yes!’ trilled Blouse.
‘Five o’clock, then,’ said the soldier, and ambled off down the corridor.
‘Daphne?’ said Polly, when the man had gone.
‘My “nom de guerre”,’ said Blouse. ‘I still haven’t found a way out of the lower areas but the guards all have keys and I shall have his key in my hand by half past five. Pardon?’
‘I think Tonker – sorry, Magda – just bit her tongue,’ said Polly.
‘Her? Oh, yes. Well done for staying in character, er . . .’
‘Polly,’ said Polly.
‘Good choice of name,’ said Blouse, leading the way down some steps. ‘It’s a good common, maidservanty sort of name.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ said Polly gravely.
‘Er . . . Sergeant Jackrum not with you, then?’ said the lieutenant, with a trace of nervousness.
‘No, sir. He said he was going to lead a charge on the main gates, sir, if we sent him a signal. I hope he doesn’t try without one.’
‘Good heavens, the man’s mad,’ said Blouse. ‘Splendid effort from the lads, though. Well done. You’d definitely pass for women to the casual observer.’
‘Coming from you, Daphne, that is a big compliment,’ said Polly, thinking: gosh, I’m really good at keeping a straight face.
‘But you didn’t need to come after me,’ said Blouse. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get a signal to you, but Mrs Enid allowed me to stay overnight, you see. The guards don’t do so many checks at night so I made use of my time to look for ways into the upper keep. All gated or really heavily guarded, I’m afraid. However, Private Hauptfidel has taken rather a shine to me . . .’
‘Well done, sir!’ said Polly.
‘Sorry, I want to be clear, sir,’ said Tonker. ‘You have a date with a guard?’
‘Yes, and I’ll suggest we go somewhere dark and then when I’ve got what I want I shall break his neck,’ said Blouse.
‘Isn’t that going a bit far on a first date?’ said Tonker.
‘Sir, did you have any trouble getting in?’ said Polly. This had been nagging at her. It seemed so unfair.
‘No, not at all. I just smiled and wiggled my hips and they waved me through. What about you?’
‘Oh, we had a little bit,’ said Polly. ‘It was a bit hair— it was a bit awkward for a moment or two.’
‘What did I tell you?’ said Blouse triumphantly. ‘It’s all down to thespian ability! But you were plucky lads to try it. Come and meet Mrs Enid. A very loyal lady. The brave womenfolk of Borogravia are on our side!’
And, indeed, there was a picture of the Duchess in the alcove that served the laundry mistress for an office. Mrs Enid wasn’t a particularly large woman but she had forearms like Jade, a soaking wet apron, and the most mobile mouth Polly had ever seen. Her lips and tongue drew out every word like a big shape in the air; the laundresses, in a cavern full of hissing steam, echoes, falling water and the thud of wet clothes on stone, watched lips when ears were overwhelmed. When she was listening her mouth moved all the time, too, like someone trying to dislodge a piece of nut from a tooth. She wore her sleeves rolled up above her elbows.
She listened impassively as Blouse introduced the squad. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Right. You leave your lads here with me, sir. You ought to get back to the pressing room.’
When Blouse had bounced and wobbled back through the steam, Mrs Enid looked them all up and down, and then straight through.
‘Lads,’ she grunted. ‘Hah! That’s all he knows, eh? For a woman to wear the clothes of a man is an Abomination in the Eyes of Nuggan!’
‘But we’re dressed as women, Mrs Enid,’ said Polly meekly.
Mrs Enid’s mouth moved ferociously. Then she folded her arms. It was like a barricade going up against all that was ungodly.
‘It’s not right,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a son and a husband prisoner in this place and I’m working meself to the bone for the enemy just so’s I can keep an eye on ’em. They’re gonna invade, y’know. It’s amazing what we hear down here. So what good’s rescuing your men going to do ’em when we’re all under the heel of the Zlobenian hand-painted clog, eh?’
‘Zlobenia will not invade,’ said Wazzer confidently. ‘The Duchess will see to it. Be not afraid.’
Wazzer got given the sort of look she always got when someone heard her for the first time.
‘Been praying, ’ave yer?’ said Mrs Enid kindly.
‘No, just listening,’ said Wazzer.
‘Nuggan talks to you, does he?’
‘No. Nuggan is dead, Mrs Enid,’ said Wazzer.
Polly took Wazzer’s matchstick-thin arm and said: ‘Excuse us a moment, Mrs Enid.’ She hustled the girl behind a huge, water-driven clothes mangle. It heaved and clanked as a background to their conversation.
‘Wazzer, this is getting . . .’ Polly’s native tongue had no word for ‘freaky’, but if she had known about the word she would have welcomed its inclusion ‘. . . strange. You’re worrying people. You can’t just go around saying that a god is dead.’
‘Gone, then. Dwindled . . . I think,’ said Wazzer, her brow furrowing. ‘No longer with us . . .’
‘We still get the Abominations.’
Wazzer tried to concentrate. ‘No, they’re not real. They’re like . . . echoes. Dead voices in an ancient cave, bouncing back and forth, the words changing, making nonsense . . . like flags that were used for signals but now just flap in the wind . . .’ Wazzer’s eyes went unfocused and her voice altered, became more adult, more certain ‘. . . and they come from no god. There is no god here now.’
‘So where do they come from?’
‘From your fear . . . They come from the part that hates the Other, that will not change. They come from the sum of all your pettiness and stupidity and dullness. You fear tomorrow, and you’ve made your fear your god. The Duchess knows this.’
The water-mangle creaked onwards. Around Polly the boilers hissed, water gushed in the runnels. The air was loaded with the smells of soap and damp cloth.
‘I don’t believe in the Duchess, either,’ said Polly. ‘That was just trickery in the woods. Anyone’d look round. It doesn’t mean I believe in her.’
‘That doesn’t matter, Polly. She believes in you.’
‘Really?’ Polly glanced around the steaming, dripping cave. ‘Is she here, then?
Has she graced us with her presence?’
Wazzer had no concept of sarcasm. She nodded. ‘Yes.’
Yes.
Polly looked behind her.
‘Did you just say yes?’ she demanded.
‘Yes,’ said Wazzer.
Yes.
Polly relaxed. ‘Oh, it’s an echo. This is a cave, after all. Uh . . .’
. . . which doesn’t explain why my voice doesn’t come bouncing back . . .
‘Wazz . . . I mean, Alice?’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Yes, Polly?’ said Wazzer.
‘I think it would be a really good idea if you don’t talk too much about this to the others,’ she said. ‘People don’t mind believing in, you know, gods and so on, but they get very nervous if you tell them they’re showing up. Er . . . she’s not going to show up, is she?’
‘The person you don’t believe in?’ said Wazzer, showing a flash of spirit.
‘I’m . . . not saying she doesn’t exist,’ said Polly weakly. ‘I just don’t believe in her, that’s all.’
‘She’s very weak,’ said Wazzer. ‘I hear her crying in the night.’
Polly sought for further information in the pinched-up face, hoping that in some way Wazzer was making fun of her. But nothing but puzzled innocence looked back.
‘Why does she cry?’ she said.
‘The prayers. They hurt her.’
Polly spun round when something touched her shoulder. It was Tonker.
‘Mrs Enid says we’re to get to work,’ she said. ‘She says the guards come round and check . . .’
It was women’s work, and therefore monotonous, backbreaking and social. It had been a long time since Polly had got her hands in a washtub, and the ones here were long wooden troughs, where twenty women could work at once. Arms on either side of her squeezed and pummelled, wrung out garments and slapped them into the rinsing trough behind them. Polly joined in, and listened to the buzz of conversation around her.
It was gossip, but bits of information floated in it like bubbles in the washtub. A couple of guards had ‘taken liberties’ – that is, more than had already been taken – and had apparently been flogged for it. This caused much comment along the tub. Apparently some big milord from Ankh-Morpork was in charge of things and had ordered it. He was some kind of wizard, said the woman opposite. They said he could see things happening everywhere, and lived on raw meat. They said he had secret eyes. Of course, everyone knew that that city was the home of Abominations. Polly, industriously rubbing a shirt on a washboard, thought about this. And thought about a lowland buzzard in this upland country, and some creature so fast and stealthy that it was only a suggestion of shadow . . .