What Polly Did Next: Autumn 2/3
What Polly Did Next
Summary: If Monstrous Regiment could be filed under “What Polly Did” this would fall under the remit of “What Polly Did Next” covering as it does the joys, trials and tribulations of our eponymous heroine, picking up sometime in the year following the final paragraph of MR. Will contain Polly/Mal, but not yet.
This - being the middle section of the chapter - is perhaps more of a link between what went before and what comes after. Hopefully it's not too bad as a stand-alone for all that.
Disclaimer: Polly and Mal belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. Author makes no claims of ownership in any way. No profit is being made from this work.
(1. Summer) (2. Autumn 1/3)
~X~
Autumn 2/3
“Polly?” Mal swung a lazy leg as she examined the board laid out between them on the wide windowsill with an assumed air of concern.
“Hmm?”
Despite her best efforts, Sergeant Polly Perks, victor over a multitude of enemies with at least two armies on record as ground beneath her heel, was losing. Again. As yet she couldn’t quite see this situation had come about. How had Mal managed to avoid her cleverly constructed pincer attack and yet still contrived to wriggle a piece deep inside Polly’s defences where it was currently laying waste to her much needed reserve troops? She sighed, racking her brain to come up with a way to retain at least a smidgeon of her honour. Mal always complained that Polly was too easy to beat, she played by the book and the only times she presented a challenge to the vampire were when she chanced everything on one last insane plan. Admittedly it had only ever succeeded once, but what a glorious day that had been.
Not that a win:loss ratio of 1:87 was anything to be proud of, she thought soberly reaching out to move one of the more easily lost pieces - her hand pausing at the last second as synapses began to fire. What if she went left instead of right...?
The sun through the windowpanes beside them drew hard lines across the back of her hand, the movement through light and shade distracting as she pondered her strategy. Summer was taking its sweet time turning into autumn. Chilly evenings not withstanding, the season had not yet provided any evidence of its desire to progress further. With the welcome rays insinuating their way through her jacket Polly wasn’t going to be the lone voice of complaint about this late burst of sunny afternoons. As Finchley had commented only that morning, if it meant a good harvest and a winter of full bellies instead of scrimping and saving, there was no reason to take it up with the weather gods quite yet.
“Polly?”
The Supply Sergeant gave a distracted wave as one would at a fly buzzing around one’s head.
“Polly!”
“What?” She gave up on any chance of rescuing her light cavalry before the imminent attack swept them away and settled back against the warm stone with a sigh.
“Have you still got your sword?”
Mal had woken that morning with the certainty that it was time to for Part II of the long and as yet not fully thrashed out “Cheer Up Perks” plan that had been occupying her thoughts since arriving at the border. Admittedly the process of planning was restricted to those parts of her mind that were not taken up with vital pursuit of thrashing the lower ranks at cards, generally causing mischief and the ever tantalising hunt for the perfectly brewed cup of coffee. Bearing all this in mind it is of course understandable that she had taken longer than anticipated to get to this point.
Surprisingly Part I had come about without any interference from the vampire. Before Mal could put into place any of her “distractionary tactics” Polly had seen the benefits of fully utilising the wonderful Ganzfield. Without too much prompting she was now spending only the mandatory amount of time at her paperwork. This in turn had freed her up to be dragged, often unwillingly, into the shenanigans of the motley crew Mal had gathered about her from the odd assortment available in the Border Fort. The blessed day that Polly had chased Mal down seven corridors and up four flights of stairs with an iron saucepan had inspired Mal to declare Part I an unmitigated success. But the vampire was not one to rest on her laurels. It was time to instigate Part II.
Luckily she’d remembered that Polly had always needed a good dose of violence in her day to be truly happy and now, swallowing a secret chuckle, Mal waited to see her plan unfold in all its delicious glory.
“My sword?” Polly, wary after a number of incautious reponses to Mal’s simple questions ran the list of possible answers through her mind before settling on: “You can’t have it.”
“Oh I don’t want it.” Mal produced the most reassuring smile of her repertoire, taking out three of Polly’s squads with a single move. “But, as I was wandering past the exercise yard this morning I heard the drill sergeant addressing the new set of lads. Apparently it is our bounden duty as conscripts of this ‘ere army to keep ourselves battle-‘ardened at all times.”
Mal’s impression of the rough accented drill instructor was uncanny. Polly however, remained unmoved.
“I understand your boredom Mal, really I do.” She brought up the rearguard she’d been keeping in hand for a counter attack. “Since your co-conspirators went out on Patrol you’ve been kicking your heels around the castle and I sympathise, I really do. But why me Mal? Why do I always have to fill the gap?”
Mal opened her mouth, but her pre-prepared answer was denied mid vocalisation.
“You’ll have to find some other way to cause chaos. I’m not letting you loose with my sword. And that’s final.” Sergeant Perks folded her arms firmly, slumping back against the wall behind her.
Admittedly part of her frustration may have been due to the loss of her beautiful swooping counterattack before it even got out of the blocks - but still. You couldn’t have a bored vampire running around a populated castle with a lethal weapon. She frowned suddenly at the intrinsic wrongness of that sentence. Attention split between the board and the annoyance opposite, Polly made a fatal mistake. If she’d had only left the conversation there Mal might have forgotten all about it (unlikely - but always a possibility). Unfortunately she was ambushed by her unhealthy sense of curiosity and asked “where’s yours anyway?”
“I left it somewhere.” Looking down Mal saw that the lazily swinging leg had halted in its metronomic movement and covered up the stutter by bringing the boot up onto the window-ledge as though to examine a small blemish in the leather. She didn’t want to remember that dusty day. Let the sword lie where it had fallen, it had good company on that battlefield.
Polly was confused. Mal didn’t have nuances in her speech; anyone would tell you that. And yet… She didn’t know whether it was just because she was spending more time in Mal’s company but as the weeks passed she’d come to notice small things that didn’t fit, the occasional nonchalant pose that wasn’t all that nonchalant, the witty jest that turned the conversation on a sixpence, sending it in a new direction without anyone (except perhaps Goldhawk who appeared to see everything) any the wiser. Few and far between these moments may be, but they were not figments of her imagination. So far Polly’s only response had been to fall back on pragmatism, a technique she reached for now.
“If you’re serious about wanting to do some training I hear they keep spares and wooden practice blades down in the guard’s store somewhere.”
“Want to come exploring?”
Mal had lowered her boot to the stone flags, half turned away as she asked the question and Polly frowned at the blankness of her tone. Whatever Mal’s intention had been when she broached the subject, Polly’s questioning as to the whereabouts of her official army sword had obviously driven it from her mind. And that was unfair, Polly thought. She didn’t mind the contortions she was put through to avoid Mal’s wilder suggestions, the arguments, the whining and pleading, the constant need to have a brace of excuses ready and waiting. But this winning as it were by default left a nasty taste in her mouth. Glancing down at the board between them, she realised with utter finality that there was no chance she could win and shrugged.
“Why not?”
Mal, head swinging round at the change in Polly’s tone caught the sparkles beginning to dance in those pale blue eyes. Unconsciously the hard line of her mouth relaxed into the hint of a grin as those insidious sparkles struck up an answering glint in her own darker gaze.
“Why not indeed.”
~X~
It took Mal less than a minute to break into the store, Polly keeping a discrete eye out for interruptions, a post she’d found herself in more and more often recently. Once inside Mal embarrassingly displayed the distressing vampiric tendency to magpieism, flitting from shiny object to shiny object, her fingers dancing along this weapon before fluttering to that with increasing excitement. Leaving behind the half suppressed squeals of joy Polly drifted over to a rack of practice blades. Testing each in turn she found the one that when hefted rewarded her with perfect balance and brought delight to her swordswoman’s heart.
When Mal was eventually able to haul her baser instincts back under control she found Polly in another world, moving gracefully through a series of attacking moves, the memory returning to muscles long unused. There was something of the dancer in her movements, dust motes swirling around head as she pivoted and thrust, lost in the concentration needed to keep the blade swinging freely from one stance to the next. The deadliness of purpose couldn’t detract from the beauty and Mal felt the minutes slip past as she watched.
Eventually the increasing rate of a thudding heartbeat broke the spell and conscious that she’d been staring Mal checked her impassive eyebrow was in place before breaking into slow applause.
“Nicely done Polly. Has our Supply Sergeant been secretly practicing in the deepest depths of the file store?”
“Clogson made me learn.” Polly halted panting, running a finger down the blade as the sparkle of sunlight caught here and there along the burnished metal glinted in the gloom of the store. “Apparently relieving one’s tension on the practice ground is a good technique for getting rid of frustrations.” She picked up the buckler lying beside the rack of swords and adjusted her grip as she endeavoured to remember the technique for moving the two together.
“From the looks of it, one might conclude you were pretty damn frustrated down there.” Mal sidestepped a swing that she decided Polly couldn’t possibly have meant. It was probably just part of the routine the Sergeant was working through.
“Clogson eh? I always thought she took somewhat of a shine to you.”
That had definitely not been part of the flowing practice. Ducking, Mal gave Polly her most wounded look. It was ignored as Polly strode away from her towards the door they’d left open behind them. Grabbing up a sword Mal hurried after, calling for her sergeant to stop showing off and share some of this wonderful knowledge.
“For the good of the Regiment, if nothing else!”
~X~
It had seemed so simple when Polly did it, moving with little excessive movement from position to position. Moving about the bare practice ground Mal attempted to imitate the actions she had observed and was surprised to hear Polly’s stifled laughter at her efforts. Apparently, much to her chagrin this was something vampires were not born intrinsically able to do. Polly stepped forward to demonstrate and Mal copied as closely as she was able. As with everything a vampire ever put its mind to it was a most stylish effort. It was however not quite correct.
Struggling to direct suddenly disobedient feet and hands she tripped over her sword (most stylishly) and only by a great windmilling effort (a most stylish windmill naturally) managed to avoid introducing her face to the rough grass of the exercise yard. The goat that the drill sergeant kept to nibble the grass short looked down its nose at her derisively.
By the time Polly had stopped laughing; leaning against a nearby wall for support as she regained her breath Mal had cursed all blacksmiths to the 4th generation and was beginning in on dwarves and their occult wiles. She had also decided that plan or not, there was no need for any vampire with access to teeth and claws to ever learn this outmoded skill. But that was before Polly pushed herself off the wall, slid up behind her with utter confidence and placing a hand over hers on the hilt began to guide her through the movements, using the pressure of their bodies together to get her weight to move in the right direction.
“Pay attention Corporal.” The voice was a mere murmur in her ear and Mal wondered vaguely what exactly she was meant to be paying attention to? The light touch of Polly’s hand over hers? The strong arm about her waist turning her this way and that as they moved across the square in step? Through her daze she heard the firmly counted paces, Polly’s focus completely on the best way to guide her pupil, enjoying this opportunity to pass on knowledge, to open up new horizons for an old friend. She fought to get a grip on her reactions. Polly’s behaviour sprouted from pure innocence and Mal would not sully that just because it had been years since anyone had dared to invade her personal space so thoroughly.
Polly finally released her at the other side of the square and indicated the vampire should display what she had learnt. Mal failed of course. But the second demonstration was easier, no longer did her nerve endings scream quite so loudly about the warm heartbeat pressing against her back, and she could, albeit with the smallest corner of her brain take in something of the muscle co-ordination needed to create the flowing linked movements Polly did so easily.
The afternoon whirled away around them. Mal, once she had got the idea, began to link the strokes together, Polly only needing to step in from time to time to adjust her stance or direct her blade in a more efficient sweep or parry. Disturbed at last by clamour of the evening training group coming down to go through their more prosaic discipline the pair straightened up, feeling the tug of effort in muscles long unused. Hurrying to put away the swords before being noticed they slipped away unseen, not yet willing to explain themselves.
Walking across the wide lower hall Mal stretched tired muscles unable to swallow the small groan as a knotted bicep clamoured for attention. A snigger drifted up from the figure trailing beside her, but was interrupted by a yawn. Let the girl laugh. Once Mal’s famed vampiric healing powers got their act into gear they’d see who was laughing. Of course, having been confined to uneventful locales for the past months her skills were a little rusty. But soon, any minute now, they’d kick into glorious action and this residual ache across her shoulders would vanish into the air. Any minute now.
Polly halted wearily at the foot of the stairs, assessing the obstacle for potential miracles. Still struggling to find the switch in her physiology that would take all this galling human frailty away, Mal understood completely. Somewhere at the top of that flight was a comfortable chair and a bag of coffee beans. She wondered if it was worth it. The steps looked very comfortable. What would be the harm in them sitting down for a minute, just to gather their reserves?
“If we stop here, we’ll never get going again.” Polly winced as she lifted a foot to the first step and paused, preparing herself. “It’s only a few stairs. A short uphill stroll. We’re Border Boys remember, scrambling up mountains is a walk in the park to us.”
“I’ve seen flatter mountains.” Mal grimaced as she reached back for her sergeant and together they began to ascend.
It was some time later when the door to the office opened and two figures limped painfully over the threshold. Relaxing into her usual spot by the hearth Mal stretched out her legs on the rug as she watched Polly lower herself gingerly into the armchair that had somehow found its way into the Supply Clerk’s domain. A bag of coffee beans lay out of sight in the top drawer of the desk. Mal could smell it. Delicious, aromatic, essential coffee. She should get up, make her way around the desk, find the beans, dig out the grinder, fetch some water and brew herself a cup. She would. In a minute.
The quiet stretched on. Mal finally felt the trickle of renewal spreading out through her heavy muscles and stretched luxuriously, rejoicing in the return of responsive power. Sensing her change in mood Polly shifted in her chair, drawing up her legs up to rub at tired calf muscles. Bending a sympathetic gaze upward the corporal found herself on the receiving end on a rather mischievous smile.
“Same time tomorrow?”
~X~
“How many times Mal?!” Polly stepped back from the onslaught, lowering the tip of her blade to the ground. “Do you listen to a single word I tell you? You were slashing again; you’ve simply got to slow down. A swordsman works with efficiency of movement, we use the drills to guide the blade from one blow to another, from a parry to a death strike.”
Mal wasn’t precisely sulking, but it could not be said that the vampire was currently displaying anything like a receptive pose.
“Battles go on for a long time.” Polly caught a glint of something behind that polite mask as some remembered knowledge flashed into life and then was gone. “Even you might get tired, especially with the heavy shield to manoeuvre as well.”
“I don’t like the shield.” Mal hadn’t meant that to sound as petulant as it did. “It’s clunky.”
“It’s meant to be unwieldy; it has to be large enough to protect you!”
“Immortal.” Mal shrugged dismissively. “And equipped with those speedy reflexes that allow one to dodge.”
“Oh I give up.”
Polly fought down on the urge to fling the sword at her opponent’s head and instead placed it with controlled calm onto a nearby block where their discarded jackets lay. Turning away she set to adjusting the strapping on her hands, a ruse she had had to revert to many times in the times she gave over to teaching Mal the intricacies of sword play.
“Now this, this is better.”
Polly spun round. Unnoticed behind her Mal had picked up the second sword and with one in each hand was swishing at the air experimentally. The glimpse of canine in a face of intense concentration added rather than detracted from the impression of murderous efficiency. But somewhat disconcertingly, fear was not the first thing that came to Polly’s mind as her eyes wandered over that slim boyish figure.
“You’ll want different drills for a two handed attack.”
They both spun to face the interruption, seeing a thin diffident officer emerging from the gateway that linked the exercise yard with the rest of the rough ground encircled by the castle’s protecting walls.
“Excuse us, sir?” Polly had noticed the bar on his sleeve and jumped in before Mal could express the enquiry in more forceful terms.
“I apologise for my inadvertent observation of your private training session.” He approached them steadily in the face of silent opposition and having reduced the distance to something approaching politeness bowed his head for a moment as he introduced himself.
“Sub-Lieutenant Latimer, at your service.”
They saluted awkwardly, conscious of their shirt sleeves and general air of disarray.
“Sergeant Perks.” Polly nudged Mal and reminded of her manners the vampire added her identity.
“I find myself loath to interrupt any instance of sword practice amongst the midden dwellers that inhabit this isolated rock, but if the Corporal intends not to use the shield in battle he may indeed find the use of two swords more efficient as a fighting style. You will of course need to work up the drills first. They are somewhat different to those you have been practicing”
They gazed at him open mouthed.
“Plus I believe it would aid you, Sergeant, to face competition of this complexity. You still show some amateur errors in your defensive stance and could use some extra work on your elbow stiffness when disengaging.”
“You’ve been watching us?” Polly ignored the stifled snickering from her left.
“Not regularly.” He quickly denied any such impolite behaviour. Apparently having just returned to the fort from leading the latest High Patrol he’d been simply wandering the grounds. The sounds of battle had drawn him to their little corner and having overheard the corporal’s interest in a two handed fighting method he’d overcome his scruples to interrupt.
“If you should like, I could offer some advice in this area. I have some knowledge of the techniques.” In the dimming light Polly couldn’t make out if that was a faint blush staining the thin cheeks.
“We would hate to take up any of your time, sir.” Polly jumped to get in before Mal could deliver one of her crushing snubs but the corporal’s mind was on other things.
“Excuse me sir, but did you say the patrol was back in?”
“Yes?” He frowned in confusion as the vampire jiggled on the spot before him.
“Permission to leave, sir?”
“Granted Corporal. Don’t let me detain you.”
But as Mal sketched a half salute and turned to gather her belongings Polly caught a glimpse of disappointment behind the tightly held expression. She resisted the urge to bolt after Mal.
“You were right sir; I have no idea how to teach anyone to wield two swords. Did you mean what you said? About teaching us the drills for a double bladed attacking style?” It was cheek to be sure, but the man had offered. “If you can spare the time we would be more than grateful.”
The sub-lieutenant employed a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Don’t pay any attention to Mal, sir. I’ll talk him into it. It’s just that the patrol is back in you see, and the corporal is kind of eager to catch up with some old friends. We’d really appreciate it if you could give us some pointers.”
For a second she thought he wouldn’t believe her, thinking she was perhaps pulling his leg, but he shrugged and came to a decision.
“I’m busy tomorrow. But the day after, should anyone turn up, we could at least try.”
Grateful as she was Polly’s internal clock had been counting up the passing minutes since Mal had vanished and the total was becoming worryingly large. Fidgeting in her turn she threw the Sub-Lieutenant a textbook salute and he allowed a small smile to escape his dignified control.
“Dismissed Sergeant.”
“Thank you sir. It was nice to meet you sir. Goodbye sir.”
She hurried off in the direction that the vampire had vanished in.
~X~
“So he wanders over, bold as brass and starts taking the Sergeant here to task for poor swordsmanship.”
Polly protested at the vampire’s version of events but it was all in vain. Mal had sat politely through the polyphonic storytelling of the returned patrol members as to various exciting events that had come to pass up on the mountain. Now, having grabbed control of the conversation it was her turn to speak and no-one, of higher rank or not, was going to take it away from her. She’d rattled through the many daring exploits masterminded by her in the absence of her associates, scandalously exaggerated of course, and received the scoffing cries as her due. Now, gathering the cards that Barnett dealt skilfully around the crowded table Mal expanded further on the mystery that was Sub Lieutenant Latimer.
“How did a master swordsman end up out here anyway? You’d think the old buffers at central administration would hold on to someone with skills like that.”
An agreeing mumble swept round the table followed by a thoughtful silence as each player examined his (or her) cards and decided whether they were worth the copper needed to stay in the game (Polly had been allowed to play, as it was a special occasion).
“There are all kinds of reasons as to why a man might find himself encouraged to bolster the ranks of the Border Blues.” Goldhawk flicked his coin into the pot and as he was the last in the circle the game proper began.
“Musta been a pretty solid reason to get an Assassin out here.” Kettering, his cards a total bust, did his best to instigate to a distraction as he began to bluff heavily.
“Naturally, those of us left over from the old guard were somewhat persona non grata when the new colonel was rebuilding his staff.”
“Naturally.” Mal hid the smile behind her cards, sorting her hand carefully.
“So what did you do?” Finchley, his open face alight with curiosity leant in over his small pile of chips.
“I volunteered.” The assassin shrugged at their disbelief. “It was either that or spend every waking hour checking over my shoulder for the incompetent goons the new chief of security would keep sending my way. The man was simply unable to take a hint. In the end I got tired of kicking my heels around headquarters with nothing to do and managed to dig out a sensible Major who was willing to negotiate. In return for my generous offer to remove myself from political circles they agreed to stop sending people after me. It seemed fair enough, a man tires of checking his boots for scorpions every morning.
They laughed and drank a toast to scorpions and conversation dissipated as the game became more involved. However, after the hand was played out - falling to Finchley for once with Polly’s bluff failing miserably, the topic cropped up once again.
“Bob we know. A good lad was he, and will ever be.” As the rattling of mugs against the table in mocking applause faded away Barnett leant forward and asked directly across the table. “What about you, Mal? Why’d they send your scrawny arse out here to plague us?”
“Nothing much.” Under the table Polly felt the muscles bunch in the thigh that had until that moment been resting in quiet relaxation against her own as they all sat squashed around the small table. Polly nudged back against that tension and under cover of the general protest Mal pulled her mug toward her, staring into the depths as though she could find the story swirling somewhere in the liquid. Eventually she raised her head, looked around the table with that familiar self deprecating eyebrow and began to speak.
“Once upon a time, a very long time ago…” The vampire ducked as the walnut shell winged its way past her, landing on the floor in the corner.
“Ok Ok.” Mal shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “It was somewhat of a long list that the very ugly clerk read out at the last court-martial but from what I recall through the mists of time it began with Persistent Insubordination and continued on through Disobeying a Direct Order, Disobeying a Direct Order on a Battle Field, Mutiny, Incitement to Mutiny and Striking a Superior Officer… Twice.”
A chain of respectful nods travelled round the table. Polly, still in the dark, glanced across at Goldhawk for clarification but didn’t get any.
“How many did he get?” It was Barnett who broke the silence again. A good enough soldier, if prone to questioning any order he couldn’t see the full reasoning behind. It had got him into trouble when he’d refused to re-direct his patrol along a different route and lost every man, a mistake he had had to learn to live with. The kick that almost shattered Polly’s shin shut her mouth with a snap before she could ask “How many who?”
“Half the regiment.” Mal spoke quietly, unable to lift her gaze as she drew in a deep breath and continued “I was too far away.”
Polly felt the icy understanding blow chill across her brain, only to easily able to imagine the impotent fury that must have ignited in that moment.
“Apparently racing across a battlefield to countermand the orders of one’s Lieutenant to his face and call him a bloody incompetent into the bargain is not the way to improve one’s career path in the Army. Who knew?”
What guilt was running through the tense figure next to her? Mal wasn’t trembling it was true, but Polly could be certain that was only because Mal’s muscles were under the vampire’s most tightly grasped control.
“You saved half though.” It was Goldhawk who passed judgement. “Half is better than none.”
Hidden under the table, Polly felt some of the tension bleed out of the thigh pressed so tightly against hers. Above the wooden barrier Mal continued to distractedly stack her chips in neat piles.
“Where did you hit him?” That was Finchley, rising as he spoke to refill his mug from the pot warming on the stove.
“Broke his nose and cheekbone.” Mal drank the last of her mug, holding it out in wordless plea. “It was one hell of a punch.”
As Finchley passed around the table making sure everyone had a full mug to nurse, she settled back into her chair ever willing to relate the tale of a dust up. “He cried like a baby, blood, tears and snot running down onto his lovely trim jacket with the shiny buttons. The second time was at the trial. I only spat on him then. Ruined his jacket again though, which I think upset him more.” She grinned at them before burying her nose into the mulled wine.
“And they sent you out here?” Finchley settled back into his seat, gathering the cards together for the next deal.
“Eventually. There were a number of minor postings, but finally HQ must have written to my Commanding Officer letting him know that they’d found the perfect blend of characters for a Cripple Mr Onion tournament because they sent me out here pronto.”
“Damn shame for us.” Kettering muttered somewhat sourly into his drink, comparing the pile of coins heaped high on the table in front of Mal to the small collection scattered under his hand.
Lucky for me thought Polly in the silence that followed. Beside her Mal shuffled her cards and sorted them into order before looking up wickedly.
“So. What delights shall we endeavour to employ that we may assuage the boredom of our compatriots this week?”
~X~
In Conclusion:
Mal Has Two Swords, Your Argument Is Invalid.
Summary: If Monstrous Regiment could be filed under “What Polly Did” this would fall under the remit of “What Polly Did Next” covering as it does the joys, trials and tribulations of our eponymous heroine, picking up sometime in the year following the final paragraph of MR. Will contain Polly/Mal, but not yet.
This - being the middle section of the chapter - is perhaps more of a link between what went before and what comes after. Hopefully it's not too bad as a stand-alone for all that.
Disclaimer: Polly and Mal belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. Author makes no claims of ownership in any way. No profit is being made from this work.
(1. Summer) (2. Autumn 1/3)
~X~
Autumn 2/3
“Polly?” Mal swung a lazy leg as she examined the board laid out between them on the wide windowsill with an assumed air of concern.
“Hmm?”
Despite her best efforts, Sergeant Polly Perks, victor over a multitude of enemies with at least two armies on record as ground beneath her heel, was losing. Again. As yet she couldn’t quite see this situation had come about. How had Mal managed to avoid her cleverly constructed pincer attack and yet still contrived to wriggle a piece deep inside Polly’s defences where it was currently laying waste to her much needed reserve troops? She sighed, racking her brain to come up with a way to retain at least a smidgeon of her honour. Mal always complained that Polly was too easy to beat, she played by the book and the only times she presented a challenge to the vampire were when she chanced everything on one last insane plan. Admittedly it had only ever succeeded once, but what a glorious day that had been.
Not that a win:loss ratio of 1:87 was anything to be proud of, she thought soberly reaching out to move one of the more easily lost pieces - her hand pausing at the last second as synapses began to fire. What if she went left instead of right...?
The sun through the windowpanes beside them drew hard lines across the back of her hand, the movement through light and shade distracting as she pondered her strategy. Summer was taking its sweet time turning into autumn. Chilly evenings not withstanding, the season had not yet provided any evidence of its desire to progress further. With the welcome rays insinuating their way through her jacket Polly wasn’t going to be the lone voice of complaint about this late burst of sunny afternoons. As Finchley had commented only that morning, if it meant a good harvest and a winter of full bellies instead of scrimping and saving, there was no reason to take it up with the weather gods quite yet.
“Polly?”
The Supply Sergeant gave a distracted wave as one would at a fly buzzing around one’s head.
“Polly!”
“What?” She gave up on any chance of rescuing her light cavalry before the imminent attack swept them away and settled back against the warm stone with a sigh.
“Have you still got your sword?”
Mal had woken that morning with the certainty that it was time to for Part II of the long and as yet not fully thrashed out “Cheer Up Perks” plan that had been occupying her thoughts since arriving at the border. Admittedly the process of planning was restricted to those parts of her mind that were not taken up with vital pursuit of thrashing the lower ranks at cards, generally causing mischief and the ever tantalising hunt for the perfectly brewed cup of coffee. Bearing all this in mind it is of course understandable that she had taken longer than anticipated to get to this point.
Surprisingly Part I had come about without any interference from the vampire. Before Mal could put into place any of her “distractionary tactics” Polly had seen the benefits of fully utilising the wonderful Ganzfield. Without too much prompting she was now spending only the mandatory amount of time at her paperwork. This in turn had freed her up to be dragged, often unwillingly, into the shenanigans of the motley crew Mal had gathered about her from the odd assortment available in the Border Fort. The blessed day that Polly had chased Mal down seven corridors and up four flights of stairs with an iron saucepan had inspired Mal to declare Part I an unmitigated success. But the vampire was not one to rest on her laurels. It was time to instigate Part II.
Luckily she’d remembered that Polly had always needed a good dose of violence in her day to be truly happy and now, swallowing a secret chuckle, Mal waited to see her plan unfold in all its delicious glory.
“My sword?” Polly, wary after a number of incautious reponses to Mal’s simple questions ran the list of possible answers through her mind before settling on: “You can’t have it.”
“Oh I don’t want it.” Mal produced the most reassuring smile of her repertoire, taking out three of Polly’s squads with a single move. “But, as I was wandering past the exercise yard this morning I heard the drill sergeant addressing the new set of lads. Apparently it is our bounden duty as conscripts of this ‘ere army to keep ourselves battle-‘ardened at all times.”
Mal’s impression of the rough accented drill instructor was uncanny. Polly however, remained unmoved.
“I understand your boredom Mal, really I do.” She brought up the rearguard she’d been keeping in hand for a counter attack. “Since your co-conspirators went out on Patrol you’ve been kicking your heels around the castle and I sympathise, I really do. But why me Mal? Why do I always have to fill the gap?”
Mal opened her mouth, but her pre-prepared answer was denied mid vocalisation.
“You’ll have to find some other way to cause chaos. I’m not letting you loose with my sword. And that’s final.” Sergeant Perks folded her arms firmly, slumping back against the wall behind her.
Admittedly part of her frustration may have been due to the loss of her beautiful swooping counterattack before it even got out of the blocks - but still. You couldn’t have a bored vampire running around a populated castle with a lethal weapon. She frowned suddenly at the intrinsic wrongness of that sentence. Attention split between the board and the annoyance opposite, Polly made a fatal mistake. If she’d had only left the conversation there Mal might have forgotten all about it (unlikely - but always a possibility). Unfortunately she was ambushed by her unhealthy sense of curiosity and asked “where’s yours anyway?”
“I left it somewhere.” Looking down Mal saw that the lazily swinging leg had halted in its metronomic movement and covered up the stutter by bringing the boot up onto the window-ledge as though to examine a small blemish in the leather. She didn’t want to remember that dusty day. Let the sword lie where it had fallen, it had good company on that battlefield.
Polly was confused. Mal didn’t have nuances in her speech; anyone would tell you that. And yet… She didn’t know whether it was just because she was spending more time in Mal’s company but as the weeks passed she’d come to notice small things that didn’t fit, the occasional nonchalant pose that wasn’t all that nonchalant, the witty jest that turned the conversation on a sixpence, sending it in a new direction without anyone (except perhaps Goldhawk who appeared to see everything) any the wiser. Few and far between these moments may be, but they were not figments of her imagination. So far Polly’s only response had been to fall back on pragmatism, a technique she reached for now.
“If you’re serious about wanting to do some training I hear they keep spares and wooden practice blades down in the guard’s store somewhere.”
“Want to come exploring?”
Mal had lowered her boot to the stone flags, half turned away as she asked the question and Polly frowned at the blankness of her tone. Whatever Mal’s intention had been when she broached the subject, Polly’s questioning as to the whereabouts of her official army sword had obviously driven it from her mind. And that was unfair, Polly thought. She didn’t mind the contortions she was put through to avoid Mal’s wilder suggestions, the arguments, the whining and pleading, the constant need to have a brace of excuses ready and waiting. But this winning as it were by default left a nasty taste in her mouth. Glancing down at the board between them, she realised with utter finality that there was no chance she could win and shrugged.
“Why not?”
Mal, head swinging round at the change in Polly’s tone caught the sparkles beginning to dance in those pale blue eyes. Unconsciously the hard line of her mouth relaxed into the hint of a grin as those insidious sparkles struck up an answering glint in her own darker gaze.
“Why not indeed.”
~X~
It took Mal less than a minute to break into the store, Polly keeping a discrete eye out for interruptions, a post she’d found herself in more and more often recently. Once inside Mal embarrassingly displayed the distressing vampiric tendency to magpieism, flitting from shiny object to shiny object, her fingers dancing along this weapon before fluttering to that with increasing excitement. Leaving behind the half suppressed squeals of joy Polly drifted over to a rack of practice blades. Testing each in turn she found the one that when hefted rewarded her with perfect balance and brought delight to her swordswoman’s heart.
When Mal was eventually able to haul her baser instincts back under control she found Polly in another world, moving gracefully through a series of attacking moves, the memory returning to muscles long unused. There was something of the dancer in her movements, dust motes swirling around head as she pivoted and thrust, lost in the concentration needed to keep the blade swinging freely from one stance to the next. The deadliness of purpose couldn’t detract from the beauty and Mal felt the minutes slip past as she watched.
Eventually the increasing rate of a thudding heartbeat broke the spell and conscious that she’d been staring Mal checked her impassive eyebrow was in place before breaking into slow applause.
“Nicely done Polly. Has our Supply Sergeant been secretly practicing in the deepest depths of the file store?”
“Clogson made me learn.” Polly halted panting, running a finger down the blade as the sparkle of sunlight caught here and there along the burnished metal glinted in the gloom of the store. “Apparently relieving one’s tension on the practice ground is a good technique for getting rid of frustrations.” She picked up the buckler lying beside the rack of swords and adjusted her grip as she endeavoured to remember the technique for moving the two together.
“From the looks of it, one might conclude you were pretty damn frustrated down there.” Mal sidestepped a swing that she decided Polly couldn’t possibly have meant. It was probably just part of the routine the Sergeant was working through.
“Clogson eh? I always thought she took somewhat of a shine to you.”
That had definitely not been part of the flowing practice. Ducking, Mal gave Polly her most wounded look. It was ignored as Polly strode away from her towards the door they’d left open behind them. Grabbing up a sword Mal hurried after, calling for her sergeant to stop showing off and share some of this wonderful knowledge.
“For the good of the Regiment, if nothing else!”
~X~
It had seemed so simple when Polly did it, moving with little excessive movement from position to position. Moving about the bare practice ground Mal attempted to imitate the actions she had observed and was surprised to hear Polly’s stifled laughter at her efforts. Apparently, much to her chagrin this was something vampires were not born intrinsically able to do. Polly stepped forward to demonstrate and Mal copied as closely as she was able. As with everything a vampire ever put its mind to it was a most stylish effort. It was however not quite correct.
Struggling to direct suddenly disobedient feet and hands she tripped over her sword (most stylishly) and only by a great windmilling effort (a most stylish windmill naturally) managed to avoid introducing her face to the rough grass of the exercise yard. The goat that the drill sergeant kept to nibble the grass short looked down its nose at her derisively.
By the time Polly had stopped laughing; leaning against a nearby wall for support as she regained her breath Mal had cursed all blacksmiths to the 4th generation and was beginning in on dwarves and their occult wiles. She had also decided that plan or not, there was no need for any vampire with access to teeth and claws to ever learn this outmoded skill. But that was before Polly pushed herself off the wall, slid up behind her with utter confidence and placing a hand over hers on the hilt began to guide her through the movements, using the pressure of their bodies together to get her weight to move in the right direction.
“Pay attention Corporal.” The voice was a mere murmur in her ear and Mal wondered vaguely what exactly she was meant to be paying attention to? The light touch of Polly’s hand over hers? The strong arm about her waist turning her this way and that as they moved across the square in step? Through her daze she heard the firmly counted paces, Polly’s focus completely on the best way to guide her pupil, enjoying this opportunity to pass on knowledge, to open up new horizons for an old friend. She fought to get a grip on her reactions. Polly’s behaviour sprouted from pure innocence and Mal would not sully that just because it had been years since anyone had dared to invade her personal space so thoroughly.
Polly finally released her at the other side of the square and indicated the vampire should display what she had learnt. Mal failed of course. But the second demonstration was easier, no longer did her nerve endings scream quite so loudly about the warm heartbeat pressing against her back, and she could, albeit with the smallest corner of her brain take in something of the muscle co-ordination needed to create the flowing linked movements Polly did so easily.
The afternoon whirled away around them. Mal, once she had got the idea, began to link the strokes together, Polly only needing to step in from time to time to adjust her stance or direct her blade in a more efficient sweep or parry. Disturbed at last by clamour of the evening training group coming down to go through their more prosaic discipline the pair straightened up, feeling the tug of effort in muscles long unused. Hurrying to put away the swords before being noticed they slipped away unseen, not yet willing to explain themselves.
Walking across the wide lower hall Mal stretched tired muscles unable to swallow the small groan as a knotted bicep clamoured for attention. A snigger drifted up from the figure trailing beside her, but was interrupted by a yawn. Let the girl laugh. Once Mal’s famed vampiric healing powers got their act into gear they’d see who was laughing. Of course, having been confined to uneventful locales for the past months her skills were a little rusty. But soon, any minute now, they’d kick into glorious action and this residual ache across her shoulders would vanish into the air. Any minute now.
Polly halted wearily at the foot of the stairs, assessing the obstacle for potential miracles. Still struggling to find the switch in her physiology that would take all this galling human frailty away, Mal understood completely. Somewhere at the top of that flight was a comfortable chair and a bag of coffee beans. She wondered if it was worth it. The steps looked very comfortable. What would be the harm in them sitting down for a minute, just to gather their reserves?
“If we stop here, we’ll never get going again.” Polly winced as she lifted a foot to the first step and paused, preparing herself. “It’s only a few stairs. A short uphill stroll. We’re Border Boys remember, scrambling up mountains is a walk in the park to us.”
“I’ve seen flatter mountains.” Mal grimaced as she reached back for her sergeant and together they began to ascend.
It was some time later when the door to the office opened and two figures limped painfully over the threshold. Relaxing into her usual spot by the hearth Mal stretched out her legs on the rug as she watched Polly lower herself gingerly into the armchair that had somehow found its way into the Supply Clerk’s domain. A bag of coffee beans lay out of sight in the top drawer of the desk. Mal could smell it. Delicious, aromatic, essential coffee. She should get up, make her way around the desk, find the beans, dig out the grinder, fetch some water and brew herself a cup. She would. In a minute.
The quiet stretched on. Mal finally felt the trickle of renewal spreading out through her heavy muscles and stretched luxuriously, rejoicing in the return of responsive power. Sensing her change in mood Polly shifted in her chair, drawing up her legs up to rub at tired calf muscles. Bending a sympathetic gaze upward the corporal found herself on the receiving end on a rather mischievous smile.
“Same time tomorrow?”
~X~
“How many times Mal?!” Polly stepped back from the onslaught, lowering the tip of her blade to the ground. “Do you listen to a single word I tell you? You were slashing again; you’ve simply got to slow down. A swordsman works with efficiency of movement, we use the drills to guide the blade from one blow to another, from a parry to a death strike.”
Mal wasn’t precisely sulking, but it could not be said that the vampire was currently displaying anything like a receptive pose.
“Battles go on for a long time.” Polly caught a glint of something behind that polite mask as some remembered knowledge flashed into life and then was gone. “Even you might get tired, especially with the heavy shield to manoeuvre as well.”
“I don’t like the shield.” Mal hadn’t meant that to sound as petulant as it did. “It’s clunky.”
“It’s meant to be unwieldy; it has to be large enough to protect you!”
“Immortal.” Mal shrugged dismissively. “And equipped with those speedy reflexes that allow one to dodge.”
“Oh I give up.”
Polly fought down on the urge to fling the sword at her opponent’s head and instead placed it with controlled calm onto a nearby block where their discarded jackets lay. Turning away she set to adjusting the strapping on her hands, a ruse she had had to revert to many times in the times she gave over to teaching Mal the intricacies of sword play.
“Now this, this is better.”
Polly spun round. Unnoticed behind her Mal had picked up the second sword and with one in each hand was swishing at the air experimentally. The glimpse of canine in a face of intense concentration added rather than detracted from the impression of murderous efficiency. But somewhat disconcertingly, fear was not the first thing that came to Polly’s mind as her eyes wandered over that slim boyish figure.
“You’ll want different drills for a two handed attack.”
They both spun to face the interruption, seeing a thin diffident officer emerging from the gateway that linked the exercise yard with the rest of the rough ground encircled by the castle’s protecting walls.
“Excuse us, sir?” Polly had noticed the bar on his sleeve and jumped in before Mal could express the enquiry in more forceful terms.
“I apologise for my inadvertent observation of your private training session.” He approached them steadily in the face of silent opposition and having reduced the distance to something approaching politeness bowed his head for a moment as he introduced himself.
“Sub-Lieutenant Latimer, at your service.”
They saluted awkwardly, conscious of their shirt sleeves and general air of disarray.
“Sergeant Perks.” Polly nudged Mal and reminded of her manners the vampire added her identity.
“I find myself loath to interrupt any instance of sword practice amongst the midden dwellers that inhabit this isolated rock, but if the Corporal intends not to use the shield in battle he may indeed find the use of two swords more efficient as a fighting style. You will of course need to work up the drills first. They are somewhat different to those you have been practicing”
They gazed at him open mouthed.
“Plus I believe it would aid you, Sergeant, to face competition of this complexity. You still show some amateur errors in your defensive stance and could use some extra work on your elbow stiffness when disengaging.”
“You’ve been watching us?” Polly ignored the stifled snickering from her left.
“Not regularly.” He quickly denied any such impolite behaviour. Apparently having just returned to the fort from leading the latest High Patrol he’d been simply wandering the grounds. The sounds of battle had drawn him to their little corner and having overheard the corporal’s interest in a two handed fighting method he’d overcome his scruples to interrupt.
“If you should like, I could offer some advice in this area. I have some knowledge of the techniques.” In the dimming light Polly couldn’t make out if that was a faint blush staining the thin cheeks.
“We would hate to take up any of your time, sir.” Polly jumped to get in before Mal could deliver one of her crushing snubs but the corporal’s mind was on other things.
“Excuse me sir, but did you say the patrol was back in?”
“Yes?” He frowned in confusion as the vampire jiggled on the spot before him.
“Permission to leave, sir?”
“Granted Corporal. Don’t let me detain you.”
But as Mal sketched a half salute and turned to gather her belongings Polly caught a glimpse of disappointment behind the tightly held expression. She resisted the urge to bolt after Mal.
“You were right sir; I have no idea how to teach anyone to wield two swords. Did you mean what you said? About teaching us the drills for a double bladed attacking style?” It was cheek to be sure, but the man had offered. “If you can spare the time we would be more than grateful.”
The sub-lieutenant employed a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Don’t pay any attention to Mal, sir. I’ll talk him into it. It’s just that the patrol is back in you see, and the corporal is kind of eager to catch up with some old friends. We’d really appreciate it if you could give us some pointers.”
For a second she thought he wouldn’t believe her, thinking she was perhaps pulling his leg, but he shrugged and came to a decision.
“I’m busy tomorrow. But the day after, should anyone turn up, we could at least try.”
Grateful as she was Polly’s internal clock had been counting up the passing minutes since Mal had vanished and the total was becoming worryingly large. Fidgeting in her turn she threw the Sub-Lieutenant a textbook salute and he allowed a small smile to escape his dignified control.
“Dismissed Sergeant.”
“Thank you sir. It was nice to meet you sir. Goodbye sir.”
She hurried off in the direction that the vampire had vanished in.
~X~
“So he wanders over, bold as brass and starts taking the Sergeant here to task for poor swordsmanship.”
Polly protested at the vampire’s version of events but it was all in vain. Mal had sat politely through the polyphonic storytelling of the returned patrol members as to various exciting events that had come to pass up on the mountain. Now, having grabbed control of the conversation it was her turn to speak and no-one, of higher rank or not, was going to take it away from her. She’d rattled through the many daring exploits masterminded by her in the absence of her associates, scandalously exaggerated of course, and received the scoffing cries as her due. Now, gathering the cards that Barnett dealt skilfully around the crowded table Mal expanded further on the mystery that was Sub Lieutenant Latimer.
“How did a master swordsman end up out here anyway? You’d think the old buffers at central administration would hold on to someone with skills like that.”
An agreeing mumble swept round the table followed by a thoughtful silence as each player examined his (or her) cards and decided whether they were worth the copper needed to stay in the game (Polly had been allowed to play, as it was a special occasion).
“There are all kinds of reasons as to why a man might find himself encouraged to bolster the ranks of the Border Blues.” Goldhawk flicked his coin into the pot and as he was the last in the circle the game proper began.
“Musta been a pretty solid reason to get an Assassin out here.” Kettering, his cards a total bust, did his best to instigate to a distraction as he began to bluff heavily.
“Naturally, those of us left over from the old guard were somewhat persona non grata when the new colonel was rebuilding his staff.”
“Naturally.” Mal hid the smile behind her cards, sorting her hand carefully.
“So what did you do?” Finchley, his open face alight with curiosity leant in over his small pile of chips.
“I volunteered.” The assassin shrugged at their disbelief. “It was either that or spend every waking hour checking over my shoulder for the incompetent goons the new chief of security would keep sending my way. The man was simply unable to take a hint. In the end I got tired of kicking my heels around headquarters with nothing to do and managed to dig out a sensible Major who was willing to negotiate. In return for my generous offer to remove myself from political circles they agreed to stop sending people after me. It seemed fair enough, a man tires of checking his boots for scorpions every morning.
They laughed and drank a toast to scorpions and conversation dissipated as the game became more involved. However, after the hand was played out - falling to Finchley for once with Polly’s bluff failing miserably, the topic cropped up once again.
“Bob we know. A good lad was he, and will ever be.” As the rattling of mugs against the table in mocking applause faded away Barnett leant forward and asked directly across the table. “What about you, Mal? Why’d they send your scrawny arse out here to plague us?”
“Nothing much.” Under the table Polly felt the muscles bunch in the thigh that had until that moment been resting in quiet relaxation against her own as they all sat squashed around the small table. Polly nudged back against that tension and under cover of the general protest Mal pulled her mug toward her, staring into the depths as though she could find the story swirling somewhere in the liquid. Eventually she raised her head, looked around the table with that familiar self deprecating eyebrow and began to speak.
“Once upon a time, a very long time ago…” The vampire ducked as the walnut shell winged its way past her, landing on the floor in the corner.
“Ok Ok.” Mal shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “It was somewhat of a long list that the very ugly clerk read out at the last court-martial but from what I recall through the mists of time it began with Persistent Insubordination and continued on through Disobeying a Direct Order, Disobeying a Direct Order on a Battle Field, Mutiny, Incitement to Mutiny and Striking a Superior Officer… Twice.”
A chain of respectful nods travelled round the table. Polly, still in the dark, glanced across at Goldhawk for clarification but didn’t get any.
“How many did he get?” It was Barnett who broke the silence again. A good enough soldier, if prone to questioning any order he couldn’t see the full reasoning behind. It had got him into trouble when he’d refused to re-direct his patrol along a different route and lost every man, a mistake he had had to learn to live with. The kick that almost shattered Polly’s shin shut her mouth with a snap before she could ask “How many who?”
“Half the regiment.” Mal spoke quietly, unable to lift her gaze as she drew in a deep breath and continued “I was too far away.”
Polly felt the icy understanding blow chill across her brain, only to easily able to imagine the impotent fury that must have ignited in that moment.
“Apparently racing across a battlefield to countermand the orders of one’s Lieutenant to his face and call him a bloody incompetent into the bargain is not the way to improve one’s career path in the Army. Who knew?”
What guilt was running through the tense figure next to her? Mal wasn’t trembling it was true, but Polly could be certain that was only because Mal’s muscles were under the vampire’s most tightly grasped control.
“You saved half though.” It was Goldhawk who passed judgement. “Half is better than none.”
Hidden under the table, Polly felt some of the tension bleed out of the thigh pressed so tightly against hers. Above the wooden barrier Mal continued to distractedly stack her chips in neat piles.
“Where did you hit him?” That was Finchley, rising as he spoke to refill his mug from the pot warming on the stove.
“Broke his nose and cheekbone.” Mal drank the last of her mug, holding it out in wordless plea. “It was one hell of a punch.”
As Finchley passed around the table making sure everyone had a full mug to nurse, she settled back into her chair ever willing to relate the tale of a dust up. “He cried like a baby, blood, tears and snot running down onto his lovely trim jacket with the shiny buttons. The second time was at the trial. I only spat on him then. Ruined his jacket again though, which I think upset him more.” She grinned at them before burying her nose into the mulled wine.
“And they sent you out here?” Finchley settled back into his seat, gathering the cards together for the next deal.
“Eventually. There were a number of minor postings, but finally HQ must have written to my Commanding Officer letting him know that they’d found the perfect blend of characters for a Cripple Mr Onion tournament because they sent me out here pronto.”
“Damn shame for us.” Kettering muttered somewhat sourly into his drink, comparing the pile of coins heaped high on the table in front of Mal to the small collection scattered under his hand.
Lucky for me thought Polly in the silence that followed. Beside her Mal shuffled her cards and sorted them into order before looking up wickedly.
“So. What delights shall we endeavour to employ that we may assuage the boredom of our compatriots this week?”
~X~
In Conclusion:
Mal Has Two Swords, Your Argument Is Invalid.