What Polly Did Next: Winter (III)
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. Polly/Mal
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.
Warnings: This chapter contains descriptions of a relationship between two women (yeah, I know, FINALLY). If that's not your thing please don't click below.
Previous Chapters: Summer, Autumn 1/3, Autumn 2/3, Autumn 3/3
As it was too long for one post (Still LJ? STILL?) we're going for four.
~X~
The snow eventually blew away over the mountain and it was a clear blue sky that hung over the castle as Polly leant idly against the wall that separated the upper walkway from the lower levels. Her gaze was directed downward at a figure of high distinction and class clearing the snow from the cobblestones of the exercise yard below with the menial tool known as a shovel. Watching the vampire toiling doggedly against the snowdrifts Polly couldn't help the beginnings of an amused smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was good to have Mal back again. She had been somewhat missed.
Inexplicably the sergeant's mood changed and she slumped miserably over the wall. The smooth course of life generally travelled by the respected Sergeant Perks had entered somewhat uncertain waters recently and most of that uncertainty could be traced to a single source. Polly sighed, the lonely little puffs of her breath hanging around doggedly in the cold air. It was a hard life, being an abomination.
She'd been unsettled ever since Mal had waved a cheerful goodbye and disappeared under the grand gatehouse at the tail of that blasted patrol. At first Polly had put the feeling down to a well-deserved hangover from the night before. The send-off had been most comprehensive. Nursing a sore head she had decided to think no more on the matter and sensibly returned to her ledgers. But the confused misery had refused to dissipate; sticking around even after the headache had receded. Before long Polly had had to admit defeat, the strange loneliness having built a solid beach-head across her emotions and settled down for the duration.
She'd hidden it well, but as one day of blessed quiet after another slipped by Polly had found herself struggling, unable either to pull herself together or discover why it was she felt so darned incomplete. Perplexed by her inability to control this nonsensical behaviour she'd found herself turning for comfort to the familiar melodies held within Mal's treasured black discs. Gazing out of her frost decorated window as the music spun out merrily behind her Polly had wandered through empty rooms of memories. If she couldn't beat 'em perhaps she could at least survive 'em. It wasn't Mal, but she had thought it might have been close enough to help.
It hadn't.
The days passed slowly and painfully, but they did pass and eventually the Patrol returned to the fort, safe and sound if a little bit cold around the edges. Polly hadn't been waiting on the battlements for them to return, she'd stayed sensibly warm in her little room. The fact that the weather was so bad no-one, not even a Sergeant squinting through snow-caked eyelashes, could see more than 100 yards down the road was not mentioned. Besides, the simple precaution of bribing the youngest guard to inform her the minute anyone was seen enabled her to be there in the courtyard waiting as the Patrol blew in. If one were being entirely truthful it might be said that Polly had been somewhat exuberant in her welcome, despite all her resolutions to be present a calm and collected response. Luckily the over-effusive greeting was hidden in the general excitement of the troops as now that the patrol was back, preparations for Hogswatch could begin.
Having seen Mal safely returned to the fold Polly had foolishly assumed that that would be the end of it. The wretchedness she'd been suffering was obviously merely the outward expression of a natural worry for a friend out in terrible conditions. But the unsettled feeling had remained. The scent of coffee might be filling Polly's office again but uncertainty filled her mind. She should be happy; didn't she have everything she wanted now that the annoying presence of a vampire was once again weaving its familiar interruptions through her day? But ever since the triumphal return Polly had found herself searching out opportunities to watch Mal about her normal business as though reminding herself of what the vampire looked like. As if anyone could forget that face...
“Morning, Perks.”
Polly jerked upright as a familiar voice interrupted her in the middle of a complicated thought involving the delicate features currently hidden behind snow-dampened tendrils of black hair. Luckily the cold temperatures disguised the tell-tale blush and neither Finchley or the accompanying Goldhawk noticed anything amiss. Covering her discomfort she greeted them cheerfully enough, a small corner of her mind glad of the distraction. After the customary banter they settled in beside her, easy smiles breaking out despite the cold weather.
”What's brought you out here then?” Glancing over the wall Finchley blinked at the resplendent sight thus displayed. “Ooh, Fatti-guews. Did der widdle vampire get on nasty Sergeant Kettering's last nerve again?”
Their voices must have drifted down to the theatre below because Mal straightened, performed a perfect about-turn and came to attention, upending the shovel over her shoulder like a pike as she saluted crisply.
“The old rascal's in the infirmary, malingering.” Goldhawk returned the corporal's salute politely. “I do however, recall that the Lieutenant's toupee was somewhat misaligned this morning.”
“I told him.” Polly shook a sorrowful head. “I said, clear as day: 'the lieutenant's shiny new cap, tempting though it is, is not carte blanche for you to start flinging snowballs hither and yon.' But did he listen? Did he heck-as-like.” The shovel-wielding crystalline-precipitation-chucker shrugged unrepentant shoulders. “A prime rollicking, two days fatigues and a reminder that he should thank his lucky stars he's not missing the party tonight.”
An array of disapproving looks were cast down to the accused below. Mal responded by ignoring them completely and returning to her task. They settled more comfortably against the wall.
“The hall looks nice.”
“Oh?” Polly managed to turn her head to acknowledge Finchley's remarks but her gaze was inexorably dragged back to the activity going on in the square below.
“Yeah, we just came from there; van Hoeffler is doing a great job with the decorations. He's got Turner up a ladder nailing the branches along the eaves.”
All three took a moment to watch the hard-working activity that continued methodically below.
“Do you reckon he'll be finished in time?” Finchley asked the question without his usual relish.
He was overheard.
“I've only got to do this bit and then along by the kitchens.”
They all looked at the so far undisturbed remains of “this bit”, the virgin snow stretching unbroken from one side of the parade ground to the other.
“You might want to hurry it up a bit.” The look Finchley received for his pains could have melted the remaining snow with enough left over to heat the castle for a week.
Industrious silence reigned for precisely one minute and 48 seconds.
“You missed a bit.” Goldhawk graciously forbore to comment further as Mal snarled under her breath and turned back to clear the minuscule spot of snow he had indicated.
Watching as Mal doggedly returned to the fray Finchley distributed his height more comfortably against the parapet and began to mull over his collection of gentle insults that could safely be dropped into the square below. The afternoon stretched before them, filled with nothing vital that had to be done and the trio looked forward to a pleasurable hour or so of helpfully assessing the standard of work and offering advice as and when required.
Unfortunately their delicious plans were doomed to failure.
“Excuse me, Sergeant Perks.” Polly turned to find Ganzfield apologetically at her elbow. “I'm sorry Ma'am but we really need to go over the invoices before this afternoon, I'm having to pay for some of the deliveries up front.”
She nodded and watched him scurry away, his files securely held under one arm. As he vanished from sight she sighed, turning back to the figure busily flinging snow up into the air.
“I have to go to work now.” She had pitched her voice to reach down into the courtyard but Mal gave no sign that she had heard. Polly continued non-the-less, having been lectured on the superiority of vampire hearing on too many occasions to believe in the sudden deafness of the corporal. “My office needs me. My lovely warm office with its glowing grate filled with nice hot coals.”
Mal might have winced, it was difficult to tell.
“I must away,” Polly flung out a dramatic arm. “There are demands on my attention, work that I am paid for, work that brings me the admiration of the lower ranks. Work that is incidentally totally unlike manual labour”.
Mal made a face at her shovel.
“I might play some records.”
“I might play some records...” Mal's muttered imitation of Polly was excellent and completely wasted on the shovel.
“Finchley might even pop round to teach me new dance steps for tonight.”
That got a quick pained glance over one shoulder, Mal throwing the snow in the direction of her neat pile with unneeded violence.
“And don't forget you're supposed to be escorting me this evening. I'm not walking into that bear pit unaccompanied.”
“I know.” Mal planted her shovel and straightened to push back unruly locks of damp hair. It was a gentler smile than was usually seen on that sharp face as she craned her neck to meet Polly's eyes. “I shall, as always, endeavour to satisfy you M'lady.”
Polly felt that inexplicable ache again, right under her rib cage but managed to smile back. The moment stretched a little too long before Mal's smile slipped into ruefulness and she stepped back to give a bow and a flourish.
In the quiet they heard the clock strike the quarter, the chimes rising up through the clear air.
“I have to go.” She didn't want to, confused by a desire never to leave that moment, the longing tinged with a fluttering urgency regarding the evening that was coming closer every minute quicker, a new tension building, making it difficult to breathe.
“It's OK, Pol. Go, work, be busy and officious.” Mal waved an all-encompassing hand. “I'll swing by the office when I'm done and you can braid the flowers in my hair for the ball then.”
Finchley snorted at the image that produced and the tension shattered into a million pieces that melted away in the weak sun. Relieved, though also for some reason feeling a little bereft Polly sketched a rough salute and, following a quick goodbye to the lads, she traipsed back inside to where her ledgers waited. The two left behind remained leaning over the wall looking forward to a full afternoon of offering advice, but their called advice was getting little response and even they noticed more urgency in the lazy movements below.
The sun had long disappeared behind the mountains and the last of the colour was leaching out of the sky when Polly was interrupted in her preparations by a long awaited knock at the door. Responding to her quiet “come in” Mal slipped through the heavy door and closed it softly behind her. The amusing conversational opener died on her lips as she took in the vision before her. Having been worriedly waiting for the first response to the effects of her efforts Polly was inexplicably pleased at the look on her face.
It had taken a while to get all the creases out of her best coat and Polly had attempted the cravat at least fifteen times before it was anything approaching acceptable. Her boots she had shined until she could see her face in them and despite the fact it was a broken representation due to the many cracks she thought they looked very nice indeed. Finally she had washed her hair specially in some of Shufti's more treasured gifts and it felt very light and free and distracting as she bent her head to squint at where she was attempting to mediate the disputed interaction between collar and cravat.
“Let me.” Mal stepped forward, fingers gentle as she made those vital tiny adjustments that every well-dressed vampire could do instinctively. One final tweak and she stepped back to view her handiwork. There was a long silence while Polly's tension levels increased to almost unbearable levels.
“Well?”
“You left your hair down.”
“It is a party, Mal. A smidgeon of effort is usually required.” Mal had obviously not found time to do much more than find a clean shirt and run a wet rag over her boots. Standing there with her jacket half undone she looked rakish and debonair and simply perfect and Polly wouldn't have wanted her any different.
“It's beautiful. It shimmers in the candle-light like millions of tiny stars.”
The compliment, coming as it did out of the blue, caught Polly up short and she blinked, pulling a strand of hair forward into view so that she could assess this effect. It just looked yellow to her but as she dropped the strands Polly became aware that Mal hadn't taken more than the original step back and was still somewhat too close for comfort. Polly cleared her throat.
“Would you help me with the pin?”
“Pin?” Mal took possession of the tiny box cautiously as though it might explode. Opened, the box revealed the glossy lacquer of what someone at high command had obviously though fitting for young women to wear. Mal frowned for a moment in confusion and then as Polly watched the memories stirred and cleared. “You still wear this?”
“I won it fair and square; I don't see why we shouldn't wear them. Besides it keeps my collar from slipping.”
Her practicality made Mal smile as she picked the minuscule pin from its velvet cushion. Bending her head the vampire squinted at the smidgeon of collar available to site the jewel. Polly, wishing to help, tilted her head to allow more light on the difficult procedure, only later realising that this exposed rather more of her neck than one usually offered to a vampire. Luckily before she could begin to panic about Mal's ability to resist temptation the job was done and Mal's hand was at cupping her cheek as she encouraged her to stand straight again.
“Hold on a tick, Pol. Let me see?” Polly froze, the weight of Mal's hand on her shoulder holding her still a comforting anchor to counterbalance the light fingers along her jawline.
“We should have written to Clogston about getting you something for the Ankh Morpork Fiasco. Another one on the other side would balance you out perfectly.”
Mal was smiling, the laughter lights dancing in those soft dark eyes and despite the delights waiting them in the Great Hall Polly wanted nothing more than that the moment would last, Mal's perfectly proportioned nose only centimetres from her own. But the candles flickered in an unseen draft and Mal's amusement died with them on a caught breath. She stepped back, emphasising the distance between them and ran her hand disjointedly through already adequately dishevelled hair.
“We should go.” Mal may have been shaken, but her gait as she moved over to open the door was steady enough.
“We should.”
Polly wasn't sure what had just happened, but she held onto what had previously worked and that meant not commenting and moving on. She gave the vampire a few seconds while she collected up the last of her personal effects and when she shot Mal a quick searching glance before taking the arm offered her corporal presented nothing but the most calm demeanour. Thus, arm in arm in perfect harmony (if a little shaken underneath the masks) both went down to celebrate Hogswatch Eve in style.
The Great Hall was crowded and lively. It seemed as though all the townsfolk had walked up, slipping and sliding over the ice in all their finery, to swell the ranks. Smartly turned out Border Boys bowed low as they requested the hands of delicate (and in some cases not so delicate) maidens and dotted here and there the officers promenaded pompously with willing matrons. The young lads from the town huddled in dark corners, grumbling quietly about the unfair effects of a uniform on the female brain but tempers were eased when they got the chance to get their own back as the small band struck up a local air. There was plenty to eat and more than plenty to drink, the Fort doing its best to buy the goodwill of the town for the rest of the year.
Polly danced with anyone who asked, the music drawing her back to the floor whenever she took a break for air or refreshment. She danced with Turner (carefully polite), with Barnett (struggling to lead after his many lessons in the arms of Corporal Finchley), with various lads from the village and of course with Finchley himself. Mal didn't dance though there were any number of opportunities for her to do so. It amused Polly immensely to see the village wenches queuing up for her hand, obviously much enamoured of the corporal's carefully crafted dishevelled style. But despite Polly's laughing encouragement (and some barefaced jealousy from some of the lads) Mal refused to entertain any of the beckoning glances thrown her way.
Spinning around the floor with one happy partner after another, Polly did try to keep in touch with that reserved figure sticking to the sidelines but to no avail. Yet again and again, as at the smaller dance in the guard room, she kept feeling those eyes on her across the room. And every time she slumped into a nearby chair struggling to catch enough of her breath to force out a solicitous enquiry Mal smiled, supped delicately from the small glass of port she held steadily in one hand at all times, and said nothing.
It was in one of those aggravating moments of peace that Polly lost patience and was about to demand a little more participation when Mal put a silencing hand on her arm and indicated the podium where the band were just coming to the end of a local air. The crowd applauded politely and then watched patiently while the musicians shuffled the scores on their music stands and went into a small huddle. Polly leant in to whisper an enquiry but Mal only shook her head and kept her eyes on the small stage. As the huddle broke up and the musicians took their places again Polly found herself leaning forward in anticipation.
There was a chord and then silence. A singer stepped forward and took a breath.
“There may be trouble ahead...”[6]
The band picked up the melody and they were off, the couples quickly finding the new beat to their liking. Polly turned to Mal, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead.
“Isn't that...?”
It was at this auspicious moment that Goldhawk, who had been walking in a stately fashion around the room with his hands folded behind his back, arrived at their quiet little corner. He bowed low.
“Miss Perks.”
“Mr Goldhawk.” Putting her question aside for a better time Polly struggled to fight the giggle that had bubbled up uncontrollably all night every time someone made this introduction.
“Would you do me the great honour of allowing me the pleasure of this dance?”
“I believe it is you that do me the honour, sir.”
He bowed again and she stood up from her chair to give him a curtsey in exchange. He offered an arm and feeling very much the lady she laid a delicate hand on it. But for some reason Goldhawk didn't immediately lead her away. Polly waited, unwilling to commit the faux pas of tugging her partner onto the floor, especially when her escort had access to so many sharp implements.
“You have my gratitude, Mister Maladict.”
Polly swung a sharp glance at the assassin and then switched her gaze to where Mal sat so nonchalantly. The undercurrent of tension grew stronger as the silence lengthened and her eyes flicked from one protagonist to another. Then she watched in incomprehension as the vampire at last unfolded her length to return Goldhawk's nod with a gracious one of her own.
“Any time, Mister Goldhawk.” Mal murmured.
Was Polly imagining the thread of irritation running through those polite words?
She didn't have much time to ponder the odd exchange however as with the niceties over Goldhawk was leading her off into the throng. Dragging her feet as the singer was crooned something about fiddlers fleeing and bills to pay, Polly looked back over her shoulder and caught Mal throwing off the last of her wine. She lost sight of the corporal then but before her view was completely obscured it looked like had Mal turned on her heel and stalked away.
“Miss Perks?”
Distracted by her churning thoughts Polly had bumped into the now stationary Goldhawk who held out his hands in a gentle reminder her of her responsibilities. Allowing him to take her in hold she half frowned at the glitter of amusement in his eyes.
“What are you and Mal up to?” she demanded.
“Separately, or together?”
He answered the penetrating look she gave him in response to that with a calm and inscrutable smile. Once again indicating the band with a tilt of the head he urged her into movement and they at last began to dance. The crooner was taking a well-deserved break, swigging enthusiastically from a friendly bottle as the band and the song continued on without him.
“I wish you wouldn't wind him up.” They were coming up on a group of youths and Polly paused for a moment to concentrate on following her partner's lead as he steered her through the confusion. Once past however, she returned to her point. “An Assassin should know better. And it's not remotely fair considering you know he's had something on his mind ever since he came back from that blasted patrol.”
“Has he really?”
Glancing up Polly frowned at Goldhawk's quizzical eyebrow as they rotated on the spot, his dapper feet guiding her around in perfect circles before returning them to their stately progress around the room. It was a delicate manoeuvre but the lady involved refused to be distracted, even by such high quality of dancing. She continued with her conversational thread.
“I've been trying to get to the bottom of what's been eating him, but he's not co-operating. Has he said anything to you?”
“Not in as many words, no.”
He smiled down at her in a paternal fashion and Polly strongly considered kicking him in the shins. But there were all those secreted implements to bear in mind. She took the more diplomatic route.
“I don't think you should laugh at your partner, not actually during the dance anyway. It's not the best of gentlemanly behaviour.”
He opened his mouth to refute her accusation but before he could produce a word Polly stated that she was hereby refusing to talk about it any more. They danced on in silence. Left alone to her thoughts Polly found the words unconsciously rising to her lips as the band swung into the chorus.
“...So while there's moonlight and music,
And love and romance...”
Polly stopped abruptly bringing Goldhawk to a stuttering halt. Uncomplainingly he waited patiently for an explanation, shielding her from the other dances with a hint of surprise in his eyes. She apologised while the the crooner took advantages of the last line that were illegal in three shires.
“Would you excuse me? There's something I have to do.”
“Of course.” Goldhawk looked over her head at the far corner and added “He's over by the punch bowl at the moment. I would seize the moment if I were you.”
“I will.” She blushed suddenly. “I'm sorry.”
Goldhawk smiled his forgiveness, bowed low over her hand and let her go.
Polly found Mal making friends with the punchbowl. The buffet was quiet, most couples either taking a turn on the floor or otherwise occupied in quiet corners. Despite the hunched shoulder indicating Mal knew she had company there was no acknowledgement of Polly's presence from either the vampire or the punchbowl. Mal kept her back turned. Sensing a smidgeon of tension Polly settled against the buffet table as though she had all the time in the world and watched as the corporal placed the ladle at the precisely perfect angle in the bowl before turning her attention to lining up the remaining glasses.
“Mal, I don't want to be an annoyance.”
“You're not.” The vampire turned at that, attempting to pull a reassuring smile over an expression worryingly closed and wary.
“What were you going to say before Goldhawk came over?”
“Nothing.” Mal's gaze slunk away to her shiny top-boots while traitorous fingers picked at a fragment of uneven stitching in the table cloth.
Polly let her gaze drift back to the interweaving tapestry of dancers. Goldhawk had retreated to a clear area of wall where he was leaning, his attention apparently completely on the entertainment. However, as though feeling her gaze he looked over and gave Polly an encouraging nod. Her courage growing she laid a gentle hand over those scrabbling fingers. They stilled under her touch.
“Not wanting to press the point, but you do seem a little on edge.”
“Never.” Mal calmly withdrew her hand and reached instead for her wine glass. Taking a sip she savoured the flavour before adding: “Vampires are suave and at ease in every situation.”
“Nevertheless”.
Polly heaved herself off the buffet table and manoeuvred herself round until she was facing the vampire again. Placing a light hand on Mal's perfectly creased jacket sleeve she asked: “Did you ask them to play this song? Did you teach it to them?”
Muscles tensed under her hand. Mal, avoiding her eye glanced over her shoulder and winced at the heaving crowd that filled the room from wall to wall.
“Could we get some fresh air?”
( Cont. in next post)
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.
Warnings: This chapter contains descriptions of a relationship between two women (yeah, I know, FINALLY). If that's not your thing please don't click below.
Previous Chapters: Summer, Autumn 1/3, Autumn 2/3, Autumn 3/3
As it was too long for one post (Still LJ? STILL?) we're going for four.
~X~
The snow eventually blew away over the mountain and it was a clear blue sky that hung over the castle as Polly leant idly against the wall that separated the upper walkway from the lower levels. Her gaze was directed downward at a figure of high distinction and class clearing the snow from the cobblestones of the exercise yard below with the menial tool known as a shovel. Watching the vampire toiling doggedly against the snowdrifts Polly couldn't help the beginnings of an amused smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was good to have Mal back again. She had been somewhat missed.
Inexplicably the sergeant's mood changed and she slumped miserably over the wall. The smooth course of life generally travelled by the respected Sergeant Perks had entered somewhat uncertain waters recently and most of that uncertainty could be traced to a single source. Polly sighed, the lonely little puffs of her breath hanging around doggedly in the cold air. It was a hard life, being an abomination.
She'd been unsettled ever since Mal had waved a cheerful goodbye and disappeared under the grand gatehouse at the tail of that blasted patrol. At first Polly had put the feeling down to a well-deserved hangover from the night before. The send-off had been most comprehensive. Nursing a sore head she had decided to think no more on the matter and sensibly returned to her ledgers. But the confused misery had refused to dissipate; sticking around even after the headache had receded. Before long Polly had had to admit defeat, the strange loneliness having built a solid beach-head across her emotions and settled down for the duration.
She'd hidden it well, but as one day of blessed quiet after another slipped by Polly had found herself struggling, unable either to pull herself together or discover why it was she felt so darned incomplete. Perplexed by her inability to control this nonsensical behaviour she'd found herself turning for comfort to the familiar melodies held within Mal's treasured black discs. Gazing out of her frost decorated window as the music spun out merrily behind her Polly had wandered through empty rooms of memories. If she couldn't beat 'em perhaps she could at least survive 'em. It wasn't Mal, but she had thought it might have been close enough to help.
It hadn't.
The days passed slowly and painfully, but they did pass and eventually the Patrol returned to the fort, safe and sound if a little bit cold around the edges. Polly hadn't been waiting on the battlements for them to return, she'd stayed sensibly warm in her little room. The fact that the weather was so bad no-one, not even a Sergeant squinting through snow-caked eyelashes, could see more than 100 yards down the road was not mentioned. Besides, the simple precaution of bribing the youngest guard to inform her the minute anyone was seen enabled her to be there in the courtyard waiting as the Patrol blew in. If one were being entirely truthful it might be said that Polly had been somewhat exuberant in her welcome, despite all her resolutions to be present a calm and collected response. Luckily the over-effusive greeting was hidden in the general excitement of the troops as now that the patrol was back, preparations for Hogswatch could begin.
Having seen Mal safely returned to the fold Polly had foolishly assumed that that would be the end of it. The wretchedness she'd been suffering was obviously merely the outward expression of a natural worry for a friend out in terrible conditions. But the unsettled feeling had remained. The scent of coffee might be filling Polly's office again but uncertainty filled her mind. She should be happy; didn't she have everything she wanted now that the annoying presence of a vampire was once again weaving its familiar interruptions through her day? But ever since the triumphal return Polly had found herself searching out opportunities to watch Mal about her normal business as though reminding herself of what the vampire looked like. As if anyone could forget that face...
“Morning, Perks.”
Polly jerked upright as a familiar voice interrupted her in the middle of a complicated thought involving the delicate features currently hidden behind snow-dampened tendrils of black hair. Luckily the cold temperatures disguised the tell-tale blush and neither Finchley or the accompanying Goldhawk noticed anything amiss. Covering her discomfort she greeted them cheerfully enough, a small corner of her mind glad of the distraction. After the customary banter they settled in beside her, easy smiles breaking out despite the cold weather.
”What's brought you out here then?” Glancing over the wall Finchley blinked at the resplendent sight thus displayed. “Ooh, Fatti-guews. Did der widdle vampire get on nasty Sergeant Kettering's last nerve again?”
Their voices must have drifted down to the theatre below because Mal straightened, performed a perfect about-turn and came to attention, upending the shovel over her shoulder like a pike as she saluted crisply.
“The old rascal's in the infirmary, malingering.” Goldhawk returned the corporal's salute politely. “I do however, recall that the Lieutenant's toupee was somewhat misaligned this morning.”
“I told him.” Polly shook a sorrowful head. “I said, clear as day: 'the lieutenant's shiny new cap, tempting though it is, is not carte blanche for you to start flinging snowballs hither and yon.' But did he listen? Did he heck-as-like.” The shovel-wielding crystalline-precipitation-chucker shrugged unrepentant shoulders. “A prime rollicking, two days fatigues and a reminder that he should thank his lucky stars he's not missing the party tonight.”
An array of disapproving looks were cast down to the accused below. Mal responded by ignoring them completely and returning to her task. They settled more comfortably against the wall.
“The hall looks nice.”
“Oh?” Polly managed to turn her head to acknowledge Finchley's remarks but her gaze was inexorably dragged back to the activity going on in the square below.
“Yeah, we just came from there; van Hoeffler is doing a great job with the decorations. He's got Turner up a ladder nailing the branches along the eaves.”
All three took a moment to watch the hard-working activity that continued methodically below.
“Do you reckon he'll be finished in time?” Finchley asked the question without his usual relish.
He was overheard.
“I've only got to do this bit and then along by the kitchens.”
They all looked at the so far undisturbed remains of “this bit”, the virgin snow stretching unbroken from one side of the parade ground to the other.
“You might want to hurry it up a bit.” The look Finchley received for his pains could have melted the remaining snow with enough left over to heat the castle for a week.
Industrious silence reigned for precisely one minute and 48 seconds.
“You missed a bit.” Goldhawk graciously forbore to comment further as Mal snarled under her breath and turned back to clear the minuscule spot of snow he had indicated.
Watching as Mal doggedly returned to the fray Finchley distributed his height more comfortably against the parapet and began to mull over his collection of gentle insults that could safely be dropped into the square below. The afternoon stretched before them, filled with nothing vital that had to be done and the trio looked forward to a pleasurable hour or so of helpfully assessing the standard of work and offering advice as and when required.
Unfortunately their delicious plans were doomed to failure.
“Excuse me, Sergeant Perks.” Polly turned to find Ganzfield apologetically at her elbow. “I'm sorry Ma'am but we really need to go over the invoices before this afternoon, I'm having to pay for some of the deliveries up front.”
She nodded and watched him scurry away, his files securely held under one arm. As he vanished from sight she sighed, turning back to the figure busily flinging snow up into the air.
“I have to go to work now.” She had pitched her voice to reach down into the courtyard but Mal gave no sign that she had heard. Polly continued non-the-less, having been lectured on the superiority of vampire hearing on too many occasions to believe in the sudden deafness of the corporal. “My office needs me. My lovely warm office with its glowing grate filled with nice hot coals.”
Mal might have winced, it was difficult to tell.
“I must away,” Polly flung out a dramatic arm. “There are demands on my attention, work that I am paid for, work that brings me the admiration of the lower ranks. Work that is incidentally totally unlike manual labour”.
Mal made a face at her shovel.
“I might play some records.”
“I might play some records...” Mal's muttered imitation of Polly was excellent and completely wasted on the shovel.
“Finchley might even pop round to teach me new dance steps for tonight.”
That got a quick pained glance over one shoulder, Mal throwing the snow in the direction of her neat pile with unneeded violence.
“And don't forget you're supposed to be escorting me this evening. I'm not walking into that bear pit unaccompanied.”
“I know.” Mal planted her shovel and straightened to push back unruly locks of damp hair. It was a gentler smile than was usually seen on that sharp face as she craned her neck to meet Polly's eyes. “I shall, as always, endeavour to satisfy you M'lady.”
Polly felt that inexplicable ache again, right under her rib cage but managed to smile back. The moment stretched a little too long before Mal's smile slipped into ruefulness and she stepped back to give a bow and a flourish.
In the quiet they heard the clock strike the quarter, the chimes rising up through the clear air.
“I have to go.” She didn't want to, confused by a desire never to leave that moment, the longing tinged with a fluttering urgency regarding the evening that was coming closer every minute quicker, a new tension building, making it difficult to breathe.
“It's OK, Pol. Go, work, be busy and officious.” Mal waved an all-encompassing hand. “I'll swing by the office when I'm done and you can braid the flowers in my hair for the ball then.”
Finchley snorted at the image that produced and the tension shattered into a million pieces that melted away in the weak sun. Relieved, though also for some reason feeling a little bereft Polly sketched a rough salute and, following a quick goodbye to the lads, she traipsed back inside to where her ledgers waited. The two left behind remained leaning over the wall looking forward to a full afternoon of offering advice, but their called advice was getting little response and even they noticed more urgency in the lazy movements below.
The sun had long disappeared behind the mountains and the last of the colour was leaching out of the sky when Polly was interrupted in her preparations by a long awaited knock at the door. Responding to her quiet “come in” Mal slipped through the heavy door and closed it softly behind her. The amusing conversational opener died on her lips as she took in the vision before her. Having been worriedly waiting for the first response to the effects of her efforts Polly was inexplicably pleased at the look on her face.
It had taken a while to get all the creases out of her best coat and Polly had attempted the cravat at least fifteen times before it was anything approaching acceptable. Her boots she had shined until she could see her face in them and despite the fact it was a broken representation due to the many cracks she thought they looked very nice indeed. Finally she had washed her hair specially in some of Shufti's more treasured gifts and it felt very light and free and distracting as she bent her head to squint at where she was attempting to mediate the disputed interaction between collar and cravat.
“Let me.” Mal stepped forward, fingers gentle as she made those vital tiny adjustments that every well-dressed vampire could do instinctively. One final tweak and she stepped back to view her handiwork. There was a long silence while Polly's tension levels increased to almost unbearable levels.
“Well?”
“You left your hair down.”
“It is a party, Mal. A smidgeon of effort is usually required.” Mal had obviously not found time to do much more than find a clean shirt and run a wet rag over her boots. Standing there with her jacket half undone she looked rakish and debonair and simply perfect and Polly wouldn't have wanted her any different.
“It's beautiful. It shimmers in the candle-light like millions of tiny stars.”
The compliment, coming as it did out of the blue, caught Polly up short and she blinked, pulling a strand of hair forward into view so that she could assess this effect. It just looked yellow to her but as she dropped the strands Polly became aware that Mal hadn't taken more than the original step back and was still somewhat too close for comfort. Polly cleared her throat.
“Would you help me with the pin?”
“Pin?” Mal took possession of the tiny box cautiously as though it might explode. Opened, the box revealed the glossy lacquer of what someone at high command had obviously though fitting for young women to wear. Mal frowned for a moment in confusion and then as Polly watched the memories stirred and cleared. “You still wear this?”
“I won it fair and square; I don't see why we shouldn't wear them. Besides it keeps my collar from slipping.”
Her practicality made Mal smile as she picked the minuscule pin from its velvet cushion. Bending her head the vampire squinted at the smidgeon of collar available to site the jewel. Polly, wishing to help, tilted her head to allow more light on the difficult procedure, only later realising that this exposed rather more of her neck than one usually offered to a vampire. Luckily before she could begin to panic about Mal's ability to resist temptation the job was done and Mal's hand was at cupping her cheek as she encouraged her to stand straight again.
“Hold on a tick, Pol. Let me see?” Polly froze, the weight of Mal's hand on her shoulder holding her still a comforting anchor to counterbalance the light fingers along her jawline.
“We should have written to Clogston about getting you something for the Ankh Morpork Fiasco. Another one on the other side would balance you out perfectly.”
Mal was smiling, the laughter lights dancing in those soft dark eyes and despite the delights waiting them in the Great Hall Polly wanted nothing more than that the moment would last, Mal's perfectly proportioned nose only centimetres from her own. But the candles flickered in an unseen draft and Mal's amusement died with them on a caught breath. She stepped back, emphasising the distance between them and ran her hand disjointedly through already adequately dishevelled hair.
“We should go.” Mal may have been shaken, but her gait as she moved over to open the door was steady enough.
“We should.”
Polly wasn't sure what had just happened, but she held onto what had previously worked and that meant not commenting and moving on. She gave the vampire a few seconds while she collected up the last of her personal effects and when she shot Mal a quick searching glance before taking the arm offered her corporal presented nothing but the most calm demeanour. Thus, arm in arm in perfect harmony (if a little shaken underneath the masks) both went down to celebrate Hogswatch Eve in style.
The Great Hall was crowded and lively. It seemed as though all the townsfolk had walked up, slipping and sliding over the ice in all their finery, to swell the ranks. Smartly turned out Border Boys bowed low as they requested the hands of delicate (and in some cases not so delicate) maidens and dotted here and there the officers promenaded pompously with willing matrons. The young lads from the town huddled in dark corners, grumbling quietly about the unfair effects of a uniform on the female brain but tempers were eased when they got the chance to get their own back as the small band struck up a local air. There was plenty to eat and more than plenty to drink, the Fort doing its best to buy the goodwill of the town for the rest of the year.
Polly danced with anyone who asked, the music drawing her back to the floor whenever she took a break for air or refreshment. She danced with Turner (carefully polite), with Barnett (struggling to lead after his many lessons in the arms of Corporal Finchley), with various lads from the village and of course with Finchley himself. Mal didn't dance though there were any number of opportunities for her to do so. It amused Polly immensely to see the village wenches queuing up for her hand, obviously much enamoured of the corporal's carefully crafted dishevelled style. But despite Polly's laughing encouragement (and some barefaced jealousy from some of the lads) Mal refused to entertain any of the beckoning glances thrown her way.
Spinning around the floor with one happy partner after another, Polly did try to keep in touch with that reserved figure sticking to the sidelines but to no avail. Yet again and again, as at the smaller dance in the guard room, she kept feeling those eyes on her across the room. And every time she slumped into a nearby chair struggling to catch enough of her breath to force out a solicitous enquiry Mal smiled, supped delicately from the small glass of port she held steadily in one hand at all times, and said nothing.
It was in one of those aggravating moments of peace that Polly lost patience and was about to demand a little more participation when Mal put a silencing hand on her arm and indicated the podium where the band were just coming to the end of a local air. The crowd applauded politely and then watched patiently while the musicians shuffled the scores on their music stands and went into a small huddle. Polly leant in to whisper an enquiry but Mal only shook her head and kept her eyes on the small stage. As the huddle broke up and the musicians took their places again Polly found herself leaning forward in anticipation.
There was a chord and then silence. A singer stepped forward and took a breath.
“There may be trouble ahead...”[6]
The band picked up the melody and they were off, the couples quickly finding the new beat to their liking. Polly turned to Mal, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead.
“Isn't that...?”
It was at this auspicious moment that Goldhawk, who had been walking in a stately fashion around the room with his hands folded behind his back, arrived at their quiet little corner. He bowed low.
“Miss Perks.”
“Mr Goldhawk.” Putting her question aside for a better time Polly struggled to fight the giggle that had bubbled up uncontrollably all night every time someone made this introduction.
“Would you do me the great honour of allowing me the pleasure of this dance?”
“I believe it is you that do me the honour, sir.”
He bowed again and she stood up from her chair to give him a curtsey in exchange. He offered an arm and feeling very much the lady she laid a delicate hand on it. But for some reason Goldhawk didn't immediately lead her away. Polly waited, unwilling to commit the faux pas of tugging her partner onto the floor, especially when her escort had access to so many sharp implements.
“You have my gratitude, Mister Maladict.”
Polly swung a sharp glance at the assassin and then switched her gaze to where Mal sat so nonchalantly. The undercurrent of tension grew stronger as the silence lengthened and her eyes flicked from one protagonist to another. Then she watched in incomprehension as the vampire at last unfolded her length to return Goldhawk's nod with a gracious one of her own.
“Any time, Mister Goldhawk.” Mal murmured.
Was Polly imagining the thread of irritation running through those polite words?
She didn't have much time to ponder the odd exchange however as with the niceties over Goldhawk was leading her off into the throng. Dragging her feet as the singer was crooned something about fiddlers fleeing and bills to pay, Polly looked back over her shoulder and caught Mal throwing off the last of her wine. She lost sight of the corporal then but before her view was completely obscured it looked like had Mal turned on her heel and stalked away.
“Miss Perks?”
Distracted by her churning thoughts Polly had bumped into the now stationary Goldhawk who held out his hands in a gentle reminder her of her responsibilities. Allowing him to take her in hold she half frowned at the glitter of amusement in his eyes.
“What are you and Mal up to?” she demanded.
“Separately, or together?”
He answered the penetrating look she gave him in response to that with a calm and inscrutable smile. Once again indicating the band with a tilt of the head he urged her into movement and they at last began to dance. The crooner was taking a well-deserved break, swigging enthusiastically from a friendly bottle as the band and the song continued on without him.
“I wish you wouldn't wind him up.” They were coming up on a group of youths and Polly paused for a moment to concentrate on following her partner's lead as he steered her through the confusion. Once past however, she returned to her point. “An Assassin should know better. And it's not remotely fair considering you know he's had something on his mind ever since he came back from that blasted patrol.”
“Has he really?”
Glancing up Polly frowned at Goldhawk's quizzical eyebrow as they rotated on the spot, his dapper feet guiding her around in perfect circles before returning them to their stately progress around the room. It was a delicate manoeuvre but the lady involved refused to be distracted, even by such high quality of dancing. She continued with her conversational thread.
“I've been trying to get to the bottom of what's been eating him, but he's not co-operating. Has he said anything to you?”
“Not in as many words, no.”
He smiled down at her in a paternal fashion and Polly strongly considered kicking him in the shins. But there were all those secreted implements to bear in mind. She took the more diplomatic route.
“I don't think you should laugh at your partner, not actually during the dance anyway. It's not the best of gentlemanly behaviour.”
He opened his mouth to refute her accusation but before he could produce a word Polly stated that she was hereby refusing to talk about it any more. They danced on in silence. Left alone to her thoughts Polly found the words unconsciously rising to her lips as the band swung into the chorus.
“...So while there's moonlight and music,
And love and romance...”
Polly stopped abruptly bringing Goldhawk to a stuttering halt. Uncomplainingly he waited patiently for an explanation, shielding her from the other dances with a hint of surprise in his eyes. She apologised while the the crooner took advantages of the last line that were illegal in three shires.
“Would you excuse me? There's something I have to do.”
“Of course.” Goldhawk looked over her head at the far corner and added “He's over by the punch bowl at the moment. I would seize the moment if I were you.”
“I will.” She blushed suddenly. “I'm sorry.”
Goldhawk smiled his forgiveness, bowed low over her hand and let her go.
Polly found Mal making friends with the punchbowl. The buffet was quiet, most couples either taking a turn on the floor or otherwise occupied in quiet corners. Despite the hunched shoulder indicating Mal knew she had company there was no acknowledgement of Polly's presence from either the vampire or the punchbowl. Mal kept her back turned. Sensing a smidgeon of tension Polly settled against the buffet table as though she had all the time in the world and watched as the corporal placed the ladle at the precisely perfect angle in the bowl before turning her attention to lining up the remaining glasses.
“Mal, I don't want to be an annoyance.”
“You're not.” The vampire turned at that, attempting to pull a reassuring smile over an expression worryingly closed and wary.
“What were you going to say before Goldhawk came over?”
“Nothing.” Mal's gaze slunk away to her shiny top-boots while traitorous fingers picked at a fragment of uneven stitching in the table cloth.
Polly let her gaze drift back to the interweaving tapestry of dancers. Goldhawk had retreated to a clear area of wall where he was leaning, his attention apparently completely on the entertainment. However, as though feeling her gaze he looked over and gave Polly an encouraging nod. Her courage growing she laid a gentle hand over those scrabbling fingers. They stilled under her touch.
“Not wanting to press the point, but you do seem a little on edge.”
“Never.” Mal calmly withdrew her hand and reached instead for her wine glass. Taking a sip she savoured the flavour before adding: “Vampires are suave and at ease in every situation.”
“Nevertheless”.
Polly heaved herself off the buffet table and manoeuvred herself round until she was facing the vampire again. Placing a light hand on Mal's perfectly creased jacket sleeve she asked: “Did you ask them to play this song? Did you teach it to them?”
Muscles tensed under her hand. Mal, avoiding her eye glanced over her shoulder and winced at the heaving crowd that filled the room from wall to wall.
“Could we get some fresh air?”
( Cont. in next post)