Plogviehze, Baby: 11/14
Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Am not all that happy with this chapter, but meh. There's cuteness. There's cabbage. There's bashing of polka dots, for a change.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 11
"I didn't know there'd be a waterfall," said Mal.
They could see the Sto Plains from here, which was probably a good thing. Of course, the Sto Plains were also a few hundred yards below them, which was maybe not quite as good a thing.
Oh well.
Polly tied the horses to a tree. She'd fed them the last of the horse bread. They didn't seem to like it much, either, but had put up with it after Mal had glared at them for a while in a jolly and unthreatening manner.
"Never mind," said Polly. "There's a path down, and it isn't that much of a waterfall, really. Couple more hours, maybe. I can see a village from here."
Life was actually nicer when one was cooperating, she found.
"You must be tired," said Mal.
Polly was. It had been twenty-four hours since she'd last slept, and come to think about it, enough had happened in them to last a her a lifetime.
Well, maybe not a lifetime, considering what counted for lifetimes under these circumstances -
"Tell you what," she said, "I'll take a nap and you can wake me in an hour or so. Think the horses need a break as well."
"All right, then," said Mal. "Damn. I realise I'm a bit useless right now. With the horses, and such."
"Nah, it's all right," said Polly, almost grinning. "Got any pillow-like qualities you may provide to the cause?" Upon reconsideration, Polly carefully added an, "Um." That must have been the tiredness talking.
One should hope so.
An eyebrow was raised. "Um?"
"Um," Polly confirmed.
"Oh."
The inside of the carriage was a bit cramped, but better than a tent, and Polly curled up on the very nice upholstery. Vampires must be overcompensating for their lack of beds, she thought. All this plush and velvet and softness was only there to make them feel better about their unheated cellars and bare rafters.
"You know," said Mal, opposite her, knees tucked under her chin and looking disgustingly comfortable. "You should really carry a stake. I mean that."
Polly yawned. "Anyone after us?" she asked.
"Not until dusk," said Mal. "After that, things could get a bit ugly."
"I really admire your cheerful and uplifting nature," said Polly. She cracked her eyes open again, and Mal gave her a tiny grin.
"Sleep?" suggested Mal.
Polly tried to, she shut her eyes and put forth a reasonable attempt at trying to fall asleep with a determination one would invest in marching, or spooning down cardboard scubbo. But there were things that needed figuring out, and Polly was nothing if not naturally curious.
"Mal?" she asked, aware of how tired her voice must sound.
"Hm?"
"Why does your mother hate you?"
There was a pause. Polly was almost on the verge of dozing off when Mal answered.
"She doesn't," said Mal. "I hope. She hates humans and thinks associating with them is an expression of self-loathing combined with a death wish, and you can't have that in your family."
"What happened that she hates humans so much?"
"Do you have to have a reason for hatred?"asked Mal, softly. Polly considered the upholstery, and sleeping, but curiousity, naturally, won.
"Well, ye-es," she said. "Even if it's just being dropped on the head as a baby. Was she dropped on the head as a baby?"
"Funny you should say that," said Mal.
For a while, the only sound was the whistling of the wind outside, the soft scratch of cotton on velvet as Polly tried to get more comfortable.
"Tell," she demanded.
"Mob," said Mal. "Stormed the castle, were badly prepared, frustrated at their own ineffectivity, threw one of my mother's very tiny children out of the window. She made no attempt to get over it."
"Huh," said Polly, and thought about it. She glanced up at Mal. "Did the kid live?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
"'course," said Mal. "I think it was the thought behind it that pissed her off."
Polly lay back again. "Good," she said, and thought about it some more. "So she counters misdirected anger with misdirected anger, yes?"
"Yes," said Mal. "It's a bit like war, really."
Polly turned her head to look at Mal. Her eyes narrowed when a thought surfaced.
"Hey, is that why you're afraid of heights?"
Mal's face looked perfectly blank. "I didn't say it was me, did I?"
"You didn't have to," said Polly, closing her eyes. "It's obvious," she added, her voice barely above a whisper. She really was quite tired, and still -
Polly's thoughts drifted off. Something about immortality and how it was frightening and maybe whatever Mal had been looking for in the army was a bit of mortality to keep her sane -
Not much sanity to find in places where any notion of future only ever reached as far as the next battle, or until spring. And maybe that was why Polly had said what she said. It didn't mean anything; there was too little context for it to mean anything in.
She listened for a while. Mal's heartbeat sounded faint and grew fainter as the time passed. She felt she was being watched, but that was almost okay. The inside of the coach really was quite nice, and safe.
When she awoke, she was alone, somewhat concerned by the fact, but it was still bright outside, and she was covered by Mal's cloak. It was a very nice cloak, she thought faintly. So warm, considering.
Polly got up to open the door, and -
"Eurgh," she said.
Outside, Mal was just finishing chopping bits off a piece of wood. She held it at arm's length, a slightly uneasy smile on her lips.
"There," said Mal. "Bit on the sharp side. Be careful with that."
"Thanks, Mal," said Polly. "You know, when I got useful presents before, they mostly turned out to be warm underpants." She took the thing gingerly and put it into the inside pocket of her jacket, with the pointy bit pointing down, to avoid accidental pointy death. That would just be embarrassing.
"Do I hear you defaulting to lingerie, Polly?" asked Mal with a grin.
"Two words, Mal," said Polly. "Warm. Underpants. Not a vampire thing, really."
"Oh, we've got nothing against warmth," said Mal. "Come here."
"Er," said Polly, while her brain still tried to wrap itself around all possible implications of that first sentence. "Why?"
"Because," said Mal, "you are anatomically challenged. Give me your hand."
"Mal!"
"Should have listened that first time," said Mal, taking Polly's hand and raising it to her chest.
"So, Pol," she said. "A vampire's heart is... not there, and not there, and if you try that point the vampire in question may get a little sarcastic. It's right here, all right?"
"Okay," said Polly, painfully aware of Mal's heartbeat underneath her palm. "Right here. Are you done being insufferable now?"
Mal let go of her hand. "You've got to know these things," she said. "Want a lecture about ribs? Dead useful if you haven't got the chance to rummage around first."
"I do not want a lecture about ribs," said Polly. "What's wrong with just chopping their heads off?"
"If you want them to keep talking to you," said Mal with a shrug. "At least, after a stake, vampires are mercifully silent."
"I hate you," said Polly, while she climbed into the coachman's seat to get as far away from stakes and anatomy as possible. "In a completely non-affectionate kind of way. You are impossible, Mal."
"Yes, I think you mentioned that already," said Mal from below. She winked.
And then they were on the road again, downwards and downwards again. By sunset, they still hadn't reached the plains, and just after it had grown fully dark, Polly heard a creaking behind her.
That crazy woman -
"Mal, you could fall off," said Polly, "and break your bones in a most distressing way, and then I'd have to listen to the whining."
She looked up, and sure enough, a head was visible over the edge of the coach.
"It's called a lookout, Polly," said Mal. "I like feeling involved. Also, I figured we might be followed."
"Suit yourself," said Polly. "I thought you were afraid of heights?"
There was more creaking and the head vanished.
"Ack, if you're putting it like that -," said Mal, her voice suddenly uneasy. "I mean, I've got to work on those intrinsic fears some day. Besides, I'm not that far up, and I take great care not to look down and I'm really not all that afraid of heights at all. Um."
"They're flying, then?"
"Yep," said Mal. "At least, that's what I'd do, if, y'know, I'd do that. Nobody around so far, anyway."
"Good," said Polly, concentrating on the road again. Surely these horses knew what do do? The path was a little bit on the steep side, she supposed, but it couldn't be that hard, walking in a straight line, even if you had to coordinate four legs.
Polly was thinking.
"You know, Mal," she said, and stopped. Damn morals getting in the way of everything.
"What is it?"
"If we're being followed, how can we justify spending the night in a village?" asked Polly.
"Er," said Mal. "The horses, I suppose. Can't leave them out there."
"Ah," said Polly. "Anything else? 'cos I can't say that convinced me, and I'd really like you to convince me, you know?"
Above her on the roof of the carriage, there was the distinct silence of someone who was trying to think creatively under less than ideal conditions.
"It's sychology," said Mal, finally. "Vampires on a mission tend to get a little single-minded about things. They'll follow us, not anyone else."
Polly groaned. "That's fantastic, Mal."
"Look, you wanted convincing. If you wanted uplifting instead, you should have said so," said Mal. "Second, if they want a snack, they'll go and get it," she added. "We won't get far enough from any village at all."
"I'll go for the uplifting, then. Please, Mal."
There was some more shifting above as Mal tried to go from lying on her back, watching the sky, to lying on her stomach, watching ahead.
"Well, I think we're almost there," she said, "and I think there's lights, and I think it isn't too late for us to get a room in the inn, and they've probably got coffee. And a bathtub."
Ah, thought Polly. Do I hear you getting single-minded? When in stress, think of bathtubs?
How'd she pull that off back in the army?
"And you're sure they're not going to throw us out right away?"
"Nah," said Mal. "Let them try."
"Mal!"
"Well, I've got the ribbon, and you look like a farm lad anyway," said Mal.
"Thank you so very much," said Polly.
"Well, it's the polka dots, they don't exactly scream 'sergeant'. Just remember not to smile at anyone, I'd say, and we'll be fine."
We'll be fine, thought Polly. Didn't think I'd hear that one again.
In fact, nobody attacked them at all, and when Polly had stopped the carriage (after a lot of experimental tugging at the reins and saying, 'stop, you daft buggers'), Mal fell off the carriage roof, rather than climb down, but she did it with the elegance of a cat. She even managed to land on her feet.
"You're a lovely little icicle, Mal," said Polly.
"Yes," said Mal, "amazingly enough, that's exactly how I'm feeling."
Polly felt a bit chilly herself, and tired, held on her feet only by the prospect of a real bed, with a pillow and... stuff, and a nightshirt, and -
The door opened, revealing a rather inviting square of yellow light behind it. Out came a boy of maybe eighteen, who said something in a language they didn't understand.
"Hi!" said Mal, turning to him in a very clever movement that involved the light falling dramatically on the ribbon. Polly saw the boy taking notice. "D'you understand me?" asked Mal in Morporkian.
The boy turned his palms outward in a universal gesture. No, then.
"... Bugger," said Mal under her breath.
At this point, there began an exchange of pointing and gesticulating and cursing in Borogravian and cursing in whatever language they spoke around here, and held-up fingers and words that you knew the other wouldn't understand, but took great care to speak slowly and clearly anyway.
At the end, the boy grinned and took off with the horses.
"What did you tell him?" asked Polly, finally grinning the grin she'd been trying to conceal during the entire exchange.
"Well," said Mal, "I think he's the guy who runs errands around here, and I think I tried to convince to him to take the horses to the stables. I sure hope he didn't understand kitchen instead."
"Or he's a horse thief who can't believe his luck," said Polly. "Shall we go inside, then?"
"Yeah, did you think we'd wait until after spring or something?" asked Mal. "After you. And don't smile."
They were a good team, Polly found out. She herself was good with inns, and Mal was reasonably competent with getting her point across, and so they didn't only manage to get a room, but dinner, too, even though the innkeeper went to great lengths to watch Mal actually drinking the beer he'd offered. That was okay, though, it wasn't bad, for beer, and Polly suspected the man had every right to be nervous. She'd have been, anyway.
"Er, Mal?" she said at some point. "Do we have money?"
Mal smiled. "Dear child," she said, "of course we have money. I nicked some coins off our Uberwaldean friends."
Polly stared, not even bothering to comment upon the dear child part of it.
"You didn't," she said.
Mal shrugged and Polly went on tugging at a lump of rare-ish meat and a rather bigger lump of cooked cabbage. It was the most boring dish Polly had ever encountered, but she'd take that over the excitement offered by a bowl of scubbo any day.
She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. It was high time she got into a bed, she thought. Just finish that funny food here, and get upstairs and sleep and all will be well.
"Tired?" asked Mal.
"Can we finish?" asked Polly. "Can we get upstairs? Failing that, can we please just fall down and sleep, here and now?"
Mal looked amused. "D'you think you'll need carrying?" she asked.
Polly finished with great effort, got up, went around the table and tugged at Mal's collar, who seemed to get the message. She rose and waved to the innkeeper, who came to show them up to their room.
He was pretty quick to vanish, though, leaving only a faint hint of garlic smell.
"Lovely, innit?" said Mal, when they were finally alone. "Look, they've got rafters. Very thoughtful."
"Yes," said Polly, "and a bed. Dunno about you, but I'm going to get horizontal right now."
As dignified as possible, Polly collapsed onto the narrow bed, shedding her boots and the better part of her clothes. Off with the polka-dotted nightmare, she thought. Off with the - whoops, still wearing the silk stockings. Off!
"You do that," said Mal, absent-mindedly, as Polly crawled into the blankets, making a satisfying mess out of what had, before, been a well-made bed.
"What about you?" she asked.
Mal yawned, then looked guilty. "I'm gonna stay awake," she said. "Maybe pursue that bathtub business, or something. Someone's got to keep an eye open for ongoings, at any rate."
"Er," said Polly. "Remember what happened last time one of us slept alone?"
"You're sabotaging my need for hygiene," said Mal. "All right, all right. You're the one who'll have to put up with my well-groomed presence."
For a while, she eyed the rafter directly above her, then, quite suddenly, she jumped. Polly had never seen that before and the blurred somersault was actually, she had to admit, quite spectacular. The show ended with Mal hanging neatly off the rafter, fixing her hair.
She grinned at Polly.
"Er," said Polly. "Am I supposed to be able to do that as well?"
"It's entirely facultative," said Mal. "Which, of course, means you're pretty much a disgrace to vampire society if you can't."
"Does that actually matter?" asked Polly.
"No. Try to get some sleep, will you?"
"All right, then," said Polly, turning over. She'd always prefer blankets. "Wake me when you get tired."
The bed wasn't bad, per se, she thought, all horizontal and nice and comfy.
Just a bit cold maybe.
-
Polly awoke to the first rays of sunlight entering the room. Tiny specks of dust were dancing in them. Silhouetted against the window hung Mal, eyes closed. She hadn't moved since yesterday.
If there turns out to be a bloodbath downstairs you'll probably be really sorry, Mal-who's-gonna-stay-awake-to-keep-an-eye-on-the-ongoings, thought Polly and got up from the bed. Her bare feet protested. Socks first, she thought faintly, then trousers, then shirt, than everything else.
She tiptoed over to Mal; however, it turned out she wasn't good at the sneaking business this early in the morning. The floorboards creaked, and Mal opened first one eye and then the other.
"Morning," she said. "Slept well?"
"Yeah," said Polly. "You?"
"Not at all," said Mal, and did an elegant backflip. She landed without even making a sound. "I was listening. Before you ask, it was boring as all hell."
Mal, Polly noticed, was eyeing the washbowl, and the soap, and the washcloth, and the towel, all of which the innkeeper had very thoughtfully provided the day before.
"Has anything happened?" asked Polly.
"Nothing," said Mal, sauntering over to the washbowl like a very sophisticated moth towards a flame, and dipping one finger into the water. She retreated hastily. "Whoa," she said, "bit chilly."
"You could ask someone to warm up -," began Polly.
"I'm used to washing with snow." Mal dipped the washcloth into the water. "I just never liked it much," she added.
Polly had an interesting twenty minutes of staring at the wallpaper. What she had thought to be tiny printed pink flowers turned out to be really tiny printed pink cabbages.
Welcome to the Sto Plains.
There was a splash, and then something rather more disconcerting. If you've ever heard a vampire chattering their teeth, you weren't likely to forget in a hurry.
"What've you done now?" she asked.
"Ssstuck my head into the wwwater," said Mal. "Can't remmmember wwwhy."
"You know," said Polly, "if you should ever run out of coffee again, you can always just crave cleanliness. You're already pretty obsessed."
"Aw, thanks," said Mal, rubbing her hair vigorously with the towel while simultaneously trying to climb back into her clothes. It was a show Polly secretly admitted she'd have loved to see, if only because it was probably more interesting than tiny printed pink cabbages.
"Speaking of which," added Mal, "'s there any chance I might get you dripping wet as well?"
Er -
"I'm gonna go fetch new water," said Polly. "I realise I pale in comparison to you, but I'm really not all that averse to hygiene, either. How d'you convey that to the innkeeper?"
"Just point and grunt, I think," said Mal. "And I'm coming with you, maybe I can organise something in the way of breakfast."
Mal moved.
"Er, Mal?" said Polly. "You're swaying."
"'s all right," said Mal. "I'm gonna sleep in the coach."
Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Polly. Taking Mal by the elbow, she said, "Are you sure you don't - ?"
"Completely," said Mal, looking at her. "No, really."
"We did that before, and it worked," said Polly. "I doesn't mean you're going to turn back."
"Bit of an oxymoron there," said Mal. "I can't go around biting people in order to stay reformed, you know?"
"Well," said Polly, "it is a pledge not to drink human blood. Not sure I count as such anymore."
That sounded a bit strange in Polly's ears, but she tried to deny that. See, I'm completely cool with things such as they are. Er.
"No, but you're human-shaped enough," said Mal. "Er. It's probably better if I don't get used to that. I'll have some cabbage, if you please."
Suddenly, Polly found she had her arms full of vampire.
"Thank you for offering," murmured Mal against her hair. "You're nice. In a completely fucked up vampire way, you are the polliest Polly that ever pollied."
"...," said Polly. "Huh?"
"Well," said Mal, pulling back, but only slightly, to look at her. "You know. Polly."
"Oh," said Polly. "Thanks. I suppose." She tentatively broke the embrace, because someone had to. "By all means, have some cabbage," Polly added. "Just tell me beforehand when you're going to faint."
She did feel a bit relieved at this. Cabbage was so ordinary a thing it could probably counteract vampirism all on its own.
She left Mal downstairs in a friendly dispute with the innkeeper while the boy from yesterday showed her the way to the water pump in the courtyard. Why did that feel so strange, now?
Polly knew the answer, of course. It was because, back home, you'd hardly find a boy of about eighteen helping out at his father's inn. Boys of eighteen - and, come to think of that, quite a few of the girls - would be enlisted or dead or without body parts vital to the helping out.
Such was her army.
Back in the room, Polly washed in a hurry, bent over the washbowl and freezing and cursing and, of course, noticing there was no reflection of her in the water. It was disgusting. She'd never see her face again.
Whenever she thought she'd got used to these things, something else caught her attention. It didn't make her particularly impressed with the universe.
Maybe Mal had even managed to order a decent breakfast, thought Polly while getting downstairs. And really, upon entering the dining room, she saw Mal entirely comfortable on a chair while watching a steaming mug in her hands with what was possibly not enthusiasm, but at least some sort of kind-hearted interest. Mal lifted her head when Polly arrived at the table.
"What's that?" asked Polly. "Coffee?"
"I'm not quite sure what it is," said Mal, "it's a little mysterious. It sure as hell ain't coffee, though." She blew on it, then took a careful sip.
Polly watched in awe as Mal's face twisted into a grimace. "And?" she asked.
"Cabbage," said Mal. "Probably cabbage. I hope it's cabbage, at least. The taste suggests worse."
"Do I want to know?" asked Polly, sitting down and eyeing the piece of bread on her plate. It had a somewhat greenish colour, suggesting vegetable ingredients, but Polly knew her horse bread. There couldn't be anything worse, right?
"Bit like cabbage when it's, you know, done being cabbage," said Mal. "Once you get over the mental images, I suppose it's drinkable."
"Oh, thank you," said Polly. "I was eating."
"I didn't say it was that bad," said Mal. "Merely bad," To Polly's horror, she drained the mug in one go.
"Oh no, you didn't," said Polly.
Mal was obviously trying to keep a straight face, but failing miserably. "Your turn, Polly," she said, pointing to Polly's own mug, which was filled with the same steaming brownish liquid.
With sixty per cent repulsion and forty per cent morbid fascination, Polly examined it. There were bubbles. She was impressed.
Mal was carefully laying a slice of thankfully very ordinary cheese over a piece of bread while watching Polly with just the tiniest hint of schadenfreude. Polly raised her cup. The smell alone made her stomach turn, but since she knew this couldn't possibly kill her -
"Can't be worse than coffee, I suppose," said Polly.
"Oh, nasty."
Polly drank slowly, trying to take in every facette of this new-found flavour. It hadn't many. It was cabbage, only more so. Someone had distilled the very soul of cabbage and then kindly gone and boiled it. Polly was full of cabbage. Cabbage flowed in her veins.
She put down the mug. "Iridescent," she said with hardly any coughing. "Opalescent, even." The look on Mal's face was worth it. Well, probably worth it. Possibly worth it if -
In a universal gesture, Polly raised the empty mug and waved it at the innkeeper. It was promptly refilled.
She pushed the mug over to Mal, who was still sitting there, bread in one half-raised hand. "There you go, Mal," she said. "I cabbage better than cabbage. Than you, I mean."
Mal swallowed. "Some things should never be made a verb," she said. "You really mean this?"
Polly started on the bread. "Sure," she said. "Pass me the cheese, will you?"
The innkeeper was watching them again. Polly winked at him, then smiled at Mal. "Drink up before it leaps at you," she said. "I think it might be alive."
"Well," said Mal, "not for much longer." There was a blur of movement.
She put an empty mug onto the table.
Polly stared. "What a neat little trick," she said.
Mal smiled innocently. Behind her, a potted plant crumpled and died.
-
The next days were more of the same, endless fields by day, dusty inns by night. It got a bit repetitive, but then again, these were the Sto Plains. It was where you spent your life, not your holidays.
They didn't talk much now, what with Polly sleeping at night and Mal sleeping during the day and being too tired during the hours inbetween. Nobody was following them, but with Polly, that thought was always followed by a mental 'Yeah, right'.
There was a day, Polly believed it was the fourth, when the river joined the Ankh, and that was all that happened, unless one counted Polly crying and crying until she couldn't cry anymore, and she didn't count that, since neither of them mentioned it again.
After that, there were more fields, more inns, and nothing changed much.
There was a day, Polly believed it was the eighth, when she stepped out of an inn's door in the morning and something was different, like a taste to the wind, or a note in the sky. She needed several hours alone in the coachman's seat to work out what it was, though, and when she did, her heart leaped a little.
They had a break, not long after that, and a civilised one at that. They spread out the woolly blanket by river.
Why had this revelation taken her so long? It wasn't as if several square miles of snow disappearing in every direction could possibly be hard to miss. They stood on earth, here. Or lay, as were the case. Same difference.
Polly nudged Mal, who was seriously threatening to doze off again.
"Look up," she said.
Mal screwed her eyes shut. "Sunlight," she said. "Seen that before." She was, unconsciously maybe, trying to wrap an edge of the blanket around herself in an attempt to shield off the cool wind. Polly crawled a bit closer and tentatively put an arm around her. It wasn't much really, judging by the way she herself didn't get much out of it, but she hoped dearly the thought counted for something.
Mal shifted a little to a more direct angle. She was still shivering somewhat, but Polly could feel her trying to relax.
"Can't you feel that?" asked Polly.
"Feel what? Cold?" mumbled Mal. "I feel cold all right."
"Sunlight," said Polly.
"Yeah, that too. 's not really warm."
"Mal, it's spring!" said Polly. "The snow's melting! There's little green things coming out of the earth! It's getting warmer!"
"Be careful with those exclamation marks," said Mal. "You could acc'dent'ly knock somebody out, like."
But something bubbled inside of Polly, and it wasn't anger. It was something else entirely, and she wasn't going to let go now.
"Look, Mal," she said, and she thought so many words at the same time that they had to stop and reassemble, "look, I'm here and I'm breathing actual air and it's spring and I'm glad I didn't die, and I don't care how much cabbage it takes to arrive, I -"
Mal opened her eyes to look at her.
Whoops, thought Polly. At least I know now how to wake her up. I just have to spout random words at her.
"Glad, Polly?" asked Mal.
"Come to think of it," began Polly, and swallowed. It was a bit hard to admit again. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said, finally. "I mean, I don't really like the vampirism business, you know that, but right now, I'm really... glad I can lie here and just breathe and not have my eyes eaten."
Mal slowly reached out one hand, touching her face. "Would have been a bit of a waste," she said.
"Oh yeah," said Polly, content in having her face touched, "and it doesn't hurt you're here as well. Even though your hand's really damn cold."
Mal chuckled softly. "Warm me up?" she suggested.
Polly took Mal's hand into her own, softly rubbing her frozen fingers, careful not to disturb the torn bandage that was still in place. She felt Mal warm up to the touch, and she pressed Mal's fingers to her lips because it felt like a good idea at the time, and saw Mal close her eyes at that, and shifting, shifting still, Polly snuggled up to her, until her face was just an inch away.
"Guess we're reaching Ankh-Morpork tonight," said Mal softly.
I know that, thought Polly. I know that and I go on because there's a clock in me and it's getting late again.
"Yes," she said.
There was nothing, now, besides the sound of the Ankh churning along, and a few birds, and the wind, and two people holding hands.
Holding hands does make a sound, if you listen carefully. Polly did.
Am not all that happy with this chapter, but meh. There's cuteness. There's cabbage. There's bashing of polka dots, for a change.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 11
"I didn't know there'd be a waterfall," said Mal.
They could see the Sto Plains from here, which was probably a good thing. Of course, the Sto Plains were also a few hundred yards below them, which was maybe not quite as good a thing.
Oh well.
Polly tied the horses to a tree. She'd fed them the last of the horse bread. They didn't seem to like it much, either, but had put up with it after Mal had glared at them for a while in a jolly and unthreatening manner.
"Never mind," said Polly. "There's a path down, and it isn't that much of a waterfall, really. Couple more hours, maybe. I can see a village from here."
Life was actually nicer when one was cooperating, she found.
"You must be tired," said Mal.
Polly was. It had been twenty-four hours since she'd last slept, and come to think about it, enough had happened in them to last a her a lifetime.
Well, maybe not a lifetime, considering what counted for lifetimes under these circumstances -
"Tell you what," she said, "I'll take a nap and you can wake me in an hour or so. Think the horses need a break as well."
"All right, then," said Mal. "Damn. I realise I'm a bit useless right now. With the horses, and such."
"Nah, it's all right," said Polly, almost grinning. "Got any pillow-like qualities you may provide to the cause?" Upon reconsideration, Polly carefully added an, "Um." That must have been the tiredness talking.
One should hope so.
An eyebrow was raised. "Um?"
"Um," Polly confirmed.
"Oh."
The inside of the carriage was a bit cramped, but better than a tent, and Polly curled up on the very nice upholstery. Vampires must be overcompensating for their lack of beds, she thought. All this plush and velvet and softness was only there to make them feel better about their unheated cellars and bare rafters.
"You know," said Mal, opposite her, knees tucked under her chin and looking disgustingly comfortable. "You should really carry a stake. I mean that."
Polly yawned. "Anyone after us?" she asked.
"Not until dusk," said Mal. "After that, things could get a bit ugly."
"I really admire your cheerful and uplifting nature," said Polly. She cracked her eyes open again, and Mal gave her a tiny grin.
"Sleep?" suggested Mal.
Polly tried to, she shut her eyes and put forth a reasonable attempt at trying to fall asleep with a determination one would invest in marching, or spooning down cardboard scubbo. But there were things that needed figuring out, and Polly was nothing if not naturally curious.
"Mal?" she asked, aware of how tired her voice must sound.
"Hm?"
"Why does your mother hate you?"
There was a pause. Polly was almost on the verge of dozing off when Mal answered.
"She doesn't," said Mal. "I hope. She hates humans and thinks associating with them is an expression of self-loathing combined with a death wish, and you can't have that in your family."
"What happened that she hates humans so much?"
"Do you have to have a reason for hatred?"asked Mal, softly. Polly considered the upholstery, and sleeping, but curiousity, naturally, won.
"Well, ye-es," she said. "Even if it's just being dropped on the head as a baby. Was she dropped on the head as a baby?"
"Funny you should say that," said Mal.
For a while, the only sound was the whistling of the wind outside, the soft scratch of cotton on velvet as Polly tried to get more comfortable.
"Tell," she demanded.
"Mob," said Mal. "Stormed the castle, were badly prepared, frustrated at their own ineffectivity, threw one of my mother's very tiny children out of the window. She made no attempt to get over it."
"Huh," said Polly, and thought about it. She glanced up at Mal. "Did the kid live?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
"'course," said Mal. "I think it was the thought behind it that pissed her off."
Polly lay back again. "Good," she said, and thought about it some more. "So she counters misdirected anger with misdirected anger, yes?"
"Yes," said Mal. "It's a bit like war, really."
Polly turned her head to look at Mal. Her eyes narrowed when a thought surfaced.
"Hey, is that why you're afraid of heights?"
Mal's face looked perfectly blank. "I didn't say it was me, did I?"
"You didn't have to," said Polly, closing her eyes. "It's obvious," she added, her voice barely above a whisper. She really was quite tired, and still -
Polly's thoughts drifted off. Something about immortality and how it was frightening and maybe whatever Mal had been looking for in the army was a bit of mortality to keep her sane -
Not much sanity to find in places where any notion of future only ever reached as far as the next battle, or until spring. And maybe that was why Polly had said what she said. It didn't mean anything; there was too little context for it to mean anything in.
She listened for a while. Mal's heartbeat sounded faint and grew fainter as the time passed. She felt she was being watched, but that was almost okay. The inside of the coach really was quite nice, and safe.
When she awoke, she was alone, somewhat concerned by the fact, but it was still bright outside, and she was covered by Mal's cloak. It was a very nice cloak, she thought faintly. So warm, considering.
Polly got up to open the door, and -
"Eurgh," she said.
Outside, Mal was just finishing chopping bits off a piece of wood. She held it at arm's length, a slightly uneasy smile on her lips.
"There," said Mal. "Bit on the sharp side. Be careful with that."
"Thanks, Mal," said Polly. "You know, when I got useful presents before, they mostly turned out to be warm underpants." She took the thing gingerly and put it into the inside pocket of her jacket, with the pointy bit pointing down, to avoid accidental pointy death. That would just be embarrassing.
"Do I hear you defaulting to lingerie, Polly?" asked Mal with a grin.
"Two words, Mal," said Polly. "Warm. Underpants. Not a vampire thing, really."
"Oh, we've got nothing against warmth," said Mal. "Come here."
"Er," said Polly, while her brain still tried to wrap itself around all possible implications of that first sentence. "Why?"
"Because," said Mal, "you are anatomically challenged. Give me your hand."
"Mal!"
"Should have listened that first time," said Mal, taking Polly's hand and raising it to her chest.
"So, Pol," she said. "A vampire's heart is... not there, and not there, and if you try that point the vampire in question may get a little sarcastic. It's right here, all right?"
"Okay," said Polly, painfully aware of Mal's heartbeat underneath her palm. "Right here. Are you done being insufferable now?"
Mal let go of her hand. "You've got to know these things," she said. "Want a lecture about ribs? Dead useful if you haven't got the chance to rummage around first."
"I do not want a lecture about ribs," said Polly. "What's wrong with just chopping their heads off?"
"If you want them to keep talking to you," said Mal with a shrug. "At least, after a stake, vampires are mercifully silent."
"I hate you," said Polly, while she climbed into the coachman's seat to get as far away from stakes and anatomy as possible. "In a completely non-affectionate kind of way. You are impossible, Mal."
"Yes, I think you mentioned that already," said Mal from below. She winked.
And then they were on the road again, downwards and downwards again. By sunset, they still hadn't reached the plains, and just after it had grown fully dark, Polly heard a creaking behind her.
That crazy woman -
"Mal, you could fall off," said Polly, "and break your bones in a most distressing way, and then I'd have to listen to the whining."
She looked up, and sure enough, a head was visible over the edge of the coach.
"It's called a lookout, Polly," said Mal. "I like feeling involved. Also, I figured we might be followed."
"Suit yourself," said Polly. "I thought you were afraid of heights?"
There was more creaking and the head vanished.
"Ack, if you're putting it like that -," said Mal, her voice suddenly uneasy. "I mean, I've got to work on those intrinsic fears some day. Besides, I'm not that far up, and I take great care not to look down and I'm really not all that afraid of heights at all. Um."
"They're flying, then?"
"Yep," said Mal. "At least, that's what I'd do, if, y'know, I'd do that. Nobody around so far, anyway."
"Good," said Polly, concentrating on the road again. Surely these horses knew what do do? The path was a little bit on the steep side, she supposed, but it couldn't be that hard, walking in a straight line, even if you had to coordinate four legs.
Polly was thinking.
"You know, Mal," she said, and stopped. Damn morals getting in the way of everything.
"What is it?"
"If we're being followed, how can we justify spending the night in a village?" asked Polly.
"Er," said Mal. "The horses, I suppose. Can't leave them out there."
"Ah," said Polly. "Anything else? 'cos I can't say that convinced me, and I'd really like you to convince me, you know?"
Above her on the roof of the carriage, there was the distinct silence of someone who was trying to think creatively under less than ideal conditions.
"It's sychology," said Mal, finally. "Vampires on a mission tend to get a little single-minded about things. They'll follow us, not anyone else."
Polly groaned. "That's fantastic, Mal."
"Look, you wanted convincing. If you wanted uplifting instead, you should have said so," said Mal. "Second, if they want a snack, they'll go and get it," she added. "We won't get far enough from any village at all."
"I'll go for the uplifting, then. Please, Mal."
There was some more shifting above as Mal tried to go from lying on her back, watching the sky, to lying on her stomach, watching ahead.
"Well, I think we're almost there," she said, "and I think there's lights, and I think it isn't too late for us to get a room in the inn, and they've probably got coffee. And a bathtub."
Ah, thought Polly. Do I hear you getting single-minded? When in stress, think of bathtubs?
How'd she pull that off back in the army?
"And you're sure they're not going to throw us out right away?"
"Nah," said Mal. "Let them try."
"Mal!"
"Well, I've got the ribbon, and you look like a farm lad anyway," said Mal.
"Thank you so very much," said Polly.
"Well, it's the polka dots, they don't exactly scream 'sergeant'. Just remember not to smile at anyone, I'd say, and we'll be fine."
We'll be fine, thought Polly. Didn't think I'd hear that one again.
In fact, nobody attacked them at all, and when Polly had stopped the carriage (after a lot of experimental tugging at the reins and saying, 'stop, you daft buggers'), Mal fell off the carriage roof, rather than climb down, but she did it with the elegance of a cat. She even managed to land on her feet.
"You're a lovely little icicle, Mal," said Polly.
"Yes," said Mal, "amazingly enough, that's exactly how I'm feeling."
Polly felt a bit chilly herself, and tired, held on her feet only by the prospect of a real bed, with a pillow and... stuff, and a nightshirt, and -
The door opened, revealing a rather inviting square of yellow light behind it. Out came a boy of maybe eighteen, who said something in a language they didn't understand.
"Hi!" said Mal, turning to him in a very clever movement that involved the light falling dramatically on the ribbon. Polly saw the boy taking notice. "D'you understand me?" asked Mal in Morporkian.
The boy turned his palms outward in a universal gesture. No, then.
"... Bugger," said Mal under her breath.
At this point, there began an exchange of pointing and gesticulating and cursing in Borogravian and cursing in whatever language they spoke around here, and held-up fingers and words that you knew the other wouldn't understand, but took great care to speak slowly and clearly anyway.
At the end, the boy grinned and took off with the horses.
"What did you tell him?" asked Polly, finally grinning the grin she'd been trying to conceal during the entire exchange.
"Well," said Mal, "I think he's the guy who runs errands around here, and I think I tried to convince to him to take the horses to the stables. I sure hope he didn't understand kitchen instead."
"Or he's a horse thief who can't believe his luck," said Polly. "Shall we go inside, then?"
"Yeah, did you think we'd wait until after spring or something?" asked Mal. "After you. And don't smile."
They were a good team, Polly found out. She herself was good with inns, and Mal was reasonably competent with getting her point across, and so they didn't only manage to get a room, but dinner, too, even though the innkeeper went to great lengths to watch Mal actually drinking the beer he'd offered. That was okay, though, it wasn't bad, for beer, and Polly suspected the man had every right to be nervous. She'd have been, anyway.
"Er, Mal?" she said at some point. "Do we have money?"
Mal smiled. "Dear child," she said, "of course we have money. I nicked some coins off our Uberwaldean friends."
Polly stared, not even bothering to comment upon the dear child part of it.
"You didn't," she said.
Mal shrugged and Polly went on tugging at a lump of rare-ish meat and a rather bigger lump of cooked cabbage. It was the most boring dish Polly had ever encountered, but she'd take that over the excitement offered by a bowl of scubbo any day.
She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. It was high time she got into a bed, she thought. Just finish that funny food here, and get upstairs and sleep and all will be well.
"Tired?" asked Mal.
"Can we finish?" asked Polly. "Can we get upstairs? Failing that, can we please just fall down and sleep, here and now?"
Mal looked amused. "D'you think you'll need carrying?" she asked.
Polly finished with great effort, got up, went around the table and tugged at Mal's collar, who seemed to get the message. She rose and waved to the innkeeper, who came to show them up to their room.
He was pretty quick to vanish, though, leaving only a faint hint of garlic smell.
"Lovely, innit?" said Mal, when they were finally alone. "Look, they've got rafters. Very thoughtful."
"Yes," said Polly, "and a bed. Dunno about you, but I'm going to get horizontal right now."
As dignified as possible, Polly collapsed onto the narrow bed, shedding her boots and the better part of her clothes. Off with the polka-dotted nightmare, she thought. Off with the - whoops, still wearing the silk stockings. Off!
"You do that," said Mal, absent-mindedly, as Polly crawled into the blankets, making a satisfying mess out of what had, before, been a well-made bed.
"What about you?" she asked.
Mal yawned, then looked guilty. "I'm gonna stay awake," she said. "Maybe pursue that bathtub business, or something. Someone's got to keep an eye open for ongoings, at any rate."
"Er," said Polly. "Remember what happened last time one of us slept alone?"
"You're sabotaging my need for hygiene," said Mal. "All right, all right. You're the one who'll have to put up with my well-groomed presence."
For a while, she eyed the rafter directly above her, then, quite suddenly, she jumped. Polly had never seen that before and the blurred somersault was actually, she had to admit, quite spectacular. The show ended with Mal hanging neatly off the rafter, fixing her hair.
She grinned at Polly.
"Er," said Polly. "Am I supposed to be able to do that as well?"
"It's entirely facultative," said Mal. "Which, of course, means you're pretty much a disgrace to vampire society if you can't."
"Does that actually matter?" asked Polly.
"No. Try to get some sleep, will you?"
"All right, then," said Polly, turning over. She'd always prefer blankets. "Wake me when you get tired."
The bed wasn't bad, per se, she thought, all horizontal and nice and comfy.
Just a bit cold maybe.
-
Polly awoke to the first rays of sunlight entering the room. Tiny specks of dust were dancing in them. Silhouetted against the window hung Mal, eyes closed. She hadn't moved since yesterday.
If there turns out to be a bloodbath downstairs you'll probably be really sorry, Mal-who's-gonna-stay-awake-to-keep-an-eye-on-the-ongoings, thought Polly and got up from the bed. Her bare feet protested. Socks first, she thought faintly, then trousers, then shirt, than everything else.
She tiptoed over to Mal; however, it turned out she wasn't good at the sneaking business this early in the morning. The floorboards creaked, and Mal opened first one eye and then the other.
"Morning," she said. "Slept well?"
"Yeah," said Polly. "You?"
"Not at all," said Mal, and did an elegant backflip. She landed without even making a sound. "I was listening. Before you ask, it was boring as all hell."
Mal, Polly noticed, was eyeing the washbowl, and the soap, and the washcloth, and the towel, all of which the innkeeper had very thoughtfully provided the day before.
"Has anything happened?" asked Polly.
"Nothing," said Mal, sauntering over to the washbowl like a very sophisticated moth towards a flame, and dipping one finger into the water. She retreated hastily. "Whoa," she said, "bit chilly."
"You could ask someone to warm up -," began Polly.
"I'm used to washing with snow." Mal dipped the washcloth into the water. "I just never liked it much," she added.
Polly had an interesting twenty minutes of staring at the wallpaper. What she had thought to be tiny printed pink flowers turned out to be really tiny printed pink cabbages.
Welcome to the Sto Plains.
There was a splash, and then something rather more disconcerting. If you've ever heard a vampire chattering their teeth, you weren't likely to forget in a hurry.
"What've you done now?" she asked.
"Ssstuck my head into the wwwater," said Mal. "Can't remmmember wwwhy."
"You know," said Polly, "if you should ever run out of coffee again, you can always just crave cleanliness. You're already pretty obsessed."
"Aw, thanks," said Mal, rubbing her hair vigorously with the towel while simultaneously trying to climb back into her clothes. It was a show Polly secretly admitted she'd have loved to see, if only because it was probably more interesting than tiny printed pink cabbages.
"Speaking of which," added Mal, "'s there any chance I might get you dripping wet as well?"
Er -
"I'm gonna go fetch new water," said Polly. "I realise I pale in comparison to you, but I'm really not all that averse to hygiene, either. How d'you convey that to the innkeeper?"
"Just point and grunt, I think," said Mal. "And I'm coming with you, maybe I can organise something in the way of breakfast."
Mal moved.
"Er, Mal?" said Polly. "You're swaying."
"'s all right," said Mal. "I'm gonna sleep in the coach."
Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Polly. Taking Mal by the elbow, she said, "Are you sure you don't - ?"
"Completely," said Mal, looking at her. "No, really."
"We did that before, and it worked," said Polly. "I doesn't mean you're going to turn back."
"Bit of an oxymoron there," said Mal. "I can't go around biting people in order to stay reformed, you know?"
"Well," said Polly, "it is a pledge not to drink human blood. Not sure I count as such anymore."
That sounded a bit strange in Polly's ears, but she tried to deny that. See, I'm completely cool with things such as they are. Er.
"No, but you're human-shaped enough," said Mal. "Er. It's probably better if I don't get used to that. I'll have some cabbage, if you please."
Suddenly, Polly found she had her arms full of vampire.
"Thank you for offering," murmured Mal against her hair. "You're nice. In a completely fucked up vampire way, you are the polliest Polly that ever pollied."
"...," said Polly. "Huh?"
"Well," said Mal, pulling back, but only slightly, to look at her. "You know. Polly."
"Oh," said Polly. "Thanks. I suppose." She tentatively broke the embrace, because someone had to. "By all means, have some cabbage," Polly added. "Just tell me beforehand when you're going to faint."
She did feel a bit relieved at this. Cabbage was so ordinary a thing it could probably counteract vampirism all on its own.
She left Mal downstairs in a friendly dispute with the innkeeper while the boy from yesterday showed her the way to the water pump in the courtyard. Why did that feel so strange, now?
Polly knew the answer, of course. It was because, back home, you'd hardly find a boy of about eighteen helping out at his father's inn. Boys of eighteen - and, come to think of that, quite a few of the girls - would be enlisted or dead or without body parts vital to the helping out.
Such was her army.
Back in the room, Polly washed in a hurry, bent over the washbowl and freezing and cursing and, of course, noticing there was no reflection of her in the water. It was disgusting. She'd never see her face again.
Whenever she thought she'd got used to these things, something else caught her attention. It didn't make her particularly impressed with the universe.
Maybe Mal had even managed to order a decent breakfast, thought Polly while getting downstairs. And really, upon entering the dining room, she saw Mal entirely comfortable on a chair while watching a steaming mug in her hands with what was possibly not enthusiasm, but at least some sort of kind-hearted interest. Mal lifted her head when Polly arrived at the table.
"What's that?" asked Polly. "Coffee?"
"I'm not quite sure what it is," said Mal, "it's a little mysterious. It sure as hell ain't coffee, though." She blew on it, then took a careful sip.
Polly watched in awe as Mal's face twisted into a grimace. "And?" she asked.
"Cabbage," said Mal. "Probably cabbage. I hope it's cabbage, at least. The taste suggests worse."
"Do I want to know?" asked Polly, sitting down and eyeing the piece of bread on her plate. It had a somewhat greenish colour, suggesting vegetable ingredients, but Polly knew her horse bread. There couldn't be anything worse, right?
"Bit like cabbage when it's, you know, done being cabbage," said Mal. "Once you get over the mental images, I suppose it's drinkable."
"Oh, thank you," said Polly. "I was eating."
"I didn't say it was that bad," said Mal. "Merely bad," To Polly's horror, she drained the mug in one go.
"Oh no, you didn't," said Polly.
Mal was obviously trying to keep a straight face, but failing miserably. "Your turn, Polly," she said, pointing to Polly's own mug, which was filled with the same steaming brownish liquid.
With sixty per cent repulsion and forty per cent morbid fascination, Polly examined it. There were bubbles. She was impressed.
Mal was carefully laying a slice of thankfully very ordinary cheese over a piece of bread while watching Polly with just the tiniest hint of schadenfreude. Polly raised her cup. The smell alone made her stomach turn, but since she knew this couldn't possibly kill her -
"Can't be worse than coffee, I suppose," said Polly.
"Oh, nasty."
Polly drank slowly, trying to take in every facette of this new-found flavour. It hadn't many. It was cabbage, only more so. Someone had distilled the very soul of cabbage and then kindly gone and boiled it. Polly was full of cabbage. Cabbage flowed in her veins.
She put down the mug. "Iridescent," she said with hardly any coughing. "Opalescent, even." The look on Mal's face was worth it. Well, probably worth it. Possibly worth it if -
In a universal gesture, Polly raised the empty mug and waved it at the innkeeper. It was promptly refilled.
She pushed the mug over to Mal, who was still sitting there, bread in one half-raised hand. "There you go, Mal," she said. "I cabbage better than cabbage. Than you, I mean."
Mal swallowed. "Some things should never be made a verb," she said. "You really mean this?"
Polly started on the bread. "Sure," she said. "Pass me the cheese, will you?"
The innkeeper was watching them again. Polly winked at him, then smiled at Mal. "Drink up before it leaps at you," she said. "I think it might be alive."
"Well," said Mal, "not for much longer." There was a blur of movement.
She put an empty mug onto the table.
Polly stared. "What a neat little trick," she said.
Mal smiled innocently. Behind her, a potted plant crumpled and died.
-
The next days were more of the same, endless fields by day, dusty inns by night. It got a bit repetitive, but then again, these were the Sto Plains. It was where you spent your life, not your holidays.
They didn't talk much now, what with Polly sleeping at night and Mal sleeping during the day and being too tired during the hours inbetween. Nobody was following them, but with Polly, that thought was always followed by a mental 'Yeah, right'.
There was a day, Polly believed it was the fourth, when the river joined the Ankh, and that was all that happened, unless one counted Polly crying and crying until she couldn't cry anymore, and she didn't count that, since neither of them mentioned it again.
After that, there were more fields, more inns, and nothing changed much.
There was a day, Polly believed it was the eighth, when she stepped out of an inn's door in the morning and something was different, like a taste to the wind, or a note in the sky. She needed several hours alone in the coachman's seat to work out what it was, though, and when she did, her heart leaped a little.
They had a break, not long after that, and a civilised one at that. They spread out the woolly blanket by river.
Why had this revelation taken her so long? It wasn't as if several square miles of snow disappearing in every direction could possibly be hard to miss. They stood on earth, here. Or lay, as were the case. Same difference.
Polly nudged Mal, who was seriously threatening to doze off again.
"Look up," she said.
Mal screwed her eyes shut. "Sunlight," she said. "Seen that before." She was, unconsciously maybe, trying to wrap an edge of the blanket around herself in an attempt to shield off the cool wind. Polly crawled a bit closer and tentatively put an arm around her. It wasn't much really, judging by the way she herself didn't get much out of it, but she hoped dearly the thought counted for something.
Mal shifted a little to a more direct angle. She was still shivering somewhat, but Polly could feel her trying to relax.
"Can't you feel that?" asked Polly.
"Feel what? Cold?" mumbled Mal. "I feel cold all right."
"Sunlight," said Polly.
"Yeah, that too. 's not really warm."
"Mal, it's spring!" said Polly. "The snow's melting! There's little green things coming out of the earth! It's getting warmer!"
"Be careful with those exclamation marks," said Mal. "You could acc'dent'ly knock somebody out, like."
But something bubbled inside of Polly, and it wasn't anger. It was something else entirely, and she wasn't going to let go now.
"Look, Mal," she said, and she thought so many words at the same time that they had to stop and reassemble, "look, I'm here and I'm breathing actual air and it's spring and I'm glad I didn't die, and I don't care how much cabbage it takes to arrive, I -"
Mal opened her eyes to look at her.
Whoops, thought Polly. At least I know now how to wake her up. I just have to spout random words at her.
"Glad, Polly?" asked Mal.
"Come to think of it," began Polly, and swallowed. It was a bit hard to admit again. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said, finally. "I mean, I don't really like the vampirism business, you know that, but right now, I'm really... glad I can lie here and just breathe and not have my eyes eaten."
Mal slowly reached out one hand, touching her face. "Would have been a bit of a waste," she said.
"Oh yeah," said Polly, content in having her face touched, "and it doesn't hurt you're here as well. Even though your hand's really damn cold."
Mal chuckled softly. "Warm me up?" she suggested.
Polly took Mal's hand into her own, softly rubbing her frozen fingers, careful not to disturb the torn bandage that was still in place. She felt Mal warm up to the touch, and she pressed Mal's fingers to her lips because it felt like a good idea at the time, and saw Mal close her eyes at that, and shifting, shifting still, Polly snuggled up to her, until her face was just an inch away.
"Guess we're reaching Ankh-Morpork tonight," said Mal softly.
I know that, thought Polly. I know that and I go on because there's a clock in me and it's getting late again.
"Yes," she said.
There was nothing, now, besides the sound of the Ankh churning along, and a few birds, and the wind, and two people holding hands.
Holding hands does make a sound, if you listen carefully. Polly did.