What Polly Did Next: Winter (II)
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, this would be the second half (actually now I try and post it, it's too long for two posts as well. Will have to go for three. My apologies).
~X~
Even Polly had to admit the popularity of the gramophone wasn’t completely Mal’s fault.
Snow was falling from a heavy grey sky as a disconsolate sergeant moodily descended the stairs from the upper floor. Upper in more ways than one it contained the suites of power, the Border Patrol's motley collection of commanding officers. That long corridor was home to those whose authority all too often outstripped their meagre intelligence and was known for sending most petitioners away frustrated. Today had been no exception.
Ever since the arrival in late summer of an inventive vampire one particular Supply Clerk had been learning to forget that the Army owned her, body and soul. By hook and by crook the odd couple of Perks and Maladict been able to fool themselves that life in the army didn't always have to mean Rules, Regulations and what Captain Slone persisted in referring to as “Discthipline”. With Latimer on their side they and their ragtag group of non-commissioned officers had carved for themselves a little corner of individuality out here on the forgotten edge of the normally restrictive Borogravian Army.
And then there were days like today that brought it home to her how powerless they all were when you really got down to it.
Polly slumped against a handy alcove. Through the deep windows she could see that the upper snowfields were enshrouded in low cloud, their loss a painful reminder that she had once again been denied a patrol. Somewhere up there a squad was pretending to monitor the border whilst indulging in illicit sledging races and burning their way through the carefully stacked wood stores. Yes, it would probably be cold and wet and terribly uncomfortable but she had wanted to go. She sighed, the solid walls more than usually confining today. Below in the courtyard she could hear Latimer encouraging his longbow trainees. He had managed to get his plan approved, why was re-discovering the art of longbow archery historically familiar to the lower orders more worthy of commendation than her request to make up the numbers on a routine patrol? She rested her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes.
It had not been a productive morning, the captain suffering with a more than usually vindictive hangover. Even with her aforethought to bring a steaming cup of tea it had been an uphill struggle to get him to understand even the simplest of paperwork. Polly herself hadn't been in the most amenable of moods and both had suffered through the meeting with ill grace. All she wanted now was to lock herself in the office and have a good mope over her files. She was definitely not in the mood for Mal's concept of entertainment and frowned as quick ears caught the sound of the corporal bounding her way up stairs.
Catching sight of her quarry slumped in the alcove, Mal halted mid leap to exclaim “There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!”
“Yes, here I am, Mal. Where else would you expect me to be? Where else other than somewhere in this delightfully situated castle, where the wind howls all through the freezing nights with no pity for all the hard-working folk who are trying to sleep?”
Polly had continued her descent, the irritated tirade with associated frustrated gestures accompanying her progress without any obvious ill effects.
“Surely in my role as the one and only supply clerk in the entire border patrol there could be no other place I'd rather be than stuck in this wonderful example of a busy and efficient bureaucratic hub.” The sergeant thought for a second after her brain caught up with her ears and amended the previous statement with a swiftly added, “though if you'd been eavesdropping on the conversation I was lucky enough to share with our illustrious captain this morning you'd find that hard to believe.”
Mal had renewed her boisterous ascent during this tirade and thus it came to pass that the pair met on the second floor landing. Interrupting Polly's rant without any sign of remorse Mal grabbed the sergeant by the arm and tugged urgently in the direction of away.
“Come on, Polly. Time's a wasting!” Not waiting for an answer the vampire spun around and set off back down the flight, taking the steps three at a time. Landing lightly on the first floor landing she sensed something was amiss and turned back. Her face fell as she realised Polly was still waiting where she had been so callously abandoned, halfway down the stairs. “Polly?”
“Where are we going?”
“I can't tell you. Desperately secret mission.” The clipped sentences shot out, Mal's instinctive verbosity reined in by the excitement coursing through her veins. “Come on!”
“What? Why?” Drawn into the adventure, however unwillingly, Polly began to descend the stairs. “What did you do this time?”
Satisfied with Polly's evident capitulation Mal flashed a grin, protested “Nothing! Yet...” and on that ominous epithet disappeared from view along the corridor leading to the supply sergeant's office.
Moving more sedately in her wake Polly found the passageway empty of vampire. However, muffled noises of a frantic search reached her ears from the door worryingly ajar at the far end. Slightly concerned, the sergeant picked up her pace, breaking into a series of muttered threats against untidy members of the undead fraternity. Thus it was that when Mal popped her head back out into the corridor she found Polly a lot closer than anticipated. A pleased smile broke out over her face.
“Where's your coat?”
“Behind the door, where it usually is.” Polly watched warily as Mal disappeared for a second time, re-emerging quickly with Polly's short-coat under one arm. Pulling the door closed behind her the corporal came back up the corridor almost at a run, spun Polly round and began pushing her back the way they had come.
“Mal!” Polly struggled ineffectively against the flow. “My files!”
“Leave them with Ganzfield.” They were snatched from her hand and she could only look on with gaping mouth as Mal ran back down the corridor, opened a different door, thrust the folders at the unflappable Ganzfield and ran back. Finding Polly still standing in exactly same position that Mal had left her in, the vampire growled in frustration and dragged her on towards the Great Hall. “At least put your coat on Polly. It's freezing outside.”
“But where are we going?” Polly managed to stick her arms into her coat sleeves and set about fishing in her pockets for her hat.
“I told you, vital secret mission.” Mal glanced back and had to grin as she caught Polly in the middle of adjusting her head covering. But she could not be distracted for long. Flinging an encouraging arm about Polly's shoulders she urged her onward with a cheery “Now, come ON!”
It quickly became clear that the secret was not hidden within the castle walls. Stumbling through the slush along the slippery road into town the kidnapped sergeant found breath to reiterate her enquiries as to the purpose of their expedition. But Mal was deaf to any attempts of conversation, dragging Polly along by strength of will and seemingly blind to her struggles. However, when the sergeant did eventually slip on a patch of black ice her flailing arm was quickly caught in a strong grasp and Mal held her up until she found her balance again, those dark eyes meeting hers in soft apology. After that Mal did slow her frantic pace a little, slipping her arm through Polly's and keeping it there supportively even after they had reached the cleared paths of the High Street.
Firm ground underfoot at last, it wasn't much longer before they reached their destination and Mal was soon pausing outside Le Fouquet's. Naturally, thought Polly, rolling her eyes. Where else outside the castle would Mal be able to create mayhem without consequence? The owner of Le Fouquet's, mindful of the amount of coffee the corporal could put away had swiftly become her boon companion and his café her safe haven amongst the illiterate hordes. Le Fouquet's were quite nice to Polly too but she could never be sure whether this was merely due to her association with the blessed (if demanding) Corporal Maladict.
“Are you ready?” Dancing eyes met Polly's over tightly bound scarves.
“For what?”
“For this!” And Mal swung wide the door, waving Polly inside.
The warmth provided by the smallish stove backed up by Le Fouquet's ingenious central heating system hit them like the proverbial brick wall and Polly quickly wriggled free from her scarf, throwing it carelessly onto the back of the nearest chair. This didn't completely appease the heat fairies so pulling off her hat and thrusting it into a handy pocket she struggled to undo the buttons of her coat with tingling fingers before adding it to the pile. Liberated at last she strolled towards the bar her eyes darting warily here and there in a quest for anything surprise shaped. Mal, unbearably frustrated by her un-robing antics, had pushed past and Polly followed the slim back that was weaving a hurried course between the smartly laid tables.
Reaching the counter and finding it deserted the vampire called urgently for service, her excitement betrayed in the dancing fingertips subconsciously drumming along the top of the bar. She called again but her demands were answered not the one she sought, it was not Louis but his son, Jean-Paul, who popped his head out of the kitchen to pass on the information that he was making a fresh batch of chocolat and would bring some over for Polly “immédiatement.“ Polly, calm, warm and rapidly improving in her mood as Mal became more and more frustrated, settled her elbows on the bar and smiled her thanks. He gave her a cheerful wink and vanished. Luckily for Mal's rising impatience it was only moments later that his father appeared to take position behind the bar, the ubiquitous towel over his shoulder.
“An espresso M'sieur?” Louis was already turning to the shiny monstrosity behind him but Mal had other things on her mind.
“Mais, attend, mon petit vert chou fleur. J'ai reçu le mot il y avait une livraison pour moi, vous l'avez ici?”
Polly blinked and dropped her gaze to the bar, her fingers tightening unconsciously on the polished wood. Nothing in her varied life had prepared her for the effects of a vampire speaking fluent Quirmian. Polite etiquette aside, people should warn people before they did that. She took a steadying breath and forced herself to relax, folding her hands together in an imitation of calm that even impressed her by its verisimilitude.
Her attention coming back to the room Polly realised she hadn't understood a smidgeon of Mal's (beautifully accented) rattled sentence, her grasp of foreign languages being virtually non-existent despite her extensive travels (Ankh Morpork counted as more than one country surely). But as the proprietor was pointing in the direction of a back table she could decipher that Mal had probably been asking about the eponymous “it”. Following Louis's finger Polly thought she could make out something large on one of the corner tables. Mal had vanished leaving the now intensely confused sergeant to thank the helpful Louis politely before abandoning him to his espresso machine. Behind her the sounds of steam built eagerly and she winced at a particularly loud blast as she weaved her way in Mal's wake.
Absorbed in examining her trophy Mal had upended the sturdy box on the table to squint at the labels and turned to Polly with such a smile of glee that the brave sergeant feared for not only her future sanity, but the survival of the entire fort.
“Mal...” Polly's swiftly composed (yet still highly detailed) statement of the need for caution was brushed to one side before it could get under-way as her target audience, nominally distracted at the best of times, now bounced past her, only one aim in mind.
“Thank you, thank you, Monsieur! Vous êtes superbe, mille bénédictions.”
Louis, ambushed in the act of placing the tiny cup and saucer on a nearby table found himself facing a jubilant vampire who kissed him effusively on both cheeks. Extracting himself with difficulty he slipped away to take refuge behind his bar leaving Polly to enquire for the umpteenth time what exactly was going on.
“Hand over the knife Pol and I'll show you.”
Mal thrust a demanding hand in her direction. The cords that had been wrapped so tightly around the box were thick and even with her strong fingers she couldn’t get in. Polly, still wary, took a long moment to consider withdrawing her co-operation over the lack of information but when it became apparent that Mal was quite willing to bite her way in, the beleaguered sergeant sighed and handed over the pocket knife with a shake of her head.
“This had better be worth it.” Polly hadn't completely used up her reproving comments quota yet. “I'm painfully behind on the requisition lists for this month as it is.”
Mal ignored her and, cutting the cords with a clean stroke, went on to rip eagerly through the paper gummed over the join where the lid sat tightly against the main body of the box. Eventually nothing stood between them and whatever this was but the heavy box itself. There should have been fanfares, Polly thought, perhaps the release of a dove, or at least a few sparrows. Mal, on the other hand, was obviously unaffected by the magnitude of the moment and efficiently hauled off the lid to stand stunned before the prize thus revealed.
“Oh you beauty.” An unholy smile of joy broke over the vampire's face as she scrabbled about amongst the shredded paper shovelling large handfuls over the side in her desire to get at the contents.
“What is it though?” Polly had yet to achieve a state of enlightenment. Looking around she noticed that in addition to this her promised chocolat hadn't arrived. Such evidence that the universe hated them would make anyone cranky.
“Oh, Polly. Staid, reliable Polly.” Mal withdrew her head from the crate to bestow a superior smile upon the befuddled sergeant. “This an abomination such as you have never seen. A terribly wicked thing. They call it a gramophone.” Reaching back inside the packing case she lifted a carved wooden box out onto the table, running a caressing hand over the polished surface.
“A what?”
“A gramophone. When I was in the Bright Young Things[3]...”
“You were busy corrupting the innocent and murdering the general population.”
“Yes, that too. But the music we used to listen to back then, dancing the night away at the Kit Kat Club...” Mal's voice trailed off, suddenly distracted. “Great Armundsen, they've sent some records! Medals all round for service above and beyond the call of duty. I must write to Dyscs[4] and recommend them.”
Ignoring Polly's mounting frustration the corporal delved back into the crate, emerging with her hands full of paper sheaths. “Look, Pol, Chaz Parkin, Betty Smythe, a bit of Partially Sighted Lemon Jefferson and what's this? Ella Fitzgeorge? Fantastic!”
She pushed the jumbled heap into Polly's hands and returned her attention to the box, thereby missing the look of confusion that her sergeant addressed to her new acquisitions.
“Gonna help me set it up, Pol?”
“How?”
Mal paused in her distracted activity, struck by the difficulty of how to explain such complicated machinery to one so completely un-technological. Luckily she was saved from this unenviable task by the entry into the café of a ramshackle collection of youths, numbering amongst themselves the inevitable Barnett and Finchley. After quickly taking in the situation the group made tracks toward the unfolding drama, coming up alongside the table with curiosity bursting from every pore.
“What have you got there, Corp?”
The lowly private's somewhat crude enquiry was not met by the usual scornful glare but rather a look of relief from Mal.
“Thank goodness for little boys.” She was still hauling parts out of the box. “C’mon, give me a hand here.”
The new arrivals were accompanied by a number of willing hands and curious minds were swiftly drawn into what Polly still considered a sort of general madness. Barnett removed the remains of the crate and the others gathered around eagerly to sort through the various parts. Before long the magnificence was exposed for all to see.
“It’s a gramophone.”
“Very observant of you Corporal Finchley, I shall be writing a letter of commendation to your commanding officer.” Mal 's fingers danced amongst the orderly laid out pieces, hovering over a long slender piece coated in some sort of black resin.
“What’s a gramophone?”
“One of these apparently.” Polly smiled graciously on the still confused Barnett. “All I’ve managed to discover so far is that it’s the most terrible variety of abomination and has an insidious effect on vampires similar to the most addictive of drugs ever invented.”
“It’s a way of playing music” Finchley was fastening random examples of wood and beaten metal together with dexterous fingers as he spoke. “They had one in the Big House back home. Banned of course, but that never stopped the Big House folk from doing what they wanted.” He picked through the heaped cogs before selecting the one he wanted.
Mal left him to his task and turned her attention to the records, muttering quietly to herself as she flicked her way through the untidy pile. Polly was left to look on in incomprehension as the carved box grew a flat circular surface, a long arm and some sort of large horn that she couldn't even begin to make sense of in terms of where one might blow into it. Or why.
Before Polly could fully form the question Mal pounced on an otherwise undistinguished paper envelope with glee. Pushing Finchley to one side she placed a black disc on the shiny circular surface and turning the handle at the rear of the device she used her other hand to do something complicated with the fiddly long arm. Music burst out of the air, astounding Polly and filling the café with its richness. It was unlike anything Polly had heard before and she stood opened-mouthed as the tune stole into her ears and began to get down and busy within her hind brain, hot wiring down her spine and setting her feet tapping. It was somewhat disconcerting.
“What is it?” She pulled on Mal's arm, nudging the corporal back from wherever the music had taken her and slowly the vampire responded, dragging open lazy eyes clouded by memory. “Mal! What is it?”
“I told you: a gramophone.”
“No. This. What is this?”
“Oh, this? This is Jazz.” Mal grinned, little devils in her eyes dancing salaciously to the driving beat. “Terribly bad for you and banned almost everywhere but still the only music worth listening to. Why, I recall one year we walked twenty miles after the carriage overturned just to get to Ronald Pict's...[5]”
Emerging back into the present she drew Polly away from the admiring crowd. Finchley willingly took over the manipulation of the driving handle without comment, singing along under his breath as the chorus entered its second reiteration. Resting a hip nonchalantly on one of Louis's perfectly laid table Mal made sure her cuffs were perfectly in place before asking:
“Do you like it then, Pol? Was it a good surprise?”
Polly, turning from where she'd been watching the tableau around the gramophone, caught a glimpse of a tiny flutter of expectant hope lurking deep behind the mischief and felt again that odd sensation curling deep in her belly. Did she like it? Mal had managed to find the one thing that brought freedom no matter how solidly the walls might try to close in. Had found it and had got it (goodness knew what that had entailed) and had then given it away. As the music sang on, carrying Polly's spirits up with it to the rafters, she was struck by a sudden urge to throw grateful arms around her benefactor and show the incorrigible idiot exactly how much she appreciated this stupid, crazy, idea.
But she couldn't. It was stupid to hope that the idiotic vampire had engineered this surprise specifically for a lonely frustrated sergeant. Such daft ideas were only fit to be ignored. It was more likely that the vampire had merely done it to alleviate her own boredom, stuck as she was in a mediocre castle with only the lower ranks of the soldiery to talk to. Caught up in cursing her stupidly over-active imagination Polly realised the original question was still hanging without a reply and she pummelled her speech centres back into gear. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't worth pursuing at the extent of a hard won friendship.
In an off-hand manner Sergeant Perks murmured that she would have to reserve judgement, turning back to check that the foreign music delivery system wasn't having a deleterious effect on the lower ranks. Luckily this answer seemed acceptable to the corporal and hitching herself off the table she corporal returned her attention to the task of preventing Finchley from breaking anything in his over enthusiasm.
Polly, left behind to watch the discussion of technique that sprang up, couldn't know that behind that outer equanimity Mal was struggling with a new sensation someone less sure of themselves would recognise as insecurity. And yet, hesitation or not, the vampire couldn't find it within herself to be sorry. The expression that had burst onto Polly's face as the music began to play had been worth a million confusing thoughts. Mal, hyper aware of the gaze still on her, measured the trouble and frustration of getting the gramophone all the way from Ankh Morpork (including the hiring of a man, two pack-ponies and the difficult invention of an ingenious sling design) and found it worthwhile.
[3] The Bright Young Things, Uberwald's most stylishly dressed club contained the very creme de la creme of the Ramtops young vampire bloods (perhaps not the best description but there you are). Entry was tightly overseen and successful applicants, would only find entry secured by walking across the bridge that crossed the raging River Thyng in Uberwald at high noon.
Most did it in a coat and hat. The best of fashion naturally, but still protected against the elements. Mal did it bareheaded and in shirtsleeves on a Tuesday in late spring.
Of course she'd been practising in secret since the depths of winter, slowly acclimatising her skin to the thin sun and then persisting as it grew stronger. But no one else had to know that as she picked her way delicately along the parapet (never one to diminish the chance for showing off). Stopping in the centre of the bridge she had tucked her cane under one arm and calmly lit a cigarette, blowing a satisfied smoke ring as the clock over the market place struck noon.
The sunburn that kept her in bed for two days and the migraine that accompanied it were put down to too much celebration and the pair of delicious twins she had persuaded to support her home in the post-party goodbyes.
[4] Dyscs: All the Discs on the Dysc. Ask us about vynll.
[5] Tourism for London requests that I inform non-natives that Jazz clubs other than Ronnie Scott's can be found in our fair capital. Always remember to do your own research and use a registered cab company to get home. Oh, and don't drink the absinthe. Mind The Gap.
~X~
The gramophone enjoyed a majestic reign at Le Fouquet's for the next few days, Mal sneaking down to worship it as often as possible. However, once she had scouted the best line of attack and had plotted the times when she could be certain the coast was relatively clear she informed Polly that it was time to bring the beauty home. Naturally the 'staid' and 'boring' Sergeant Perks (Mal's words) disagreed. However, despite Polly's extensive sabotage tactics and most strenuous efforts of distraction Mal managed to persuade a subset of the available soldiery that it was their bounded duty to help sneak the gramophone into the castle. In fairness it was a good speech. Polly was left to trail behind the rabble as they snuck down into the town and as Mal's self-designated “genius plan” came to victorious fruition, nothing remained for the vanquished sergeant to do but sigh and skulk in the background as the procession wound its way home across the bridge with much rejoicing.
Forced to call on the array of skills she'd been induced into developing since the vampire had slunk back into her life Polly found the strength to be gracious in the face of defeat. She even allowed Mal to persuade her that the item in question should be hidden in her office away from prying eyes. The corporal really was getting much better at those pleading eyes.
Once installed, word quickly spread through the castle of the latest abomination that the blasted vampire had introduced into their lives. The response was generally positive, young men knocking on Polly's door with a hopeful look in their eyes and a polite request to look at the instrument in question. Of course, some were less well-mannered: young Finchley (who had fallen in love with the gramophone at first sight) stole it away at every opportunity. But despite the combined efforts of the entire fort to play with her new toy Mal did manage to occasionally get her hands on what was essentially her own property. It did, however, take all her powers of persuasion, including lying, whining and on one occasion theft. Though, as she explained to Polly when she raced into the office and hid with it in her arms under the desk, it was hers to steal.
Every week new records arrived wrapped in thick white paper and cardboard (the post was coming through in dribs and drabs despite the weather). Slipping into the supply office with a package under her arm and an eager glint in her eye, Mal would wait only for the beginning of a permissive nod before dragging the gramophone out and installing it on the rug before the hearth. Seated there with the fire at her back, one knee casually tucked under chin she would set about introducing Polly to the joys of swing, guiding her through the foothills of close harmonies and mountainous peaks of complicated syncopation. On one rare occasion a special parcel arrived all the way from Quirm and they had an educational detour into counterpoint and the symphonic harmonies found in a Swedehoven sonata.
These quickly became times to treasure, one step removed from the dreary routine of Border life that attacked them at every turn. Polly, working industriously at her ledgers, found herself glancing up from time to time with a quiet smile at the vampire sprawled across her easy chair, one leg thrown absent-mindedly over an upholstered arm. Mal was generally too caught up in the intricacies of her abominable toy but on rare occasions some strange awareness would act to prompt her of the sergeant's amused gaze and she would raise her head to meet it with an answering soft smile of her own.
Time, racing past so quickly as the weather beat against the cold stone of the fort's defences, slowed down for them on those lazy afternoons. Polly thought sometimes that this was almost too perfect, a small flicker of fear at the back of her mind wondering exactly what she had done to deserve such happiness and exactly when and how the universe might be expecting payment. But in general her thoughts ran on far more gladdening lines, about how it was better to live content in the moment and enjoy any gift received, no matter how small. The army was very insistent about teaching you that lesson and she had learnt it well.
Outwardly unburdened by such problems Mal happily picked her way through her now extensive collection, playing record after record as the fire crackled and spat at her back. There were even rare occasions when she forget her audience enough to break into quiet song as the discs spun on beside her. As the weeks passed Polly found that she was also humming these unnamed tunes as she went about her daily tasks. It was somewhat disconcerting, especially when the Captain found her doing the soft shoe shuffle to “On top of the world” by The Wood-shapers along an upper level corridor.
On one otherwise unremarkable Saturday night Finchley finally persuaded Mal to allow him to bring the abomination to the card game. Hogswatch was fast approaching and as the 'uncivilised savage festival' was an abhorrence to any orthodox follower of the Nugganic church, the entire fort was naturally looking forward to it with great excitement. On the morrow the last patrol before the celebration would set out for the high snow fields and as Mal had been selected for this great honour she was more than willing to be distracted by some sort of party. Where Mal led everyone else by now was more than willing to follow and so it was that the protests of the more dour members of the group were overruled without much argument. Under confused direction the table in the guardroom was pushed back to open up a minuscule area of bare boards which was generously declared to be the dance floor.
Mal, refusing to give up control of her precious possession, found them a lively tune and it quickly became apparent that what the mingled soldiery sorely lacked in skill, they were more than willing to make up for in eager enthusiasm. Caught out by their antics Polly saved herself with a discreet coughing fit before hurriedly hiding her laughter behind a decorous handkerchief. When she had regained her composure and could once again lift her head it was to the awe inspiring sight of Finchley surprising them all with a previously unsuspected hidden talent for leading out the ladies. To Mal's undisguised amusement he was forced to demonstrate this skill with Barnett (the Border Boys being somewhat lacking in persons of an admitted female nature).
Eventually, her capacity for the manual labour of turning the handle exceeded, Mal handed over the operation of the gramophone to another. Scowling in response to Polly's amused commentary (via eyebrow and expressive smirk) the corporal retreated to the calmer waters of the room's perimeter. Polly followed willingly and they gravitated automatically to the card table around which sat the select few who did not dance. Squashed into the dark corner these shining examples of dignity looked down upon the prevailing jollity as a Morningside spinster might address the antics of a troop of Bonobos in full swing. Kettering was dealing and as Mal hovered over the shoulders of those lucky enough to snatch a seat amongst the lack of space, he indicated with a wave of the hand that vampires were not welcome this evening. Unusually refraining for once Mal nodded and bowing to the ring of deeply serious players she drifted on, Polly at her heels. They happened upon an unclaimed stores crate left against the wall by some undisciplined youth and after a short but frank discussion on precedence and relative needs with regards to space they settled comfortably to observe the scene.
Finchley had of course asked for Polly's hand during the long and complicated processes that had been necessary to get Mal to release the precious gramophone into the rowdy environment of the guardroom. She had refused him, all sixteen times. However, before long he became forgetful and despite the past evidence of her unwillingness to walk the boards with him he bounced over to try again. The fact he had by now exhausted and comprehensively embarrassed Barnett may have contributed to his unwise persistence. Sadly for him, Polly was perfectly happy on her crate and said so, each time waving him back to the dance with a cheerful smile. Left in peace she returned to her previous and most pleasant position, leaning comfortably against Mal's shoulder as the sharp barbs of the vampire's murmured commentary on the prancing couples were dropped sweetly into her ear.
Surprisingly it was Goldhawk who won her hand first. He'd brought them refreshment from time to time, standing beside them in their little corner and both had come to look upon his approaches as a welcome addition to their evening. However, this time he had something different on his mind and bowing low as the music flowed into a more familiar vein he offered himself as partner for the folk dance they were trying to set up with great difficulty in the small space available. Polly, tempted by the lively rhythms, looked to Mal for aid but found none as her helpmate merely leant back against the wall and reaching into her pocket for her tobacco pouch indicated the dance floor with a negligent wave of the hand.
Goldhawk was a good partner, skilled and considerate and Polly had so much fun that when the dance was over and she turned from thanking him to find Finchley at her elbow she threw caution to the winds. As she was dragged away through the throng she cast the distinguished sergeant an apologetic look over her shoulder but was rewarded by a shake of the head and a smile of genuine amusement at her ambush. Fun wasn't quite the word for what happened next. Obviously, whoever had taught Finchley to dance had not skipped out on the flashier side of a leading man's responsibilities. Twirled and lifted Polly found herself more often holding on for dear life than proceeding on a shared course. Indeed, the first time he tried to dip her they almost ended up in the coal scuttle and she was forced to order him to tone it down a little. Blushing he apologised profusely and they spent the next song weaving a more sedate path in and out of the jostling bodies. Slowly Polly got her confidence back and they began to add a twirl here and there, Finchley warning her well in advance and collecting her carefully after each procedure. She even allowed him dip her again (after checking the area carefully for unexpected obstructions).
As Polly moved around the room her attention may have been mainly on the difficult task of not stepping on Finchley's feet but she never lost sight of where the vampire sat, the crate to herself now, one knee tucked under her chin. She couldn't be sure who exactly Mal's steady gaze was following, there were various others prancing about and vying for the vampire's amused attention. But non-the-less, whenever Polly glanced over it seemed Mal was always watching her, the corporal breaking into encouraging smiles as soon as their eyes met. There was, however, one moment when she caught Mal unawares. Twirled around in her partner's arms Polly managed to snatch only the merest glimpse as she spun past but what she saw jolted her. For that split second there had been a sadness in the dark eyes, a look almost of yearning, but as soon as she had steadied herself and glanced back she found the slim figure was laughing merrily at her across the floor, the revealing look gone as though it had never been.
~X~
The last patrol of the year was hell itself. Over those two weeks, as a determined suite of blizzards beat about the walls of the watchtower up on the mountain, Mal found herself holding tightly to the memory of that happy evening. Surrounded on all sides by the muttered complaints of her squad mates and suffering an aching loneliness that she could not name the vampire found herself turning again and again to those flickering images. It wasn't as though there were any other pleasant distractions to take up her time. The long nights dragged on and watch after watch she remained shivering at her post, face often screwed up against the driving snow. It was not an experience she would have recommended to anyone but somehow nothing seemed quite so bad when she had the memory of Finchley and Barnett waltzing to warm her heart. Even to herself she couldn't quite admit that it wasn't just the blazing heat thrown out by the fire on that wonderful evening that brought a soft smile to her lips even as the snow melted around her collar and dripped down her neck.
Off duty, they all struggled to sleep in the bitter cold but the few minutes of slumber Mal did snatch were filled with vivid dreams of flickering firelight, spinning shadows and blond curls above a beaming smile that slipped in and out of view as grey forms twirled in the wind. Waking to a cold pallet she could never decide whether such dreams were a blessing or a curse but eventually the patrol drew to an close and as the lads began to speak of their return to the world below she found she didn't care. Dreams were all she could ever hope for down there in the real world and so dreams would have to suffice.
Vampires are a long lived species and over time their memory stores have evolved to hold a great deal more information than the average human. Even so it would be impossible to remember absolutely everything and Mal, as scion of one of the older vampire families, knew this. None-the-less, she swore to do everything in her power to preserve the precious image of Polly twirling in the strong arms of an energetic young Corporal Finchley, their shadows swaying around the walls in the dancing firelight.
The perfectly framed iconograph of Finchley bending Polly delicately backwards, her hair flying loose as she laughed up at him with sparkling eyes, was a treasure Mal vowed to protect against the ravages of time for all time in the secret places of her heart. This she would remember.
~X~
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, this would be the second half (actually now I try and post it, it's too long for two posts as well. Will have to go for three. My apologies).
~X~
Even Polly had to admit the popularity of the gramophone wasn’t completely Mal’s fault.
Snow was falling from a heavy grey sky as a disconsolate sergeant moodily descended the stairs from the upper floor. Upper in more ways than one it contained the suites of power, the Border Patrol's motley collection of commanding officers. That long corridor was home to those whose authority all too often outstripped their meagre intelligence and was known for sending most petitioners away frustrated. Today had been no exception.
Ever since the arrival in late summer of an inventive vampire one particular Supply Clerk had been learning to forget that the Army owned her, body and soul. By hook and by crook the odd couple of Perks and Maladict been able to fool themselves that life in the army didn't always have to mean Rules, Regulations and what Captain Slone persisted in referring to as “Discthipline”. With Latimer on their side they and their ragtag group of non-commissioned officers had carved for themselves a little corner of individuality out here on the forgotten edge of the normally restrictive Borogravian Army.
And then there were days like today that brought it home to her how powerless they all were when you really got down to it.
Polly slumped against a handy alcove. Through the deep windows she could see that the upper snowfields were enshrouded in low cloud, their loss a painful reminder that she had once again been denied a patrol. Somewhere up there a squad was pretending to monitor the border whilst indulging in illicit sledging races and burning their way through the carefully stacked wood stores. Yes, it would probably be cold and wet and terribly uncomfortable but she had wanted to go. She sighed, the solid walls more than usually confining today. Below in the courtyard she could hear Latimer encouraging his longbow trainees. He had managed to get his plan approved, why was re-discovering the art of longbow archery historically familiar to the lower orders more worthy of commendation than her request to make up the numbers on a routine patrol? She rested her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes.
It had not been a productive morning, the captain suffering with a more than usually vindictive hangover. Even with her aforethought to bring a steaming cup of tea it had been an uphill struggle to get him to understand even the simplest of paperwork. Polly herself hadn't been in the most amenable of moods and both had suffered through the meeting with ill grace. All she wanted now was to lock herself in the office and have a good mope over her files. She was definitely not in the mood for Mal's concept of entertainment and frowned as quick ears caught the sound of the corporal bounding her way up stairs.
Catching sight of her quarry slumped in the alcove, Mal halted mid leap to exclaim “There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!”
“Yes, here I am, Mal. Where else would you expect me to be? Where else other than somewhere in this delightfully situated castle, where the wind howls all through the freezing nights with no pity for all the hard-working folk who are trying to sleep?”
Polly had continued her descent, the irritated tirade with associated frustrated gestures accompanying her progress without any obvious ill effects.
“Surely in my role as the one and only supply clerk in the entire border patrol there could be no other place I'd rather be than stuck in this wonderful example of a busy and efficient bureaucratic hub.” The sergeant thought for a second after her brain caught up with her ears and amended the previous statement with a swiftly added, “though if you'd been eavesdropping on the conversation I was lucky enough to share with our illustrious captain this morning you'd find that hard to believe.”
Mal had renewed her boisterous ascent during this tirade and thus it came to pass that the pair met on the second floor landing. Interrupting Polly's rant without any sign of remorse Mal grabbed the sergeant by the arm and tugged urgently in the direction of away.
“Come on, Polly. Time's a wasting!” Not waiting for an answer the vampire spun around and set off back down the flight, taking the steps three at a time. Landing lightly on the first floor landing she sensed something was amiss and turned back. Her face fell as she realised Polly was still waiting where she had been so callously abandoned, halfway down the stairs. “Polly?”
“Where are we going?”
“I can't tell you. Desperately secret mission.” The clipped sentences shot out, Mal's instinctive verbosity reined in by the excitement coursing through her veins. “Come on!”
“What? Why?” Drawn into the adventure, however unwillingly, Polly began to descend the stairs. “What did you do this time?”
Satisfied with Polly's evident capitulation Mal flashed a grin, protested “Nothing! Yet...” and on that ominous epithet disappeared from view along the corridor leading to the supply sergeant's office.
Moving more sedately in her wake Polly found the passageway empty of vampire. However, muffled noises of a frantic search reached her ears from the door worryingly ajar at the far end. Slightly concerned, the sergeant picked up her pace, breaking into a series of muttered threats against untidy members of the undead fraternity. Thus it was that when Mal popped her head back out into the corridor she found Polly a lot closer than anticipated. A pleased smile broke out over her face.
“Where's your coat?”
“Behind the door, where it usually is.” Polly watched warily as Mal disappeared for a second time, re-emerging quickly with Polly's short-coat under one arm. Pulling the door closed behind her the corporal came back up the corridor almost at a run, spun Polly round and began pushing her back the way they had come.
“Mal!” Polly struggled ineffectively against the flow. “My files!”
“Leave them with Ganzfield.” They were snatched from her hand and she could only look on with gaping mouth as Mal ran back down the corridor, opened a different door, thrust the folders at the unflappable Ganzfield and ran back. Finding Polly still standing in exactly same position that Mal had left her in, the vampire growled in frustration and dragged her on towards the Great Hall. “At least put your coat on Polly. It's freezing outside.”
“But where are we going?” Polly managed to stick her arms into her coat sleeves and set about fishing in her pockets for her hat.
“I told you, vital secret mission.” Mal glanced back and had to grin as she caught Polly in the middle of adjusting her head covering. But she could not be distracted for long. Flinging an encouraging arm about Polly's shoulders she urged her onward with a cheery “Now, come ON!”
It quickly became clear that the secret was not hidden within the castle walls. Stumbling through the slush along the slippery road into town the kidnapped sergeant found breath to reiterate her enquiries as to the purpose of their expedition. But Mal was deaf to any attempts of conversation, dragging Polly along by strength of will and seemingly blind to her struggles. However, when the sergeant did eventually slip on a patch of black ice her flailing arm was quickly caught in a strong grasp and Mal held her up until she found her balance again, those dark eyes meeting hers in soft apology. After that Mal did slow her frantic pace a little, slipping her arm through Polly's and keeping it there supportively even after they had reached the cleared paths of the High Street.
Firm ground underfoot at last, it wasn't much longer before they reached their destination and Mal was soon pausing outside Le Fouquet's. Naturally, thought Polly, rolling her eyes. Where else outside the castle would Mal be able to create mayhem without consequence? The owner of Le Fouquet's, mindful of the amount of coffee the corporal could put away had swiftly become her boon companion and his café her safe haven amongst the illiterate hordes. Le Fouquet's were quite nice to Polly too but she could never be sure whether this was merely due to her association with the blessed (if demanding) Corporal Maladict.
“Are you ready?” Dancing eyes met Polly's over tightly bound scarves.
“For what?”
“For this!” And Mal swung wide the door, waving Polly inside.
The warmth provided by the smallish stove backed up by Le Fouquet's ingenious central heating system hit them like the proverbial brick wall and Polly quickly wriggled free from her scarf, throwing it carelessly onto the back of the nearest chair. This didn't completely appease the heat fairies so pulling off her hat and thrusting it into a handy pocket she struggled to undo the buttons of her coat with tingling fingers before adding it to the pile. Liberated at last she strolled towards the bar her eyes darting warily here and there in a quest for anything surprise shaped. Mal, unbearably frustrated by her un-robing antics, had pushed past and Polly followed the slim back that was weaving a hurried course between the smartly laid tables.
Reaching the counter and finding it deserted the vampire called urgently for service, her excitement betrayed in the dancing fingertips subconsciously drumming along the top of the bar. She called again but her demands were answered not the one she sought, it was not Louis but his son, Jean-Paul, who popped his head out of the kitchen to pass on the information that he was making a fresh batch of chocolat and would bring some over for Polly “immédiatement.“ Polly, calm, warm and rapidly improving in her mood as Mal became more and more frustrated, settled her elbows on the bar and smiled her thanks. He gave her a cheerful wink and vanished. Luckily for Mal's rising impatience it was only moments later that his father appeared to take position behind the bar, the ubiquitous towel over his shoulder.
“An espresso M'sieur?” Louis was already turning to the shiny monstrosity behind him but Mal had other things on her mind.
“Mais, attend, mon petit vert chou fleur. J'ai reçu le mot il y avait une livraison pour moi, vous l'avez ici?”
Polly blinked and dropped her gaze to the bar, her fingers tightening unconsciously on the polished wood. Nothing in her varied life had prepared her for the effects of a vampire speaking fluent Quirmian. Polite etiquette aside, people should warn people before they did that. She took a steadying breath and forced herself to relax, folding her hands together in an imitation of calm that even impressed her by its verisimilitude.
Her attention coming back to the room Polly realised she hadn't understood a smidgeon of Mal's (beautifully accented) rattled sentence, her grasp of foreign languages being virtually non-existent despite her extensive travels (Ankh Morpork counted as more than one country surely). But as the proprietor was pointing in the direction of a back table she could decipher that Mal had probably been asking about the eponymous “it”. Following Louis's finger Polly thought she could make out something large on one of the corner tables. Mal had vanished leaving the now intensely confused sergeant to thank the helpful Louis politely before abandoning him to his espresso machine. Behind her the sounds of steam built eagerly and she winced at a particularly loud blast as she weaved her way in Mal's wake.
Absorbed in examining her trophy Mal had upended the sturdy box on the table to squint at the labels and turned to Polly with such a smile of glee that the brave sergeant feared for not only her future sanity, but the survival of the entire fort.
“Mal...” Polly's swiftly composed (yet still highly detailed) statement of the need for caution was brushed to one side before it could get under-way as her target audience, nominally distracted at the best of times, now bounced past her, only one aim in mind.
“Thank you, thank you, Monsieur! Vous êtes superbe, mille bénédictions.”
Louis, ambushed in the act of placing the tiny cup and saucer on a nearby table found himself facing a jubilant vampire who kissed him effusively on both cheeks. Extracting himself with difficulty he slipped away to take refuge behind his bar leaving Polly to enquire for the umpteenth time what exactly was going on.
“Hand over the knife Pol and I'll show you.”
Mal thrust a demanding hand in her direction. The cords that had been wrapped so tightly around the box were thick and even with her strong fingers she couldn’t get in. Polly, still wary, took a long moment to consider withdrawing her co-operation over the lack of information but when it became apparent that Mal was quite willing to bite her way in, the beleaguered sergeant sighed and handed over the pocket knife with a shake of her head.
“This had better be worth it.” Polly hadn't completely used up her reproving comments quota yet. “I'm painfully behind on the requisition lists for this month as it is.”
Mal ignored her and, cutting the cords with a clean stroke, went on to rip eagerly through the paper gummed over the join where the lid sat tightly against the main body of the box. Eventually nothing stood between them and whatever this was but the heavy box itself. There should have been fanfares, Polly thought, perhaps the release of a dove, or at least a few sparrows. Mal, on the other hand, was obviously unaffected by the magnitude of the moment and efficiently hauled off the lid to stand stunned before the prize thus revealed.
“Oh you beauty.” An unholy smile of joy broke over the vampire's face as she scrabbled about amongst the shredded paper shovelling large handfuls over the side in her desire to get at the contents.
“What is it though?” Polly had yet to achieve a state of enlightenment. Looking around she noticed that in addition to this her promised chocolat hadn't arrived. Such evidence that the universe hated them would make anyone cranky.
“Oh, Polly. Staid, reliable Polly.” Mal withdrew her head from the crate to bestow a superior smile upon the befuddled sergeant. “This an abomination such as you have never seen. A terribly wicked thing. They call it a gramophone.” Reaching back inside the packing case she lifted a carved wooden box out onto the table, running a caressing hand over the polished surface.
“A what?”
“A gramophone. When I was in the Bright Young Things[3]...”
“You were busy corrupting the innocent and murdering the general population.”
“Yes, that too. But the music we used to listen to back then, dancing the night away at the Kit Kat Club...” Mal's voice trailed off, suddenly distracted. “Great Armundsen, they've sent some records! Medals all round for service above and beyond the call of duty. I must write to Dyscs[4] and recommend them.”
Ignoring Polly's mounting frustration the corporal delved back into the crate, emerging with her hands full of paper sheaths. “Look, Pol, Chaz Parkin, Betty Smythe, a bit of Partially Sighted Lemon Jefferson and what's this? Ella Fitzgeorge? Fantastic!”
She pushed the jumbled heap into Polly's hands and returned her attention to the box, thereby missing the look of confusion that her sergeant addressed to her new acquisitions.
“Gonna help me set it up, Pol?”
“How?”
Mal paused in her distracted activity, struck by the difficulty of how to explain such complicated machinery to one so completely un-technological. Luckily she was saved from this unenviable task by the entry into the café of a ramshackle collection of youths, numbering amongst themselves the inevitable Barnett and Finchley. After quickly taking in the situation the group made tracks toward the unfolding drama, coming up alongside the table with curiosity bursting from every pore.
“What have you got there, Corp?”
The lowly private's somewhat crude enquiry was not met by the usual scornful glare but rather a look of relief from Mal.
“Thank goodness for little boys.” She was still hauling parts out of the box. “C’mon, give me a hand here.”
The new arrivals were accompanied by a number of willing hands and curious minds were swiftly drawn into what Polly still considered a sort of general madness. Barnett removed the remains of the crate and the others gathered around eagerly to sort through the various parts. Before long the magnificence was exposed for all to see.
“It’s a gramophone.”
“Very observant of you Corporal Finchley, I shall be writing a letter of commendation to your commanding officer.” Mal 's fingers danced amongst the orderly laid out pieces, hovering over a long slender piece coated in some sort of black resin.
“What’s a gramophone?”
“One of these apparently.” Polly smiled graciously on the still confused Barnett. “All I’ve managed to discover so far is that it’s the most terrible variety of abomination and has an insidious effect on vampires similar to the most addictive of drugs ever invented.”
“It’s a way of playing music” Finchley was fastening random examples of wood and beaten metal together with dexterous fingers as he spoke. “They had one in the Big House back home. Banned of course, but that never stopped the Big House folk from doing what they wanted.” He picked through the heaped cogs before selecting the one he wanted.
Mal left him to his task and turned her attention to the records, muttering quietly to herself as she flicked her way through the untidy pile. Polly was left to look on in incomprehension as the carved box grew a flat circular surface, a long arm and some sort of large horn that she couldn't even begin to make sense of in terms of where one might blow into it. Or why.
Before Polly could fully form the question Mal pounced on an otherwise undistinguished paper envelope with glee. Pushing Finchley to one side she placed a black disc on the shiny circular surface and turning the handle at the rear of the device she used her other hand to do something complicated with the fiddly long arm. Music burst out of the air, astounding Polly and filling the café with its richness. It was unlike anything Polly had heard before and she stood opened-mouthed as the tune stole into her ears and began to get down and busy within her hind brain, hot wiring down her spine and setting her feet tapping. It was somewhat disconcerting.
“What is it?” She pulled on Mal's arm, nudging the corporal back from wherever the music had taken her and slowly the vampire responded, dragging open lazy eyes clouded by memory. “Mal! What is it?”
“I told you: a gramophone.”
“No. This. What is this?”
“Oh, this? This is Jazz.” Mal grinned, little devils in her eyes dancing salaciously to the driving beat. “Terribly bad for you and banned almost everywhere but still the only music worth listening to. Why, I recall one year we walked twenty miles after the carriage overturned just to get to Ronald Pict's...[5]”
Emerging back into the present she drew Polly away from the admiring crowd. Finchley willingly took over the manipulation of the driving handle without comment, singing along under his breath as the chorus entered its second reiteration. Resting a hip nonchalantly on one of Louis's perfectly laid table Mal made sure her cuffs were perfectly in place before asking:
“Do you like it then, Pol? Was it a good surprise?”
Polly, turning from where she'd been watching the tableau around the gramophone, caught a glimpse of a tiny flutter of expectant hope lurking deep behind the mischief and felt again that odd sensation curling deep in her belly. Did she like it? Mal had managed to find the one thing that brought freedom no matter how solidly the walls might try to close in. Had found it and had got it (goodness knew what that had entailed) and had then given it away. As the music sang on, carrying Polly's spirits up with it to the rafters, she was struck by a sudden urge to throw grateful arms around her benefactor and show the incorrigible idiot exactly how much she appreciated this stupid, crazy, idea.
But she couldn't. It was stupid to hope that the idiotic vampire had engineered this surprise specifically for a lonely frustrated sergeant. Such daft ideas were only fit to be ignored. It was more likely that the vampire had merely done it to alleviate her own boredom, stuck as she was in a mediocre castle with only the lower ranks of the soldiery to talk to. Caught up in cursing her stupidly over-active imagination Polly realised the original question was still hanging without a reply and she pummelled her speech centres back into gear. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't worth pursuing at the extent of a hard won friendship.
In an off-hand manner Sergeant Perks murmured that she would have to reserve judgement, turning back to check that the foreign music delivery system wasn't having a deleterious effect on the lower ranks. Luckily this answer seemed acceptable to the corporal and hitching herself off the table she corporal returned her attention to the task of preventing Finchley from breaking anything in his over enthusiasm.
Polly, left behind to watch the discussion of technique that sprang up, couldn't know that behind that outer equanimity Mal was struggling with a new sensation someone less sure of themselves would recognise as insecurity. And yet, hesitation or not, the vampire couldn't find it within herself to be sorry. The expression that had burst onto Polly's face as the music began to play had been worth a million confusing thoughts. Mal, hyper aware of the gaze still on her, measured the trouble and frustration of getting the gramophone all the way from Ankh Morpork (including the hiring of a man, two pack-ponies and the difficult invention of an ingenious sling design) and found it worthwhile.
[3] The Bright Young Things, Uberwald's most stylishly dressed club contained the very creme de la creme of the Ramtops young vampire bloods (perhaps not the best description but there you are). Entry was tightly overseen and successful applicants, would only find entry secured by walking across the bridge that crossed the raging River Thyng in Uberwald at high noon.
Most did it in a coat and hat. The best of fashion naturally, but still protected against the elements. Mal did it bareheaded and in shirtsleeves on a Tuesday in late spring.
Of course she'd been practising in secret since the depths of winter, slowly acclimatising her skin to the thin sun and then persisting as it grew stronger. But no one else had to know that as she picked her way delicately along the parapet (never one to diminish the chance for showing off). Stopping in the centre of the bridge she had tucked her cane under one arm and calmly lit a cigarette, blowing a satisfied smoke ring as the clock over the market place struck noon.
The sunburn that kept her in bed for two days and the migraine that accompanied it were put down to too much celebration and the pair of delicious twins she had persuaded to support her home in the post-party goodbyes.
[4] Dyscs: All the Discs on the Dysc. Ask us about vynll.
[5] Tourism for London requests that I inform non-natives that Jazz clubs other than Ronnie Scott's can be found in our fair capital. Always remember to do your own research and use a registered cab company to get home. Oh, and don't drink the absinthe. Mind The Gap.
~X~
The gramophone enjoyed a majestic reign at Le Fouquet's for the next few days, Mal sneaking down to worship it as often as possible. However, once she had scouted the best line of attack and had plotted the times when she could be certain the coast was relatively clear she informed Polly that it was time to bring the beauty home. Naturally the 'staid' and 'boring' Sergeant Perks (Mal's words) disagreed. However, despite Polly's extensive sabotage tactics and most strenuous efforts of distraction Mal managed to persuade a subset of the available soldiery that it was their bounded duty to help sneak the gramophone into the castle. In fairness it was a good speech. Polly was left to trail behind the rabble as they snuck down into the town and as Mal's self-designated “genius plan” came to victorious fruition, nothing remained for the vanquished sergeant to do but sigh and skulk in the background as the procession wound its way home across the bridge with much rejoicing.
Forced to call on the array of skills she'd been induced into developing since the vampire had slunk back into her life Polly found the strength to be gracious in the face of defeat. She even allowed Mal to persuade her that the item in question should be hidden in her office away from prying eyes. The corporal really was getting much better at those pleading eyes.
Once installed, word quickly spread through the castle of the latest abomination that the blasted vampire had introduced into their lives. The response was generally positive, young men knocking on Polly's door with a hopeful look in their eyes and a polite request to look at the instrument in question. Of course, some were less well-mannered: young Finchley (who had fallen in love with the gramophone at first sight) stole it away at every opportunity. But despite the combined efforts of the entire fort to play with her new toy Mal did manage to occasionally get her hands on what was essentially her own property. It did, however, take all her powers of persuasion, including lying, whining and on one occasion theft. Though, as she explained to Polly when she raced into the office and hid with it in her arms under the desk, it was hers to steal.
Every week new records arrived wrapped in thick white paper and cardboard (the post was coming through in dribs and drabs despite the weather). Slipping into the supply office with a package under her arm and an eager glint in her eye, Mal would wait only for the beginning of a permissive nod before dragging the gramophone out and installing it on the rug before the hearth. Seated there with the fire at her back, one knee casually tucked under chin she would set about introducing Polly to the joys of swing, guiding her through the foothills of close harmonies and mountainous peaks of complicated syncopation. On one rare occasion a special parcel arrived all the way from Quirm and they had an educational detour into counterpoint and the symphonic harmonies found in a Swedehoven sonata.
These quickly became times to treasure, one step removed from the dreary routine of Border life that attacked them at every turn. Polly, working industriously at her ledgers, found herself glancing up from time to time with a quiet smile at the vampire sprawled across her easy chair, one leg thrown absent-mindedly over an upholstered arm. Mal was generally too caught up in the intricacies of her abominable toy but on rare occasions some strange awareness would act to prompt her of the sergeant's amused gaze and she would raise her head to meet it with an answering soft smile of her own.
Time, racing past so quickly as the weather beat against the cold stone of the fort's defences, slowed down for them on those lazy afternoons. Polly thought sometimes that this was almost too perfect, a small flicker of fear at the back of her mind wondering exactly what she had done to deserve such happiness and exactly when and how the universe might be expecting payment. But in general her thoughts ran on far more gladdening lines, about how it was better to live content in the moment and enjoy any gift received, no matter how small. The army was very insistent about teaching you that lesson and she had learnt it well.
Outwardly unburdened by such problems Mal happily picked her way through her now extensive collection, playing record after record as the fire crackled and spat at her back. There were even rare occasions when she forget her audience enough to break into quiet song as the discs spun on beside her. As the weeks passed Polly found that she was also humming these unnamed tunes as she went about her daily tasks. It was somewhat disconcerting, especially when the Captain found her doing the soft shoe shuffle to “On top of the world” by The Wood-shapers along an upper level corridor.
On one otherwise unremarkable Saturday night Finchley finally persuaded Mal to allow him to bring the abomination to the card game. Hogswatch was fast approaching and as the 'uncivilised savage festival' was an abhorrence to any orthodox follower of the Nugganic church, the entire fort was naturally looking forward to it with great excitement. On the morrow the last patrol before the celebration would set out for the high snow fields and as Mal had been selected for this great honour she was more than willing to be distracted by some sort of party. Where Mal led everyone else by now was more than willing to follow and so it was that the protests of the more dour members of the group were overruled without much argument. Under confused direction the table in the guardroom was pushed back to open up a minuscule area of bare boards which was generously declared to be the dance floor.
Mal, refusing to give up control of her precious possession, found them a lively tune and it quickly became apparent that what the mingled soldiery sorely lacked in skill, they were more than willing to make up for in eager enthusiasm. Caught out by their antics Polly saved herself with a discreet coughing fit before hurriedly hiding her laughter behind a decorous handkerchief. When she had regained her composure and could once again lift her head it was to the awe inspiring sight of Finchley surprising them all with a previously unsuspected hidden talent for leading out the ladies. To Mal's undisguised amusement he was forced to demonstrate this skill with Barnett (the Border Boys being somewhat lacking in persons of an admitted female nature).
Eventually, her capacity for the manual labour of turning the handle exceeded, Mal handed over the operation of the gramophone to another. Scowling in response to Polly's amused commentary (via eyebrow and expressive smirk) the corporal retreated to the calmer waters of the room's perimeter. Polly followed willingly and they gravitated automatically to the card table around which sat the select few who did not dance. Squashed into the dark corner these shining examples of dignity looked down upon the prevailing jollity as a Morningside spinster might address the antics of a troop of Bonobos in full swing. Kettering was dealing and as Mal hovered over the shoulders of those lucky enough to snatch a seat amongst the lack of space, he indicated with a wave of the hand that vampires were not welcome this evening. Unusually refraining for once Mal nodded and bowing to the ring of deeply serious players she drifted on, Polly at her heels. They happened upon an unclaimed stores crate left against the wall by some undisciplined youth and after a short but frank discussion on precedence and relative needs with regards to space they settled comfortably to observe the scene.
Finchley had of course asked for Polly's hand during the long and complicated processes that had been necessary to get Mal to release the precious gramophone into the rowdy environment of the guardroom. She had refused him, all sixteen times. However, before long he became forgetful and despite the past evidence of her unwillingness to walk the boards with him he bounced over to try again. The fact he had by now exhausted and comprehensively embarrassed Barnett may have contributed to his unwise persistence. Sadly for him, Polly was perfectly happy on her crate and said so, each time waving him back to the dance with a cheerful smile. Left in peace she returned to her previous and most pleasant position, leaning comfortably against Mal's shoulder as the sharp barbs of the vampire's murmured commentary on the prancing couples were dropped sweetly into her ear.
Surprisingly it was Goldhawk who won her hand first. He'd brought them refreshment from time to time, standing beside them in their little corner and both had come to look upon his approaches as a welcome addition to their evening. However, this time he had something different on his mind and bowing low as the music flowed into a more familiar vein he offered himself as partner for the folk dance they were trying to set up with great difficulty in the small space available. Polly, tempted by the lively rhythms, looked to Mal for aid but found none as her helpmate merely leant back against the wall and reaching into her pocket for her tobacco pouch indicated the dance floor with a negligent wave of the hand.
Goldhawk was a good partner, skilled and considerate and Polly had so much fun that when the dance was over and she turned from thanking him to find Finchley at her elbow she threw caution to the winds. As she was dragged away through the throng she cast the distinguished sergeant an apologetic look over her shoulder but was rewarded by a shake of the head and a smile of genuine amusement at her ambush. Fun wasn't quite the word for what happened next. Obviously, whoever had taught Finchley to dance had not skipped out on the flashier side of a leading man's responsibilities. Twirled and lifted Polly found herself more often holding on for dear life than proceeding on a shared course. Indeed, the first time he tried to dip her they almost ended up in the coal scuttle and she was forced to order him to tone it down a little. Blushing he apologised profusely and they spent the next song weaving a more sedate path in and out of the jostling bodies. Slowly Polly got her confidence back and they began to add a twirl here and there, Finchley warning her well in advance and collecting her carefully after each procedure. She even allowed him dip her again (after checking the area carefully for unexpected obstructions).
As Polly moved around the room her attention may have been mainly on the difficult task of not stepping on Finchley's feet but she never lost sight of where the vampire sat, the crate to herself now, one knee tucked under her chin. She couldn't be sure who exactly Mal's steady gaze was following, there were various others prancing about and vying for the vampire's amused attention. But non-the-less, whenever Polly glanced over it seemed Mal was always watching her, the corporal breaking into encouraging smiles as soon as their eyes met. There was, however, one moment when she caught Mal unawares. Twirled around in her partner's arms Polly managed to snatch only the merest glimpse as she spun past but what she saw jolted her. For that split second there had been a sadness in the dark eyes, a look almost of yearning, but as soon as she had steadied herself and glanced back she found the slim figure was laughing merrily at her across the floor, the revealing look gone as though it had never been.
~X~
The last patrol of the year was hell itself. Over those two weeks, as a determined suite of blizzards beat about the walls of the watchtower up on the mountain, Mal found herself holding tightly to the memory of that happy evening. Surrounded on all sides by the muttered complaints of her squad mates and suffering an aching loneliness that she could not name the vampire found herself turning again and again to those flickering images. It wasn't as though there were any other pleasant distractions to take up her time. The long nights dragged on and watch after watch she remained shivering at her post, face often screwed up against the driving snow. It was not an experience she would have recommended to anyone but somehow nothing seemed quite so bad when she had the memory of Finchley and Barnett waltzing to warm her heart. Even to herself she couldn't quite admit that it wasn't just the blazing heat thrown out by the fire on that wonderful evening that brought a soft smile to her lips even as the snow melted around her collar and dripped down her neck.
Off duty, they all struggled to sleep in the bitter cold but the few minutes of slumber Mal did snatch were filled with vivid dreams of flickering firelight, spinning shadows and blond curls above a beaming smile that slipped in and out of view as grey forms twirled in the wind. Waking to a cold pallet she could never decide whether such dreams were a blessing or a curse but eventually the patrol drew to an close and as the lads began to speak of their return to the world below she found she didn't care. Dreams were all she could ever hope for down there in the real world and so dreams would have to suffice.
Vampires are a long lived species and over time their memory stores have evolved to hold a great deal more information than the average human. Even so it would be impossible to remember absolutely everything and Mal, as scion of one of the older vampire families, knew this. None-the-less, she swore to do everything in her power to preserve the precious image of Polly twirling in the strong arms of an energetic young Corporal Finchley, their shadows swaying around the walls in the dancing firelight.
The perfectly framed iconograph of Finchley bending Polly delicately backwards, her hair flying loose as she laughed up at him with sparkling eyes, was a treasure Mal vowed to protect against the ravages of time for all time in the secret places of her heart. This she would remember.
~X~