Plogviehze, Baby: 10/14
Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Won't be around much until next week (...exams. Ugh), but I did sort of promise to update more often than weekly, so here we go, chapter ten, in which the heroic twosome finally gets to sort some things out.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 10
Mal got to her feet, steadying herself on the windowsill. Not bothering to look outside, she swiftly closed the window. They locked eyes for a moment, and Polly opened her mouth to reply, to desperately deny that no, she wouldn't fit in here, she was outraged at the very idea -
"I apologise," said Mal. "Get your things, will you?"
There was a knock on the door.
"Mal -"
Mal raised a finger to her lips. "I know who that is," she said. "Don't say a word."
Polly worried, though. Mal folded up the collar of her black cloak and drew a hand through tangled black hair. She looked worse than Polly had ever seen her, except maybe as Maladicta, and given that Polly was quite eager on wiping that particular image from her memory, that didn't exactly count. Mal's face was drained of all colour, now, her eyes puffy, shadowed, her movements lacked any of their previous lightness as she walked over to the door and opened it.
There was a bit of mumbling. Polly didn't look over much, she was glad to be quite concealed in a dark corner of the room, but still strained her ears to listen.
"I found Hypovolemia," said the voice of Benedict. "Look, I'm - what happened?"
"Nothing," said Mal, and there was an edge to her voice.
"Yeah, right. Try again."
He knew, Polly thought. He knew and didn't do anything, so maybe this kind of general insanity was perceived as normal in vampire society. It scared her. Pretty much everything did, right now.
"Did you know they'd send Molly here as bait?" asked Mal sharply. "It was so fucking amusing the first time around, yes?"
"No," said Benedict. "I'm not into that kind of family entertainment."
"It certainly makes more sense than all the other conspirational theories I came up with," said Mal. She dragged a nervous hand through her hair. "You did bring us here in the first place, you know? You must admit that's a little suspect."
"I only had family reunion and general feelings of goodwill in mind," said Benedict.
"And can you say that again while keeping a straight face?"
There was no answer, just an innocent smile and some of that silent understanding that Polly wasn't even attempting to analyse, and it made them drop the subject.
"Why are you here?" said Mal finally.
"Saying goodbye," said Benedict. "I take it you're leaving the madhouse?"
"An amazing deduction," said Mal. "How the hell did you work that one out?"
Pause. "Female intuition?"
"Want to have something thrown at you?"
It didn't sound like siblings' banter, it was far too tired for that, if Polly was any judge. But it seemed an honest attempt.
"I'm leaving myself, tonight," said Benedict, "'s gonna be morning soon. That one's for you."
He got something out of his pocket and pressed it into Mal's hands. Polly craned her neck to see what it was, to no avail.
"Oh, good," said Mal, and slipped it into her jacket. "Will you pass Munz on your way?" she added, moving across the room to the pack to get something out of it. She looked at Polly for a moment, then looked away.
"I might be," said Benedict. "Why?"
"Got a letter to deliver," said Mal. "Address is on the front. Don't bite anyone."
"Sure thing," said Benedict, taking the letter and something else from her hands. "Hey, what's this?"
"Leaflet," said Mal. "Just in case you're up to a bit of adventure. They've got nice cocoa." Polly nearly heard her grinning.
"Temperance League," read Benedict. "Come and see the daylight. Mal, you great big sap. Call me superficial, but I'm not going to join anything that has cheerful orange and green leaflets."
"Ecnarepmet Itna should be safe from you then," said Mal. "Theirs are a very ghastly shade of purple."
"Goes nice with black, that's all I'm saying," said Benedict.
There was a moment, and a look, and then Mal pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Red goes nice with black," she mumbled. "Purple doesn't. Purple doesn't go nice with anything."
"And that from someone who's wearing ivory and scarlet. I was young and stupid when I thought that looked good, Mal, dear," said Benedict. "Promise you'll be careful?"
"'course," said Mal. "'s my middle name, careful."
There was a pause, in which they were just standing there, and then Benedict said, "I remember. What was our mother thinking?"
"Might have been preemptive revenge," said Mal. "Teeth, remember?"
"Damn, I'm glad I'm not a -"
"Out," said Mal. "I hate drawn-out goodbyes. And don't you dare complete that sentence." She ruffled his hair, and he flattened it again, and all was good in the land of elegance.
And then, just for a moment, he was staring directly at Polly, and that was when Polly thought it had all been a farce and he was going to kill her, after all, but no. His face cracked into a thin smile, and he settled for an ironic salute. Exit Benedict. Thank gods.
There were a lot of things queuing up for Polly's tongue right now, but what emerged first was, "Maladicta Careful van der Zülln?"
"There's twenty-four names before that," said Mal. "I think Mum got bored, personally. Vampires like a bit of playing spot the odd-one-out at weddings and such."
"Has that ever been a topic?" asked Polly. "Wedding, I mean."
"What, mine?" asked Mal. "'course not. 's not my style, getting married and suchlike."
"... Ah," said Polly. It shouldn't have relieved her the way it did, but after a night like this, the existence of a dark and handsome husband and seven neurotic children would have been the final goddamn straw, "Who's the letter to, then?"
Mal looked away. She slowly took the black ribbon off her waistcoat and then began wriggling herself out of assorted layers of clothing, putting the wrapped arrow aside.
"Shufti," she said.
Damn, thought Polly. Did you have to wait until you were in your underwear before telling me? And then she thought, oh dear, when she realised something. Shufti and Paul and her father -
"They must have received my death notification by now," said Polly. At least her name was short enough to fit into the blank, she thought numbly.
"That's why I was writing," said Mal. "I dropped her a note to tell her you were, you know, alive and it was all a big misunderstanding."
She was putting on her old clothes now, army breeches and the ruffly shirt from the inn.
"You realise that I should have been the one to do that," said Polly softly. "I didn't even think of it."
"Yeah, well," said Mal, pinning the ribbon back into place, "you were a bit preoccupied."
"So were you," said Polly. "And it's not even your family. You've made me a monster, Mal."
Mal was dragging her hands through her hair, repeatedly and to no avail. Her look still completely surpassed deshabille, becoming something else entirely.
"Spare me your self-pity," she said, looking up. "Nobody's been distributed so far. You forgot to write home, Polly. Hardly the same."
"See, I told you that you don't get the human thing," said Polly, as Mal was calmly putting on her boots. "We write home regularly. We don't say 'good' when we hear daddy's been eaten. We certainly don't form extremist groups just 'cause a bunch of tree-huggers have gone on an environment-friendly diet."
"Ha," said Mal. "You've been to the battlefields, Polly. Tell me again that humans don't do death. They are as good at death as vampires are at stupid."
"Er," said Polly, and paused to think. "Why say stupid when sociopathic, nutty and arrogant all do the job?"
"Stupid," said Mal. "You'd think they'd be glad about less competition, but no, let's just shoot everyone. Just like humans, in a way."
Polly thought for a while. It was ugly, yes. She had rejoined the army with a notebook full of addresses and a head full of good intentions, and had got caught up in routine and then in a court martial, because it seemed the army didn't like pacifism. No more writing to journalists for her. Instead, she'd been rounding up new recruits, and there were always some to be round up, even now, and she was always hoping, just hoping she'd get into a position to do something.
And then, there were battles, and there was Mal, who bore the craziness with her, and somewhere along the way something -
- cracked. Just like that.
"What the hell did you write?" she asked.
"The truth," said Mal, shrugging, but Polly had been sergeant for too long.
"Okay," she said. "Lemme rephrase. What did you leave out?"
"Everything that would have made Shufti come after me with blazing torches and suchlike," said Mal. "Thought I'd leave the best parts for later. Now, can you please get a move on?"
"Oh," said Polly. "Yeah, I suppose." She got up from the bed to collect various clothing items from the floor. Mal was eating coffee beans again as Polly stripped, succeeding in getting off the impossible shawl thing and the waistcoat and the frock, only running into a dead end with -
Oh no, she thought. Mal looked up.
Without a comment, she came over to help with the buttons. Polly was impressed. Mal was quick and efficient in opening the rows of tiny buttons on the sleeves of her shirt and on the gloves, even though her hands were shaking.
"Wow," said Polly, not thinking much at this moment. "You're really good at helping people out of their clothes."
There was a silence that made Polly distinctly uncomfortable. "Er," she volunteered after a moment, and that made it worse. A hole in the ground would have been perfect.
"Yes," said Mal.
Well, thought Polly. It wasn't as if this was unexpected. Mal returned to her coffee bag, and she returned to undressing, and this was all wrong.
Polly put on the woolly socks over the silk stockings, because she so wasn't going to let Mal help with those now. She put on the army breeches, and her boots, and the polka-dotted atrocity of a shirt, and her jacket. Much better now.
All the while, Mal was leaning against the wall, looking tired and stressed out and not fit for great heaps of snow, and Polly realised this was sort of entirely her fault.
"Mal -" she began.
Mal looked up. "I am over two hundred years old, Polly," she said. "What did you expect?"
"I -," began Polly, and stopped. This so didn't fall under the category of not talking about things. "I didn't think much about that, to be honest." Well, thought Polly, maybe not entirely honest. More like completely dishonest, to be honest. Damn.
"Ah," said Mal, and then said nothing.
"Don't you get uncomfortable now," said Polly, "I've got enough uncomfortable for the both of us. For once, I'm really sorry I tried to, you know, push you out of the window."
"It's a vampire thing," said Mal. "Find the enemy's weak spot. And of course, windows are popular in general."
Polly groaned. "You're not supposed to be my enemy," she said. And I'm not supposed to be a vampire, a part of her brain added. "You are once again not getting my inner turmoil, to say it in your words."
"I think I am, in fact, getting your inner turmoil this time, and then some," said Mal, while Polly's brain formed itself into one single giant whoops. "And I practically volunteered for that sort of thing," she added. "Maybe we shouldn't have waited that long. Would have been a bit less painful, maybe."
"Ack," said Polly. "Sorry. I -"
"What made you stop?"
"Er," said Polly. "It's all a bit hazy, really. I think you looked like - like Maladicta for a while, and then you didn't," and this is all very surreal, "and then you, er, tasted like coffee, and by that point I guess I was too confused to, you know, carry on."
Mal nodded her head, slowly. "Explains a lot." And then, her face lit up a little. "I taste like coffee?"
"Er," said Polly. "A bit. You know. It's only to be expected."
She walked over over to where Mal was standing and still eating coffee beans. Behind her, she could see the first light of the morning sun through the thankfully closed window.
"Try them," said Mal, offering her the coffee bag. "You've got to find yourself a substitute soon, anyway. Coffee's not too bad."
Polly carefully took one. She would have tried anything right now, if only to get the metallic taste out of her mouth. The bean cracked under her teeth. Mal was right, she thought, it really wasn't bad; bitter, but not too much so, and warm, and tasting of - Mal.
She swallowed. Well.
"How do you feel, Mal?" she asked.
"Better than last time," said Mal. "Honestly. Not great, but reasonably capable of dealing with great big heaps of snow. Speaking of which, we should hurry. As much as I enjoy conversation."
"Speaking of great big heaps of snow, and of being reasonable," said Polly, "do you think people would mind terribly if we nicked a coach and horses, after all?"
"Yeah, they would," said Mal, a sly grin playing on her lips. "That's a really great idea, Polly. Let's get going, then." She moved from her lounging spot and, Polly saw it, nearly collapsed. Polly held her up until she was reasonably steady, and then let go, or at least, she tried to.
"Er," said Mal. "Could you maybe just hold me for a while?"
Polly couldn't believe her ears. "Why would you want that?" she asked.
"Because," said Mal, "I feel a bit unwell. Thank you all the same."
"Oh," said Polly. "All right, then."
She closed her eyes, and picked up things, the way Mal's heartbeat seemed all tired and confused, quick and without any real pressure behind it; the way her breathing seemed flat; the way her arms were around Polly as if she was drowning, and not quite sure how to prevent that. The way her skin was so cold, and it was al Polly's fault.
"Liar," Polly whispered. "You're not fit for anything."
"I can deal," said Mal, and then she said nothing more. Polly carefully let her hand stroke over the back of Mal's neck, then her hair, then her face. Not crying; Mal never was, no matter how crazy things got. But one might have got the impression that she wanted to.
"D'you suppose they'll be after us?" asked Polly, finally, when all had been taken care of.
"Not until tonight," said Mal. "They're traditional. We can make some way before then."
By now, sunlight was streaming through the window. Polly picked up the pack while Mal was staring at the piece of paper Benedict had given her, brows furrowed, and when they were ready to leave, she crumpled it and put in in her pocket.
-
Any change of scenery was welcome after the castle, and so Polly did her best to enjoy the cool, windy winter morning that awaited them. She succeeded for almost half an hour before she was back to brooding. Holding on to the reins with frozen fingers, she wished she had brought the impossible satin gloves after all, buttons be damned.
She was alone in the coachman's seat, the reasons being, one, Mal was sleeping inside the coach, which was probably best for everyone concerned, and two, the horses were terrified of her. It was a vampire thing, she had explained. Horses were okay with Igors, but never with vampires.
And Polly? Still too human, probably. This should have cheered her up. It didn't, because it was snowing again. The multiverse was one mean bastard. Or many, same thing.
The silence was getting to her. It was strange, thought Polly. They had spent a week with only each other to talk to, if you didn't count a bunch of bloody crazy vampires - wait, make that other bloody crazy vampires -, and Polly didn't. Still, it was only on a rare occasion that she'd had more than five minutes to herself, and while it did help her think straight, it also made her feel incredibly uneasy.
They were two, and they'd only had each other for quite a while now, which implied all kinds of cozy buddy stuff, but really it only boiled down to one thing: there was only one person in the whole of the Ramtops who was near enough to be shouted at, strangled (kissed). It wasn't really anything personal, but it should have been. Shouting and strangling and kissing shouldn't all be so damn random.
Snowflakes were settling in her hair.
Unhealthy, that was it. If you had just attempted to throw somebody out of the window, you sure as hell weren't qualified to hold them the next minute, even if it felt sort of good. Especially if it felt sort of good. And if you just had almost been thrown out of a window, you sure as hell shouldn't seek comfort in the one who did the throwing, 'cos that was just as messed up.
And then there was the thing they weren't talking about, months ago, when Polly had said "You realise this doesn't mean anything?", and Mal had cracked a smile, and said, "I do," and gone on with the kissing, had, in fact, gone on with it several times, because things never affected her the way they affected Polly, just like the battlefields didn't touch her, either.
They'd buried some of their own lads. Afterwards, Mal had been drinking coffee, leaving the orientation lecture to Polly. And, strangest of all, there was something comforting about the way Mal remained untouched through all of this, because it meant there was a way to live through the madness without cracking. Polly had tried to be like that, and it had almost worked.
Which was, of course, a lie.
She heard Mal stirring inside the coach, then waking, than moving about for several minutes. Polly tried to talk the horses into slowing down somewhat, just in case. Not that they listened or anything.
The coach door opened while they were still skipping merrily ahead.
"Damn, Mal, you could have just asked me to stop," she called through the wind and the snow. Well, she could have asked, really, Polly thought, eyeing the unimpressed horses in front of her.
"Don't worry," came the reply. "Done this... ah... a thousand times."
"Literally?"
Mal was climbing alongside the coach, holding on to bits and pieces of the highly decorated vehicle, then swinging herself into the coachman's seat next to Polly.
"Of course not," she said. "More like twice."
"Ah," said Polly. "So your career as a highwayman was short-lived, then?"
"Well," said Mal, grinning, and said nothing more. She was holding - and Polly tried not to stare here - a steaming mug filled with coffee. Actually, she was trying to put it down on the seat next to her, which would have been a terrible waste. The road was too bumpy.
"It pains me to watch that," said Polly.
"Watch the road, then?"
"Just let me hold it," said Polly as exasperation took over. She could easily hold the reins with just one hand, although the horses, she noticed, were already getting uncomfortable. Polly figured there was no direction to run away to for them but straight ahead, on account of there being walls of snow to their left and and a river to their right, and even if they did, the coach would still be attached to them, so all was good.
Polly was not a horse person, except when it came to scubbo and helping inebriated patrons, or Blouse, into the saddle.
"What was it you wanted?" she asked.
"Lean a bit forward, will you?" asked Mal, and Polly felt her draping a woolly blanket over her shoulders, careful to also cover her neck and arms, and tucking it in. Polly nearly spilt some of the coffee, but that was something you just tended to avoid around Mal, carefully so.
"Figured you were cold," said Mal while wrapping her own cloak tighter around herself.
"I was," said Polly. "Thanks."
For a while, nobody said a word, and Mal leaned against Polly, head on her shoulder, sipping coffee all the while. It looked a little uncomfortable, but Polly had once seen Mal drinking coffee while hanging upside down in a cellar. This shouldn't pose a problem, not for Mal.
The scent of it filled Polly's senses, but in a good way, a homely way. A sunday morning in The Duchess, making coffee for some of the more eccentric guests, back when the world had seemed entirely figurable. Only, Polly remembered there was milk involved, and sometimes sugar, even whipped cream. They had none of that here.
"Want some?" asked Mal.
Polly supposed there was no harm in trying. "Okay then," she said.
The mug was raised to her lips and she tilted her head just so and, Polly thought, something like this shouldn't work without any spilling, but it did. Mal was good with coffee.
The taste was just like coffee beans, only hot, and liquid and really, not bad at all.
"Like that?" asked Mal.
"It's okay, I guess," said Polly. "Nothing to write home about." Whoops. Polly figured she was a bit preoccupied with past events. "Have we decided upon a route yet?" she added.
"Probably best to just follow the river," said Mal. "There's bound to be villages and stuff. I do not know a terrible lot about horses, but I suspect there's feeding involved every once in a while."
"Yeah," said Polly. "Same with us. That's a problem, right?"
"Probably," said Mal. "If I remember folklore right, you should be all right with solid food for the next few days, though. Maybe we can even make it to Ankh-Morpork." She paused. "Of course, there's always the situation on the coffee front. Sorry about that."
"Right," said Polly. "You've got quite the easy-going attitude about other people's lives, Mal."
"Yeah, right, I'm a soldier," said Mal. There was an edge in her voice that Polly hadn't detected before. "Anyway, I promise you you're not going to bite people if I can help it."
Yeah, thought Polly, except when you're getting needy yourself. She'd seen it happen.
"What was that bit about bein' a soldier?" she asked.
"You know," said Mal, almost absent-mindedly taking Polly's right hand and closing it around the coffee mug for warmth. "I've been thinking, Polly."
"That's great," said Polly. "What is it, Mal?"
Mal lifted her head to look up to Polly.
"I won't be coming back to Borogravia with you," she said.
There was nothing to say here, so Polly concentrated on the white around her.
"Why?" she asked after a while.
"I was planning on deserting anyway," said Mal.
"Are you quite sure about this?" asked Polly.
"To be entirely honest, I'd have packed up a year ago if it hadn't been for -"
"For what?" asked Polly.
"Nothing," said Mal.
Staring straight ahead, Polly managed to lift the eyebrow closer to Mal. A new-found talent, she realised.
"What I mean is," said Mal, "a month ago we were fighting for a town that was completely abandoned to begin with, and as soon as we had won, some complete genius had us burn it down so the enemy wouldn't bother to reclaim it. We're fighting for dead land, Pol."
"I know that," said Polly. "But as long as we're trying to -"
"We're not allowed to even talk to anyone outside the army," said Mal. "Our great and cunning plan has failed, and somehow I can't bring myself to care anymore."
"... Okay," said Polly.
That was it, then. Nobody left from the original squad now, except her, and she'd have to figure out how to go on alone, and... okay.
She wasn't sure how to go about that. During the last few weeks before that battle, she'd hardly found enough energy inside her to properly shout at the lads, and lads needed a good shouting every now and then, to remind them they were in the army. Not that they needed reminding, it was just -
- everyday insanity. It was expected.
"You needn't return to the army," said Polly. "They can be a little one-dimensional, they won't be figuring the stake-and-knife thing out anytime soon. What's wrong with Borogravia? Apart from the obvious?"
"I thought the obvious was already a pretty good reason never to come back," pointed Mal out. "The League Whose Name Cannot Be Pronounced needs looking into, and that'll fulfill my superhero quota for a few years." A pause, and softly, "I've got a few names."
"How many?" asked Polly.
Mal hesitated, looking away, her hand halfway to the pocket of her cloak.
"Benedict gave me a list," she said.
"So he's on our side, then?"
"I suppose," said Mal. "I don't know. He probably doesn't care much either way, or wouldn't if I wasn't involved."
"That's a good thing to know," said Polly, "considering you sent him to my family."
"Oh, he won't bite anyone," said Mal. "Fun fact about vampires. I'm older than him, he won't hurt those under my protection. Neat, huh?"
"Vampirism is getting weirder by the minute," said Polly. "How convenient. Are you going to hunt them down, or something?"
"Who?"
"The names," said Polly. "I mean, it's probably none of my business, but that might be a little dangerous, I suppose."
"Er," said Mal. "I was planning to go public first. Nothing wrong with recycling good ideas, right?" She flashed a smile.
"Yeah," said Polly. "Now, don't get me wrong, but vampires are used to bad publicity. Do you really think anyone would care?"
Mal shrugged. "Quickest way to warn Black Ribboners. They like the newspaper with their cocoa and scone."
"And after that?" asked Polly, thinking: great idea, Mal. Throw stones at the wasps' nest. See if I care.
"I dunno," said Mal from somewhere at Polly's shoulder. "I hear Uberwald's pretty in the springtime."
Crivens, thought Polly. Did your mother not teach you anything about taking care of yourself, not walk the streets at night - um -, or anything along those lines, Maladicta Careful van der Zülln?
Well, probably not, but -
"You realise that's suicide," she said.
From a nearby tree, a bird leapt. The old snow crunched under the wheels of the carriage, and there was Mal just next to her, being all fragile all of a sudden. Daft ideas didn't stop being daft ideas just because you were almost immortal.
"I'm on their blacklist anyway," said Mal. "Or whitelist, I dunno. And I can't help but point out, Polly, that soldiering is generally considered anything but healthy."
"I know," said Polly. "About that -"
Polly looked over. She knew Mal wouldn't like it.
"... What is it, Polly?" she asked, rather reluctantly.
"Mal, I have got to ask," said Polly. "I'm sorry. Why did you bite me?"
For a while, there was only silence, while Mal leaned back into the seat, sipping coffee.
"I already tried to explain this," she said, after a while. "Several times, Polly. It's pointless to ask if you're not going to believe what I say."
"I know what you told me," said Polly. "About Death and scythes and such, but - "
"You don't remember that, so what difference does it make?" said Mal, "I could tell you anything and you won't believe that either."
"I don't remember a single thing," said Polly, "but I, um," a pause, because this was harder to admit than she'd thought, "I think I might start to believe you. Clearly, I must have lost my mind, but -"
One the back of one of the horses, Tiny Death gave a Tiny Snicker. Polly noticed Mal was looking at her, before following her glance.
Mal blinked, and looked again.
"I see," she said.
"But that was all a friendly chat over tea with a personified concept," said Polly. "You told me I asked you to, you know, and you told me about the reaper man being, in your words, unreasonable, but I still don't know why you acted on that."
There was another pause.
"Mal?" she volunteered.
"I don't get humans," said Mal, still staring at the tiny black-clad figure on the horse's back. "It's like this... er, we as a species have... Polly, this is a little embarrassing, okay? We're... afraid of death. There. That's why we can be killed. We can get used to sunlight by telling ourselves it won't hurt us, and yet a camera flash kills us because it doesn't leave us time for logical thought. We just panic."
Tiny Death lifted its scythe in what an overly tired brain might have interpreted as a salute. It vanished in a Tiny Flash of blue light.
"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" asked Polly.
"I'm coming to that," said Mal. "We do not get on well with the reaper man. He doesn't like us because he feels we're wasting his time, and we don't like him because... we don't like him. And I thought -," her voice trailed off.
"You thought?"
"I thought it was the same for humans," said Mal softly. "I thought, what with humans being so delicate all the time and dying left and right and centre, they must be deadly afraid of... er... they must be afraid of death, and it turns out they aren't, you aren't, I mean, and I didn't know. I never thought you'd choose death over life as a vampire, and now you keep telling me you would."
Mal paused.
"I realise I should have guessed," she added, "what with having spent enough time around you to know that you're not afraid of much of anything. I should have known your... request was out of panic, which isn't the same as fear at all. I'm sorry."
That is how you see me? thought Polly. And you've known me for how long?
"But we are afraid," she said, "I am afraid. Was, at least. I'm a soldier, Mal, and most of the time I was scared shitless. You know that."
"That's different," said Mal, "that's being afraid of dying, rather than death. Which is really quite sensible, considering that most of the time it hurts a lot."
"You're picking at semantics there," said Polly.
"Hardly," said Mal.
"What does it matter to you?" asked Polly. It wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. "With your completely superficial fear of death, do you even know what it's like to be sensibly scared of dying, every single fucking day?"
"I certainly know that," said Mal. "Being scared."
"Ha," said Polly. "Watching humans tremble prettily doesn't count as knowing scared."
"Whenever we dug a grave for someone," said Mal, "I kept imagining it was your turn to be buried. I thought I could get used to the thought by thinking about it until it got boring, but it got scarier every day. Every. Single. Fucking. Day." She paused, and rubbed her eyes. "And if you were looking for selfishness in my actions, there you have it. Happy?"
The carriage jumped, once.
"Mal?"
"Polly?"
Polly hadn't known she'd been holding her breath, but she breathed now. "Thank you for getting angry," she said.
"I'm not," said Mal.
"Oh yes, you are," said Polly. "And you should be. I realise now -," that I am about as eloquent as an... orang-utan, or something, "- that voluntarily burdening oneself with an unstable unreformed vampire is... horribly unwise and possibly also sort of horribly over-confident, and I'm still not sure if I like the outcome, but I'm beginning to understand you were just trying to be nice."
"Polly, dear," said Mal, "a little less sarcasm does an apology good."
"I know," said Polly, "but frankly, I'm having a hard time thinking of ways to say 'sorry for trying to kill you all the time' without it sounding all sorts of sarcastic, so you just have to take my word for it. I'm sorry, Mal. I really am."
"It was three attempted murders in five days. Not a bad average for an unreformed vampire, really," said Mal off-handedly, but Polly caught her brief smile.
"And while we're at the teary-eyed apologies -," added Mal.
"I'm not teary-eyed -"
"I knew what might happen, and I might have made a better-prepared impression if it hadn't been for bloody fear of heights, and I realise now that I might have been possibly sort of maybe a bit vague about things, and I promise I'll be better," said Mal. "Also, I realise I gravitate towards arrogance, but that's personality and you'll have to live with that."
"I think I can," said Polly, breathing out. So there was hope, after all. "Good. Was there anything else we wanted to sort out?"
Mal shrugged. "Dunno. Kiss and make up?"
Polly turned to look at her. "You didn't just say that," she said.
"Well, we were sorting things out," said Mal. "And this has been nagging at me for ages." She was still sipping coffee, Polly noticed. Possibly, she had finally figured out how to make a cup last for an entire conversation.
Also -
"You are impossible, Mal."
"No," said Mal. "Merely old enough to know that wistfully contemplating the graceful curve of someone's elbow when you think they aren't looking is not the way to go about things. Sarge."
Polly growled. "I never stared at your elbow," she said.
"Or any other part of the anatomy, really," said Mal. Looking over, she added, "It was a figure of speech, Pol."
"Impossible," said Polly. "Just when things started to get uncomplicated."
She dared to glance sidewards, and met... rather a lot amusement, considering it was conveyed by one single eyebrow. It was amazing, really.
"Hey, Pol?"
"Yes, Mal?"
"You're smiling."
Polly felt she had to protest. "'m most definitely not!"
"Are, too," said Mal. "You know, I missed that."
"Missed what?" Deadpan.
"You, smiling," said Mal, patiently.
"I am maybe showing teeth in an expression of nervousness, Mal," said Polly. "Because you are making me nervous, Mal."
"No, I'm making the horses nervous," Mal pointed out. "You're smiling, not twitching."
"Nervously, Mal," said Polly.
Mal grinned, and winked. "I suppose I should get back inside," she said, as the carriage shook dangerously. "The horses seem a wee bit unhappy now."
"Very sensible," said Polly.
The horses were probably this close from losing it completely, she thought. One of them was frothing. This couldn't be normal.
Mal had already swung a leg over the railing, when Polly added, "So is this a new start kind of thing, then?"
"Could be," said Mal. "Granted, vampires aren't generally very good at this, which explains all the family feuds, but -"
"Neither are humans, Mal," said Polly. "It explains all the wars."
They locked eyes for a moment, and thankfully, Mal abstained from sarcasm. Well, almost. She did salute, and nearly fell off the carriage in the process.
Polly snickered, and Mal climbed back, and for a while, Polly felt a little lighter.
Won't be around much until next week (...exams. Ugh), but I did sort of promise to update more often than weekly, so here we go, chapter ten, in which the heroic twosome finally gets to sort some things out.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 10
Mal got to her feet, steadying herself on the windowsill. Not bothering to look outside, she swiftly closed the window. They locked eyes for a moment, and Polly opened her mouth to reply, to desperately deny that no, she wouldn't fit in here, she was outraged at the very idea -
"I apologise," said Mal. "Get your things, will you?"
There was a knock on the door.
"Mal -"
Mal raised a finger to her lips. "I know who that is," she said. "Don't say a word."
Polly worried, though. Mal folded up the collar of her black cloak and drew a hand through tangled black hair. She looked worse than Polly had ever seen her, except maybe as Maladicta, and given that Polly was quite eager on wiping that particular image from her memory, that didn't exactly count. Mal's face was drained of all colour, now, her eyes puffy, shadowed, her movements lacked any of their previous lightness as she walked over to the door and opened it.
There was a bit of mumbling. Polly didn't look over much, she was glad to be quite concealed in a dark corner of the room, but still strained her ears to listen.
"I found Hypovolemia," said the voice of Benedict. "Look, I'm - what happened?"
"Nothing," said Mal, and there was an edge to her voice.
"Yeah, right. Try again."
He knew, Polly thought. He knew and didn't do anything, so maybe this kind of general insanity was perceived as normal in vampire society. It scared her. Pretty much everything did, right now.
"Did you know they'd send Molly here as bait?" asked Mal sharply. "It was so fucking amusing the first time around, yes?"
"No," said Benedict. "I'm not into that kind of family entertainment."
"It certainly makes more sense than all the other conspirational theories I came up with," said Mal. She dragged a nervous hand through her hair. "You did bring us here in the first place, you know? You must admit that's a little suspect."
"I only had family reunion and general feelings of goodwill in mind," said Benedict.
"And can you say that again while keeping a straight face?"
There was no answer, just an innocent smile and some of that silent understanding that Polly wasn't even attempting to analyse, and it made them drop the subject.
"Why are you here?" said Mal finally.
"Saying goodbye," said Benedict. "I take it you're leaving the madhouse?"
"An amazing deduction," said Mal. "How the hell did you work that one out?"
Pause. "Female intuition?"
"Want to have something thrown at you?"
It didn't sound like siblings' banter, it was far too tired for that, if Polly was any judge. But it seemed an honest attempt.
"I'm leaving myself, tonight," said Benedict, "'s gonna be morning soon. That one's for you."
He got something out of his pocket and pressed it into Mal's hands. Polly craned her neck to see what it was, to no avail.
"Oh, good," said Mal, and slipped it into her jacket. "Will you pass Munz on your way?" she added, moving across the room to the pack to get something out of it. She looked at Polly for a moment, then looked away.
"I might be," said Benedict. "Why?"
"Got a letter to deliver," said Mal. "Address is on the front. Don't bite anyone."
"Sure thing," said Benedict, taking the letter and something else from her hands. "Hey, what's this?"
"Leaflet," said Mal. "Just in case you're up to a bit of adventure. They've got nice cocoa." Polly nearly heard her grinning.
"Temperance League," read Benedict. "Come and see the daylight. Mal, you great big sap. Call me superficial, but I'm not going to join anything that has cheerful orange and green leaflets."
"Ecnarepmet Itna should be safe from you then," said Mal. "Theirs are a very ghastly shade of purple."
"Goes nice with black, that's all I'm saying," said Benedict.
There was a moment, and a look, and then Mal pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Red goes nice with black," she mumbled. "Purple doesn't. Purple doesn't go nice with anything."
"And that from someone who's wearing ivory and scarlet. I was young and stupid when I thought that looked good, Mal, dear," said Benedict. "Promise you'll be careful?"
"'course," said Mal. "'s my middle name, careful."
There was a pause, in which they were just standing there, and then Benedict said, "I remember. What was our mother thinking?"
"Might have been preemptive revenge," said Mal. "Teeth, remember?"
"Damn, I'm glad I'm not a -"
"Out," said Mal. "I hate drawn-out goodbyes. And don't you dare complete that sentence." She ruffled his hair, and he flattened it again, and all was good in the land of elegance.
And then, just for a moment, he was staring directly at Polly, and that was when Polly thought it had all been a farce and he was going to kill her, after all, but no. His face cracked into a thin smile, and he settled for an ironic salute. Exit Benedict. Thank gods.
There were a lot of things queuing up for Polly's tongue right now, but what emerged first was, "Maladicta Careful van der Zülln?"
"There's twenty-four names before that," said Mal. "I think Mum got bored, personally. Vampires like a bit of playing spot the odd-one-out at weddings and such."
"Has that ever been a topic?" asked Polly. "Wedding, I mean."
"What, mine?" asked Mal. "'course not. 's not my style, getting married and suchlike."
"... Ah," said Polly. It shouldn't have relieved her the way it did, but after a night like this, the existence of a dark and handsome husband and seven neurotic children would have been the final goddamn straw, "Who's the letter to, then?"
Mal looked away. She slowly took the black ribbon off her waistcoat and then began wriggling herself out of assorted layers of clothing, putting the wrapped arrow aside.
"Shufti," she said.
Damn, thought Polly. Did you have to wait until you were in your underwear before telling me? And then she thought, oh dear, when she realised something. Shufti and Paul and her father -
"They must have received my death notification by now," said Polly. At least her name was short enough to fit into the blank, she thought numbly.
"That's why I was writing," said Mal. "I dropped her a note to tell her you were, you know, alive and it was all a big misunderstanding."
She was putting on her old clothes now, army breeches and the ruffly shirt from the inn.
"You realise that I should have been the one to do that," said Polly softly. "I didn't even think of it."
"Yeah, well," said Mal, pinning the ribbon back into place, "you were a bit preoccupied."
"So were you," said Polly. "And it's not even your family. You've made me a monster, Mal."
Mal was dragging her hands through her hair, repeatedly and to no avail. Her look still completely surpassed deshabille, becoming something else entirely.
"Spare me your self-pity," she said, looking up. "Nobody's been distributed so far. You forgot to write home, Polly. Hardly the same."
"See, I told you that you don't get the human thing," said Polly, as Mal was calmly putting on her boots. "We write home regularly. We don't say 'good' when we hear daddy's been eaten. We certainly don't form extremist groups just 'cause a bunch of tree-huggers have gone on an environment-friendly diet."
"Ha," said Mal. "You've been to the battlefields, Polly. Tell me again that humans don't do death. They are as good at death as vampires are at stupid."
"Er," said Polly, and paused to think. "Why say stupid when sociopathic, nutty and arrogant all do the job?"
"Stupid," said Mal. "You'd think they'd be glad about less competition, but no, let's just shoot everyone. Just like humans, in a way."
Polly thought for a while. It was ugly, yes. She had rejoined the army with a notebook full of addresses and a head full of good intentions, and had got caught up in routine and then in a court martial, because it seemed the army didn't like pacifism. No more writing to journalists for her. Instead, she'd been rounding up new recruits, and there were always some to be round up, even now, and she was always hoping, just hoping she'd get into a position to do something.
And then, there were battles, and there was Mal, who bore the craziness with her, and somewhere along the way something -
- cracked. Just like that.
"What the hell did you write?" she asked.
"The truth," said Mal, shrugging, but Polly had been sergeant for too long.
"Okay," she said. "Lemme rephrase. What did you leave out?"
"Everything that would have made Shufti come after me with blazing torches and suchlike," said Mal. "Thought I'd leave the best parts for later. Now, can you please get a move on?"
"Oh," said Polly. "Yeah, I suppose." She got up from the bed to collect various clothing items from the floor. Mal was eating coffee beans again as Polly stripped, succeeding in getting off the impossible shawl thing and the waistcoat and the frock, only running into a dead end with -
Oh no, she thought. Mal looked up.
Without a comment, she came over to help with the buttons. Polly was impressed. Mal was quick and efficient in opening the rows of tiny buttons on the sleeves of her shirt and on the gloves, even though her hands were shaking.
"Wow," said Polly, not thinking much at this moment. "You're really good at helping people out of their clothes."
There was a silence that made Polly distinctly uncomfortable. "Er," she volunteered after a moment, and that made it worse. A hole in the ground would have been perfect.
"Yes," said Mal.
Well, thought Polly. It wasn't as if this was unexpected. Mal returned to her coffee bag, and she returned to undressing, and this was all wrong.
Polly put on the woolly socks over the silk stockings, because she so wasn't going to let Mal help with those now. She put on the army breeches, and her boots, and the polka-dotted atrocity of a shirt, and her jacket. Much better now.
All the while, Mal was leaning against the wall, looking tired and stressed out and not fit for great heaps of snow, and Polly realised this was sort of entirely her fault.
"Mal -" she began.
Mal looked up. "I am over two hundred years old, Polly," she said. "What did you expect?"
"I -," began Polly, and stopped. This so didn't fall under the category of not talking about things. "I didn't think much about that, to be honest." Well, thought Polly, maybe not entirely honest. More like completely dishonest, to be honest. Damn.
"Ah," said Mal, and then said nothing.
"Don't you get uncomfortable now," said Polly, "I've got enough uncomfortable for the both of us. For once, I'm really sorry I tried to, you know, push you out of the window."
"It's a vampire thing," said Mal. "Find the enemy's weak spot. And of course, windows are popular in general."
Polly groaned. "You're not supposed to be my enemy," she said. And I'm not supposed to be a vampire, a part of her brain added. "You are once again not getting my inner turmoil, to say it in your words."
"I think I am, in fact, getting your inner turmoil this time, and then some," said Mal, while Polly's brain formed itself into one single giant whoops. "And I practically volunteered for that sort of thing," she added. "Maybe we shouldn't have waited that long. Would have been a bit less painful, maybe."
"Ack," said Polly. "Sorry. I -"
"What made you stop?"
"Er," said Polly. "It's all a bit hazy, really. I think you looked like - like Maladicta for a while, and then you didn't," and this is all very surreal, "and then you, er, tasted like coffee, and by that point I guess I was too confused to, you know, carry on."
Mal nodded her head, slowly. "Explains a lot." And then, her face lit up a little. "I taste like coffee?"
"Er," said Polly. "A bit. You know. It's only to be expected."
She walked over over to where Mal was standing and still eating coffee beans. Behind her, she could see the first light of the morning sun through the thankfully closed window.
"Try them," said Mal, offering her the coffee bag. "You've got to find yourself a substitute soon, anyway. Coffee's not too bad."
Polly carefully took one. She would have tried anything right now, if only to get the metallic taste out of her mouth. The bean cracked under her teeth. Mal was right, she thought, it really wasn't bad; bitter, but not too much so, and warm, and tasting of - Mal.
She swallowed. Well.
"How do you feel, Mal?" she asked.
"Better than last time," said Mal. "Honestly. Not great, but reasonably capable of dealing with great big heaps of snow. Speaking of which, we should hurry. As much as I enjoy conversation."
"Speaking of great big heaps of snow, and of being reasonable," said Polly, "do you think people would mind terribly if we nicked a coach and horses, after all?"
"Yeah, they would," said Mal, a sly grin playing on her lips. "That's a really great idea, Polly. Let's get going, then." She moved from her lounging spot and, Polly saw it, nearly collapsed. Polly held her up until she was reasonably steady, and then let go, or at least, she tried to.
"Er," said Mal. "Could you maybe just hold me for a while?"
Polly couldn't believe her ears. "Why would you want that?" she asked.
"Because," said Mal, "I feel a bit unwell. Thank you all the same."
"Oh," said Polly. "All right, then."
She closed her eyes, and picked up things, the way Mal's heartbeat seemed all tired and confused, quick and without any real pressure behind it; the way her breathing seemed flat; the way her arms were around Polly as if she was drowning, and not quite sure how to prevent that. The way her skin was so cold, and it was al Polly's fault.
"Liar," Polly whispered. "You're not fit for anything."
"I can deal," said Mal, and then she said nothing more. Polly carefully let her hand stroke over the back of Mal's neck, then her hair, then her face. Not crying; Mal never was, no matter how crazy things got. But one might have got the impression that she wanted to.
"D'you suppose they'll be after us?" asked Polly, finally, when all had been taken care of.
"Not until tonight," said Mal. "They're traditional. We can make some way before then."
By now, sunlight was streaming through the window. Polly picked up the pack while Mal was staring at the piece of paper Benedict had given her, brows furrowed, and when they were ready to leave, she crumpled it and put in in her pocket.
-
Any change of scenery was welcome after the castle, and so Polly did her best to enjoy the cool, windy winter morning that awaited them. She succeeded for almost half an hour before she was back to brooding. Holding on to the reins with frozen fingers, she wished she had brought the impossible satin gloves after all, buttons be damned.
She was alone in the coachman's seat, the reasons being, one, Mal was sleeping inside the coach, which was probably best for everyone concerned, and two, the horses were terrified of her. It was a vampire thing, she had explained. Horses were okay with Igors, but never with vampires.
And Polly? Still too human, probably. This should have cheered her up. It didn't, because it was snowing again. The multiverse was one mean bastard. Or many, same thing.
The silence was getting to her. It was strange, thought Polly. They had spent a week with only each other to talk to, if you didn't count a bunch of bloody crazy vampires - wait, make that other bloody crazy vampires -, and Polly didn't. Still, it was only on a rare occasion that she'd had more than five minutes to herself, and while it did help her think straight, it also made her feel incredibly uneasy.
They were two, and they'd only had each other for quite a while now, which implied all kinds of cozy buddy stuff, but really it only boiled down to one thing: there was only one person in the whole of the Ramtops who was near enough to be shouted at, strangled (kissed). It wasn't really anything personal, but it should have been. Shouting and strangling and kissing shouldn't all be so damn random.
Snowflakes were settling in her hair.
Unhealthy, that was it. If you had just attempted to throw somebody out of the window, you sure as hell weren't qualified to hold them the next minute, even if it felt sort of good. Especially if it felt sort of good. And if you just had almost been thrown out of a window, you sure as hell shouldn't seek comfort in the one who did the throwing, 'cos that was just as messed up.
And then there was the thing they weren't talking about, months ago, when Polly had said "You realise this doesn't mean anything?", and Mal had cracked a smile, and said, "I do," and gone on with the kissing, had, in fact, gone on with it several times, because things never affected her the way they affected Polly, just like the battlefields didn't touch her, either.
They'd buried some of their own lads. Afterwards, Mal had been drinking coffee, leaving the orientation lecture to Polly. And, strangest of all, there was something comforting about the way Mal remained untouched through all of this, because it meant there was a way to live through the madness without cracking. Polly had tried to be like that, and it had almost worked.
Which was, of course, a lie.
She heard Mal stirring inside the coach, then waking, than moving about for several minutes. Polly tried to talk the horses into slowing down somewhat, just in case. Not that they listened or anything.
The coach door opened while they were still skipping merrily ahead.
"Damn, Mal, you could have just asked me to stop," she called through the wind and the snow. Well, she could have asked, really, Polly thought, eyeing the unimpressed horses in front of her.
"Don't worry," came the reply. "Done this... ah... a thousand times."
"Literally?"
Mal was climbing alongside the coach, holding on to bits and pieces of the highly decorated vehicle, then swinging herself into the coachman's seat next to Polly.
"Of course not," she said. "More like twice."
"Ah," said Polly. "So your career as a highwayman was short-lived, then?"
"Well," said Mal, grinning, and said nothing more. She was holding - and Polly tried not to stare here - a steaming mug filled with coffee. Actually, she was trying to put it down on the seat next to her, which would have been a terrible waste. The road was too bumpy.
"It pains me to watch that," said Polly.
"Watch the road, then?"
"Just let me hold it," said Polly as exasperation took over. She could easily hold the reins with just one hand, although the horses, she noticed, were already getting uncomfortable. Polly figured there was no direction to run away to for them but straight ahead, on account of there being walls of snow to their left and and a river to their right, and even if they did, the coach would still be attached to them, so all was good.
Polly was not a horse person, except when it came to scubbo and helping inebriated patrons, or Blouse, into the saddle.
"What was it you wanted?" she asked.
"Lean a bit forward, will you?" asked Mal, and Polly felt her draping a woolly blanket over her shoulders, careful to also cover her neck and arms, and tucking it in. Polly nearly spilt some of the coffee, but that was something you just tended to avoid around Mal, carefully so.
"Figured you were cold," said Mal while wrapping her own cloak tighter around herself.
"I was," said Polly. "Thanks."
For a while, nobody said a word, and Mal leaned against Polly, head on her shoulder, sipping coffee all the while. It looked a little uncomfortable, but Polly had once seen Mal drinking coffee while hanging upside down in a cellar. This shouldn't pose a problem, not for Mal.
The scent of it filled Polly's senses, but in a good way, a homely way. A sunday morning in The Duchess, making coffee for some of the more eccentric guests, back when the world had seemed entirely figurable. Only, Polly remembered there was milk involved, and sometimes sugar, even whipped cream. They had none of that here.
"Want some?" asked Mal.
Polly supposed there was no harm in trying. "Okay then," she said.
The mug was raised to her lips and she tilted her head just so and, Polly thought, something like this shouldn't work without any spilling, but it did. Mal was good with coffee.
The taste was just like coffee beans, only hot, and liquid and really, not bad at all.
"Like that?" asked Mal.
"It's okay, I guess," said Polly. "Nothing to write home about." Whoops. Polly figured she was a bit preoccupied with past events. "Have we decided upon a route yet?" she added.
"Probably best to just follow the river," said Mal. "There's bound to be villages and stuff. I do not know a terrible lot about horses, but I suspect there's feeding involved every once in a while."
"Yeah," said Polly. "Same with us. That's a problem, right?"
"Probably," said Mal. "If I remember folklore right, you should be all right with solid food for the next few days, though. Maybe we can even make it to Ankh-Morpork." She paused. "Of course, there's always the situation on the coffee front. Sorry about that."
"Right," said Polly. "You've got quite the easy-going attitude about other people's lives, Mal."
"Yeah, right, I'm a soldier," said Mal. There was an edge in her voice that Polly hadn't detected before. "Anyway, I promise you you're not going to bite people if I can help it."
Yeah, thought Polly, except when you're getting needy yourself. She'd seen it happen.
"What was that bit about bein' a soldier?" she asked.
"You know," said Mal, almost absent-mindedly taking Polly's right hand and closing it around the coffee mug for warmth. "I've been thinking, Polly."
"That's great," said Polly. "What is it, Mal?"
Mal lifted her head to look up to Polly.
"I won't be coming back to Borogravia with you," she said.
There was nothing to say here, so Polly concentrated on the white around her.
"Why?" she asked after a while.
"I was planning on deserting anyway," said Mal.
"Are you quite sure about this?" asked Polly.
"To be entirely honest, I'd have packed up a year ago if it hadn't been for -"
"For what?" asked Polly.
"Nothing," said Mal.
Staring straight ahead, Polly managed to lift the eyebrow closer to Mal. A new-found talent, she realised.
"What I mean is," said Mal, "a month ago we were fighting for a town that was completely abandoned to begin with, and as soon as we had won, some complete genius had us burn it down so the enemy wouldn't bother to reclaim it. We're fighting for dead land, Pol."
"I know that," said Polly. "But as long as we're trying to -"
"We're not allowed to even talk to anyone outside the army," said Mal. "Our great and cunning plan has failed, and somehow I can't bring myself to care anymore."
"... Okay," said Polly.
That was it, then. Nobody left from the original squad now, except her, and she'd have to figure out how to go on alone, and... okay.
She wasn't sure how to go about that. During the last few weeks before that battle, she'd hardly found enough energy inside her to properly shout at the lads, and lads needed a good shouting every now and then, to remind them they were in the army. Not that they needed reminding, it was just -
- everyday insanity. It was expected.
"You needn't return to the army," said Polly. "They can be a little one-dimensional, they won't be figuring the stake-and-knife thing out anytime soon. What's wrong with Borogravia? Apart from the obvious?"
"I thought the obvious was already a pretty good reason never to come back," pointed Mal out. "The League Whose Name Cannot Be Pronounced needs looking into, and that'll fulfill my superhero quota for a few years." A pause, and softly, "I've got a few names."
"How many?" asked Polly.
Mal hesitated, looking away, her hand halfway to the pocket of her cloak.
"Benedict gave me a list," she said.
"So he's on our side, then?"
"I suppose," said Mal. "I don't know. He probably doesn't care much either way, or wouldn't if I wasn't involved."
"That's a good thing to know," said Polly, "considering you sent him to my family."
"Oh, he won't bite anyone," said Mal. "Fun fact about vampires. I'm older than him, he won't hurt those under my protection. Neat, huh?"
"Vampirism is getting weirder by the minute," said Polly. "How convenient. Are you going to hunt them down, or something?"
"Who?"
"The names," said Polly. "I mean, it's probably none of my business, but that might be a little dangerous, I suppose."
"Er," said Mal. "I was planning to go public first. Nothing wrong with recycling good ideas, right?" She flashed a smile.
"Yeah," said Polly. "Now, don't get me wrong, but vampires are used to bad publicity. Do you really think anyone would care?"
Mal shrugged. "Quickest way to warn Black Ribboners. They like the newspaper with their cocoa and scone."
"And after that?" asked Polly, thinking: great idea, Mal. Throw stones at the wasps' nest. See if I care.
"I dunno," said Mal from somewhere at Polly's shoulder. "I hear Uberwald's pretty in the springtime."
Crivens, thought Polly. Did your mother not teach you anything about taking care of yourself, not walk the streets at night - um -, or anything along those lines, Maladicta Careful van der Zülln?
Well, probably not, but -
"You realise that's suicide," she said.
From a nearby tree, a bird leapt. The old snow crunched under the wheels of the carriage, and there was Mal just next to her, being all fragile all of a sudden. Daft ideas didn't stop being daft ideas just because you were almost immortal.
"I'm on their blacklist anyway," said Mal. "Or whitelist, I dunno. And I can't help but point out, Polly, that soldiering is generally considered anything but healthy."
"I know," said Polly. "About that -"
Polly looked over. She knew Mal wouldn't like it.
"... What is it, Polly?" she asked, rather reluctantly.
"Mal, I have got to ask," said Polly. "I'm sorry. Why did you bite me?"
For a while, there was only silence, while Mal leaned back into the seat, sipping coffee.
"I already tried to explain this," she said, after a while. "Several times, Polly. It's pointless to ask if you're not going to believe what I say."
"I know what you told me," said Polly. "About Death and scythes and such, but - "
"You don't remember that, so what difference does it make?" said Mal, "I could tell you anything and you won't believe that either."
"I don't remember a single thing," said Polly, "but I, um," a pause, because this was harder to admit than she'd thought, "I think I might start to believe you. Clearly, I must have lost my mind, but -"
One the back of one of the horses, Tiny Death gave a Tiny Snicker. Polly noticed Mal was looking at her, before following her glance.
Mal blinked, and looked again.
"I see," she said.
"But that was all a friendly chat over tea with a personified concept," said Polly. "You told me I asked you to, you know, and you told me about the reaper man being, in your words, unreasonable, but I still don't know why you acted on that."
There was another pause.
"Mal?" she volunteered.
"I don't get humans," said Mal, still staring at the tiny black-clad figure on the horse's back. "It's like this... er, we as a species have... Polly, this is a little embarrassing, okay? We're... afraid of death. There. That's why we can be killed. We can get used to sunlight by telling ourselves it won't hurt us, and yet a camera flash kills us because it doesn't leave us time for logical thought. We just panic."
Tiny Death lifted its scythe in what an overly tired brain might have interpreted as a salute. It vanished in a Tiny Flash of blue light.
"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" asked Polly.
"I'm coming to that," said Mal. "We do not get on well with the reaper man. He doesn't like us because he feels we're wasting his time, and we don't like him because... we don't like him. And I thought -," her voice trailed off.
"You thought?"
"I thought it was the same for humans," said Mal softly. "I thought, what with humans being so delicate all the time and dying left and right and centre, they must be deadly afraid of... er... they must be afraid of death, and it turns out they aren't, you aren't, I mean, and I didn't know. I never thought you'd choose death over life as a vampire, and now you keep telling me you would."
Mal paused.
"I realise I should have guessed," she added, "what with having spent enough time around you to know that you're not afraid of much of anything. I should have known your... request was out of panic, which isn't the same as fear at all. I'm sorry."
That is how you see me? thought Polly. And you've known me for how long?
"But we are afraid," she said, "I am afraid. Was, at least. I'm a soldier, Mal, and most of the time I was scared shitless. You know that."
"That's different," said Mal, "that's being afraid of dying, rather than death. Which is really quite sensible, considering that most of the time it hurts a lot."
"You're picking at semantics there," said Polly.
"Hardly," said Mal.
"What does it matter to you?" asked Polly. It wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. "With your completely superficial fear of death, do you even know what it's like to be sensibly scared of dying, every single fucking day?"
"I certainly know that," said Mal. "Being scared."
"Ha," said Polly. "Watching humans tremble prettily doesn't count as knowing scared."
"Whenever we dug a grave for someone," said Mal, "I kept imagining it was your turn to be buried. I thought I could get used to the thought by thinking about it until it got boring, but it got scarier every day. Every. Single. Fucking. Day." She paused, and rubbed her eyes. "And if you were looking for selfishness in my actions, there you have it. Happy?"
The carriage jumped, once.
"Mal?"
"Polly?"
Polly hadn't known she'd been holding her breath, but she breathed now. "Thank you for getting angry," she said.
"I'm not," said Mal.
"Oh yes, you are," said Polly. "And you should be. I realise now -," that I am about as eloquent as an... orang-utan, or something, "- that voluntarily burdening oneself with an unstable unreformed vampire is... horribly unwise and possibly also sort of horribly over-confident, and I'm still not sure if I like the outcome, but I'm beginning to understand you were just trying to be nice."
"Polly, dear," said Mal, "a little less sarcasm does an apology good."
"I know," said Polly, "but frankly, I'm having a hard time thinking of ways to say 'sorry for trying to kill you all the time' without it sounding all sorts of sarcastic, so you just have to take my word for it. I'm sorry, Mal. I really am."
"It was three attempted murders in five days. Not a bad average for an unreformed vampire, really," said Mal off-handedly, but Polly caught her brief smile.
"And while we're at the teary-eyed apologies -," added Mal.
"I'm not teary-eyed -"
"I knew what might happen, and I might have made a better-prepared impression if it hadn't been for bloody fear of heights, and I realise now that I might have been possibly sort of maybe a bit vague about things, and I promise I'll be better," said Mal. "Also, I realise I gravitate towards arrogance, but that's personality and you'll have to live with that."
"I think I can," said Polly, breathing out. So there was hope, after all. "Good. Was there anything else we wanted to sort out?"
Mal shrugged. "Dunno. Kiss and make up?"
Polly turned to look at her. "You didn't just say that," she said.
"Well, we were sorting things out," said Mal. "And this has been nagging at me for ages." She was still sipping coffee, Polly noticed. Possibly, she had finally figured out how to make a cup last for an entire conversation.
Also -
"You are impossible, Mal."
"No," said Mal. "Merely old enough to know that wistfully contemplating the graceful curve of someone's elbow when you think they aren't looking is not the way to go about things. Sarge."
Polly growled. "I never stared at your elbow," she said.
"Or any other part of the anatomy, really," said Mal. Looking over, she added, "It was a figure of speech, Pol."
"Impossible," said Polly. "Just when things started to get uncomplicated."
She dared to glance sidewards, and met... rather a lot amusement, considering it was conveyed by one single eyebrow. It was amazing, really.
"Hey, Pol?"
"Yes, Mal?"
"You're smiling."
Polly felt she had to protest. "'m most definitely not!"
"Are, too," said Mal. "You know, I missed that."
"Missed what?" Deadpan.
"You, smiling," said Mal, patiently.
"I am maybe showing teeth in an expression of nervousness, Mal," said Polly. "Because you are making me nervous, Mal."
"No, I'm making the horses nervous," Mal pointed out. "You're smiling, not twitching."
"Nervously, Mal," said Polly.
Mal grinned, and winked. "I suppose I should get back inside," she said, as the carriage shook dangerously. "The horses seem a wee bit unhappy now."
"Very sensible," said Polly.
The horses were probably this close from losing it completely, she thought. One of them was frothing. This couldn't be normal.
Mal had already swung a leg over the railing, when Polly added, "So is this a new start kind of thing, then?"
"Could be," said Mal. "Granted, vampires aren't generally very good at this, which explains all the family feuds, but -"
"Neither are humans, Mal," said Polly. "It explains all the wars."
They locked eyes for a moment, and thankfully, Mal abstained from sarcasm. Well, almost. She did salute, and nearly fell off the carriage in the process.
Polly snickered, and Mal climbed back, and for a while, Polly felt a little lighter.