"Oh, yeah, right," said Tonker. "Maybe they think we're going to chase them and give them a big wet sloppy kiss?"
"Good, then we're agreed that we're not going to accept," said Blouse. "Damn right... oh, I do apologize..."
"We all know the words, sir," said Polly. "I suggest we see how much we frighten them, sir."
The officers were waiting with unconcealed impatience, but Rust managed a brief smile when he stepped back into the kitchen. "Well, lieutenant?" he said.
"We have given your offer due consideration, sir," said Blouse, "and our reply is: stick it up your..." He leaned down to Polly, who whispered urgently. "Who? Oh, yes, right. Your jumper, sir. Stick it, in fact, up your jumper. Named after Colonel Henri Jumper, I believe. A useful woollen garment akin to a lightweight sweater, sir, which if I recall correctly was named after Regimental Sergeant-Major Sweat. That, sir, is where you may stick it."
Rust received this calmly, and Polly wondered whether it was because he hadn't understood it. The scruffy man once more leaning against the wall had understood it, though, since he was grinning.
"I see," said Rust. "And that is the answer from all of you? Then you leave us no choice. Good evening to you."
His attempt to stride out was hindered by the other officers, who had less sense of the dramatic moment. The door slammed behind them, but not before the last man out turned very briefly and made a hand gesture. You would have missed it if you weren't watching him - but Polly was watching.
"That seemed to go well," said Blouse, turning away.
"I hope we're not going to get into trouble for that," said Shufti.
"Compared to what?" said Tonker.
"The last man out stuck his thumb up and winked," said Polly. "Did you notice him? He wasn't even wearing an officer's uniform."
"Probably wanted a date," said Tonker.
"In Ankh-Morpork that means 'jolly good'," said Blouse. "In Klatch, I think, it means 'I hope your donkey explodes'. I spotted the man. Looked like a guard sergeant to me."
"Didn't have stripes," said Polly. "Why'd he want to say jolly good to us?"
"Or hate our donkey so much?" said Shufti. "How's Wazzer?"
"Sleeping," said Igorina. "I think."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I don't think she's dead."
"You don't think she is?" said Polly.
"Yes," said Igorina. "It's like that. I wish I could keep her warmer."
"I thought you said she was burning up?"
"She was. Now she's freezing cold."
Lieutenant Blouse strode over to the door, grabbed its handle and, to the surprise of all, pulled it open. Four swords were levelled at him.
"We have a sick man here!" he snapped to the astonished guards. "We need blankets and firewood! Get them now!" He slammed the door. "It might work," he said.
"That door doesn't have a lock," said Tonker. "Useful fact, Polly."
Polly sighed. "Right now, I just want something to eat. This is a kitchen, after all. There could be food here."
"This is a kitchen," said Tonker. "There could be cleavers!"
But it is always upsetting to find that the enemy is as bright as you. There was a well, but a web of bars across the top allowed for the passage of nothing bigger than a bucket. And someone with no sense of the narrative of adventure had removed from the room anything with an edge and, for some reason, anything that could be eaten.
"Unless we want to dine on candles," said Shufti, pulling a bundle of them out of a creaking cupboard. "'s tallow, after all. I bet old Scallot'd make candle scubbo."