Monstrous Regiment (Discworld, #31; Industrial Revolution, #3)

by Terry Pratchett

with dumplings and herbs. It was magnificent. It was also a mystery. “I don’t recall us passing a cow, Private,” said Blouse as he handed his tin plate along for a second helping. “Er . . . no, sir.” “And yet you have acquired beef?” “Er . . . yes, sir. Er . . . when that writer man came up in his cart, well, when you were talking, er, I crept around and took a look inside . . .” “There’s a name for someone who does that sort of thing, Private,” said Blouse severely. “Yeah, it’s quartermaster, Shufti. Well done,” said Jackrum. “If that writer man gets hungry, he can always eat his words, eh, Lieutenant?” “Er . . . yes,” said Blouse carefully. “Yes. Of course. Good initiative, Private.” “Oh, I didn’t think it up, sir,” said Shufti brightly. “Sarge told me to.” Polly stopped, spoon halfway to her mouth, and swiveled her eyes from sergeant to lieutenant. “You teach looting, Sergeant?” said Blouse. There was a joint gasp from the squad. If this was the bar back at The Duchess, the regulars would have been hurrying out of the doors and Polly would have been helping her father get the bottles off the shelf. “Not looting, sir, not looting,” said Jackrum calmly, licking his spoon. “Under Duchess’s Regulations, Rule 611, Section 1[c], Paragraph i, sir, it would be plundering, said cart being the property of bloody Ankh-Morpork, sir, which is aiding and abetting the enemy. Plundering is allowed, sir.”