Monstrous

Regiment

by

Terry Pratchett

Polly cut off her hair in front of the mirror, feeling slightly guilty about not feeling very guilty about doing so. It was supposed to be her crowning glory, and everyone said it was beautiful, but she generally wore it in a net when she was working. Shed always told herself it was wasted on her. But she was careful to see that the long golden coils all landed on the small sheet spread out for the purpose.

If she would admit to any strong emotion at all at this time, it was sheer annoyance that a haircut was all she needed to pass for a young man. She didnt even need to bind up her bosom, which shed heard was the normal practice. Nature had seen to it that she had barely any problems in this area.

The effect that the scissors had was . . . erratic, but it was no worse than other male haircuts here. Itd do. She did feel cold on the back of her neck, but that was only partly because of the loss of her long hair. It was also because of the Stare.

The Duchess watched her from above the bed.

It was a poor woodcut, hand-coloured mostly in blue and red. It was of a plain, middle-aged woman whose sagging chin and slightly bulging eyes gave the cynical the feeling that someone had put a large fish in a dress, but the artist had managed to capture something extra in that strange, blank expression. Some pictures had eyes that followed you around the room; this one looked right through you. It was a face you found in every home. In Borogravia, you grew up with the Duchess watching you.

Polly knew her parents had one of the pictures in their room, and knew also that when her mother was alive she used to curtsy to it every night. She reached up and turned this picture round so that it faced the wall. A thought in her head said No. It was overruled. Shed made up her mind.

Then she dressed herself in her brothers clothes, tipped the contents of the sheet into a small bag which went into the bottom of her pack along with the spare clothes, put the note on her bed, picked up the pack and climbed out of the window. At least, Polly climbed out of the window, but it was Olivers feet that landed lightly on the ground.

Dawn was just turning the dark world into monochrome when she slipped across the inns yard. The Duchess watched her from the inn sign, too. Her father had been a great loyalist, at least up to the death of her mother. The sign hadnt been repainted this year, and a random bird-dropping had given the Duchess a squint.

Polly checked that the recruiting sergeants cart was still in front of the bar, its bright banners now drab and heavy with last nights rain. By the look of that big fat sergeant, it would be hours before it was on the road again. She had plenty of time. He looked like a slow breakfaster.

She let herself out of the door in the back wall and headed uphill. At the top, she turned back and looked at the waking town. Smoke was rising from a few chimneys, but since Polly was always the first to wake, and had to yell the maids out of their beds, the inn was still sleeping. She knew that the Widow Clambers had stayed overnight (it had been raining too hard for her to go home, according to Pollys father) and, personally, she hoped for his sake that shed stay every night. The town had no shortage of widows, and Eva Clambers was a warm-hearted lady who baked like a champion. His wifes long illness and Pauls long absence had taken a lot out of her father. Polly was glad some of it was being put back. The old ladies who spent their days glowering from their windows might spy and peeve and mumble, but they had been doing that for too long. No one listened any more.

She raised her gaze. Smoke and steam was already rising from the laundry of the Girls Working School. It hung over one end of the town like a threat, big and grey with tall, thin windows. It was always silent. When she was small, shed been told that that was where the Bad Girls went. The nature of badness was not explained, and at the age of five Polly had received the vague idea that it consisted of not going to bed when you were told. At the age of eight shed learned it was where you were lucky not to go for buying your brother a paint box. She turned her back and set off between the trees, which were full of birdsong.

Forget you were ever Polly. Think young male, that was the thing. Fart loudly and with self-satisfaction at a job well done, move like a puppet thatd had a couple of random strings cut, never hug anyone and, if you meet a friend, punch them. A few years working in the bar had provided plenty of observational material. No problem about not swinging her hips, at least. Nature had been pretty sparing there, too.

And then there was the young male walk to master. At least women swung only their hips. Young men swung everything, from the shoulders down. You have to try to occupy a lot of space, she thought. It makes you look bigger, like a tomcat fluffing his tail. Shed seen it a lot in the inn. The boys tried to walk big in self-defence against all those other big boys out there. Im bad, Im fierce, Im cool, Id like a pint of shandy and me mam wants me home by nine . . .

Lets see, now . . . arms out from the body as though holding a couple of bags of flour . . . check. Shoulders swaying as though she was elbowing her way through a crowd . . . check. Hands slightly bunched and making rhythmical circling motions as though turning two independent handles attached to the waist . . . check. Legs moving forward loosely and ape-like . . . check . . .

It worked fine for a few yards until she got something wrong and the resultant muscular confusion somersaulted her into a holly bush. After that, she gave up.

The thunderstorm came back as she hurried along the trail; sometimes one would hang around the mountains for days. But at least up here the path wasnt a river of mud, and the trees still had enough leaves to give her some protection. There was no time to wait out the weather, anyway. She had a long way to go. The recruiting party would cross at the ferry, but Polly was known to all the ferrymen by sight and the guard would want to see her permit to travel, which Oliver Perks certainly didnt have. So that meant a long diversion all the way to the troll bridge at Tübz. To the trolls all humans looked alike and any piece of paper would do as a permit, since they didnt read. Then she could walk down through the pine forests to Plün. The cart would have to stop there for the night, but the place was one of those nowhere villages that existed only in order to avoid the embarrassment of having large empty spaces on the map. No one knew her in Plün. No one ever went there. It was a dump.

It was, in fact, just the place she needed. The recruiting party would stop there, and she could enlist. She was pretty certain the big fat sergeant and his greasy little corporal wouldnt notice the girl whod served them last night. She was not, as they said, conventionally beautiful. The corporal had tried to pinch her bottom, but probably out of habit, like swatting a fly, and there was not enough for a big pinch, at that.

She sat on the hill above the ferry and had a late breakfast of cold potato and sausage while she watched the cart cross over. No one was marching behind it. No lads had been recruited back in Munz this time. People had kept away. Too many young men had left over the last few years, and not enough had come back. And, of the ones whod come back, sometimes not enough of each man had come back. The corporal could bang his big drum all he liked. Munz was running out of sons almost as fast as it accumulated widows.

The afternoon hung heavy and humid, and a yellow pine warbler followed her from bush to bush. Last nights mud was steaming when Polly reached the troll bridge, which crossed the river in a narrow gorge. It was a thin, graceful affair, put together, it was said, with no mortar at all. And it was said that the weight of the bridge anchored it ever more deeply into the rock on either side. It was said to be a wonder of the world, except that very few people around here ever wondered much about anything and were barely aware of the world. It cost one penny to cross, or one hundred gold pieces if you had a billygoat.* Halfway across Polly peered over the parapet and saw the cart far, far below, working its way along the narrow road just above the white water.

* Trolls might not be quick thinkers but they dont forget in a hurry, either.

The afternoons journey was downhill all the way, through dark pines on this side of the gorge. She didnt hurry and, towards sunset, she spotted the inn. The cart had already arrived, but by the looks of it the recruiting sergeant had not even bothered to make an effort. There was no drum-banging like there had been last night, no cries of Roll up, my young shavers! Its a great life in the Ins-and-Outs!

There was always a war. Usually it was a border dispute, the national equivalent of complaining that the neighbour was letting his hedge grow too long. Sometimes it was bigger. Borogravia was a peace-loving country in the midst of treacherous, devious, warlike enemies. They had to be treacherous, devious and warlike, otherwise we wouldnt be fighting them, eh? There was always a war.

Pollys father had been in the army before he took over The Duchess from Pollys grandfather. He didnt talk about it much. Hed brought his sword back with him, but instead of hanging it over the fireplace he used it to poke the fire. Sometimes old friends would turn up and, when the bars were shut for the night, theyd gather round the fire and drink and sing. The young Polly found excuses to stay up and listen to the songs they sang, but that had stopped when shed got into trouble for using one of the more interesting words in front of her mother; now she was older, and served the beer, it was presumably assumed that she knew the words or would find out what they meant soon enough. Besides, her mother had gone where bad words would no longer offend and, in theory, never got said.

The songs had been part of her childhood. She knew all the words of The World Turned Upside Down and The Devil Shall Be My Sergeant and Johnny Has Gone For A Soldier and The Girl I Left Behind Me and, after the drink had been flowing for a while, shed memorized Colonel Crapski and I Wish Id Never Kissed Her.

And then, of course, there had been Sweet Polly Oliver. Her father used to sing it when she was small and fretful or sad, and shed laughed to hear it simply because it had her name in it. She was word perfect on the words before shed known what most of them meant. And now . . .

. . . Polly pushed open the door. The recruiting sergeant and his corporal looked up from the stained table where they were sitting, beer mugs halfway to their lips. She took a deep breath, marched over, and made an attempt at saluting.

What do you want, kid? growled the corporal.

Want to join up, sir!

The sergeant turned to Polly and grinned, which made his scars move oddly and caused a tremor to shake all his chins. The word fat could not honestly be applied to him, not when the word gross was lumbering forward to catch your attention. He was one of those people who didnt have a waist. He had an equator. He had gravity. If he fell over, in any direction, he would rock. Sun and drink had burned his face red. Small dark eyes twinkled in the redness like the sparkle on the edge of a knife. Beside him, on the table, were a couple of old-fashioned cutlasses, weapons that had more in common with a meat cleaver than a sword.

Just like that? he said.

Yessir!

Really?

Yessir!

You dont want us to get you stinking drunk first? Its traditional, you know.

Nosir!

I havent told you about the wonderful opportunities for advancement and good fortune, have I?

Nosir!

Did I mention how the spanking red uniform will mean youll have to beat the girls off with a stick?

Dont think so, sir!

Or the grub? Every meals a banquet when you march along with us! The sergeant smacked his belly, which caused tremors in outlying regions. Im the living proof!

Yes, sir. No, sir. I just want to join up to fight for my country and the honour of the Duchess, sir!

You do? said the corporal incredulously, but the sergeant appeared not to hear this. He looked Polly up and down, and Polly got the definite impression that the man was neither as drunk nor as stupid as he looked.

Upon my oath, Corporal Strappi, it seems that what weve got ourselves here is nothin less than a good, old-fashioned patriot, he said, his eyes searching Pollys face. Well, youve come to the right place, my lad! He pulled a sheaf of papers towards him with an air of bustle. You know who we are?

The Tenth Foot, sir. Light infantry, sir. Known as the Ins-and-Outs, sir, said Polly, relief bubbling through her. Shed clearly passed some sort of test.

Right, lad. The jolly old Cheesemongers. Finest regiment there is, in the finest army in the world. Keen to join, then, are yer?

Keen as mustard, sir! said Polly, aware of the corporals suspicious eyes on her.

Good lad!

The sergeant unscrewed the top from a bottle of ink and dipped a nib pen in it. His hand hovered over the paperwork. Name, lad? he said.

Oliver, sir. Oliver Perks, said Polly.

Age?

Seventeen come Sunday, sir.

Yeah, right, said the sergeant. Youre seventeen and Im the Grand Duchess Annagovia. Whatre you running away from, eh? Got a young lady in the family way?

 ed ave ad to ave elp, said the corporal, grinning. He squeaks like a little lad.

Polly realized she was starting to blush. But then, young Oliver would blush too, wouldnt he? It was very easy to make a boy blush. Polly could do it just by staring.

Dont matter anyway, said the sergeant. You make your mark on this here document and kiss the Duchess and youre my little lad, you understand? My name is Sergeant Jackrum. I will be your mother and your father and Corporal Strappi here will be just like your big brother. And life will be steak and bacon every day, and anyone who wants to drag you awayll have to drag me away too, because Ill be holding on to your collar. And you might well be thinking theres no one that can drag that much, Mr Perks. A thick thumb jabbed at the paper. Just there, right?

Polly picked up the pen and signed.

Whats that? said the corporal.

My signature, said Polly.

She heard the door open behind her, and spun round. Several young menshe corrected herself, several other young men had clattered into the bar, and were looking around warily.

You can read and write, too? said the sergeant, glancing up at them and then back to her. Yeah, I see. A nice round hand, as well. Officer material, you are. Give him the shilling, corporal. And the picture, of course.

Right, sergeant, said Corporal Strappi, holding up a picture frame on a handle, like a looking-glass. Pucker up, Private Parts.

Its Perks, sir, said Polly.

Yeah, right. Now kiss the Duchess.

It was not a good copy of the famous picture. The painting behind the glass was faded and something, some kind of moss or something, was growing on the inside of the cracked glass itself. Polly let her lips brush it while holding her breath.

Huh, said Strappi, and pressed something into her hand.

Whats this? said Polly, looking at the small square of paper.

An IOU. Bit short of shillings right now, said the sergeant, while Strappi smirked. But the innkeeperll stand you a pint of ale, courtesy of her grace.

He turned and looked up at the newcomers. Well, it never rains but it pours. You boys here to join up too? My word, and we didnt even have to bang the drum. It must be Corporal Strappis amazin charisma. Step up, dont be shy. Whos the next likely lad?

Polly looked at the next recruit with horror that she hoped she was concealing. She hadnt really noticed him in the gloom, because he was wearing blacknot cool, styled black, but a dusty black, the kind of suit people got buried in. By the look of it, that person had been him. There were cobwebs all over it. The boy himself had stitches across his forehead.

Your name, lad? said Jackrum.

Igor, thur.

Jackrum counted the stitches.

You know, I had a feeling it was going to be, he said. And I see youre eighteen.

Awake!

Oh, gods . . . Commander Samuel Vimes put his hands over his eyes.

I beg your pardon, your grace? said the Ankh-Morpork consul to Zlobenia. Are you ill, your grace?

Whats your name again, young man? said Vimes. Im sorry, but Ive been travelling for two weeks and not getting a lot of sleep and Ive spent all day being introduced to people with difficult names. Thats bad for the brain.

Its Clarence, your grace. Clarence Chinny.

Chinny? said Vimes, and Clarence read everything in his expression.

Im afraid so, sir, he said.

Were you a good fighter at school? said Vimes.

No, your grace, but no one could beat me over the one-hundred-yard dash.

Vimes laughed. Well, Clarence, any national anthem that starts Awake! is going to lead to trouble. They didnt teach you this in the Patricians office?

Er . . . no, your grace, said Chinny.

Well, youll find out. Carry on, then.

Yes, sir. Chinny cleared his throat. The Borogravian National Anthem, he announced, for the second time.

Awake sorry, your grace , ye sons of the Motherland!

Taste no more the wine of the sour apples

Woodsmen, grasp your choppers!

Farmers, slaughter with the tool formerly used for lifting beets the foe!

Frustrate the endless wiles of our enemies

We into the darkness march singing

Against the whole world in arms coming

But see the golden light upon the mountain tops!

The new day is a great big fish!

Er . . . Vimes said. That last bit . . . ?

That is a literal translation, your grace, said Clarence nervously. It means something like an amazing opportunity or a glittering prize, your grace.

When were not in public, Clarence, sir will do. Your grace is just to impress the natives. Vimes slumped back in his uncomfortable chair, chin in his hand, and then winced.

Two thousand three hundred miles, he said, shifting his position. And its freezing on a broomstick, however low they fly. And then the barge, and then the coach . . . He winced again. I read your report. Do you think its possible for an entire nation to be insane?

Clarence swallowed. Hed been told that he was talking to the second most powerful man in Ankh-Morpork, even if the man himself acted as though he was ignorant of the fact. His desk in this chilly tower room was rickety; it had belonged to the head janitor of the Kneck garrison until yesterday. Paperwork cluttered its scarred surface and was stacked in piles behind Vimess chair.

Vimes himself did not look, to Clarence, like a duke. He looked like a watchman which, in fact, Clarence understood, he was. This offended Clarence Chinny. People at the top should look as though they belonged there.

Thats a very . . . interesting question, sir, he said. You mean the people

Not the people, the nation, said Vimes. Borogravia looks off its head, to me, from what Ive read. I expect the people just do the best they can and get on with raising their kids which, I might say, Id rather be doing right now, too. Look, you know what I mean. You take a bunch of people who dont seem any different from you and me, but when you add them all together you get this sort of huge raving maniac with national borders and an anthem.

Its a fascinating idea, sir, said Clarence diplomatically.

Vimes looked round the room. The walls were bare stone. The windows were narrow. It was damn cold, even on a sunny day. All that bad food, and that bumping about and sleeping on bad beds . . . and all that travelling in the dark, too, on dwarf barges in their secret canals under the mountains  the gods alone knew what intricate diplomacy Lord Vetinari had pulled off to get that, although the Low King owed Vimes a few favours . . .

. . . all of that for this cold castle over this cold river between these stupid countries, with their stupid war. He knew what he wanted to do. If theyd been people, scuffling in the gutter, hed have known what to do. Hed have banged their heads together and maybe shoved them in the cells overnight. You couldnt bang countries together.

Vimes picked up some paperwork, fiddled with it, and threw it down again. To hell with this, he said. Whats happening out there?

I understand there are a few pockets of resistance in some of the more inaccessible areas of the keep, but they are being dealt with. For all practical purposes the keep is in our hands. That was a clever ruse of yours, your gr sir.

Vimes sighed. No, Clarence, it was a dull old ruse. It should not be possible to get men into a fortress dressed as washerwomen. Three of them had moustaches, for goodness sake!

The Borogravians are rather . . . old-fashioned about things like that, sir. On that subject, we appear to have zombies in the lower crypts. Dreadful things. A lot of high-ranking Borogravian military men were interred down there over the centuries, apparently.

Really? What are they doing now?

Clarence raised his eyebrows. Lurching, sir, I think. Groaning. Zombie things. Something seems to have stirred them up.

Us, probably, said Vimes. He got up, strode across the room, and pulled open the big heavy door. Reg! he yelled.

After a moment another watchman appeared, and saluted. He was grey-faced, and Clarence couldnt help noticing when the man saluted that the hand and fingers were held together with stitching.

Have you met Constable Shoe, Clarence? said Vimes cheerfully. One of my staff. Been dead for more than thirty years, and loves every minute of it, eh, Reg?

Right, Mister Vimes, said Reg, grinning and revealing a lot of brown teeth.

Some fellow countrymen of yours down in the cellar, Reg.

Oh, dear. Lurching, are they?

 fraid so, Reg.

I shall go and have a word with them, said Reg. He saluted again and marched out, with a hint of lurch.

Hes, er, from here? said Chinny, who had gone quite pale.

Oh, no. The undiscovered country, said Vimes. Hes dead. However, credit where its due, he hasnt let that stop him. You didnt know we have a zombie in the Watch, Clarence?

Er . . . no, sir. Ive havent been back to the city in five years. He swallowed. I gather things have changed.

Horribly so, in Clarence Chinnys opinion. Being consul to Zlobenia had been an easy job, which left him a lot of time to get on with his business. And then the big semaphore towers marched through, all along the valley, and suddenly Ankh-Morpork was an hour away. Before the clacks, a letter from Ankh-Morpork would take more than two weeks to get to him, and so no one worried if he took a day or two to answer it. Now people expected a reply overnight. Hed been quite glad when Borogravia had destroyed several of those wretched towers. And then all hell had been let loose.

Weve got all sorts in the Watch, said Vimes. And we bloody well need em now, Clarence, with Zlobenians and Borogravians scrapping in the streets over some damn quarrel that began a thousand years ago. Its worse than dwarfs and trolls! All because someones great-to-the-power-of-umpteen-grandmother slapped the face of someones great-ditto-uncle! Borogravia and Zlobenia cant even agree on a border. They chose the river, and that changes course every spring. Suddenly the clacks towers are now on Borogravian soil  or mud, anyway  so the idiots burn them down for religious reasons.

Er, there is more to it than that, sir, said Chinny.

Yes, I know. I read the history. The annual scrap with Zlobenia is just the local derby. Borogravia fights everybody. Why?

National pride, sir.

What in? Theres nothing there! Theres some tallow mines, and theyre not bad farmers, but theres no great architecture, no big libraries, no famous composers, no very high mountains, no wonderful views. All you can say about the place is that it isnt anywhere else. Whats so special about Borogravia?

I suppose its special because its theirs. And of course theres Nuggan, sir. Their god. Ive brought you a copy of the Book of Nuggan.

I looked through one back in the city, Chinny, said Vimes. Seemed pretty stu

That wouldnt have been a recent edition, sir. And I suspect it wouldnt be, er, very current that far from here. This one is more up to date, said Chinny, putting a small but thick book on the desk.

Up to date? What do you mean, up to date? said Vimes, looking puzzled. Holy writ gets . . . written. Do this, dont do that, no coveting your neighbours ox . . .

Um . . . Nuggan doesnt just leave it at that, sir. He, er . . . updates things. Mostly the Abominations, to be frank.

Vimes took the new copy. It was noticeably thicker than the one hed brought with him.

Its what they call a Living Testament, Chinny explained. They  well, I suppose you could say they die if theyre taken out of Borogravia. They no longer . . . get added to. The latest Abominations are at the end, sir, said Chinny helpfully.

This is a holy book with an appendix?

Exactly, sir.

In a ring binder ?

Quite so, sir. People put blank pages in and the Abominations . . . turn up.

You mean magically?

I suppose I mean religiously, sir.

Vimes opened a page at random. Chocolate? he said. He doesnt like chocolate?

Yes, sir. Thats an Abomination.

Garlic? Well, I dont much like that, so fair enough . . . cats?

Oh, yes. He really doesnt like cats, sir.

Dwarfs? It says here The dwarfish race which worships Gold is an Abomination unto Nuggan! He must be mad. What happened there?

Oh, the dwarfs that were here sealed their mines and vanished, your grace.

I bet they did. They know trouble when they see it, said Vimes. He let your grace pass this time; Chinny clearly derived some satisfaction from talking to a duke.

He leafed through the pages, and stopped. The colour blue?

Correct, sir.

Whats abominable about the colour blue? Its just a colour! The sky is blue!

Yes, sir. Devout Nugganites try not to look at it these days. Um . . . Chinny had been trained as a diplomat. Some things he didnt like to say directly. Nuggan, sir . . . um . . . is rather . . . tetchy, he managed.

Tetchy? said Vimes. A tetchy god? What, he complains about the noise their kids make? Objects to loud music after nine p.m.?

Um . . . we get the Ankh-Morpork Times here, sir, eventually, and, er, Id say, er, that Nuggan is very much like, er, the kind of people who write to its letter column. You know, sir. The kind who sign their letters Disgusted of Ankh-Morpork . . .

Oh, you mean he really is mad, said Vimes.

Oh, Id never mean anything like that, sir, said Chinny hurriedly.

What do the priests do about this?

Not a lot, sir. I think they quietly ignore some of the more, er, extreme Abominations.

You mean Nuggan objects to dwarfs, cats and the colour blue and therere more insane commandments?

Chinny coughed politely.

All right, then, growled Vimes. More extreme commandments?

Oysters, sir. He doesnt like them. But thats not a problem because no one here has ever seen an oyster. Oh, and babies. He Abominated them, too.

I take it people still make them here?

Oh, yes, your gr Im sorry. Yes, sir. But they feel guilty about it. Barking dogs, that was another one. Shirts with six buttons, too. And cheese. Er . . . people just sort of, er, avoid the trickier ones. Even the priests seem to have given up trying to explain them.

Yes, I think I can see why. So what we have here is a country that tries to run itself on the commandments of a god who, the people feel, may be wearing his underpants on his head. Has he Abominated underpants?

No, sir, Chinny sighed. But its probably only a matter of time.

So how do they manage?

These days, people mostly pray to the Duchess Annagovia. You see icons of her in every house. They call her the Little Mother.

Ah, yes, the Duchess. Can I get to see her?

Oh, no one sees her, sir. No one except her servants has seen her for more than thirty years. To be honest, sir, shes probably dead.

Only probably?

No one really knows. The official story is that shes in mourning. Its rather sad, sir. The young Duke died a week after they got married. Gored by a wild pig during a hunt, I believe. She went into mourning at the old castle at PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg and hasnt appeared in public since. The official portrait was painted when she was about forty, I believe.

No children?

No, sir. On her death, the line is extinct.

And they pray to her? Like a god?

Chinny sighed. I did put this in my briefing notes, sir. The royal family in Borogravia have always had a quasi-religious status, you see. Theyre the head of the church and the peasants, at least, pray to them in the hope that theyll put in a good word with Nuggan. Theyre like . . . living saints. Celestial intermediaries. To be honest, thats how these countries work in any case. If you want something done, you have to know the right people. And I suppose its easier to pray to someone in a picture than to a god you cant see.

Vimes sat looking at the consul for some time. When he next spoke, he frightened the man to his boots.

Whod inherit? he said.

Sir?

Just following the monarchy, Mr Chinny. If the Duchess isnt on the throne, who should be?

Um, its incredibly complex, sir, because of the intermarriages and the various legal systems, which for example

Whos the smart money on, Mr Chinny?

Um, Prince Heinrich of Zlobenia.

To Chinnys astonishment Vimes laughed. And hes wondering how aunties gettin on, I expect. I met him this morning, didnt I? Cant say I took to him.

But he is a friend of Ankh-Morpork, said Chinny reproachfully. That was in my report. Educated. Very interested in the clacks. Got great plans for his country. They used to be Nugganatic in Zlobenia, but hes banned the religion and, frankly, hardly anyone objected. He wants Zlobenia to move forward. He admires Ankh-Morpork very much.

Yes, I know. He sounds almost as insane as Nuggan, said Vimes. Okay, so what weve probably got is an elaborate charade to keep Heinrich out. Hows this place governed?

There isnt much. A bit of tax collecting, and thats about all. We think some of the senior court officials just drift on as if the Duchess was alive. The only thing that really works is the army.

All right, how about coppers? Everyone needs coppers. At least they have their feet on the ground.

I believe informal citizens committees enforce Nugganatic law, said Chinny.

Oh, gods. Prodnoses, curtain-twitchers and vigilantes, said Vimes. He stood up and peered out through the narrow window at the plain below. It was night-time. Cooking-fires in the enemy camp made demonic constellations in the darkness.

Did they tell you why Ive been sent here, Clarence? he said.

No, sir. My instructions were that you would, um, oversee things. Prince Heinrich is not very happy about it.

Oh, well, the interests of Ankh-Morpork are the interests of all money-lov oops, sorry, all freedom-loving people everywhere, said Vimes. We cant have a country that turns back our mail coaches and keeps cutting down the clacks towers. Thats expensive. Theyre cutting the continent in half, theyre the pinch in the hourglass. Im to bring things to a satisfactory conclusion. And frankly, Clarence, Im wondering if its even worth attacking Borogravia. Itll be cheaper to sit here and wait for it to explode. Although I notice . . . where was that report . . . ah, yes . . . it will starve first.

Regrettably so, sir.

Igor stood mutely in front of the recruiting table.

Dont often see you people these days, said Jackrum.

Yeah, run out of fresh brains, ave yer? said the corporal nastily.

Now then, corporal, no call for that, said the sergeant, leaning back in his creaking chair. Theres plenty of lads out there walking around on legs they wouldnt still have if there hadnt been a friendly Igor around, eh, Igor?

Yeah? Well, I heard about people waking up and findin their friendly Igor had whipped out their brains in the middle of the night and buggered off to flog em, said the corporal, glaring at Igor.

I promith you your brain ith entirely thafe from me, corporal, said Igor. Polly started to laugh, and stopped when she realized absolutely no one else was doing so.

Yeah, well, I met a sergeant who said an Igor put a mans legs on backwards, said Corporal Strappi. What goods that to a soldier, eh?

Could advance and retreat at the thame time? said Igor levelly. Thargent, I know all the thtorieth, and they are nothing but vile calumnieth. I theek only to therve my country. I do not want trouble.

Right, said the sergeant. Nor do we. Make your mark, and youve got to promise not to mess about with Corporal Strappis brain, right? Another signature? My word, I can see weve got ourselves a bleedin college of recruits today. Give him his cardboard shilling, corporal.

Thank you, said Igor. And I would like to give the picture a wipe, if itth all the thame to you. He produced a small cloth.

Wipe it? said Strappi. Is that allowed, sergeant?

What do you want to wipe it for, mister? said Jackrum.

To remove the invithible demonth, said Igor.

I cant see any invis Strappi began, and stopped.

Just let him, all right? said Jackrum. Its one of their funny little ways.

Dunt seem right, muttered Strappi. Practically treason . . .

Cant see why itd be wrong just to give the old girl a wash, said the sergeant shortly. Next. Oh . . .

Igor, after carefully wiping the stained picture and giving it a perfunctory peck, came and stood next to Polly, giving her a sheepish grin. But she was watching the next recruit.

He was short and quite slim, which was fairly usual in a country where it was rare to get enough food to make you fat. But he was dressed in black and expensively, like an aristocrat; he even had a sword. The sergeant was, therefore, looking worried. Clearly a man could get into trouble talking wrong to a nob who might have important friends.

You sure youve come to the right place, sir? he said.

Yes, sergeant. I wish to enlist.

Sergeant Jackrum shifted uneasily. Yes, sir, but Im not sure a gentleman like you

Are you going to enlist me or not, sergeant?

Not usual for a gentleman to enlist as a common soldier, sir, mumbled the sergeant.

What you mean, sergeant, is: is anyone after me? Is there a price on my head? And the answer is no.

How about a mob with pitchforks? said Corporal Strappi. Hes a bloody vampire, sarge! Anyone can see that! Hes a Black Ribboner! Look, hes got the badge!

Which says Not One Drop, said the young man calmly. Not one drop of human blood, sergeant. A prohibition I have accepted for almost two years, thanks to the League of Temperance. Of course, if you have a personal objection, sergeant, you only need to give it to me in writing.

Which was quite a clever thing to say, Polly thought. Those clothes cost serious money. Most of the vampire families were highly nobby. You never knew who was connected to who . . . not just connected to who, in fact, but to whom. Whoms were likely to be far more trouble than your common everyday who. The sergeant was looking down a mile of rough road.

Got to move with the times, corporal, he said, deciding not to go there. And we certainly need the men.

Yeah, but sposin he wants to suck all my blood out in the middle of the night? said Strappi.

Well, hell just have to wait until Private Igors finished looking for your brain, wont he? snapped the sergeant. Sign here, mister.

The pen scratched on the paper. After a minute or two the vampire turned the paper over and continued writing on the other side. Vampires had long names.

But you can call me Maladict, he said, dropping the pen back in the inkwell.

Thank you very much, I must say, si private. Give him the shilling, corporal. Good job its not a silver one, eh? Haha!

Yes, said Maladict. It is.

Next! said the sergeant. Polly watched as a farm boy, breeches held up with string, shuffled in front of the table and looked at the quill pen with the resentful perplexity of those confronted with new technology.

She turned back to the bar. The landlord glared at her in the manner of bad landlords everywhere. As her father always said, if you kept an inn you either liked people or went mad. Oddly enough, some of the mad ones were the best at looking after their beer. But by the smell of the place, this wasnt one of those.

She leaned on the bar. Pint, please, she said, and watched glumly as the man gave a scowl of acknowledgement and turned to the big barrels. Itd be sour, she knew, with the slop bucket under the tap tipped back in every night, and the spigot not put back, and . . . yes, it was going to be served in a leather tankard that had probably never been washed.

A couple of new recruits were already knocking back their pints, though, with every audible sign of enjoyment. But this was Plün, after all. Anything that made you forget you were there was probably worth drinking.

One of them said, Lovely pint, this, eh? and the boy next to him belched and said, Best Ive tasted, yeah.

Polly sniffed at the tankard. The contents smelled like something she wouldnt feed to pigs. She took a sip, and completely changed her opinion. She would feed it to pigs. Those lads have never tasted beer before, she told herself. Its like dad said. Out in the country theres lads whod join up for an uninhabited pair of breeches. And theyll drink this muck and pretend to enjoy it like men, hey up, we supped some stuff last night, eh, lads? And then next thing

Oh, lor . . . that reminded her. Whatd the privy be like here? The mens one out in the yard back at home was bad enough. Polly sloshed two big pails of water into it every morning while trying not to breathe. There was weird green moss growing on the slate floor. And The Duchess was a good inn. It had customers who took their boots off before going to bed.

She narrowed her eyes. This stupid fool in front of her, a man making one long eyebrow do the work of two, was serving them slops and foul vinegar just before they marched off to war

Thith beer, said Igor, on her right, tathteth of horthe pith.

Polly stood back. Even in a bar like this, that was killing talk.

Oh, youd know, would you? said the barman, looming over the boy. Drunk horse piss, have you?

Yeth, said Igor.

The barman stuck a fist in front of Igors face. Now you listen to me, you lisping little

A slim black arm appeared with amazing speed and a pale hand caught the mans wrist. The one eyebrow contorted in sudden agony.

Now, its like this, said Maladict calmly. Were soldiers of the Duchess, agreed? Just say aargh.

He must have squeezed. The man groaned.

Thank you. And youre serving up as beer a liquid best described as foul water, Maladict went on in the same level, conversational tone. I, of course, dont drink . . . horse piss, but I have a highly developed sense of smell, and really would prefer not to list aloud the things I can smell in this murk, so well just say rat droppings and leave it at that, shall we? Just whimper. Good man. At the end of the bar, one of the new recruits threw up. The barmans fingers had gone white. Maladict nodded with satisfaction.

Incapacitating a soldier of her grace in wartime is a treasonable offence, he said. He leaned forward. Punishable, of course, by . . . death. Maladict pronounced the word with a certain delight. However, if there happened to be another barrel of beer around the place, you know, good stuff, the stuff youd keep for your friends if you had any friends, then Im sure we can forget this little incident. Now, Im going to let go of your wrist. I can tell by your eyebrow that you are a thinker, and if youre thinking of rushing back in here with a big stick, Id like you to think about this instead: Id like you to think about this black ribbon Im wearing. Know what it means, do you?

The barman winced, and mumbled: Temprance League . . .

Right! Well done! said Maladict. And one more thought for you, if youve got room. Ive only taken a pledge not to drink human blood. It doesnt mean I cant kick you in the fork so hard you suddenly go deaf.

He released his grip. The barman slowly straightened up. Under the bar he would have a short wooden club, Polly knew. Every bar had one. Even her father had one. It was a great help, he said, in times of worry and confusion. She saw the fingers of the usable hand twitch.

Dont, she said. I think he means it.

The barman relaxed. Bit of a misunderstanding there, gents, he mumbled. Got the wrong barrel in. No offence meant. He shuffled off, his hand almost visibly throbbing.

I only thaid it wath horthe pith, said Igor.

He wont cause trouble, said Polly to Maladict. Hell be your friend from now on. Hes worked out he cant beat you so hes going to be your best mate.

Maladict subjected her to a thoughtful stare. I know that, he said. How do you?

I used to work in an inn, said Polly, feeling her heart begin to beat faster, as it always did when the lies lined up. You learn to read people.

What did you do in the inn?

Barman.

Theres another inn in this hole, is there?

Oh no, Im not from round here.

Polly groaned at the sound of her own voice, and waited for the question: Then why come here to join up? It didnt come. Instead, Maladict just shrugged and said, I shouldnt think anyone is from round here.

A couple more new recruits arrived at the bar. They had the same look  sheepish, a bit defiant, in clothes that didnt fit well. Eyebrow reappeared with a small keg, which he laid reverentially on a stand and gently tapped. He pulled a genuine pewter tankard from under the bar, filled it, and timorously proffered it to Maladict.

Igor? said the vampire, waving it away.

Ill thtick with the horthe pith, if itth all the thame to you, said Igor. He looked around in the sudden silence. Look, I never thaid I didnt like it, said Igor. He pushed his mug across the sticky bar. Thame again?

Polly took the new tankard and sniffed at it. Then she took a sip. Not bad, she said. At least it tastes like its

The door pushed open, letting in the sounds of the storm. About two-thirds of a troll eased its way inside, and then managed to get the rest of itself through.

Polly was okay about trolls. She met them up in the woods sometimes, sitting amongst the trees or purposefully lumbering along the tracks on the way to whatever it was trolls did. They werent friendly, they were . . . resigned. The worlds got humans in it, live with it. Theyre not worth the indigestion. You cant kill em all. Step around em. Stepping on em doesnt work in the long term.

Occasionally a farmer would hire one to do some heavy work. Sometimes they turned up, sometimes they didnt. Sometimes theyd turn up, lumber around a field pulling out tree stumps as if they were carrots, and then wander off without waiting to be paid. A lot of things humans did mystified trolls, and vice versa. Generally, they avoided one another.

But she didnt often see trolls as . . . trollish as this one. It looked like a boulder that had spent centuries in the damp pine forests. Lichen covered it. Stringy grey moss hung in curtains from its head and its chin. It had a birds nest in one ear. It had a genuine troll club, made from an uprooted sapling. It was almost a joke troll, except that no one would laugh.

The root end of the sapling bumped across the floor as the troll, watched by the recruits and a horrified Corporal Strappi, trudged to the table.

Gonna En List, it said. Gonna do my bit. Gimme shillin.

Youre a troll! Strappi burst out.

Now, now, none of that, corporal, said Sergeant Jackrum. Dont ask, dont tell.

Dont ask? Dont ask? Its a troll, sarge! Its got crags! Theres grass growing under its fingernails! Its a troll!

Right, said the sergeant. Enlist him.

You want to fight with us? Strappi squeaked. Trolls had no sense of personal space, and a ton of what was, for practical purposes, a kind of rock was looming right over the table.

The troll analysed the question. The recruits stood in silence, mugs halfway to mouths.

No, said the troll at last. Gonna fight wi En Army. Gods save the . . . The troll paused, and looked at the ceiling. Whatever it was seeking there didnt appear to be visible. Then it looked at its feet, which had grass growing on them. Then it looked at its free hand and moved its fingers as if counting something. . . . Duchess, it said. It had been a long wait. The table creaked as the troll laid a hand on it, palm upwards. Gimme shillin.

Weve only got the bits of pape Corporal Strappi began. Sergeant Jackrum jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

Upon my oath, are you mad? he hissed. Theres a ten-man bounty for enlisting a troll! With his other hand he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a real silver shilling, and placed it delicately in the huge hand. Welcome to your new life, friend! Ill just write your name down, shall I? What is it?

The troll looked at ceiling, feet, sergeant, wall and table. Polly saw its lips move. Carborundum? it volunteered.

Yeah, probably, said the sergeant. Er, howd you like to shav to cut off some of that hai moss? Weve got a, a sort of a . . . regulation . . .

Wall, floor, ceiling, table, fingers, sergeant. No, said Carborundum.

Right. Right. Right, said the sergeant quickly. Its not a regulation as per such, actually, its more of an advisory. Silly one, too, eh? Ive always thought so. Glad to have you with us, he added fervently.

The troll licked the coin, which gleamed like a diamond in its hand. It actually did have grass growing under its fingernails too, Polly noticed. Then Carborundum trudged to the bar. The crowd parted instantly, because trolls never had to stand at the back of the press of bodies, waving money and trying to catch the barmans eye.

He broke the coin in two and dropped both halves on the bar top. Eyebrow swallowed. He looked as though he would have said Are you sure? except that this was not a question barmen addressed to people weighing over half a ton. Carborundum thought for a while, and then said: Gimme drink.

Eyebrow nodded, disappeared briefly into the room behind the bar, and came back holding a double-handled mug. Maladict sneezed. Pollys eyes watered. It was the kind of smell you sense with your teeth. The pub might make foul beer as a matter of course, but this was eye-stinging vinegar.

Eyebrow dropped one half of the silver coin into it, and then took a copper penny out of the money drawer and held it over the fuming mug. The troll nodded. With just a hint of ceremony, like a cocktail waiter dropping the little umbrella into a Double Entendre, Eyebrow let the copper fall.

More bubbles welled up. Igor watched with interest. Carborundum picked the mug up in two fingers of each shovel-like hand, and swallowed the contents in one gulp. He stood stock still for a moment, then carefully put the mug back on the bar.

You gentlemen might like to move back a bit, murmured Eyebrow.

Whats going to happen? said Polly.

It takes em all differently, said Eyebrow. Looks like this ones  no, there he goes . . .

With considerable style, Carborundum went over backwards. There was no sagging at the knees, no girly attempt to soften the fall. He just went from standing up, one hand out, to lying down, one hand up. He even rocked gently for some time after hitting the floor.

Got no head for his drink, said Eyebrow. Typical of the young bucks. Wants to play the big troll, comes in here, orders an Electrick Floorbanger, doesnt know how to handle it.

Is he going to come round? said Maladict.

No, thats it until dawn, I reckon, said Eyebrow. Brain stops working.

Shouldnt affect him too much, then, said Corporal Strappi, stepping up. Right, you miserable lot. Youre sleeping in the shed out the back, understand? Practically waterproof, hardly any rats. Were out of here at dawn! Youre in the army now!

Polly lay in the dark, on a bed of musty straw. There was no question of anyones getting undressed. The rain hammered on the roof and the wind blew through a crack under the door, despite Igors attempt to stuff it with straw. There was some desultory conversation, during which Polly found that she was sharing the dank shed with Tonker Halter, Shufti Manickle, Wazzer Goom and Lofty Tewt. Maladict and Igor didnt seem to have acquired repeatable nicknames. Shed become Ozzer by general agreement.

Slightly to Pollys surprise the boy now known as Wazzer had taken a small picture of the Duchess out of his pack and had nervously hung it on an old nail. No one else said anything as he prayed to it. It was what you were supposed to do.

They said the Duchess was dead . . .

Polly had been washing up when shed heard the men talking late one night, and its a poor woman who cant eavesdrop while making a noise at the same time.

Dead, they said, but the people up at PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg werent admitting it. That was cos what with there being no children, and with royalty marrying one anothers cousins and grannies all the time, the ducal throne would go to Prince Heinrich of Zlobenia! There! Can you believe that? Thats why we never see her, right? And there hasnt been a new picture all these years? Makes you think, eh? Oh, they say shes been in mourning cos of the young Duke, but that was moren seventy years ago! They say she was buried in secret and

At which point her father had stopped the speaker dead. There are some conversations where you dont even want people to remember you were in the same room.

Dead or alive, the Duchess watched over you.

The recruits tried to sleep.

Occasionally, someone belched or expelled wind noisily, and Polly responded with a few fake eructations of her own. That seemed to inspire greater effort on the part of the other sleepers, to the point where the roof rattled and dust fell down, before everyone subsided. Once or twice she heard people stagger out into the windy darkness, in theory for the privy but probably, given male impatience in these matters, to aim much closer to home. Once, coasting in and out of a troubled dream, she thought she heard someone sobbing.

Taking care not to rustle too much, Polly pulled out the much-folded, much-read, much-stained last letter from her brother, and read it by the light of the solitary, guttering candle. It had been opened and heavily mangled by the censors, and bore the stamp of the Duchy. It read:

Dear all,

We are in """"" which is """ with a ""big thing with knobs. On """"we will """"" which is just as well because """ out of. I am keeping well. The food is """". """ well "" at the """ but my mate ""er says not to worry, itll be all over by """" and we shall all have medals.

Chins up! Paul

It was in a careful hand, the excessively clear and well-shaped writing of someone who has to think about every letter. She slowly folded it up again. Paul had wanted medals, because they were shiny. Thatd been almost a year ago, when any recruiting party that came past went away with the best part of a battalion, and there had been people waving them off with flags and music. Sometimes, now, smaller parties of men came back. The lucky ones were missing only one arm or one leg. There were no flags.

She unfolded another piece of paper. It was a pamphlet. It was headed From the Mothers of Borogravia! The mothers of Borogravia were very definite about wanting to send their sons off to war against the Zlobenian Aggressor and used a great many exclamation marks to say so. And this was odd, because the mothers in Munz had not seemed keen on the idea of their sons going off to war, and positively tried to drag them back. Several copies of the pamphlet seemed to have reached every home, even so. It was very patriotic. That is, it talked about killing foreigners.

Polly had learned to read and write after a fashion because the inn was big and it was a business and things had to be tallied and recorded. Her mother had taught her to read, which was acceptable to Nuggan, and her father made sure that she learned how to write, which was not. A woman who could write was an Abomination unto Nuggan, according to Father Jupe; anything she wrote would by definition be a lie.

But Polly had learned anyway because Paul hadnt, at least to the standard needed to run an inn as busy as The Duchess. He could read if he could run his finger slowly along the lines, and he wrote letters at a snails pace, with a lot of care and heavy breathing, like a man assembling a piece of jewellery. He was big and kind and slow and could lift beer kegs as though they were toys, but he wasnt a man at home with paperwork. Their father had hinted to Polly, very gently but very often, that Polly would need to be right behind him when the time came for him to run The Duchess. Left to himself, with no one to tell him what to do next, her brother just stood and watched birds.

At Pauls insistence, shed read the whole of From the Mothers of Borogravia! to him, including the bits about heroes and there being no greater good than to die for your country. She wished, now, she hadnt done that. Paul did what he was told. Unfortunately, he believed what he was told, too.

Polly put the papers away and dozed again, until her bladder woke her up. Oh, well, at least at this time of the morning shed have a clear run. She reached out for her pack and stepped as softly as she could out into the rain.

It was mostly just coming off the trees now, which were roaring in the wind that blew up the valley. The moon was hidden in the clouds, but there was just enough light to make out the inns buildings. A certain greyness suggested that what passed for dawn in Plün was on the way. She located the mens privy which, indeed, stank of inaccuracy.

A lot of planning and practice had gone into this moment. She was helped by the design of the breeches, which were the old-fashioned kind with generous buttoned trapdoors, and also by the experiments shed made very early in the mornings when she was doing the cleaning. In short, with care and attention to detail, shed found that a woman could pee standing up. It certainly worked back home in the inns privy, which had been designed and built in the certain expectation of the aimlessness of the customers.

The wind shook the dank building. In the dark she thought of Auntie Hattie, whod gone a bit strange round her sixtieth birthday and persistently accused passing young men of looking up her dress. She was even worse after a glass of wine, and she had one joke: What does a man stand up to do, a woman sit down to do and a dog lift its leg to do? And then, when everyone was too embarrassed to answer, shed triumphantly shriek, Shake hands! and fall over. Auntie Hattie was an Abomination all by herself.

Polly buttoned up the breeches with a sense of exhilaration. She felt shed crossed a bridge, a sensation that was helped by the realization that shed kept her feet dry.

Someone said, Psst!

It was just as well shed already taken a leak. Panic instantly squeezed every muscle. Where were they hiding? This was just a rotten old shed! Oh, there were a few cubicles, but the smell alone suggested very strongly that the woods outside would be a much better proposition. Even on a wild night. Even with extra wolves.

Yes? she quavered, and then cleared her throat and demanded, with a little more gruffness: Yes?

Youll need these, whispered the voice. In the fetid gloom she made out something rising over the top of a cubicle. She reached up nervously and touched softness. It was a bundle of wool. Her fingers explored it.

A pair of socks? she said.

Right. Wear em, said the mystery voice hoarsely.

Thank you, but Ive brought several pairs . . . Polly began.

There was a faint sigh. No. Not on your feet. Shove em down the front of your trousers.

What do you mean?

Look, said the whisperer patiently, you dont bulge where you shouldnt bulge. Thats good. But you dont bulge where you should bulge, either. You know? Lower down?

Oh! Er . . . I . . . but . . . I didnt think people noticed . . . said Polly, glowing with embarrassment. Shed been spotted! But there was no hue and cry, no angry quotations from the Book of Nuggan. Someone was helping. Someone who had seen her . . .

Its a funny thing, said the voice, but they notice whats missing more than they notice whats there. Just one pair, mark you. Dont get ambitious.

Polly hesitated. Um . . . is it obvious? she said.

No. Thats why I gave you the socks.

I meant that . . . that Im not . . . that Im . . .

Not really, said the voice in the dark. Youre pretty good. You come over as a frightened young lad trying to look big and brave. You might pick your nose a bit more often. Just a tip. Few things interest a young man more than the contents of his nostrils. Now Ive got a favour to ask you in return.

I didnt ask you for one, Polly thought, quite annoyed at being taken for being a frightened young lad when she was sure shed come over as quite a cool, non-ruffled young lad. But she said calmly: What is it?

Got any paper?

Wordlessly, Polly pulled From the Mothers of Borogravia! out of her shirt and handed it up. She heard the sound of a match striking, and a sulphurous smell which only improved the general conditions.

Why, is this the escutcheon of her grace the Duchess I see in front of me? said the whisperer. Well, it wont be in front of me for long. Beat it . . . boy.

Polly hurried out into the night, shocked, dazed, confused and almost asphyxiated, and made it to the shed door. But shed barely shut it behind her and was still blinking in the blackness when it was thrust open again, to let in the wind, rain and Corporal Strappi.

All right, all right! Hands off . . . well, you lot wouldnt be able to find em . . . and on with socks! Hup hup hi ho hup hup . . .

Bodies were suddenly springing up or falling over all round Polly. Their muscles must have been obeying the voice directly, because no brain could have got into gear that quickly. Corporal Strappi, in obedience to the law of non-commissioned officers, responded by making the confusion more confusing.

Good grief, a lot of old women could shift bettern you! he shouted with satisfaction as people flailed around looking for coats and boots. Fall in! Get shaved! Every man in the regiment to be clean shaven, by order! Get dressed! Wazzer, Ive got my eye on you! Move! Move! Breakfast in five minutes! Last one there doesnt get a sausage! Oh deary me, what a bloody shower!

The four lesser horsemen of Panic, Bewilderment, Ignorance and Shouting took control of the room, to Corporal Strappis obscene glee. Polly, though, ducked out of the door, pulled a small tin mug out of her pack, dipped it into a water butt, balanced it on an old barrel behind the inn, and started to shave.

Shed practised this, too. The secret was in the old cut-throat razor that shed carefully blunted. After that, it was all in the shaving brush and soap. Get a lot of lather on, shave a lot of lather off, and youd had a shave, hadnt you? Must have done, sir, feel how smooth the skin is . . .

She was halfway through when a voice by her ear screamed: What dyou think youre doing, Private Parts?

It was just as well the blade was blunt.

Perks, sir! she said, rubbing her nose. Im shaving, sir! Its Perks, sir!

Sir? Sir? Im not a sir, Parts, Im a bloody corporal, Parts. That means you calls me corporal, Parts. And you are shaving in an official regimental mug, Parts, what you have not been issued with, right? You a deserter, Parts?

No, s corporal!

A thief, then?

No, corporal!

Then how come you got a bloody mug, Parts?

Got it off a dead man, sir corporal!

Strappis voice, pitched to a scream in any case, became a screech of rage. Youre a looter?

No, corporal! The soldier . . .

. . . had died almost in her arms, on the floor of the inn.

There had been half a dozen men in that party of returning heroes. They must have been trekking with grey-faced patience for days, making their way back to little villages in the mountains. Polly counted nine arms and ten legs between them, and ten eyes.

But it was the apparently whole who were worse, in a way. They kept their stinking coats buttoned tight, in lieu of bandages, over whatever unspeakable mess lay beneath, and they had the smell of death about them. The inns regulars made space for them, and talked quietly, like people in a sacred place. Her father, not usually a man given to sentiment, quietly put a generous tot of brandy into each mug of ale, and refused all payment. Then it turned out that they were carrying letters from soldiers still fighting, and one of them had brought the letter from Paul. He pushed it across the table to Polly as she served them stew and then, with very little fuss, he died.

The rest of the men moved unsteadily on later that day, taking with them, to give to his parents, the pot-metal medal that had been in the soldiers coat pocket and the official commendation from the Duchy that went with it. Polly had taken a look at it. It was printed, including the Duchesss signature, and the mans name had been filled in, rather cramped, because it was longer than average. The last few letters were rammed up tight together.

Its little details like that which get remembered, as undirected white-hot rage fills the mind. Apart from the letter and the medal, all the man left behind was a tin mug and, on the floor, a stain which wouldnt scrub out.

Corporal Strappi listened impatiently to a slightly adjusted version. Polly could see his mind working. The mug had belonged to a soldier; now it belonged to another soldier. Those were the facts of the matter, and there wasnt much he could do about it. He resorted, instead, to the safer ground of general abuse.

So you think youre smart, Parts? he said.

No, corporal.

Oh? So youre stupid, are you?

Well, I did enlist, corporal, said Polly meekly. Somewhere behind Strappi, someone sniggered.

Ive got my eye on you, Parts, growled Strappi, temporarily defeated. Just you put a foot wrong, thats all. He strode off.

Um . . . said a voice beside Polly. She turned to see another youth, wearing secondhand clothes and an air of nervousness that didnt quite conceal some bubbling anger. He was big and red-haired, but it was cut so close that it was just head fuzz.

Youre Tonker, right? she said.

Yeah, and, er . . . could I have a borrow of your shaving gear, right?

Polly looked at a chin as free of hair as a billiard ball. The boy blushed.

Got to start sometime, right? he said defiantly.

The razorll need sharpening, said Polly.

Thats all right, I know how to do that, said Tonker.

Polly wordlessly handed over the mug and razor, and took the opportunity to duck into the privy while everyone else was occupied. It was the work of a moment to put the socks in place. Anchoring them was a problem, which she solved by unwinding part of one sock and tucking it up under her belt. They felt odd, and strangely heavy for a little package of wool. Walking a little awkwardly, Polly went in to see what horrors breakfast would bring.

It brought stale horse-bread and sausage and very weak beer. She grabbed a sausage and a slab of bread and sat down.

You had to concentrate to eat horse-bread. There was a lot more about these days, a bread made from flour ground up with dried pease and beans and vegetable scrapings. It used to be made just for horses, to put them in fine condition. Now you hardly ever saw anything else on the table, and there tended to be less and less of it, too. You needed time and good teeth to work your way through a slice of horse-bread, just as you needed a complete lack of imagination to eat a modern sausage. Polly sat and concentrated on chewing.

The only other area of calm was around Private Maladict, who was drinking coffee like a young man relaxing in a pavement cafe, with the air of someone who has life thoroughly worked out. He nodded at Polly.

Was that him in the privy? she wondered. I got back in just as Strappi started yelling and everyone started running around and rushing in and out. It could have been anyone. Do vampires use the privy? Well, do they? Has anyone ever dared ask?

Sleep well? he asked.

Yeah. Did you? said Polly.

I couldnt stand that shed, but Mr Eyebrow kindly allowed me to use his cellar, said Maladict. Old habits die hard, you know? At least, he added, old acceptable habits. Ive never felt happy not hanging down.

And you got coffee?

I carry my own supply, said Maladict, indicating an exquisite little silver and gilt coffee-making engine on the table by his cup, and Mr Eyebrow kindly boiled some water for me. He grinned, showing two long canine teeth. Its amazing what you can achieve with a smile, Oliver.

Polly nodded. Er . . . is Igor a friend of yours? she said. At the next table Igor had obtained a sausage, presumably raw, from the kitchen, and was watching it intently. A couple of wires ran from the sausage to a mug of the horrible vinegary beer, which was bubbling.

Never seen him before in my life, said the vampire. Of course, if youve met one you have in a sense met them all. We had an Igor at home. Wonderful workers. Very reliable. Very trustworthy. And, of course, so good at stitching things together, if you know what I mean.

Those stitches round his head dont look very professional, said Polly, who was beginning to object to Maladicts permanent expression of effortless superiority.

Oh, that? Its an Igor thing, said Maladict. Its a Look. Like . . . tribal markings, you know? They like them to show. Ha, we had a servant once who had stitches all the way round his neck, and he was extremely proud of them.

Really? said Polly weakly.

Yes, and the droll part of it all was that it wasnt even his head!

Now Igor had a syringe in his hand, and was watching the sausage with an air of satisfaction. For a moment, Polly thought that the sausage moved . . .

All right, all right, times up, you horrible lot! barked Corporal Strappi, strutting into the room. Fall in! That means line up, you shower! That means you too, Parts! And you, Mr Vampire, sir, will you be joining us for a mornings light soldiering? On your feet! And wheres that bloody Igor?

Here, thur, said Igor, from three inches behind Strappis backbone. The corporal spun round.

How did you get there? he bellowed.

Itth a gift, thur, said Igor.

Dont you ever get behind me again! Fall in with the rest of them! Now . . . Attention! Strappi sighed theatrically. That means stand up straight. Got it? Once more with feeling! Attention! Ah, I see the problem! Youve got trousers that are permanently at ease! I think I shall have to write to the Duchess and tell her she should ask for her money back! What are you smiling about, Mr Vampire sir? Strappi positioned himself in front of Maladict, who stood faultlessly to attention.

Happy to be in the regiment, corporal!

Yeah, right, mumbled Strappi. Well, you wont be so

Everything all right, corporal? asked Sergeant Jackrum, appearing in the doorway.

Best we could expect, sergeant, sighed the corporal. We ought to throw em back, oh dear me, yes. Useless, useless, useless . . .

Okay, lads. Stand easy, said Jackrum, glancing at Strappi in a less than friendly way. Today were heading on down towards Plotz, where well meet up with the other recruiting parties and youll be issued with your uniforms and weapons, you lucky lads. Any of you ever used a weapon? You have, Perks?

Polly lowered her hand. A bit, sarge. My brother taught me a bit when he was home on leave, and some of the old men in the bar where I worked gave me some, er, tips. They had, too. It was funny to watch a girl waving a sword around, and theyd been kind enough when they werent laughing. She was a quick learner, but shed made a point of staying clumsy long after shed got the feel for the blade, because using a sword was also the work of an Man and a woman doing it was an Abomination unto Nuggan. Old soldiers, on the whole, were on the easygoing side when it came to Abominations. Shed be funny just as long as she was useless, and safe as long as she was funny.

Expert, are yer? said Strappi, grinning nastily. A real fencin genius, are yer?

No, corporal, said Polly meekly.

All right, said Jackrum. Anyone else

Hang on, sarge, I reckon wed all like a bit of instruction from swordmeister Parts, said Strappi. Aint that right, lads? There was a general murmuring and shrugging from the squad, who recognized a right little bullying bastard when they saw one but, treacherously, were glad he hadnt picked on them.

Strappi drew his own sword. Lend him one of yours, sarge, he said. Go on. Just a little bit of fun, eh?

Jackrum hesitated, and glanced at Polly. How about it, lad? You dont have to, he said.

Ill have to sooner or later, Polly thought. The world was full of Strappies. If you backed away from them, they only kept on coming. You had to stop them at the start. She sighed. Okay, sarge.

Jackrum pulled one of his cutlasses out of his sash and handed it to Polly. It looked amazingly sharp.

He wont hurt you, Perks, he said, while looking at the smirking Strappi.

Ill try not to hurt him either, sir, said Polly, and then cursed herself for the idiot bravado. It must have been the socks talking.

Oh, good, said Strappi, stepping back. Well just see what youre made of, Parts.

Flesh, thought Polly. Blood. Easily cut things. Oh, well . . .

Strappi waved his sabre like the old boys had done, down low, in case she was one of those people who thought the whole idea was to hit the other mans sword. She ignored it, and watched his eyes, which was no great treat. He wouldnt stick her, not mortally, not with Jackrum watching. Hed try for something thatd hurt and make everyone laugh at her. That was the Strappi type through and through. Every inn counted one or two amongst its regulars.

The corporal tested her more aggressively a couple of times, and twice, by luck, she managed to knock the blade out of the way. Luck would run out, though, and if she looked like putting up a decent show Strappi would sort her out good and proper. Then she remembered the cackled advice of old Gummy Abbens, a retired sergeant whod lost his left arm to a broadsword and all his teeth to cider: A good swordsman ates comin up against a newbie, gel! The reason bein, he dont know what the buggers gonna do!

She swung the cutlass wildly. Strappi had to block it, and for a moment the swords locked.

That the best you can do, Parts? the corporal jeered.

Polly reached out and grabbed his shirt. No, corporal, she said, but this is. She pulled hard and lowered her head.

The collision hurt more than shed hoped, but she heard something crunch and it didnt belong to her. She stepped back quickly, slightly dizzy, with the cutlass at the ready.

Strappi had sunk to his knees, blood gushing from his nose. When he got up, someone was going to die . . .

Panting, Polly appealed wordlessly to Sergeant Jackrum, who had folded his arms and was looking innocently at the ceiling.

I bet you didnt learn that from your brother, Perks, he said.

No, sarge. Got that from Gummy Abbens, sarge.

Jackrum suddenly looked down at her, grinning. What, old Sergeant Abbens?

Yes, sarge!

Theres a name from the past! Hes still alive? How is the evil old sot?

Er . . . well preserved, sarge, said Polly, still trying to get her breath.

Jackrum laughed. Yeah, Ill bet. Did his best fighting in bars, he did. And Ill bet thats not the only trick he told you about, eh?

No, sir. And the other men had scolded the old boy for telling her, and Gummy had chuckled into his cider mug, and anyway it had taken Polly a long time to find out what family jewels meant.

Hear that, Strappi? said the sergeant to the cursing man dribbling blood on to the floor. Looks like you was lucky. But theres no prizes for fighting fair in a melee, lads, as you will learn. All right, fun over. Go and put some cold water on that, corporal. It always looks worse than it is. And thats an end of it, the pair of you. That is an order. A word to the wise. Understood?

Yes, sarge, said Polly meekly. Strappi grunted.

Jackrum looked at the rest of the recruits. Okay. Any of the rest of you boys ever held a stick? Right. I can see were going to have to start slow and work up . . .

There was another grunt from Strappi. You had to admire the man. On his knees, with blood bubbling through the hand cupping his injured nose, he could find time to make life difficult for someone in some small way.

Private Bloodfnucker hnas a fnord, fnargeant, he said accusingly.

Any good with it? said the sergeant to Maladict.

Not really, sir, said Maladict. Never had training. I carry it for protection, sir.

How can you protect yourself by carrying a sword if you dont know how to use it?

Not me, sir. Other people. They see the sword and dont attack me, said Maladict patiently.

Yes, but if they did, lad, you wouldnt be any good with it, said the sergeant.

No, sir. Id probably settle for just ripping their heads off, sir. Thats what I mean by protection, sir. Theirs, not mine. And Id get hell from the League if I did that, sir.

The sergeant stared at him for a while. Well thought out, he mumbled.

There was a thud behind them and a table overturned. Carborundum the troll sat up, groaned, and crashed back down again. At the second attempt, he managed to stay upright, both hands clutching his head.

Corporal Strappi, now on his feet, must have been made fearless by fury. He headed for the troll in a high-speed strut and stood in front of him, vibrating with rage and still oozing blood in sticky strings.

You orrible little man! he screamed. You

Carborundum reached down and, with care and no apparent effort, picked the corporal up by his head. He brought him to one crusted eye and turned him this way and that.

Did I join th army? he rumbled. Oh, coprolite . . .

This is affnault on a fnuperior officer! screamed the muffled voice of the corporal.

Put Corporal Strappi down, please, said Sergeant Jackrum. The troll grunted, and lowered the man to the floor.

Sorry about dat, he said. Thought you was a dwarf.

I dnemand this man is affrested for Strappi began.

No you dont, corporal, no you dont, said the sergeant. This is not the time. On your feet, Carborundum, and get in line. Upon my oath, you try that little trick one more time and there will be trouble, understand?

Yes, sergeant, growled the troll, and knuckled himself to his feet.

Right, then, said the sergeant, stepping back. Now today, my lucky lads, were goin to learn about something we call marching . . .

They left Plün to the wind and rain. About an hour after theyd vanished round a bend in the valley, the shed theyd slept in mysteriously burned down.

There have been better attempts at marching, and they have been made by penguins. Sergeant Jackrum brought up the rear in the cart, shouting instructions, but the recruits moved as if theyd never before had to get from place to place. The sergeant yelled the swagger out of their steps, stopped the cart and for a few of them held an impromptu lesson in the concepts of right and left and, by degrees, they left the mountains.

Polly remembered those first days with mixed feelings. All they did was march, but she was used to long walks and her boots were good. The trousers ceased to chafe. A watery sun took the trouble to shine. It wasnt cold. It would have been fine, if it hadnt been for the corporal.

Shed wondered how Strappi, whose nose was now about the same colour as a plum, was going to handle the situation between them. It turned out that he intended to deal with it by pretending it hadnt happened, and also by having as little as possible to do with Polly.

He didnt spare the others, although he was selective. Maladict was left strictly alone, as was Carborundum; whatever else Strappi was, he wasnt suicidal. And he was bewildered by Igor. The little man did whatever stupid chore Strappi found for him, and he did it quickly, competently, and giving every impression of someone happy in his work, and that left the corporal completely mystified.

Hed pick on the others for no reason at all, harangue them until they made some trivial mistake, and then bawl them out. His target of choice was Private Goom, better known as Wazzer, who was stick-thin and round-eyed and nervous and said grace loudly before meals. By the end of the first day, Strappi could make him throw up just by shouting. And then hed laugh.

Only he never really laughed, Polly noted. What you got instead was a sort of harsh gargling of spit at the back of the throat, a noise like ghnssssh.

The presence of the man cast a damper on everything. Jackrum seldom interfered. He often watched Strappi, though, and once when Polly caught his eye, he winked.

On the first night a tent was shouted off the cart by Strappi and shouted up and, after a supper of stale bread and sausage, they were shouted in front of a blackboard to be shouted at. Across the top of the board Strappi had written WHAT WE ARE FIGHTING FOR and down the side he had written 1, 2, 3.

Right, pay attention! he said, slapping the board with a stick. Theres some who think that you boys ought to know why we are fighting this war, okay? Well, here it comes. Point One, remember the town of Lipz? It was viciously attacked by Zlobenian troops a year ago! They

Sorry, but I thought we attacked Lipz, didnt we, corporal? Last year they said said Shufti.

Are you trying to be smart, Private Manickle? Strappi demanded, naming the biggest sin in his personal list.

Just want to know corporal, said Shufti. He was stocky, running to plump, and one of those people who bustle about being helpful in a mildly annoying way, taking over small jobs that you wouldnt have minded doing for yourself. There was something odd about him, although you had to bear in mind he was currently sitting next to Wazzer, who had enough odd for everybody and was probably contagious . . .

. . . and had caught Strappis eye. There was no fun in having a go at Shufti, but Wazzer, now, Wazzer was always worth a shout.

Are you listening, Private Goom? he screamed.

Wazzer, who had been sitting and looking up with his eyes closed, jerked awake. Corporal? he quavered, as Strappi advanced.

I said, are you listening, Goom?

Yes, corporal!

Really? And what did you hear, may I ask? said Strappi, in a voice of treacle and acid.

Nothing, corporal. Shes not speaking.

Strappi took a deep, delighted breath of evil air. You are a useless, worthless pile of

There was a sound. It was a small, nondescript sound, one that you heard every day, a noise that did its job but never expected to be, for example, whistled or part of an interesting sonata. It was simply the sound of stone scraping on metal.

On the other side of the fire Jackrum lowered his cutlass. He had a sharpening stone in his other hand. He returned their group gaze.

What? Oh. Just maintaining the edge, he said innocently. Sorry if I interrupted your flow there, corporal. Carry on.

A basic animal survival instinct came to the corporals aid. He left the trembling Wazzer alone, and turned back to Shufti.

Yes, yes, we attacked Lipz, too said Strappi.

Was that before the Zlobenians did? said Maladict.

Will you listen? Strappi demanded. We valiantly attacked Lipz to reclaim what is Borogravian territory! And then the treacherous swede-eaters stole it back . . .

Polly tuned out a little at this point, now that there was no immediate prospect of seeing Strappi decapitated. She knew about Lipz. Half the old men who came and drank with her father had attacked the place. But no one had expected them to want to do it. Someone had just shouted, Attack!

The trouble was the Kneck River. It wandered across the wide, rich, silty plain like a piece of dropped string, but sometimes a flash flood or even a big fallen tree would cause it to crack like a whip, throwing coils of river round areas of land miles from its previous bed. And the river was the international border . . .

She surfaced to hear: . . . but this time everyones on their side, the bastards! And you know why? Its cos of Ankh-Morpork! Because we stopped the mail coaches going over our country and tore down their clacks towers, which are an Abomination unto Nuggan. Ankh-Morpork is a godless city

I thought it had more than three hundred places of worship? said Maladict.

Strappi stared at him in a rage that was incoherent until he managed to touch bottom again. Ankh-Morpork is a godawful city, he recovered. Poisonous, just like its river. Barely fit for humans now. They let everything in  zombies, werewolves, dwarfs, vampires, trolls . . . He remembered his audience, faltered and recovered. . . . which in some cases can be a good thing, of course. But it is a foul, lewd, lawless, overcrowded mess of a place, which is why Prince Heinrich loves it so much! Hes been taken over by it, bought by cheap toys, because thats the way Ankh-Morpork plays it, men. They buy you, they will you stop interrupting! Whats the good of me trying to teach you stuff if youre going to keep on asking questions?

I was just wondering why its so crowded, corp, said Tonker. If its so bad, I mean.

Thats because they are a degraded people, private! And theyve sent a regiment up here to help Heinrich take over our beloved Motherland. He has turned aside from the ways of Nuggan and embraced Ankh-Morporks godlessn godawful-ness. Strappi looked pleased at having spotted that one, and went on, Point Two: in addition to its soldiers, Ankh-Morpork has sent Vimes the Butcher, the most evil man in that evil city. They are bent on nothing less than our destruction!

I heard that Ankh-Morpork was just angry that we cut the clacks towers down, said Polly.

They were on our sovereign territory!

Well, it was Zlobenian until Polly began.

Strappi waved an angry finger at her. You listen to me, Parts! You cant get to be a great country like Borogravia without making enemies! Which leads me on to Point Three, Parts, whos sitting there thinking hes so smart. You all are. I can see it. Well, be smart about this: you might not like everything about your country, eh? It might not be the perfect place, but its ours. You might think we dont have the best laws, but theyre ours. The mountains might not be the prettiest ones or the tallest ones, but theyre ours. Were fighting for whats ours, men! Strappi slammed his hand over his heart.

Awake, ye sons of the Motherland!

Taste no more the wine of the sour apples . . .

They joined in, at various levels of drone. You had to. Even if you just opened and shut your mouth, you had to. Even if you just went ner, ner, ner, you had to. Polly, who was exactly the kind of person who looks around surreptitiously at times like these, saw that Shufti was singing it word-perfectly and Strappi actually did have tears in his eyes. Wazzer wasnt singing at all. He was praying. That was a good wheeze, said one of the more treacherous areas at the back of Pollys mind.

To the bewilderment of all, Strappi continued  alone  all through the second verse, which nobody ever remembered, and then gave them a smug, Im-more-patriotic-than-you smile.

Afterwards, they tried to sleep on as much softness as two blankets could provide. They lay there in silence for some time. Jackrum and Strappi had tents of their own, but instinctively they knew that Strappi at least would be a sneaker and a listener at tent flaps.

After about an hour, when rain was drumming on the canvas, Carborundum said: Okay, den, I fink Ive worked it out. If people are groophar stupid, then well fight for groophar stupidity, cos its our stupidity. And dats good, yeah?

Several of the squad sat up in the darkness, amazed at this.

I realize I ought to know these things, but what does groophar mean? said the voice of Maladict in the damp darkness.

Ah, well . . . when, right, a daddy troll an a mummy troll

Good, right, yes, I think Ive got it, thank you, said Maladict. And what youve got there, my friend, is patriotism. My country, right or wrong.

You should love your country, said Shufti.

Okay, what part? the voice of Tonker demanded, from the far corner of the tent. The morning sunlight on the mountains? The horrible food? The damn mad Abominations? All of my country except whatever bit Strappi is standing on?

But we are at war!

Yes, thats where theyve got you, sighed Polly.

Well, Im not buying into it. Its all trickery. They keep you down and when they piss off some other country, you have to fight for them! Its only your country when they want you to get killed! said Tonker.

All the good bits in this country are in this tent, said the voice of Wazzer.

Embarrassed silence descended.

The rain settled in. After a while, the tent began to leak. Eventually someone said, What happens, um, if you join up but then you decide you dont want to?

That was Shufti.

I think its called deserting and they cut your head off, said the voice of Maladict. In my case that would be a drawback but you, dear Shufti, would find it puts a crimp in your social life.

I never kissed their damn picture, said Tonker. I swivelled it round when Strappi wasnt looking and kissed it on the back!

Theyll still say you kissed the Duchess, though, said Maladict.

You k-kissed the D-Duchess on the b-bottom? said Wazzer, horrified.

It was the back of the picture, okay? said Tonker. It wasnt her real backside. Huh, wouldnt have kissed it if it was! There was some unidentified sniggering from various corners and just a hint of giggle.

That was w-wicked! hissed Wazzer. Nuggan in heaven saw you d-do that!

It was just a picture, all right? muttered Tonker. Anyway, whats the difference? Front or back, were all here together and I dont see any steak and bacon!

Something rumbled overhead. I joined t see exciting forrin places and meet erotic people, said Carborundum.

That caused a moments thought. I think you mean exotic? said Igor.

Yeah, that kind of stuff, agreed the troll.

But they always lie, said someone, and then Polly realized it was her. They lie all the time. About everything.

Amen to that, said Tonker. We fight for liars.

Ah, they may be liars, snapped Polly, in a passable imitation of Strappis yap, but theyre our liars!

Now, now, children, said Maladict. Lets try to get some sleep, shall we? But heres a happy little dream from your Uncle Maladict. Dream that when we go into battle, Corporal Strappi is leading us. Wouldnt that be fun?

After a while, Tonker said: In front of us, you mean?

Oh, yes. I can see youre with me, Tonk. Right in front of you. On the noisy, frantic, confusing battlefield, where oh so much can go wrong.

And well have weapons? said Shufti wistfully.

Of course youll have weapons. Youre soldiers. And theres the enemy, right in front of you . . .

Thats a good dream, Mal.

Sleep on it, kid.

Polly turned over, and tried to make herself comfortable. Its all lies, she thought muzzily. Some of them are just prettier than others, thats all. People see what they think is there. Even Im a lie. But Im getting away with it.

A warm autumnal wind was blowing leaves off the rowan trees as the recruits marched among the foothills. It was the morning of the next day, and the mountains were behind them. Polly passed the time identifying the birds in the hedgerows. It was a habit. She knew most of them.

She hadnt set out to be an ornithologist. But birds brought Paul alive. All the . . . slowness in the rest of his thinking became a flash of lightning in the presence of birds. Suddenly he knew their names, habits and habitats, could whistle their songs and, after Polly had saved up for a box of paints off a traveller at the inn, had painted a picture of a wren so real you could hear it.

Their mother had been alive then. The row had gone on for days. Pictures of living creatures were an Abomination in the Eyes of Nuggan. Polly had asked why there were pictures of the Duchess everywhere, and had been thrashed for it. The picture had been burned, the paints thrown away.

It was a terrible thing. Her mother had been a kind woman, or as kind as a devout woman could be who tried to keep up with the whims of Nuggan, and shed died slowly amidst pictures of the Duchess and amongst the echoes of unanswered prayers, but that was the memory that crawled treacherously into Pollys mind every time: the fury and the scolding, while the little bird seemed to flutter in the flames.

In the fields women and old men were getting in the spoilt wheat after last nights rain, hoping to save what they could. There werent any young men visible. Polly saw some of the other recruits steal a glance at the scavenging parties, and wondered if they were thinking the same thing.

They saw no one else on the road until midday, when the party was marching through a landscape of low hills; the sun had boiled away some of the clouds and, for a moment at least, summer was back  moist and sticky and mildly unpleasant, like a party guest who wont go home.

A red blob in the distance became a rather larger blob and resolved itself into a loose knot of men. Polly knew what to expect as soon as she saw it. By the reaction of some of the others, they did not. There was a moment of collision and confusion as people walked into one another, and then the party stopped, and stared.

It took the wounded men some time to draw level, and some time to pass. Two able-bodied men, as far as Polly could tell, were trundling a handcart on which a third man lay. Others were limping on crutches, or had arms in slings, or wore red jackets with an empty sleeve. Perhaps worse were the ones like the man in the inn, grey-faced, staring straight ahead, jackets buttoned tight despite the heat.

One or two of the injured glanced at the recruits as they lurched past, but there was no expression in their eyes beyond a terrible determination.

Jackrum reined in the horse.

All right, twenty minutes breather, he muttered.

Igor turned, nodded to the party of wounded heading grimly onward, and said, Permithion to thee if I can do anything for them, tharge?

Youll get your chance soon enough, lad, said the sergeant.

Tharge? said Igor, looking hurt.

Oh, all right. If you must. Dyou want someone to give you a hand?

There was a nasty laugh from Corporal Strappi.

Some athithtance would be a help, yeth, thargeant, said Igor, with dignity.

The sergeant looked at the squad, and nodded. Private Halter, step forward! Know anything about doctorin?

The red-headed Tonker stepped forward smartly. Ive butchered pigs for me mam, sarge, he said.

Capital! Better than an army surgeon, upon my oath. Off you go. Twenty minutes, remember!

And dont let Igor bring back any souvenirs! said Strappi, and laughed his scraping laugh again.

The rest of the boys sat down on the grass by the road, and one or two of them disappeared into the bushes. Polly went on the same errand, but pushed in a lot further, and took the opportunity to make a little sock adjustment. They had a tendency to creep if she wasnt careful.

She froze at a rustling behind her, and then relaxed. Shed been careful. No one would have seen anything. So what if someone else was taking a leak? Shed just push her way back to the road and take no notice

Lofty sprang up as Polly parted the bushes, breeches round one ankle, face red as a beetroot.

Polly couldnt help herself. Maybe it was the socks. Maybe it was the pleading expression on Loftys face. When someones broadcasting Dont look! the eyes have a mind of their own, and go where theyre not wanted. Lofty jumped up, dragging at her clothes.

No, look, its all right Polly began, but it was too late. The girl had gone.

Polly stared at the bushes, and thought: Blast! Theres two of us! But what would I have said next? Its okay, Im a girl too. You can trust me. We could be friends. Oh, and heres a good tip about socks?

Igor and Tonker arrived back late, without a word. Sergeant Jackrum said nothing. The squad moved off.

Polly marched at the back, with Carborundum. This meant she could keep a wary eye on Lofty, whoever she was. For the first time, Polly really looked at her. She was easy to miss, because she was always, as it were, in Tonkers shadow. She was short, although now Polly knew she was female the word petite could be decently used, dark and dark-haired and had a strange, self-absorbed look, and she was always marching with Tonker. Come to think of it, she always slept close to him, too.

Ah, so that was it. Shes following her boy, Polly thought. It was kind of romantic, and very, very dumb. Now she knew to look beyond the clothes and haircut, she could see all the little clues that Lofty was a girl, and a girl who hadnt planned enough. She saw Lofty whisper something to Tonker, who half turned and gave Polly a look of instant hatred and a hint of threat.

I cant tell her, she thought. She would tell him. I cant afford to let them know. Ive put too much into this. I didnt just cut my hair and wear trousers. I planned . . .

Ah, yes . . . the plans.

It had begun as a sudden strange fancy, but it had continued as a plan. First, Polly had started to watch boys closely. This had been reciprocated hopefully by a few of them, to their subsequent disappointment. She observed how they moved, she listened to the rhythm of what passed, among boys, for conversation, shed noted how they punched one another in greeting. It was a new world.

She already had good muscles for a girl, because running a large inn was all about moving heavy things, and she took over a number of the grittier chores, which coarsened her hands nicely. Shed even worn a pair of her brothers old breeches under her long skirt, to get the feel of them.

A woman could be beaten for that sort of thing. Men dressed like men and women like women; doing it the other way round was a blasphemous Abomination unto Nuggan, according to Father Jupe.

And that was probably the secret of her success so far, she thought, as she trudged through a puddle. People didnt look for a woman in trousers. To the casual observer, mens clothes and short hair and a bit of swagger were what it took to be a man. Oh, and a second pair of socks.

That had been gnawing at her, too. Someone knew about her, just as she knew about Lofty. And he hadnt given her away. Shed suspected it was Eyebrow, but doubted it; hed have told the sergeant about her, he was that sort. Right now she was guessing it was Maladict, but perhaps that was just because he seemed so knowing all the time.

Carbor no, hed been out cold, and in any case . . . no, not the troll. And Igor lisped. Tonker? After all, hed know about Lofty so maybe . . . No, because why would he want to help Polly? No, there was nothing but danger in owning up to Lofty. The best she could do was try to see to it that the girl didnt give both of them away.

She could hear Tonker whispering to his girl. . . . had just died so he cut off one of his legs and an arm and sewed em on men who needed em, just like Id darn a tear! You shouldve seen it! You couldnt see his fingers move! And he has all these ointments that just . . . Tonkers voice died away. Strappi was haranguing Wazzer again.

Dat Strappi really gets on my crags, muttered Carborundum. You want I should pull the head off f him? I cd make it look like a accident.

Better not, said Polly, but she did entertain the thought for a moment.

Theyd reached a junction, where the road down from the mountains joined what passed for a main highway. It was crowded. There were carts and wheelbarrows, people driving herds of cows, grandmothers carrying all the household possessions on their backs, a general excitement of pigs and children . . . and it was all heading one way.

It was the opposite way to the way the squad was going. The people and animals flowed around it like a stream around an inconvenient rock. The recruits bunched up. It was that or be separated by cows.

Sergeant Jackrum stood up in the cart. Private Carborundum!

Yes, sergeant? rumbled the troll.

To the front!

That helped. The stream still flowed, but at least the crowds parted some distance further ahead and gave the squad a wide berth. No one wants to barge up against even a slow-moving troll.

But faces stared as the people hurried by. An old lady darted out for a moment, pressed a loaf of stale bread into Tonkers hands, and said, You poor boys! before being swept away in the throng.

Whats this all about, sarge? said Maladict. These look like refugees!

Talk like that spreads Alarm and Despondency! shouted Corporal Strappi.

Oh, you mean theyre just people getting away early for the holidays to avoid the rush? said Maladict. Sorry, I got confused. It must be that woman carrying a whole haystack we just passed.

Dyou know what can happen to you for cheeking a superior officer? screamed Strappi.

No! Tell me, is it worse than whatever it is these people are running away from?

You signed up, Mr Bloodsucker! You obey orders!

Right! But I dont remember anyone ordering me not to think!

Enough of that! snapped Jackrum. Less shouting down there! Move on! Carborundum, you give people a push if they dont make way, yhear?

They moved on. After a while the press of people abated a little, so that what had been a torrent became a trickle. Occasionally there would be a family group, or just one hurrying woman, burdened with bags. One old man was struggling with a wheelbarrow full of turnips. Theyre even taking the crops out of the fields, Polly noted. And everyone moved at a kind of half-run, as if things would be a little better when theyd caught up with the mass of people ahead. Or merely passed the squad, perhaps.

They made way for an old woman bent double under the weight of a black and white pig. And then there was just the road, rutted and muddy. An afternoon mist was rising from the fields on either side, quiet and clammy. After the noise of the refugees, the silence of the low countryside was suddenly oppressive. The only sound was the trudge and splash of the recruits boots.

Permission to speak, sarge? said Polly.

Yes, private? said Jackrum.

How far is it to Plotz?

You dont have to tell em, sarge! said Strappi.

About five miles, said Sergeant Jackrum. Youll get your uniforms and weapons at the depot there.

Thats a militry secret, sarge, Strappi whined.

We could shut our eyes sos we dont see what were wearing, how about that? said Maladict.

Stop that, Private Maladict, said Jackrum. Just keep moving, and guard that tongue.

They plodded on. The road grew muddier. A breeze sprang up, but instead of carrying the mist away it merely streamed it across the damp fields in twisty, clammy, unpleasant shapes.

The sun became an orange ball.

Polly saw something large and white flutter across the field, blown by the wind. At first she thought it was a migratory lesser egret that had left things a little late, but it was clearly being blown by the wind. It flopped down once or twice and then, as a gust caught it, blew across the road and wrapped itself across Corporal Strappis face.

He screamed. Lofty grabbed at the fluttering thing, which was damp. It tore in his her hands, and most of it dropped away from the struggling corporal.

Its just a bit of paper, she said.

Strappi flailed at it. I knew that, he said. I never asked you!

Polly picked up one of the torn scraps. The paper was thin, and stained with mud, although she recognized the word Ankh-Morpork. The godawful city. And the genius of Strappi was that anything he was against automatically sounded attractive.

Ankh-Morpork Times . . . she read aloud, before the corporal snatched it out of her hand.

You cant just read anything you see, Parts! he shouted. You dont know who wrote it! He dropped the damp scrap pages on to the mud and stamped on them. Now lets move on! he said.

They moved on. When the squad were more or less in rhythm, and staring at nothing more than their boots or the mist ahead of them, Polly raised her right hand to chest height and carefully turned it palm up so that she could see the fragment of paper that had soggily stayed behind when the rest had been pulled away.

No Surrender to Alliance says Duchess (97)

From William de Worde Valley of the Kneck, Sektober 7

Borogrovian troops assisted by Lord V
Light Infantry took Kneck Keep this mo
after fierce hand-to-hand fig
I write its armaments which are
being turned on the remn
Borogravian forces acr

His Grace Commander Sir S
told the Times that
surrender had been rej
view the enemy commande
load of stiff-necked fools, don
in the paper.

It is understoo
desperate situ
-spread fami
across t
No altern
invas

They were winning, werent they? So where did the word surrender come from? And what was the Alliance?

And then there was the problem of Strappi, which had been growing on her. She could see he got on Jackrums nerves as well, and he had a struttiness about him, a certain  er . . . sockiness, as if he was really the one in charge. Perhaps it was just general unpleasantness, but . . .

Corporal? she said.

Yes, Parts? said Strappi. His nose was still very red.

We are winning this war, arent we? said Polly. Shed given up correcting him.

Suddenly, every ear in the squad was listening.

Dont you bother yourself about that, Parts! snapped the corporal. Your job is to fight!

Right, corp. So . . . Ill be fighting on the winning side, will I?

Oho, weve got someone who asks too many questions here, sarge! said Strappi.

Yeah, dont ask questions, Perks, said Jackrum, absent-mindedly.

So were losing, then? said Tonker. Strappi turned on him.

Thats spreading Alarm and Despondency again, that is! he shrieked. Thats aiding the enemy!

Yeah, knock it off, Private Halter, said Jackrum. Okay? Now get a

Halter, Im placing you under arrest for

Corporal Strappi, a word in your shell-like ear, please? You men, you stop here! growled the sergeant, clambering down from the cart.

Jackrum walked back down the road about fifty feet. Glaring round at the squad, the corporal strutted after him.

Are we in trouble? said Tonker.

You guess, said Maladict.

Bound to be, said Shufti. Strappi can always get you for something.

Theyre having an argument, said Maladict. Which is odd, dont you think? A sergeant is supposed to give orders to a corporal.

We are winning, arent we? said Shufti. I mean, I know theres a war, but . . . I mean, we get weapons, dont we, and well . . . well, theyve got to train us, right? Itll probably be all over by then, right? Everyone says were winning.

I will ask the Duchess in my prayers tonight, said Wazzer.

The rest of the squad looked at one another with a shared expression.

Yeah, right, Wazz, said Tonker kindly. You do that.

The sun was setting fast, half hidden in the mist. Here, on the muddy road between damp fields, it suddenly felt as cold as it could be.

No one says were winning, except maybe Strappi, said Polly. They just say that everyone says were winning.

The men Igor . . . repaired didnt even say that, said Tonker. They said you poor bastards, youll leg it if youve any sense. 

Thank you for sharing, said Maladict.

It looks as though everyones feeling sorry for us, said Polly.

Yeah, well, so am I, and I am uth, said Igor. Thome of thothe men

All right, all right, stop lollygagging, you lot! shouted Strappi, marching up.

Corporal? said the sergeant quietly, hauling himself back on to the cart. Strappi paused, and then in a voice dripping with syrup and sarcasm went on: Excuse me. The sergeant and myself would be obleejed if you brave heroes to be would join us in a little light marching? Jolly good! And there will be embroidery later on. Best foot forward, ladies!

Polly heard Tonker gasp. Strappi turned, eyes glinting with sinister anticipation. Oh, someone doesnt like being called a lady, eh? he said. Dear me, Private Halter, youve got a lot to learn, havent you? Youre a sissy little lady until we make a man of you, right? And I dread to think how long thats going to take. Move!

I know, thought Polly, as they set off. It takes about ten seconds, and a pair of socks. One sock, and you could make Strappi.

Plotz turned out to be like Plün, but it was worse because it was bigger. The rain started again as they marched into the cobbled square. It looked as though it always rained here. The buildings were grey, and mud-spattered near the ground. Roof gutters overflowed, pouring rain on to the cobbles and sending a spray over the recruits. There was no one about. Polly saw open doors banging in the wind, and bits of debris in the streets, and remembered the lines of hurrying people on the road. There was no one here.

Sergeant Jackrum climbed down from the cart as Strappi bawled them into line. Then the sergeant took over, leaving the corporal to glower from the sidelines.

This is wonderful Plotz! he said. Have a look round, so that if you is killed and goes to hell, it wont come as a shock! Youll be bivvying in that barracks over there, what is militry property! He waved a hand towards a crumbling stone building that looked about as military as a barn. You will be issued with your equipment. And tomorrow its a nice long march to Crotz, where you will arrive as boys and leave as men did I just say something funny, Perks? No, I thought so, too! Attention! That means stand up straight!

Thats straight! yelled Strappi.

A young man was riding across the square on a tired, skinny brown horse, which was quite suitable because he was a tired, skinny man. The skinniness was helped by the fact that he wore a tunic which had clearly been made for someone a couple of sizes larger. The same applied to his helmet. He must have padded it, Polly thought. One cough and itll be over his eyes.

Sergeant Jackrum snapped off a salute as the officer approached. Jackrum, sir. Youll be Lieutenant Blouse, sir?

Well done, sergeant.

These are the recruits from upriver, sir. Fine body of men, sir.

The rider peered at the squad. He actually leaned forward over the horses neck, causing rain to pour off his helmet.

This is all, sergeant?

Yessir.

Most of them look very young, said the lieutenant, who didnt look very old.

Yessir.

And isnt that one a troll?

Yessir. Well spotted, sir.

And the one with stitches all round his head?

Hes an Igor, sir. Sort of like a special clan up in the mountains, sir.

Do they fight?

Can take a man apart very quickly, sir, as I understand it, said Jackrum, his expression not changing.

The young lieutenant sighed. Well, Im sure theyre all good fellows, he said. Now then, er . . . men, I

Pay attention and listen to what the lieutenant has to say! bawled Strappi.

The lieutenant shuddered. thank you, corporal, he said. Men, I have good news, he added, but in the voice of one who hasnt. You were probably expecting a week or two in the training camp in Crotz, yes? But Im glad to be able to tell you that the . . . the war is progressing so . . . so . . . so well that you are to go directly to the front.

Polly heard one or two gasps, and a snigger from Corporal Strappi.

All of you are to go to the lines, said the lieutenant. That includes you too, corporal. Your time for action has come at last!

The snigger stopped. Sorry, sir? said Strappi. The front? But you know that Im well, you know about the special duties

My orders said all able-bodied men, corporal, said Blouse. I expect that youll be itching for the fray after all these years, eh, a young man like you?

Strappi said nothing.

However, said the lieutenant, fumbling under his soaking cloak, I do have a package here for you, Sergeant Jackrum. A very welcome one, Ive no doubt.

Jackrum took the packet gingerly. Thank you, sir, Ill look at this later on he began.

On the contrary, Sergeant Jackrum! said Blouse. Your last recruits should see this, since you are both a soldier and, as it were, a father of soldiers! And so its only right that they see a fine soldier get his reward: an honourable discharge, sergeant! Blouse spoke the words as if they had cream and a little cherry on top.

Apart from the rain, the only sound now was Jackrums pudgy finger slowly ripping open the package.

Oh, he said, like a man in shock. Good. A picture of the Duchess. Thats eighteen I have now. Oh, and, oo, a piece of paper saying its a medal, so its looks like weve even run out of pot metal now. Oh, and my discharge with a printing of the Duchesss very own signature itself! He turned the packet over and shook it. Not my three months back pay, though.

Three loud hurrahs for Sergeant Jackrum! said the lieutenant to the rain and wind. Hip-hip

But I thought we needed every man, sir! said Jackrum.

Judging by all the notes pinned on that packet, it has been following you around for years, sergeant, said Blouse. You know the military. That is your official discharge, I am afraid. I cannot rescind it. I am sorry.

But Jackrum began.

It bears the Duchesss signature, sergeant. Will you argue with that? I said I am sorry. In any case, what would you do? We will not be sending out any more recruiting parties.

What? But we always need men, sir! Jackrum protested. And Im fit and well again, got the stamina of a horse

You were the only man to return with recruits, sergeant. That is how the matter is.

The sergeant hesitated for a moment, and then saluted. Yessir! Very good, sir! Will see the new lads settled in, sir! Pleasure to have served, sir!

Can I ask something? said Maladict.

You do not address an officer directly, private, snapped Jackrum.

No, let the man speak, sergeant, said the lieutenant. These are . . . unusual times, after all. Yes, my man?

Did I hear you say were going into battle without training, sir?

Oh, well, most of you will almost certainly be pikemen, haha, said the lieutenant nervously. Not a lot of training there, eh? You just need to know which end is which, haha. He looked as though he wanted to die.

Pikemen? said Maladict, looking puzzled.

You heard the lieutenant, Private Maladict, snapped the sergeant.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, said Maladict, stepping back into the ranks.

Are there any more questions? said Blouse, looking along the line. Jolly good, then. We leave by the last boat, at midnight. Carry on, sergeant . . . for now. What was the other thing . . . oh, yes. And I shall need a batman.

Volunteers to be the lieutenants batman step forward! Not you, Private Maladict! snapped the sergeant.

No one moved.

Oh, come now, said the lieutenant.

Polly slowly raised a hand. Whats a batman, sir?

The sergeant grinned mirthlessly. Fair question, he said. A batman is, like, a personal servant who takes care of the officer. Fetches his meals to him, sees hes smartly turned out, that style of thing. Sos he is free to perform his duties more adequatelier.

Igor stepped forward. Igorth are uthed to thervice, thargeant, he said.

Using the amazing powers of deafness and restricted vision sometimes available even to the most nervous officers, the lieutenant appeared not to notice him. He looked fixedly at Polly.

What about you, private? he said.

Private Perks used to work in a bar, sir, the sergeant volunteered.

Capital. Report to my quarters in the inn at six, Private Perks. Carry on, sergeant.

As the skinny horse staggered away, Sergeant Jackrum directed his glare at the squad, but there was no real fire to it. He appeared to be operating on automatic, with his mind elsewhere. Dont just stand there trying to look pretty! Theres uniforms and weapons inside! Get kitted up! If you want grub, cook it yerself! At the double! Disssssssmiss!

The squad dashed for the barracks, propelled by sheer volume. But Polly hesitated. Corporal Strappi hadnt moved since the snigger had been cut short. He was staring blankly at the ground.

You all right, corporal? she said.

You go away, Parts, said the corporal, in a low voice that was much worse than his normal petulant shout. Just go away, all right?

She shrugged, and followed the others. But she had noticed the steaming dampness round the corporals feet.

There was chaos inside. The barracks was really just one large room which did duty as mess, assembly room and kitchen, with big bunk rooms beyond it. It was empty, and well on the way to decay. The roof leaked, the high windows were broken, dead leaves had blown in and lay around on the floor, among the rat droppings. There were no pickets, no sentries, no people. There was a big pot boiling on the sooty hearth, though, and its hiss and seethe were the only liveliness in the place. At some point part of the room had been set up as a kind of quartermasters store, but most of the shelves were empty. Polly had expected some sort of queue, some kind of order, possibly someone handing out little piles of clothes.

What there was, instead, was a rummage stall. Very much like a rummage stall, in fact, because nothing on it appeared to be new and little on it appeared to be worth having. The rest of the squad were already pawing through what might have been called merchandise if there were any possibility that anyone could be persuaded to buy it.

Whats this? One Size, Doesnt Fit Anyone?

This tunics got blood on it! Blood!

Well, it is one of the thtubborn thtainth, its alwayth very hard to get it out without

Wheres the proper armour?

Oh, no! Theres an arrow hole in this one!

What dis? Nuffin fits a troll!

A small, leathery old man was at bay behind the table, cowering under the ferocity of Maladicts glare. He wore a red uniform jacket, done up badly, with a corporals stripes, stained and faded, on the sleeve. The left breast was covered in medals.

One arm ended in a hook. One eye was covered by a patch.

Were going to be pikemen, the lieutenant said! said the vampire. That means a sword and pike per man, right? And a shield if theres an arrow storm, right? And a heavy helmet, right?

Wrong! You cant yell at me like that! said the man. See these medals? Im a

A hand descended from above and lifted him over the table. Carborundum held the man close to his face and nodded.

Yah, can see em, mister, he rumbled. And . . . ?

The recruits had fallen silent.

Put him down, Carborundum, said Polly. Gently.

Why?

Hes got no legs.

The troll focused. Then, with exaggerated care, he lowered the old soldier to the ground. There were a couple of little tapping sounds as the two wooden peg-legs touched the planking.

Sorry about dat, he said.

The little man steadied himself against the table and shuffled his arms round a couple of crutches.

All right, he said gruffly. No harm done. But watch it, another time!

But this is ridiculous! said Maladict, turning to Polly and waving a hand at the heap of rags and bent metal. You couldnt equip three men out of this mess. Theres not even any decent boots!

Polly looked along the length of the table. Were supposed to be well equipped, she said to the one-eyed man. Were supposed to be the finest army in the world. Thats what were told. And arent we winning?

The man looked at her. Inside, she stared at herself. She hadnt meant to speak out like that.

So they say, he said, in a blank kind of way.

And w-what do you say? said Wazzer. Hed picked up one of the few swords. It was stained and notched.

The corporal glanced up at Carborundum, and then at Maladict.

Im not s-stupid, you know! Wazzer went on, red in the face and trembling. All this stuff is off d-dead men!

Well, its a shame to waste good boots the man began.

Were the last o-ones, arent we? said Wazzer. The last r-recruits!

The peg-legged corporal eyed the distant doorway, and saw no relief heading in his direction.

Weve got to stay here all night, said Maladict. Night! he went on, causing the old corporal to wobble on his crutches. When who knows what evil flits through the shadows, dealing death on silent wings, seeking a hapless victim who

Yeah, all right, all right, I did see your ribbon, said the corporal. Look, Im closing up after youve gone. I just run the stores, thats all. Thats all I do, honest! Im on one-tenth pay, me, on account of the leg situation, and I dont want trouble!

And this is all youve got? said Maladict. Dont you have a little something . . . put by . . .

Are you saying Im dishonest? said the corporal hotly.

Lets say Im open to the idea that you might not be, said the vampire. Cmon, corporal, you said were the last to go. What are you saving up? Whatve you got?

The corporal sighed, and swung with surprising speed over to a door, which he unlocked. Youd better come and look, he said. But its not good . . .

It was worse. They found a few more breastplates, but one was sliced in half and another was one big dent. A shield was in two pieces, too. There were bent swords and crushed helmets, battered hats and torn shirts.

I done what I can, sighed the corporal. I hammered stuff out and washed out the clothes but its been weeks since I had any coal for the forge and you cant do nothin about the swords without a forge. Its been months since I got any new weapons and, let me tell you, since the dwarfs buggered off the steel weve been getting is crap anyway. He rubbed his nose. I know you think quartermasters are a thieving bunch and I wont say we might not skim a bit off the top when things are going well, but this stuff? A beetle couldnt make a living off this. He sniffed again. Aint been paid in three months, neither. I guess one-tenth of nothing is not as bad as nothing, but I was never that good at philosophy.

Then he brightened up. Got plenty to eat, at least, he said. If you like horse, that is. Personally I prefer rat, but theres no accounting for taste.

I cant eat horse! said Shufti.

Ah, youd be a rat man? said the corporal, leading the way out into the big room.

No!

Youll learn to be one. Youll all learn, said the little one-tenth corporal, with an evil grin. Ever eaten scubbo? No? Nothing like a bowl of scubbo when youre hungry. You can put anything in scubbo. Pork, beef, mutton, rabbit, chicken, duck . . . anything. Even rats, if youve got em. Its food for the marching man, scubbo. Got some on the boil out there right now. You can have some of that, if you like.

The squad brightened up.

Thoundth good, said Igor. Whatth in it?

Boiling water, said the corporal. Its what we call blind scubbo. But theres going to be old horse in a minute unless youve got something better. Could do with some seasonings, at least. Whos looking after the rupert?

They looked at one another.

The corporal sighed. The officer, he explained. Theyre all called Rupert or Rodney or Tristram or something. They get better grub than you do. You could try scrounging something at the inn.

Scrounge? said Polly.

The old man rolled his one eye.

Yeah. Scrounge. Scrounge, nick, have a lend of, borrow, thieve, lift, acquire, purrrr-loin. Thats what youll learn, if youre gonna survive this war. Which they say were winnin, o course. Always remember that. He spat vaguely in the direction of the fire, possibly missing the cooking pot only by accident. Yeah, an all the lads I see coming back down the road walking hand in hand with Death, they probably overdid the celebrating, eh? So easy to take your hand right off if you open a bottle of cham-pag-nee the wrong way, eh? I see youve got an Igor with you, you lucky devils. Wish wed had one when I went off to battle. I wouldnt be kept awake by woodworm if we had.

We have to steal our food? said Maladict.

No, you can starve if that takes your fancy, said the corporal. Ive starved a few times. Theres no future in it. Ate a mans leg when we were snowed up in the Ibblestarn campaign but, fairs fair, he ate mine. He looked at their faces. Well, its not on, is it, eating your own leg ? Youd probably go blind.

You swapped legs? said Polly, horrified.

Yeah, me an Sergeant Hausegerda. It was his idea. Sensible man, the sergeant. That kept us alive for the week and by then the relief had got through. We were certainly relieved about that. Oh, dear. Wheres my manners? How dyer do, lads, my names Corporal Scallot. They call me Threeparts. He held out his hook.

But thats cannibalism! said Tonker, backing away.

No its not, not officially, not unless you eat a whole person, said Threeparts Scallot levelly. Militry rules.

All eyes turned to the big pot bubbling on the fire.

Horse, said Scallot. Aint got nothing but horse. I told you. I wouldnt lie to you, boys. Now kit yerselves up with the best yer can find. Whats your name, stone man?

Carborundum, said the troll.

Got a wee bit o decent snacking anthracite saved up out the back, then, and some official red paint for you cos I never met a troll yet that wanted to wear a jacket. The rest of you, mark what Im telling yer: fill up with grub. Fill yer pack with grub. Fill yer shako with grub. Fill yer boots with soup. If any of you run across a pot of mustard, you hang on to it  its amazin what mustardll help down. And look after your mates. And keep out of the way of officers, cos they aint healthy. Thats what you learn in the army. The enemy dunt really want to fight you, cos the enemy is mostly blokes like you who want to go home with all their bits still on. But officersll get you killed. Scallot looked round at them. There. Ive said it. And if theres a political amongst you: mister, you can go an tell tales and to hell with you.

After a few moments of embarrassed silence Polly said: Whats a political?

Like a spy, only on your own side, said Maladict.

Thats right, said Scallot. Theres one in every battalion these days, snitching on their mates. Get promotion that way, see? Dont want dissent in the ranks, eh? Dont want loose talk about losing battles, right? Which is a load of bloody cludgies, cos the infantry grumbles all the time. Moaning is part of bein a soldier. He sighed. Anyway, theres a bunkhouse out the back. I beats the pallyarses regular so theres probably not too many fleas. Once again he looked at blank faces. Thats straw mattresses to you. Go on, help yourselves. Take what you like. Im closing up after youve gone, anyway. We must be winning now you rattling lads are joining, right?

The clouds had broken when Polly stepped out into the night, and a half-moon filled the world with cold silver and black. The inn opposite was another rubbishy alehouse for selling bad beer to soldiers. It stank of ancient slops, even before she opened the door. The sign was flaked and unrecognizable, but she could read the name: The World Turned Upside Down. She pushed open the door. The smell got worse. There were no customers and no sign of Strappi or Jackrum, but Polly did see a servant methodically spreading the inns dirt evenly across the floor with a mop.

Excuse m she began, and then remembered the socks, raised her voice and tried to sound angry. Hey, wheres the lieutenant?

The servant looked at her and gestured up the stairs with a thumb. There was only one candle alight up there, and she knocked on the nearest door.

Enter.

She entered. Lieutenant Blouse was standing in the middle of the floor in his breeches and shirtsleeves, holding a sabre. Polly was no expert in these matters, but she thought she recognized the stylish, flamboyant pose as the one beginners tend to use just before theyre stabbed through the heart by a more experienced fighter.

Ah, Perks, isnt it? he said, lowering the blade. Just, er, limbering up.

Yes, sir.

Theres some laundry in the bag over there. I expect someone in the inn will do it. Whats for supper?

Ill check, sir.

What are the men having?

Scubbo, sir, said Polly. Possibly with hor

Then bring me some, will you? We are at war, after all, and I must show an example to my men, said Blouse, sheathing the sword at the third attempt. That would be good for morale.

Polly glanced at the table. A book lay open on top of a pile of others. It looked like a manual of swordsmanship, and the page it was open at was page five. Beside it was a thick-lensed pair of spectacles.

Are you a reading man, Perks? said Blouse, closing the book.

Polly hesitated. But, then, what did Ozzer care? A bit, sir, she admitted.

I suspect I shall have to leave most of these behind, he said. Do take one if you want it. He waved a hand at the books. Polly read the titles. The Craft of War. Principles of Engagement. Battle Studies. Tactical Defence.

All a bit heavy for me, sir, she said. Thanks all the same.

Tell me, Perks, said Blouse, are the recruits in, er, good spirits?

He gave her a look of apparently genuine concern. He really did have no chin, she noticed. His face just eased its way into his neck without much to disturb it on the way, but his Adams apple, now, that was a champion. It went up and down his neck like a ball on a spring.

Polly had been soldiering for only a couple of days, but already an instinct had developed. In summary, it was this: lie to officers. Yes, sir, she said.

Getting everything they need?

The aforesaid instinct weighed the chances of their getting anything more than theyd got already as a result of a complaint, and Polly said, Yes, sir.

Of course, it is not up to us to question our orders, said Blouse.

Wasnt doing so, sir, said Polly, momentarily perplexed.

Even though at times we might feel the lieutenant began, and started again. Obviously warfare is a very volatile thing, and the tide of battle can change in a moment.

Yessir, said Polly, still staring. The man had a small spot where his spectacles had rubbed on his nose.

The lieutenant seemed to have something on his mind, too. Why did you join up, Perks? he said, groping on the table and finding his spectacles at the third attempt. He had woollen gloves on, with the fingers cut out.

Patriotic duty, sir! said Polly promptly.

You lied about your age?

Nosir!

Just patriotic duty, Perks?

There were lies, and then there were lies. Polly shifted awkwardly. Would quite like to find out whats happened to my brother Paul, sir, she said.

Ah, yes. Lieutenant Blouses face, not a picture of happiness to begin with, suddenly bore a hunted look.

Paul Perks, sir, Polly prompted.

Im, er, not really in a position to know, Perks, said Blouse. I was working as a . . . I was, er, in charge of, er, I was engaged in special work back at headquarters, er . . . obviously I dont know all the soldiers, Perks. Older brother, w is he?

Yessir. Joined the Ins-and-Outs last year, sir.

And, er, have you any younger brothers? said the lieutenant.

No, sir.

Ah, well. Thats something to be thankful for, at any rate, said Blouse. It was a strange thing to say. Pollys brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

Sir? she said.

And then she felt an unpleasant sensation of movement. Something was slipping slowly down the inside of her thigh.

Anything the matter, Perks? said the lieutenant, catching her expression.

Nosir! Just a . . . a bit of cramp, sir! All the marching, sir! She clamped both hands around one knee and edged backwards towards the door. Ill just go and . . . go and see to your supper, sir!

Yes, yes, said Blouse, staring at her leg. Yes . . . please . . .

Polly paused outside the door to pull her socks up, retucked the end of one under her belt as an anchor, and hurried down to the inns kitchens. A look told her all she wanted to know. Food hygiene here consisted of making a half-hearted effort not to gob in the stew.

I want onions, salt, pepper she began.

The maid who was stirring the soot-black pot on the soot-black stove glanced up, realized she had been addressed by a man, and hastily pushed her damp hair out of her eyes.

Its stoo, sir, she announced.

I dont want any. I just want the stuff, said Polly. For the officer, she added.

The kitchen maid pointed a soot-blackened thumb to a nearby door and gave Polly what she probably thought was a saucy grin.

Im sure you can have anything that takes your fancy, sir, she said.

Polly glanced at the two shelves that had been dignified by the name of pantry, and grabbed a couple of large onions, one in each hand.

May I? she said.

Oh, sir! giggled the maid. I do hope youre not one of them coarse soldiers whod take advantage of a helpless maiden, sir!

No, er . . . no. Im not one of them, said Polly.

Oh. This didnt seem to be the right answer. The maid put her head on one side. Have you had much to do with young women, sir? she asked.

Er . . . yes. Quite a lot, said Polly. Er . . . lots, really.

Really? The maid drew closer. She smelled mostly of sweat, tinged with soot. Polly raised the onions as a kind of barrier.

Im sure theres things youd like to learn, the maid purred.

Im sure theres something you wouldnt! said Polly, and turned and ran.

As she made it out into the cold night air, a plaintive voice behind her called out, Im off at eight oclock!

Ten minutes later, Corporal Scallot was impressed. Polly got the feeling this did not happen often. Shufti had wedged an old breastplate beside the fire, had hammered some slabs of horse-meat until they were tender, dipped them in some flour, and was frying them. The sliced onions sizzled next to them.

I always just boil em, said Scallot, watching him with interest.

You just lose all the flavour if you do that, said Shufti.

Hey, lad, the stuff Ive ate, you wouldnt want to taste it!

Saute stuff first, especially the onions, Shufti went on. Improves the flavour. Anyway, when you boil you ought to boil slow. Thats what me mam always says. Roast fast, boil slow, okay? This isnt bad meat, for horse. Shame to boil it.

Amazin, said Scallot. We couldve done with you in Ibblestarn. The sarge was a good man but a bit, you know, tough in the leg?

A marinade would probably have helped, said Shufti absently, flipping over a slice of meat with a broken sword. He turned to Polly. Was there any more stuff in the larder, Ozz? I can make up some stock for tomorrow if we can

Im not going in that kitchen again! said Polly.

Ah, thatd be Roundheels Molly? said Corporal Scallot, looking up and grinning. Shes sent many a lad on his way rejoicing. He dipped a ladle in the boiling scubbo pot next to the pan. Disintegrated grey meat seethed in a few inches of water.

Thatll do for the rupert, he said, and picked up a stained bowl.

Well, he did say he wanted to eat what the men eat, said Polly.

Oh, that kind of officer, said Scallot uncharitably. Yeah, some young ones try that stuff, ifn theyve been readin the wrong books. Some of em tries to be friends, the bastards. He spat expertly between the two pans. Wait til he tries what the men eat.

But if were having steak and onions

No thanks to the likes o him, said the corporal, ladling the slurry into the bowl. The Zlobenian troops get one pound of beef and a pound of flour a day minimum, plus fat pork or butter and half a pound of pease. A pint o molasses sometimes, too. We get stale horse-bread and what we scrounge. Hell have scubbo and like it.

No fresh vegetables, no fruit, said Shufti. Thats a very binding diet, corp.

Yeah, well, once battle commences I reckon youll find constipations the last thing on your mind, said Scallot. He reached up, pushed some rags aside, and pulled down a dusty bottle from a shelf.

Ruperts not having none o this, neither, he said. Got it offf the baggage of the last officer that went through, but Ill share it with you, cos yous good lads. He casually knocked the top of the bottle off against the edge of the chimney.  s only sherry, but itll make you drunk.

Thanks, corp, said Shufti, and took the bottle. He sloshed a lot over the sizzling meat.

Hey, thats good drink youre wastin! said Scallot, making a grab for it.

No, itll spice up the meat a fair treat, said Shufti, trying to hang on to the bottle. Itll sugar!

Half the liquid had gone on the fire as the two hands fought for it, but that wasnt what had felt like a small steel rod shooting through Pollys head. She looked round at the rest of the squad, who didnt appear to have

Maladict winked at her and made a tiny gesture with his head towards the other end of the room, and strolled in that direction. Polly followed.

Maladict always found something to lounge against. He relaxed in the shadows, looked up at the rafters, and said: Now, I say a man who knows how to cook is no less of a man for that. But a man who says sugar when he swears? Have you ever heard a man say that? You havent. I can tell.

So it was you who gave me the socks, thought Polly. You know about me, I can tell you do, but do you know about Lofty? And maybe Shufti was very politely brought up . . . but one look at Maladicts knowing smile made her decide not to try that road. Besides, the moment you looked at Shufti with the idea that maybe he was a girl, you saw that he was. No man would say Sugar! Three girls now . . .

And Im pretty sure about Lofty, too, said Maladict.

Whatre you going to do about . . . them? she said.

Do? Why should I do anything about anyone? said Maladict. Im a vampire officially pretending not to be one, right? Im the last person wholl say anyone has to play the hand they were dealt. So good luck to . . . him, say I. But you might like to take him aside later on and have a word with him. You know . . . man to man.

Polly nodded. Was there a knowingness to that comment? Id better go and take the lieutenant his scubbo, she said. And . . . blast it, I forgot about his laundry.

Oh, I wouldnt worry about that, old chap, said Maladict, and flashed a little smile. The way things are going around here, Igors probably a washerwoman in disguise.

Polly did the laundry, in the end. She wasnt sure that shed be able to dodge Molly a second time, and there wasnt that much of it. Afterwards she hung it in front of the fire, which was roaring.

The horse had been surprisingly good, but not as surprising as Blouses reaction to the scubbo. He had sat there in his evening dress uniform  wearing special clothes just to sit down and eat all by yourself was a new one on Polly  and had yummed it up and sent her back with the bowl for more. The meat had been boiled white and there was scum on the top. The squad wondered what kind of life an officer could have led that inclined him to like scubbo.

Dunt know much about him, said Scallot, upon questioning. Hes been here two weeks, frettin to get to the war. Brought a whole cartload of books with him, I heard. Looks like a typical rupert to me. They were all behind the door when the chins were handed out. A sergeant who went through said hes not really a soldier at all, just some wonk from headquarters thats good at sums.

Oh, great, said Maladict, who was brewing his coffee by the fire. The little engine gurgled and hissed.

I dont think he can see very well without his glasses, said Polly. But hes very, er, polite.

Not been a rupert for long, then, said Scallot. Theyre more Hey there! You! Damn your eyes, fwah fwah fwah! I seen your sergeant before, though, old Jackrum. Been everywhere, he has. Everyone knows old Jackrum. He was with us in the snow up at Ibblestarn.

How many people did he eat? said Maladict, to general laughter. The dinner had been good, and there had still been enough sherry for a glass each.

Lets just say I heard he didnt come down much thinner than when he went up, said Scallot.

And Corporal Strappi? said Polly.

Never seen him before, either, said Scallot. Cross-grained little bugger. Political, Id say. Whys he gone and left you here? Got a nice cushy bed in the inn, has he?

I hope hes not g-going to be our sergeant, said Wazzer.

Him? Why? said Scallot.

Polly volunteered the events of earlier in the evening. To her surprise, Scallot laughed.

Theyre trying to get rid of the old bugger again, are they? he said. Thats a laugh! Bless you, itll take moren a bunch of gawains and rodneys to lever Jackrum out of his own army. Why, hes been court-martialled twice. He got off both times. And dyou know he once saved General Frocs life? Hes been everywhere, got the goods on everyone, knows more strings than me and I know a good few, mark my words. If he wants to march with you tomorrow he will, and no skinny little rupertll get in his way.

So what was a man like that doing as a recruiting officer? said Maladict sharply.

 cos he got his leg cut open in Zlobenia and bit the sawbones who tried to look at it when the wound went bad, clever dick, retorted Scallot. Cleaned it out himself with maggots and honey, then drank a pint of brandy and sewed himself up and lay on his bed with a fever for a week. But the general got him, I heard, came and visited him while he was too weak to protest and told him he was going on the drumming for a year and no argument. Not even Froc hisself would hand him his papers, not after Jackrumd carried him on his back for fourteen miles through enemy lines

The door swung open and Sergeant Jackrum walked in, tucking his hands into his belt.

Dont bother to salute, lads, he said, as they turned guiltily. Evening, Threeparts. Nice to see nearly all of you again, you artful ol god-dodger. Wheres Corporal Strappi?

Havent seen him all evening, sarge, said Maladict.

Didnt he come in here with you?

No, sarge. We thought he was with you.

Not a muscle moved on Jackrums face. I see, he said. Well, you heard the lieutenant. The boat leaves at midnight. We should be well down the Kneck by Wednesdays dawn. Get a few hours sleep if you can. Tomorrows going to be a long day, if youre lucky.

And with that, he turned and went out again. Wind howled outside, and was cut off when the door shut. Well be well down the Kneck, Polly noted. Well done, Threeparts.

Missing a corporal? said Scallot. Now theres a thing. Usually its a recruit that goes ay-wole. Well, you heard the sergeant, boys. Time to wash up and turn in.

There was a washroom and latrine, in a rough and ready fashion. Polly found a moment when she and Shufti were in it alone. Shed racked her brains about how best to raise the subject, but as it turned out just a look was all it took.

It was when I volunteered to do the supper, wasnt it? Shufti mumbled, staring into the stone sink, which had moss growing in it.

That was a clue, yes, said Polly.

A lot of men cook, you know! said Shufti hotly.

Yes, but not soldiers, and not enthusiastically, said Polly. They dont do marinades.

Have you told anybody? mumbled Shufti, red in the face.

No, said Polly, which was, after all, strictly true. Look, you were good, you had me fooled right up until sugar.

Yes, yes, I know, Shufti whispered. I can do the belching and the walking stupidly and even the nose-picking, but I wasnt brought up to swear like you men!

Us men, thought Polly. Oh, boy.

Were the coarse and licentious soldiery. Im afraid its shit or bust, she said. Er . . . why are you doing this?

Shufti stared into the dank stone sink as if strange green slime was really interesting, and mumbled something.

Sorry, what was that? said Polly.

Going to find my husband, said Shufti, only a little bit louder.

Oh, dear. How long had you been married? said Polly, without thinking.

. . . not married yet. . . said Shufti, in a voice as tall as an ant.

Polly glanced down at the plumpness of Shufti. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. She tried to sound reasonable. Dont you think that you should

Dont you tell me to go home! said Shufti, rounding on her. Theres nothing for me back home except disgrace! Im not going home! Im going to the war and Im going to find him! No ones going to tell me not to, Ozzer! No one! This has happened before, anyway! And it ended right! Theres a song about it and everything!

Oh, that, said Polly. Yes. I know. Folk singers should be shot. What I was going to say was that you might find this helps the disguise . . . She produced a soft cylinder of woolly socks from her pack and wordlessly handed it over. It was a dangerous thing to do, she knew, but now she was feeling a kind of responsibility to those whose sudden strange fancy hadnt been followed by a plan.

On the way back to her palliasse she caught sight of Wazzer hanging his little picture of the Duchess on a handy hook in the crumbling wall above his mattress. He looked around furtively, failed to spot Polly in the shadows of the doorway, and bobbed a very quick curtsy to the picture. A curtsy, not a bow.

Polly frowned. Four. She was barely surprised, now. And she had one pair of clean socks left. This was soon going to be a barefoot army.

Polly could tell the time by the fire. You got a feel for how long a fire burned, and the logs on this one were grey with ash over the glow beneath. It was gone eleven, she decided.

By the sound of it, no one was getting any sleep. Shed got up after an hour or two of lying on the crackling straw mattress, staring at darkness and listening to things move about underneath her; shed have stayed on it for longer, but something in the straw seemed to want to push her leg out of the way. Besides, she didnt have any dry blankets. There were blankets in the barracks, but Threeparts had advised against them on account of their carrying, as he put it, the Itch.

The corporal had left a candle alight. Polly had read Pauls letter again, and taken another look at the piece of printed paper rescued from the muddy road. The words were fractured and she wasnt sure about all of them, but she didnt like the sound of any of them. Invas had a particularly unpleasant ring to it.

And then there was the third piece of paper. She couldnt help that. It had been a complete accident. Shed done Blouses laundry and of course you went through the pockets before you washed things, because anyone whod ever tried to unroll a soggy, bleached sausage thatd once been a banknote didnt want to do it twice. And there had been this folded piece of paper. Admittedly, she neednt have unfolded it and, having unfolded it, neednt have read it. But there are some things that you just do.

It was a letter. Presumably Blouse had shoved it in a pocket and forgotten about it when hed changed his shirt. She neednt read it again but, by candlelight, she did.

My Dearest Emmeline,

Fame and Fortune await! After only eight years as a 2nd Lieutenant I have now been promoted and am to have a command! Of course this will mean that there will be no officer left in the Adjutant-Generals Blankets, Bedding and Horse Fodder Department, but I have explained my new filing system to Cpl Drebb and I believe he is Sound.

You know I cannot go into matters of detail, but I believe this will be a very exciting prospect and I am anxious to be at the Foe. I am bold enough to hope that the name of Blouse will go down in military history. In the meantime, I am brushing up my sword drill and it is definitely all coming back to me. Of course, the promotion brings with it no less than One Shilling extra per Diem, plus Three Pence fodder allowance. To this end I have purchased a charger from Mr Honest Jack Slacker, a most entertaining gentleman, although I fear that his description of my steeds prowess may have been prone to some exaggeration. Nevertheless, I am moving up at last and if Fate smiles on me this will hurry forward the day when I can

And that was it, fortunately. After some thought, Polly went and carefully damped the letter, then dried it quickly over the remains of the fire and slipped it into the pocket of the washed shirt. Blouse might scold her for not removing it before washing, but she doubted it.

A blanket-counter with a new filing system. An ensign for eight years, in a war where promotion could be rather fast. A man who put inverted commas round any word or phrase he thought of as even slightly racy. Brushing up on his sword drill. And so short-sighted hed bought a horse from Jack Slacker, who went around all the horse fairs bargain bins and sold winded old screws that dropped a leg before youd got home.

Our leader.

They were losing the war. Everyone knew that, but nobody would say it. It was as if they felt that if the words werent said out loud then it wasnt really happening. They were losing the war and this squad, untrained and untried, fighting in dead mens boots, could only help them lose it faster. Half of them were girls! Because of some bloody stupid song, Shufti was wandering off into a war to look for the father of her child, and that was a desperate errand for a girl even in peacetime. And Lofty was trailing after her boy, which would probably be romantic right up until five minutes into a battle. And she . . .

. . . well, yes. Shed heard the song, too. So what? Paul was her brother. Shed always kept an eye on him, even when she was small. Mother was always busy, everyone was always busy at The Duchess, so Polly had become a big sister to a brother fifteen months older than her. Shed taught him to blow his nose, taught him how to form letters, went and found him when crueller boys had got him lost in the woods. Running after Paul was a duty that had become a habit.

And then . . . well, it wasnt the only reason. When her father died The Duchess would be lost to her side of the family if there was no male to inherit. That was the law, plain and simple. Nugganatic law said that men could inherit the Things of Men such as land, buildings, money and all domestic animals except cats. Women could inherit the Things of Women, which were mostly small items of personal jewellery and spinning wheels passed from mothers to daughters. They certainly couldnt inherit a large, famous tavern.

So The Duchess would go to Paul if he was alive, or if he was dead it was allowable for it to go to Pollys husband if she was married. And since Polly saw no prospect of that, she needed a brother. Paul could happily carry barrels around for the rest of his life; she would run The Duchess. But if she was left alone, a woman with no man, then at best all shed get was maybe the chance to go on living there while the deeds went to cousin Vlopo, who was a drunkard.

Of course, all that wasnt the reason. Certainly not. But it was a reason, all the same. The reason was, simply, Paul. Shed always found him and brought him home.

She looked at the shako in her hands. There had been helmets, but since they all had arrow holes or gaping rips in them the squad had wordlessly gone for the softer hats. Youd die anyway, and at least you wouldnt have a headache. The shakos badge showed the regimental symbol of a flaming cheese. Maybe one day shed find out why. Polly put it on, picked up her pack and the small bag of laundry, and stepped out into the night. The moon was gone, the clouds had come back. She was drenched by the time shed crossed the square; the rain was coming horizontally.

She shoved open the inn door and saw, by the light of one guttering candle . . . chaos. Clothing was strewn across the flagstones, cupboards were hanging open. Jackrum was coming down the stairs, cutlass in one hand, lantern in the other.

Oh, its you, Perks, he said. Theyve cleaned the place out and buggered off. Even Molly. I heard em go. Pushing a cart, by the sound of it. Whatre you doing here?

Batman, sarge, said Polly, shaking water off her hat.

Oh, yeah. Right. Go and wake him up, then. Hes snoring like a sawmill. I hope to hell the boats still there.

Whyd they bug scarper, sarge? said Polly and thought: Sugar! If it comes to it, I dont swear, either! But the sergeant didnt appear to notice.

He gave her what is known as an old-fashioned look; this one had dinosaurs in it. Got wind of something, I dont doubt, he said. Of course, were winning the war, you know.

Ah. Oh. And were not going to be invaded at all, I expect, said Polly, with equally exaggerated care.

Quite right. I detest those treacherous devils whod have us believe that a vast army is about to sweep right across the country any day now, said Jackrum.

Er . . . no sign of Corporal Strappi, sarge?

No, but I havent turned over every stone yet ssh!

Polly froze, and strained to listen. There were hoofbeats, getting louder as they approached, and changing from thuds into the ringing sound of horseshoes on cobbles.

Cavalry patrol, Jackrum whispered, putting the lantern down on the bar. Six or seven horses.

Ours?

I bleedin doubt it.

The clattering slowed, and came to a stop outside.

Keep em talking, said Jackrum, reaching down and sliding the doors bolt across. He turned and headed towards the rear of the inn.

What? What about? whispered Polly. Sarge?

Jackrum had vanished. Polly heard murmuring outside the door, followed by a couple of sharp knocks.

She threw off her jacket. She wrenched the shako off her head and tossed it behind the bar. Now she wasnt a soldier, at least. And, as the door was shaken against the bolt, she saw something white lying in the debris. It was a terrible temptation . . .

The door burst open at the second blow, but the soldiers didnt immediately enter. Lying under the bar, struggling to put the petticoat on over rolled-up trousers, Polly tried to make sense of the sounds. As far as she could tell from the rustles and thuds, anyone waiting inside the doorway with ambush in mind would have been briefly and terminally sorry. She tried to count the invaders; it sounded as though there were at least three. In the tense silence, the sound of a voice speaking in normal tones came as a shock.

We heard the bolt slide across. That means youre in here somewhere. Make it easy on yourself. We dont want to have to come and find you.

I dont want you to either, Polly thought. Im not a soldier! Go away! And then the next thought was: What do you mean, youre not a soldier? You took the shilling and kissed the picture, didnt you? And suddenly an arm had reached under the bar and grabbed her. At least she didnt have to act.

No! Please, sir! Dont hurt me! I just got frightened! Please!

But inside there was a certain . . . sock-ness that felt ashamed, and wanted to kick out.

Ye gods, what are you? said the cavalryman, pulling her upright and looking at her as if she was some kind of exhibit.

Polly, sir! Barmaid, sir! Only they cleared out and left me!

Keep the noise down, girl!

Polly nodded. The last thing she needed now was for Blouse to run down the stairs with his sabre and Fencing for Beginners.

Yes, sir, she squeaked.

Barmaid, eh? Three pints of what youd probably call your finest ale, then.

That at least could happen on automatic. Shed seen the mugs under the bar, and the barrels were behind her. The beer was thin and sharp but probably wouldnt dissolve a penny.

The cavalryman watched her closely as she filled the mugs. What happened to your hair? he said.

Polly had been ready for this. Oh, sir, they cut it off, sir! cos I smiled at a Zlobenian trooper, sir!

Here?

In Drok, sir. It was a town much nearer the border. And me mam said it was shaming to the family and I got sent here, sir!

Her hands shook as she put the mugs on the bar, and she was hardly exaggerating. Hardly . . . but a bit, nevertheless. Youre acting like a girl, she thought. Keep it up!

Now she could take stock of the invaders. They wore dark-blue uniforms, and big boots, and heavy cavalry helmets. One of them was standing by the shuttered windows. The other two were watching her. One had a sergeants stripes and an expression of deep suspicion. The one whod grabbed her was a captain.

This is terrible beer, girl, he said, sniffing the mug.

Yes, sir, I know, sir, Polly gabbled. They wouldnt listen to me, sir, and said you have to put a damp sheet over the barrels in this thundery weather, sir, and Molly never cleans the spigot and

This towns empty, you know that?

They all scarpered, sir, said Polly earnestly. Gonna be an invasion, sir. Everyone says. Theyre frightened of you, sir.

Except you, eh? said the sergeant.

Whats your name, girl who smiles at Zlobenian troopers? said the captain, smiling.

Polly, sir, said Polly. Her questing hand found what it was seeking under the bar. It was the barmans friend. There always was one.

And are you frightened of me, Polly? said the captain. There was a snigger from the soldier by the window.

The captain had a well-trimmed moustache which had been waxed to points, and was over six feet tall, Polly reckoned. He had a pretty smile, too, which was somehow improved by the scar on his face. A circle of glass covered one eye. Her hand gripped the hidden cudgel.

No, sir, she said, looking back into one eye and one glass. Er . . . whats that glass for, sir?

Its a monocle, said the captain. It helps me see you, for which I am eternally grateful. I always say that if I had two Id make a spectacle of myself.

That got a dutiful laugh from the sergeant. Polly looked blank.

And are you going to tell me where the recruits are? said the captain.

She forced her expression not to change. No.

The captain smiled. He had good teeth, but there was, now, no warmth in his eyes.

You are in no position to be ignorant, he said. We wont hurt them, I assure you.

There was a scream in the distance.

Much, said the sergeant, with more satisfaction than was necessary. There was another yell. The captain nodded to the man by the door, who slipped out. Polly pulled the shako out from under the bar and put it on.

One of them gave you his cap, did he? said the sergeant, and his teeth were nowhere near as good as the officers. Well, I like a girl wholl smile at a soldier

The cudgel hit him along the head. It was old blackthorn, and he went down like a tree. The captain backed away as Polly came out from behind the bar with the club readied again. But he hadnt drawn his sword, and he was laughing.

Now, girl, if you want He caught her arm as she swung, dragged her towards him in a tight grip, still laughing, and folded up almost silently as her knee connected with his sock drawer. Thank you, Gummy. As he sagged she stepped back and brought the cudgel down on his helmet, making it ring.

She was shaking. She felt sick. Her stomach was a small, red-hot lump. What else could she have done? Was she supposed to think We have met the enemy and he is nice? Anyway, he wasnt. He was smug.

She tugged a sabre from a scabbard and crept out into the night. It was still raining, and waist-deep mist was drifting up from the river. Half a dozen or so horses were outside, but not tied up. A trooper was waiting with them. Faintly, against the rustle of the rain, she heard him making soothing noises to comfort one of them. She wished she hadnt heard that. Well, shed taken the shilling. Polly gripped the cudgel.

Shed gone a step when the mist between her and the man fountained up slowly as something rose out of it. The horses shifted uneasily. The man turned, a shadow moved, the man fell. . .

Oh whispered Polly.

The shadow turned. Ozzer? Its me, Maladict, it said. Sarge sent me to see if you needed help.

Bloody Jackrum left me surrounded by armed men! Polly hissed.

And?

Well, I . . . knocked two of them out, she said, feeling as she said it that this rather spoilt her case as a victim. One went over the road, though.

I think we got that one, said Maladict. Well, I say got . . . Tonker nearly gutted him. Theres a girl with what Id call unresolved issues. He turned round. Lets see . . . seven horses, seven men. Yep.

Tonker? said Polly.

Oh, yes. Hadnt you spotted her? She went mad when the man charged at Lofty. Now, lets have a look at your gentlemen, shall we? said Maladict, heading for the inn door.

But Lofty and Tonker . . . Polly began, running to keep up. I mean, the way they act, they . . . I thought she was his girl . . . but I thought Tonker . . . I mean, I know Lofty is a gi

Even in the dark, Maladicts teeth gleamed as he smiled. The worlds certainly unfolding itself for you, eh? Ozzer? Every day, something new. Cross-dressing now, I see.

What?

You are wearing a petticoat, Ozzer, said Maladict, stepping into the bar. Polly looked down guiltily and started to tug it off, and then thought: hang on a moment . . .

The sergeant had managed to pull himself up against the bar, where he was being sick. The captain was groaning on the floor.

Good evening, gentlemen! said the vampire. Please pay attention. I am a reformed vampire, which is to say, I am a bundle of suppressed instincts held together with spit and coffee. It would be wrong to say that violent, tearing carnage does not come easily to me. Its not tearing your throats out that doesnt come easily to me. Please dont make it any harder.

The sergeant pushed himself away from the bar top and took a muzzy swing at Maladict. Almost absent-mindedly, Maladict leaned away from it and then returned a roundhouse blow that knocked him over.

The captain looks bad, he said. What did he try to do to poor little you?

Patronize me, said Polly, glaring at Maladict.

Ah, said the vampire.

Maladict knocked softly on the barracks door. It opened a fraction, and then all the way. Carborundum lowered his club. Wordlessly, Polly and Maladict dragged the two cavalrymen inside. Sergeant Jackrum was sitting on a stool by the fire, drinking a mug of beer.

Well done, lads, he said. Put em with the others. He waved the mug vaguely towards the far wall, where four of the soldiers were hunched sullenly under the gaze of Tonker. They had been manacled together. The last soldier was lying on a table, with Igor at work on him with a needle and thread.

Hows he coming along, private? said Jackrum.

Hell be fine, tharge, said Igor. It looked worthe than it wath, really. Jutht ath well, because until we get to the battlefield I wont get any thpareth.

Got a couple of legs for ol Threeparts? said Jackrum.

Now then, sarge, none of that, said Scallot evenly. He was sitting on the other side of the fireplace. You just leave me their horses and saddles. Your lads could do with their sabres, Ive no doubt.

They were looking for us, sarge, said Polly. Were just a bunch of untrained recruits and they were looking for us. I couldve been killed, sarge!

No, I know talent when I sees it, said Jackrum. Well done, lad. Had to piss off myself, on account of a big man in full enemy uniform isnt easy to miss. Besides, you lads needed to be woke up. Thats militry thinking, that is.

But if I hadnt . . . Polly hesitated. If I hadnt tricked them, they mightve killed the lieutenant!

See? Theres always a positive side, any way you look at it, said Scallot.

The sergeant stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and hitched up his belt. He ambled over to the captain, reached down, and lifted him up by his jacket.

Why were you looking for these boys, sir? he enquired.

The captain opened his eye and focused on the fat man.

I am an officer and a gentleman, sergeant, he muttered. There are rules.

Not many gentlemen around here at this moment, sir, said the sergeant.

Damn right, whispered Maladict. Polly, feeling drunk with relief and released tension, had to put her hand over her mouth to stop giggling.

Oh, yeah. The rules. Prisoners of war and that, Jackrum went on. That means you even have to eat the same things as us, you poor devils. So youre not going to talk to me?

I am . . . Captain Horentz of the First Heavy Dragoons. Ill say nothing more. And something about the way he said it elbowed Polly in the brain. Hes lying.

Jackrum stared at him blankly for a moment, and then said: Well, now . . . it looks like what we have here is an embugger-ance which, my lads of the Cheesemongers, is defined as an obstruction in the way of progress. I propose to deal with it in this wise! He let go of the mans jacket and the captain fell back.

Sergeant Jackrum removed his hat. Then he removed his jacket, too, revealing a stained shirt and bright red braces. He was still almost spherical; from his neck, folds of skin lapped their way down to the tropical regions. The belt must have been there just to conform to regulations, Polly thought.

He reached up and undid a piece of string from around his neck. It was looped through a hole in a tarnished coin.

Corporal Scallot! he said.

Yes, sarge! said Scallot, saluting.

You will note I am divestering myself of my insignia and am handing you my official shilling, which means, since last time I signed up it was for twelve years and that was sixteen years ago, I am now fully and legally a damn civilian!

Yes, Mister Jackrum, said Scallot cheerfully. Among the prisoners, heads jerked up at the sound of the name.

And that being the case, and since you, captain, are invading our country by night under the cover of darkness, and I am a humble civilian, I think theres no rule to stop me beating seven kinds of crap out of you until you tell me why you came here and when the rest of your mates are going to arrive. And that may take me some time, sir, because up until now Ive only ever discovered five types of crap. He rolled up his sleeves, hauled up the captain again and drew back a fist

We just had to take the recruits into custody, said a voice. We werent going to hurt them! Now put him down, Jackrum, damn you! Hes still seeing stars!

It was the sergeant from the inn. Polly looked at the other prisoners. Even with Carborundum and Maladict watching them, and Tonker glowering at them, there was a definite sense that the first blow landed on the captain was going to start a riot. And Polly thought: they are very protective, arent they . . .

Jackrum must have picked it up, too. Ah, now were talking, he said, lowering the captain gently but still holding his coat. Your men speak up for you well, captain.

Thats because were not slaves, you bloody beeteater, growled one of the troopers.

Slaves? All my lads joined up of their own free will, turniphead.

Maybe they thought they did, said the sergeant. You just lied to em. Lied to em for years. Theyre all gonna die because of your stupid lies! Lies and your raddled, rotting, lying old whore of a duchess!

Private Goom, as you were! That is an order! As you were, I said! Private Maladict, take that sword offf Private Goom! That is another order! Sergeant, order your men to ease back slowly! Slowly! Do it now! Upon my oath I am not a violent man, but any man, any man who disobeys me, bigod, that man is lookin at a broken rib!

Jackrum screamed all that in one long explosion of sound without taking his eyes off the captain.

Reaction, order and breathless stillness had taken just a few seconds. Polly stared at the sudden tableau as her muscles untensed.

The Zlobenian troopers were settling back. Carborundums raised club began to lower itself gently. Little Wazzer was held off the ground by Maladict, whod wrenched a sword from her hand; possibly only a vampire could have moved faster than Wazzer as shed charged the prisoners.

Custody, said Jackrum, in a quiet voice. Thats a funny word. Look at my little lads, will you? Not a whisker between them yet, save for the troll, and lichen dont count. Still wet behind the ears, they are. Whats dangerous about a harmless bunch of farm boys thatd concern a fine bunch of horse-wallopers like yourselves?

Can thomeone pleathe come and put their finger on thith knot? said Igor, from his makeshift operating table. Ive jutht about done.

Harmless? said the sergeant, staring at the struggling Wazzer. Theyre a bunch of bloody madmen!

I want to speak to your officer, damn you, said the captain, who looked a little less unfocused now. You do have an officer, dont you?

Yeah, weve got one somewhere, as I recall, said Jackrum. Perks, go and fetch the rupert, will you? Best if you take that dress off first, too. You never know, with ruperts. He carefully lowered the captain on to a bench, and straightened up.

Carborundum, Maladict, chop something off any prisoner who moves, and any man who tries to attack a prisoner! he said. Now then . . . oh, yes. Threeparts Scallot, I wish to enlist in your wonderful army, with its many opportunities for a young man willing to apply himself.

Any previous soldierin? said Scallot, grinning.

Forty years fighting every bleeder within a hundred miles of Borogravia, corporal.

Special skills?

Stayin alive, corporal, come what may.

Then allow me to present you with one shilling and immediate acceleration to the rank of sergeant, said Scallot, handing back the coat and the shilling. Want to Osculate the Doxie?

Not at my time o life, said Jackrum, putting on his jacket again. There, he said. All smart, all neat, all legal. Go on, Perks, I gave you an order.

Blouse was snoring. His candle had burned down. A book was open on his blanket. Polly gently pulled it out from under his fingers. The title, almost invisible on the stained cover, was: Tacticus: The Campaigns.

Sir? she whispered.

Blouse opened his eyes, saw her, and then turned and frantically scrabbled by the bed.

Here they are, sir, said Polly, handing him his spectacles.

Ah, Perks, thank you, said the lieutenant, sitting up. Midnight, is it?

A bit after, sir.

Oh, dear! Then we must hurry! Quick, pass me my breeches! Have the men had a good night?

We were attacked by Zlobenian troops, sir. First Heavy Dragoons. We took them prisoner, sir. No casualties, sir. . . . because they didnt expect us to fight. They wanted to take us alive. And they walked in on Carborundum and Maladict and . . . me.

It had been hard, very hard, to force herself to swing that cudgel. But once she had done it, it had been easy. And then shed felt embarrassed about being caught in a petticoat, even though she had her breeches on underneath. Shed gone from boy to girl just by thinking it, and it had been so . . . easy. She needed some time to consider this. She needed time to think about a lot of things. She suspected that time was going to be in short supply.

Blouse was still sitting there with his breeches half on, staring at her.

Run that past me again one more time, will you, Perks? he said. You have captured some of the enemy?

Not just me, sir, I only got two of em, said Polly. We all, er, piled in, sir.

Heavy Dragoons?

Yessir.

Thats the Princes personal regiment! Theyve invaded?

I think it was more of a patrol, sir. Seven men.

And none of you are hurt?

Nosir.

Pass me my shirt! Oh, blast!

It was then that Polly noticed the bandage around his right hand. It was red with blood. He saw her expression.

Bit of a self-inflicted wound, Perks, he said nervously.  Brushing up on my sword drill after supper. Nothing serious. Just a bit rusty, you know. Cant quite manage buttons. If you would be so good . . .

Polly helped the lieutenant struggle into the rest of his clothes, and threw his few other possessions in a bag. It took a special kind of man, she reflected, to cut his sword hand with his own sword.

I should pay my bill . . . the lieutenant muttered, as they hurried down the darkened stairs.

Cant, sir. Everyones fled, sir.

Perhaps I should leave them a note, do you think? I wouldnt like them to think that I had done a runner without

Theyve all gone, sir! said Polly, pushing him towards the front door. She stopped outside the barracks, straightened his coat and stared at his face. Did you wash last night, sir?

There was no Blouse began.

The response was automatic. Even though she was fifteen months younger, shed been mothering Paul for too long.

Handkerchief! she demanded. And, since some things get programmed into the brain at an early age, one was obediently produced.

Spit! Polly commanded. Then she used the damp hanky to wipe a mark off Blouses face and realized, as she was doing it, that she was doing it. There was no going back. The only way out was ahead.

All right, she said brusquely. Have you got everything?

Yes, Perks.

Have you been to the privy this morning? her mouth went on, while her brain cowered in fear of a court martial. Im in shock, she thought, and sos he. So you cling to what you know. And you cant stop . . .

No, Perks, said the lieutenant.

Then you must go properly before we get on the boat, all right?

Yes, Perks.

In you go, then, theres a good lieutenant.

She leaned against the wall and got her breath back in a few hurried gulps as Blouse stepped into the barracks, then slipped in after him.

Officer present! Jackrum barked. The squad, already lined up, stood to varying degrees of attention. The sergeant jerked a salute in front of Blouse, causing the young man to sway backwards.

Apprehended enemy scouting party, sir! Dangerous business all round, sir! In view of the emergency nature of the emergency sir, and seeing as how you have no NCO what with Corporal Strappi having scarpered, and seeing as how Im an old soldier in good standing, you are allowed to conscript me as an auxiliary under Duchesss Regulations, Rule 796, Section 3 [a], Paragraph ii, sir, thank you, sir!

What? said Blouse, staring around blearily and becoming aware that in a world of sudden turmoil there was a big red coat that seemed to know what it was doing. Oh. Yes. Fine. Rule 796, you say? Absolutely. Well done. Carry on, sergeant.

Are you in command here? barked Horentz, standing.

Indeed I am, captain, said Blouse.

Horentz looked him up and down. You? he said, disdain oozing from the word.

Indeed, sir, said Blouse, his eyes narrowing.

Oh well, we shall have to do what we can. That fat bastard, said Horentz, pointing a threatening finger at Jackrum, that bastard offered me violence! As a prisoner! In chains! And that . . . boy, the captain added, spitting the word towards Polly, kicked me in the privates and almost clubbed me to death! I demand that you let us go!

Blouse turned to Polly. Did you kick Captain Horentz in the privates, Parts?

Er . . . yessir. Kneed, actually. And its Perks actually, sir, although I can see why you made the mistake.

What was he doing at the time?

Er . . . embracing me, sir. Polly saw Blouses eyebrows rise, and plunged on. I was temporarily disguised as a girl, sir, in order to allay suspicion.

And then you . . . clubbed him?

Yessir. Once, sir.

What in the world possessed you to stop at once? said Blouse.

Sir? said Polly, as Horentz gasped. Blouse turned with an almost seraphic look of pleasure on his face.

And you, sergeant, he went on, did you in fact lay a hand on the captain?

Jackrum took a step forward and saluted smartly. Not as in fact per se and such, sir, no, he said, keeping his eyes fixed on a point some twelve feet high on the far wall. I just considered, since he had invaded our country to capture our lads, sir, that it wouldnt hurt if he experienced temporary feelings of shock and awe, sir. On my oath, sir, I am not a violent man.

Of course not, sergeant, said Blouse. And now, while he still smiled, it was edged with a kind of malevolent glee.

For heavens sake, you fool, you cant believe these ignorant yokels, theyre the dregs of Horentz began.

I do believe them, indeed I do, said Blouse, shaking with nervous defiance. I would believe their testimony against yours, sir, if they told me the sky was green. And it would appear that untrained as they are, they have bested some of Zlobenias finest soldiers by wit and daring. I have every confidence that they have further surprises in store for us

Dropping your drawers would do it, whispered Maladict.

Shutup! hissed Polly, and then had to cram a fist into her mouth again.

I know you, Captain Horentz, said Blouse, and just for a moment the captain looked worried. I mean I know your sort. Ive had to put up with them all my life. Big jovial bullies, with their brains in their breeches. You dare to come riding into our country and think were going to be frightened of you? You think you can appeal to me over the heads of my men? You demand? On the soil of my country?

Captain? murmured the cavalry sergeant, as Horentz stared open-mouthed at the lieutenant, theyll be here soon . . .

Ah, said Horentz uncertainly. Then he seemed, with some effort, to regain his composure. Reinforcements are coming, he snapped. Free us now, you idiot, and I might just put this down to native stupidity. Otherwise I shall see to it that things go very, very badly for you and your . . . ha . . . men.

Seven cavalrymen were considered not enough to deal with farm boys? said Blouse. Youre sweating, captain. You are worried. And yet you have reinforcements coming?

Permission to speak, sir! barked Jackrum, and went straight on to: Cheesemongers! Get bleedin armed again right now! Maladict, you give Private Goom his sword back an wish him luck! Carborundum, you grab a handful of them twelve-foot pikes! The rest of

Theres these as well, sarge, said Maladict. Lots of them. I got them off our friends saddles. He held up what looked to Polly like a couple of large pistol crossbows, steely and sleek.

Horsebows? said Jackrum, like a child opening a wonderful Hogswatch present. Thats what you gets for leading an honest and sober life, my lads. Dreadful little engines they are. Lets have two each!

I dont want unnecessary violence, sergeant, said Blouse.

Right you are, sir! said the sergeant. Carborundum! First man comes through that door runnin, I want him nailed to the wall! He caught the lieutenants eye, and added: But not too hard!

. . . and someone did knock at the door.

Maladict levelled two bows at it. Carborundum lifted a couple of pikes in either hand. Polly raised her cudgel, a weapon she at least knew how to use. The other boys, and girls, raised whatever weapon Threeparts Scallot had been able to procure. There was silence. Polly looked around.

Come in? she suggested.

Yeah, right, that should do it, said Jackrum, rolling his eyes.

The door was pushed open and a small, dapper man stepped through carefully. In build, colouring and hairstyle he looked rather like Mala

A vampire? said Polly softly.

Oh, damn, said Maladict.

The newcomers clothing, however, was unusual. It was an old-fashioned evening dress coat with the sleeves removed and many, many pockets sewn all over it. In front of him, slung around his neck, was a large black box. Against all common sense, he beamed at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.

Vonderful! he said, lifting up the box and unfolding three legs to form a tripod for it. But . . . could zer troll move a little to his left please?

Huh? said Carborundum. The squad looked at one another.

Yes, and if the sergeant vould be so kind as to move into the centre more, and raise those swords a little bit higher? the vampire went on. Great! And you, sir, if you could give me a grrrrh . . . ?

Grrrrh? said Blouse.

Very good! Really fierce now . . .

There was a blinding flash and a brief cry of Oh, sh, followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.

Where the vampire had been standing was a little cone of dust. Blinking, Polly watched it fountain up into a human shape which coalesced once more into the vampire.

Oh dear, I really thought ze new filter vould do it, he said. Oh veil, ve live und learn. He gave them a bright smile and added, Now  vhich vun of you is Captain Horentz, please?

Half an hour had passed. Polly was still bewildered. The trouble was not that she didnt understand what was going on. The problem was that before she could understand that, she had to understand a lot of other things. One of them was the concept of a newspaper.

Blouse was looking proud and worried by turns, but nervous all the time. Polly watched him carefully, not least because he was talking to the man who had come in behind the iconographer. He was wearing a big leather coat and jodhpurs, and spent most of the time writing things down in a notebook, with occasional puzzled glances at the squad. Finally, Maladict, who had good hearing, sauntered over to the recruits from his lounging spot by the wall.

Okay, he said, lowering his voice. Its all a bit complicated, but . . . do any of you know about newspapers?

Yeth, my thecond couthin Igor in Ankh-Morpork told me about them, said Igor. Theyre like a kind of government announthement.

Um . . . sort of. Except theyre not written by the government. Theyre written by ordinary people who write things down, said Maladict.

Like a diary? said Tonker.

Um . . . no . . .

Maladict tried to explain. The squad tried to understand. It still made no sense. It sounded to Polly like some kind of Punch and Judy show. Anyway, why would you trust anything written down? She certainly didnt trust Mothers of Borogravia! and that was from the government. And if you couldnt trust the government, who could you trust?

Very nearly everyone, come to think of it . . .

Mr de Worde works for a newspaper in Ankh-Morpork, said Maladict. He says were losing. He says casualties are mounting and troops are deserting and all the civilians are heading for the mountains.

W-why should we believe him? Wazzer demanded.

Well, weve seen a lot of casualties and refugees and Corporal Strappi hasnt been around since he heard he was going to the front, said Maladict. Sorry, but its true. Weve all seen it.

Yeah, but hes just some man from a foreign country. Why w-would the Duchess lie to us? I mean, why would she send us out just to die? said Wazzer. She w-watches over us!

Everyone says were winning, said Tonker, doubtfully, after that moment of embarrassment. Tears were running down Wazzers face.

No, they dont, said Polly. I dont think we are, either.

Does anyone think we are? said Maladict. Polly looked from face to face.

But saying so . . . its like treachery against the Duchess, isnt it? said Wazzer. Its spreading Alarm and Despondency, isnt it?

Maybe we ought to be alarmed, said Maladict. Do you know how he came to be here? He travels around writing down things about the war for his paper of news. He met these cavalry just up the road. In our country! And they told him theyd just heard that the very last recruits from Borogravia were here and they were nothing but, er, a wet little bunch of squeaking boys. They said theyd capture us for our own good and he could get a picture of us for his paper. He could show everybody how dreadful things were, they said, because we were scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Yeah, but we beat em so thats foxed him! said Tonker, grinning nastily. Nothing for him to write down now, eh?

Um . . . not really. He says that this is even better!

Better? Whose side is he on?

Bit of a puzzler, really. He comes from Ankh-Morpork, but hes not exactly on their side. Er . . . Otto Chriek, who makes the pictures for him

The vampire? He crumbled to dust when the light flashed! said Polly. Then he . . . came back!

Well, I was standing behind Carborundum at the time, said Maladict, but I know the technique. He probably had a thin glass vial of b . . . bl. . . blur . . . no, wait, I can say this . . . blood. He sighed. There! No problem. A thin vial of . . . what I said . . . which smashed on the ground and pulled the dust back together again. Its a great idea. Maladict gave them a wan smile. I think he really cares a lot about what he does, you know. Anyway, he told me de Worde just tries to find out the truth. And then he writes it down and sells it to anyone who wants it.

And people let him do that? said Polly.

Apparently. Otto says he makes Commander Vimes livid with rage about once a week, but nothing ever happens.

Vimes? The Butcher? said Polly.

Hes a duke, Otto says. But not like ours. Otto says hes never seen him butcher anybody. Ottos a Black Ribboner, like me. He wouldnt lie to a fellow Ribboner. And he says that picture he took is going on the clacks from the nearest tower tonight. It will be in the paper of news tomorrow! And they print a copy here!

How can you send a picture on the clacks? said Polly. I know people whove seen them. Its just a lot of boxes on a tower that go clack-clack!

Ah, Otto explained that to me, too, said Maladict. Its very ingenious.

How does it work, then?

Oh, I didnt understand what he said. It was all about . . . numbers. But it certainly sounded very clever. Anyway, de Worde just told the lieu the rupert that news about a bunch of boys beating up experienced soldiers would certainly make people sit up and take notice!

The squad looked at one another sheepishly.

It was a bit of a fluke, and anyway we had Carborundum, said Tonker.

And I used trickery, said Polly. I mean, I couldnt do it twice.

So what? said Maladict. We did it. The squad did it! Next time well do it differently!

Yeah! said Tonker. And there was a shared moment of exhilaration in which they were capable of anything. It lasted all of . . . a moment.

But it wont work, said Shufti. Weve just been lucky. You know it wont work, Maladict. You all know it wont work, right?

Well, Im not saying we could, you know, take on a regiment all at once, said Maladict. And the lieu rupert might be a bit wet. But we could help make a difference. Old Jackrum knows what hes doing

Upon my oath I am not a violent man . . . whack! sniggered Tonker, and there were a few . . . yes, giggles, they were giggles, Polly knew, from the squad.

No, youre not, said Shufti flatly. None of us are, right? Because were girls.

There was a dead silence.

Well, not Carborundum and Ozzer, okay, Shufti went on, as if the silence was sucking unwilling words out of her. And Im not sure about Maladict and Igor. But I know the rest of us are, right? Ive got eyes, Ive got ears, Ive got a brain. Right?

In the silence there was the slow rumble that preceded a pronouncement from Carborundum.

If it any help, she said, in a voice suddenly more sandy than gravelly, my real names Jade.

Polly felt questing eyes boring into her. She was embarrassed, of course. But not for the obvious reason. It was for the other one, the little lesson that life sometimes rams home with a stick: you are not the only one watching the world. Other people are people; while you watch them they watch you, and they think about you while you think about them. The world isnt just about you.

There was going to be no possibility of getting out of this. And, in a way, it was a relief.

Polly, she said, almost in a whisper.

She looked questioningly at Maladict, who smiled in a distinctly non-committal way. Is this the time? he said.

All right, you lot, whatre you standing about for? bawled Jackrum, six inches from the back of Maladicts head. No one saw him arrive there; he moved with an NCOs stealth, which sometimes mystifies even Igors.

Maladicts smile didnt change. Why, were awaiting your orders, sergeant, he said, turning round.

Dyou think youre clever, Maladict?

Um . . . yes, sarge. Quite clever, the vampire conceded.

There wasnt a lot of humour in Jackrums smile. Good. Glad to hear it. Dont want another stupid corporal. Yeah, I know you aint even a proper private yet, but glory be, youre a corporal now cos I need one and youre the snappiest dresser. Get some stripes from Threeparts. The rest of you . . . this isnt a bleedin mothers meeting, were leaving in five minutes. Move!

But the prisoners, sarge Polly began, still trying to digest the revelation.

Were goin to drag em over to the inn an leave em tied up in the nood, and shackled together, said Jackrum. Vicious little devil when hes roused, our rupert, eh? And Threeparts is having their boots and horses. They wont be going too far for a while, not in the nood.

Wont the writing man let them out? said Tonker.

Dont care, said Jackrum. He could probably cut the ropes, but Im dropping the shackle key in the privy, and thatll take a bit of fishing out.

Whose side is he on, sarge? said Polly.

Dunno. I dont trust em. Ignore em. Dont talk to em. Never talk to people who writes things down. Militry rule. Now, I know I just gave you lot an order cos I heard the bleedin echo! Get on with it! We are leaving!

Road to perdition, lad, promotion, said Scallot to Maladict, swinging up with two stripes hanging from his hook. He grinned. Thats three pence extra a day youre due now, only you wont get it cos they aint payin us, but to look on the bright side, you wont get stoppages, and theyre a devil for stoppages. The way I see it, march backwards and yer pocketsll overflow!

The rain had stopped. Most of the squad were parading outside the barracks where there was, now, a small covered wagon belonging to the writer of the paper of news. A large flag hung from a pole attached to it, but Polly couldnt make out the design by moonlight. Beside the wagon, Maladict was deep in conversation with Otto.

The centre of attention, though, was the line of cavalry horses. One had been offered to Blouse, but hed waved it away with a look of alarm, muttering something about being loyal to his steed, which to Pollys eye looked like a self-propelled toast-rack with a bad attitude. But hed probably made the right decision, at that, because they were big beasts, broad, battle-hardened and bright-eyed; sitting astride one of them would have strained the crotch in Blouses trousers and an attempt at reining one of them in would have pulled his arms off at the shoulder. Now each horse had a pair of boots hanging from its saddle, except for the leading horse, a truly magnificent beast upon which Corporal Scallot sat like an afterthought.

Im no donkey-walloper as you know, Threeparts, said Jackrum, as he finished lashing the crutches behind the saddle, but this is a hell of a good horse youve got here.

Damn right, sarge. You could feed a platoon for a week offf it! said the corporal.

Sure you wont come with us? Jackrum added, standing back. I reckon you still mustve one or two things left for the bastards to cut off, eh?

Thank you, sarge, its a kind offer, said Threeparts. But fast horses are going to be at a real premium soon, and Ill be in on the ground floor, as you might say. This lotll be worth three years pay. He turned in the saddle and nodded at the squad. Best of luck, lads, he added cheerfully. Youll walk with Death every day, but Ive seen im and hes been known to wink. And remember: fill your boots with soup! He urged the horses into a walk, and disappeared with his trophies into the gloom.

Jackrum watched him go, shook his head, and turned to the recruits. All right, ladies Whats funny, Private Halter?

Er, nothing, sarge, I just . . . thought of something . . . said Tonker, almost choking.

You aint paid to think of things, youre paid to march. Do it!

The squad marched away. The rain slackened to nothing but the wind rose a little, rattling windows, blowing through the deserted houses, opening and shutting doors like someone looking for something they could have sworn they put down here only a moment ago. That was all that moved in Plotz, except for one candle flame, down near the floor in the back room of the deserted barracks.

The candle had been tilted so that it leaned against a cotton thread fastened between the legs of a stool. This meant that when the candle burned low enough, it would burn through the thread and fall all the way to the floor and into a ragged trail of straw that led to a pile of palliasses on which had been stood two ancient cans of lamp oil.

It took about an hour in the wet, dejected night, for this to happen, and then all the windows blew out.

Tomorrow dawned on Borogravia like a great big fish. A pigeon rose over the forests, banked slightly, and headed straight for the valley of the Kneck. Even from here, the black stone bulk of the keep was visible, rising above the sea of trees. The pigeon sped on, one spark of purpose in the fresh new morning

and squawked as darkness dropped from the sky, gripping it in talons of steel. Buzzard and pigeon tumbled for a moment, and then the buzzard gained a little height and flapped onwards.

The pigeon thought: OOOOOOOOO! But had it been more capable of coherent thought, and known something about how birds of prey catch pigeons*, it might have wondered why it was being gripped so . . . kindly. It was being held, not squeezed. As it was, all it could think was: OOOOOOOOO!

* And allowing for the fact that all pigeons who know how birds of prey catch are dead, and therefore capable of slightly less thought than a living pigeon.

The buzzard reached the valley and began to circle low over the keep. As it gyred, a tiny figure detached itself from the leather harness on its back and, with great care, inched itself around the body and down to the talons. It reached the imprisoned pigeon, knelt on it and put its arms round the birds neck. The buzzard skimmed low over a stone balcony, reared in the air, and let the pigeon go. Bird and tiny man rolled and bounced across the flagstones in a trail of feathers, and lay still.

Eventually a voice from somewhere under the pigeon said: Bugger . . .

Urgent footsteps ran across the stones and the pigeon was lifted off Corporal Buggy Swires. He was a gnome, and barely six inches tall. On the other hand, as the head and only member of Ankh-Morpork City Watchs Airborne Section, he spent most of his time so high that everyone looked small.

Are you all right, Buggy? said Commander Vimes.

Not too bad, sir, said Buggy, spitting out a feather. But it wasnt elegant, was it? Ill do better next time. Trouble is, pigeons are too stupid to be steered

Whatve you got me?

The Times sent this up from their cart, sir! I tracked it all the way!

Well done, Buggy!

There was a flurry of wings and the buzzard landed on the battlements.

And, er what is his name? Vimes added. The buzzard gave him the mad, distant look of all birds.

Shes Morag, sir. Trained by the pictsies. Wonderful bird.

Was she the one we paid a crate of whisky for?

Yes, sir, and worth every dram.

The pigeon struggled in Vimess hand.

You wait there, then, Buggy, and Ill get Reg to come out with some raw rabbit, he said, and walked into his tower.

Sergeant Angua was waiting by his desk, reading the Living Testament of Nuggan. Is that a carrier pigeon, sir? she said, as Vimes sat down.

No, said Vimes. Hold it a minute, will you? I want to have a look inside the message capsule.

It does look like a carrier pigeon, said Angua, putting down the book.

Ah, but messages flying through the air are an Abomination unto Nuggan, said Vimes. The prayers of the faithful bounce off them, apparently. No, I think Ive found someones lost pet and Im looking in this little tube here to see if I can find the owners name and address, because I am a kind man.

So youre not actually waylaying field reports from the Times, then, sir? said Angua, grinning.

Not as such, no. Im just such a keen reader that I want to see tomorrows news today. And Mr de Worde seems to have a knack of finding things out. Angua, I want to stop these stupid people fighting so that we can all go home, and if that means allowing the occasional pigeon to have a crap on my desk, so be it.

Oh, sorry, sir, I didnt notice. I expect itll wipe off.

Go and get Reg to find some rabbit for the buzzard, will you?

When shed gone Vimes carefully unscrewed the end of the tube and pulled out a roll of very thin paper. He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and read the tiny writing, smiling as he did so. Then he turned the paper over and looked at the picture.

He was still staring at it when Angua returned with Reg and half a bucket of crunchy rabbit bits.

Anything interesting, sir? said Angua ingenuously.

Well, yes. You could say that. All plans are changed, all bets are off. Ha! Oh, Mr de Worde, you poor fool . . .

He handed her the paper. She read the story carefully.

Good for them, sir, she said. Most of them look fifteen years old, and when you see the size of those dragoons, well, youve got to be impressed.

Yes, yes, you could say that, you could say that, said Vimes, his face gleaming like a man with a joke to share. Tell me, did de Worde interview any Zlobenian high-ups when he arrived?

No, sir. I understand he was turned away. They dont really know what a reporter is, so I gather the adjutant threw him out and said he was a nuisance.

Dear me, the poor man, said Vimes, still grinning. You met Prince Heinrich the other day. Describe him to me . . .

Angua cleared her throat. Well, sir, he was . . . largely green, shading to blue, with overtones of grllss and trail of

I meant describe him to me on the assumption that Im not a werewolf who sees with his nose, said Vimes.

Oh, yes, said Angua. Sorry, sir. Six foot two, a hundred and eighty pounds, fair hair, green-blue eyes, sabre scar on his left cheek, wears a monocle in his right eye, waxed moustache

Good, well observed. And now look at Captain Horentz in the picture, will you?

She looked again, and said, very quietly: Oh dear. They didnt know?

He wasnt going to tell them, was he? Would they have seen a picture?

Angua shrugged. I doubt it, sir. I mean, where would they see it? Theres never been a newspaper here until the Times carts turned up last week.

Some woodcut, maybe?

No, theyre an Abomination, unless theyre of the Duchess.

So they really didnt know. And de Worde has never seen him, said Vimes. But you saw him when we arrived the other day. What did you think of him? Just between ourselves.

An arrogant son-of-a-bitch, sir, and I know what Im talking about. The kind of man who thinks he knows what a woman likes and its himself. All very friendly right up until they say no.

Stupid?

I dont think so. But not as clever as he thinks he is.

Right, cos he didnt tell our writer friend his real name. Did you read the bit at the end?

Angua read, at the end of the text: Perry, the captain threatened and harangued me after the recruits had gone. Alas, I had no time to fish for the manacle key in the privy. Please let the Prince know where they are soonest. WDW

Looks like William didnt take to him, either, she said. I wonder why the Prince was out with a scouting party?

You said he was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, said Vimes. Maybe he just wanted to pop across and see if his auntie was still breathing . . .

His voice trailed off. Angua looked at Vimess face, which was staring through her. She knew her boss. He thought war was simply another crime, like murder. He didnt much like people with titles, and regarded being a duke as a job description rather than a lever to greatness. He had an odd sense of humour. And he had a sense for what she thought of as harbingers, those little straws in the wind that said there was a storm coming.

In the nuddy, he chuckled. Could have slit their throats. Didnt. They took their boots away and left them to hop home in the nood. The squad, it seemed, had found a friend.

She waited.

I feel sorry for the Borogravians, he said.

Me too, sir, said Angua.

Oh? Why?

Their religions gone bad on them. Have you seen the latest Abominations? They Abominate the smell of beets and people with red hair. In rather shaky writing, sir. And root vegetables are a staple here. Three years ago it was Abominable to grow root crops on ground which had grown grain or peas.

Vimes looked blank, and she remembered that he was a city boy.

It means no real crop rotation, sir, she explained. The ground sours. Diseases build up. You were right when you said they were going mad. These . . . commandments are dumb, and any farmer can see that. I imagine people go along with them as best they can, but sooner or later you either have to break them and feel guilty, or keep them and suffer. For no reason, sir. Ive had a look around. Theyre very religious here, but their gods let them down. No wonder they mostly pray to their royal family.

She watched him stare at the piece of pigeon post for a while. Then he said: How far is it to Plotz?

About fifty miles, said Angua, adding, As the wolf runs, maybe six hours.

Good. Buggyll keep an eye on you. Little Henry is going to hop home, or meet one of his patrols, or an enemy patrol . . . whatever. But the midden is going to hit the windmill when everyone sees that picture. I bet de Worde would have let him out if hed been nice and polite. Thatll teach him to meddle with the awesome power of a fair and free press, haha. He sat upright and rubbed his hands together like a man who meant business. Now, lets get that pigeon on its way again before it gets missed, eh? Get Reg to lurch along to where the Times people are staying and tell them their pigeon flew in the wrong window. Again.

That was a good time, Polly remembered.

They didnt go down to the river docks. They could see there was no boat there. They hadnt turned up and the boatman had left without them. Instead, they crossed the bridge and headed up into the forests, with Blouse leading the way on his ancient horse. Maladict went on ahead and . . . Jade brought up the rear. You didnt need a light at night when a vampire led the way, and a troll at the rear would certainly discourage hangers-on.

No one mentioned the boat. No one spoke at all. The thing was . . . the thing was, Polly realized, that they were no longer marching alone. They shared the Secret. That was a huge relief, and right now they didnt need to talk about it. Nevertheless, it was probably a good idea to keep up a regular output of farts, belches, nose-pickings and groin-scratchings, just in case.

Polly didnt know whether to be proud that theyd taken her for a boy. I mean, she thought, Id worked hard to get it right, I mastered the walk, except I suppose what I really did was mistress the walk, haha, I invented the fake shaving routine and the others didnt even think of that, I havent cleaned my fingernails for days and I pride myself I can belch with the best of them. So, I mean, I was trying. It was just slightly annoying to find that shed succeeded so well.

After a few hours of this, when true dawn was breaking, they smelled smoke. There was a faint pall of it amongst the trees. Lieutenant Blouse raised a hand for them to halt, and Jackrum joined him in whispered conversation.

Polly stepped forward. Permission to whisper too, sarge? I think I know what this is.

Jackrum and Blouse stared at her. Then the sergeant said: All right, Perks. Go and find out if youre right, then.

That was an aspect that hadnt occurred to Polly, but shed left herself open. Jackrum relented when he saw her expression, nodded to Maladict, and said, Go with him, corporal.

They left the squad behind and walked forward carefully, over the beds of new-fallen leaves. The smoke was heavy and fragrant and, above all, reminiscent. Polly headed to where thicker undergrowth was taking advantage of the extra light of a clearing, and pushed through into an airy thicket of hazel trees. The smoke was denser here, and barely moving.

The thicket ended. A few yards away, in a wide patch of cleared ground, a mound like a small volcano was spewing flame and smoke into the air.

Charcoal oven, whispered Polly. Just clay plastered on a stack of hazel. Should sit there smouldering for days. The wind probably caught it last night and the fires broken out. Wont make good charcoal now, its burning too fast.

They edged round it, keeping to the bushes. Other clay domes were dotted about the clearing, with faint wisps of steam and smoke coming from their tops. There were a couple of ovens in the process of being built, the fresh clay stacked alongside some bundles of hazel sticks. There was a hut, and the domes, and nothing else but silence, apart from the crackle of the runaway fire.

The charcoal-burner is dead, or nearly dead, said Polly.

Hes dead, said Maladict. Theres a smell of death here.

You can smell it above the smoke?

Sure, said Maladict. Some things were good at smelling. But how did you know?

They watch the burns like hawks, said Polly, staring at the hut. He wouldnt let it go out of control like that if he was alive. Is he in the hut?

They are in the hut, said Maladict flatly. He set off across the smoky ground.

Polly ran after him. Man and woman? she said. Their wives often live out with

Cant tell, not if theyre old.

The hut was only a temporary thing, made of woven hazel and roofed with tarpaulin; the charcoal-burners moved around a lot, from coppice to coppice. It didnt have windows, but it did have a doorway, with a rag for a door. The rag had been pulled away; the doorway was dark.

Ive got to be a man about this, Polly thought.

There was a woman on the bed, and a man lying on the floor. There were other details, which the eye saw but the brain did not focus on. There was a great deal of blood. The couple had been old. They would not grow older.

Back outside, Polly took frantic mouthfuls of air. Do you think those cavalrymen did it? she said at last, and then realized that Maladict was shaking. Oh . . . the blood . . . she said.

I can deal with it! Its okay! I just have to get my mind right, its okay! He leaned against the hut, breathing heavily. Okay, Im fine, he said. And I cant smell horses. Why dont you use your eyes? Nice soft mud everywhere after the rain, but no hoof-prints. Plenty of footprints, though. We did it.

Dont be silly, we were

The vampire had reached down and pulled something out of the fallen leaves. He rubbed the mud off it with a thumb. In thin pressed brass, it was the Flaming Cheese badge of the Ins-and-Outs.

But . . . I thought we were the good guys, said Polly weakly. If we were guys, I mean.

I think I need a coffee, said the vampire.

Deserters, said Sergeant Jackrum, ten minutes later. It happens. He tossed the badge into the fire.

But they were on our side! said Shufti.

So? Not everyones a nice gennelman like you, Private Manickle, said Jackrum. Not after a few years of gettin shot at and eatin rat scubbo. On the retreat from Khrusk I had no water for three days and then fell on my face in a puddle of horse piss, a circumstance which did nothing for my feelins of goodwill towards my fellow man or horse. Something the matter, corporal?

Maladict was on his knees, going through his pack with a distracted air. My coffees gone, sarge.

Cant have packed it properly, then, said Jackrum unsympathetically.

I did, sarge! I washed out the engine and packed it up with the bean bag after supper last night. I know I did. I dont take coffee lightly!

If someone else did, theyre going to wish Id never been born, growled Jackrum, looking round at the rest of the squad. Anyone else lost anything?

Er . . . I wasnt going to say anything, cos I wasnt sure, Shufti volunteered, but my stuff looked as if it had been pulled about when I opened my pack just now . . .

Oh-ho! said Jackrum. Well, well, well. Ill say this once, lads. Pinching from yer mates is a hanging offence, understood? Nothing breaks down morale fastern some sneaky little sod dipping into peoples packs. And if I find out someones been at it, Ill swing on their heels! He glared at the squad. I aint gonna demand that you all empty out your packs as if yous criminals, he said, but youd better check that nothings missing. O course, one of you might have packed something that wasnt theirs by accident, okay. Packing in a rush, poor light, easy to do. In which case, you sort it out amongst yourselves, understand? Now, Im off to have a shave. Lieutenant Blouse is having a throw-up behind the shelter after a-viewin of the corpses, poor chap.

Polly rummaged desperately in her pack. Shed thrown things in any old how last night, but what she was frantically searching for was

not there. Despite the heat from the charcoal mounds, she shivered.

The ringlets had gone. Feverishly, she tried to remember the events of yesterday evening. Theyd just dumped their packs as soon as they were in the barracks, right? And Maladict had made himself some coffee at suppertime. Hed washed and dried the little machine

There was a thin little wail. Wazzer, the meagre contents of her pack spread around her, held up the coffee engine. It had been stamped almost flat.

B-b-b she began.

Pollys mind worked faster, like a millwheel in a flood. Then everyone took their packs into the back room with all the mattresses, didnt they? So theyd still be there when the squad fought the troopers

Oh, Wazz, said Shufti. Oh, dear . . .

So who might have sneaked in through the back door? There was no one around except the squad and the cavalrymen. Perhaps someone wanted to watch, and cause a little trouble on the way

Strappi! she said aloud. It must have been him! The little weasel ran into the cavalry and then snuck back to watch! He was dar damn well going through our packs out the back! Oh, come on, she added, as they stared at her, can you see Wazzer stealing from anyone? Anyway, when did she have the chance?

Wouldnt they have taken him prisoner? said Tonker, staring at the crushed machine in Wazzers shaking hands.

If hed whipped off his shako and jacket hed just be another stupid civilian, wouldnt he? Or he could just say he was a deserter. He could make up some story, said Polly. You know how he was with Wazzer. He went through my pack, too. Stole . . . something of mine.

What was it? said Shufti.

Just something, okay? He just wanted to . . . make trouble. She watched them thinking.

Sounds convincing, said Maladict, nodding abruptly. Little weasel. Okay, Wazz, just fish out the beans and Ill do the best I can

T-theres no b-b-b

Maladict put a hand over his eyes. No beans? he said. Please, has anyone got the beans?

There was a general rummaging, and a general lack of a result.

No beans. moaned Maladict. He threw away the beans . . .

Come on, lads, weve got to get sentries posted, said Jackrum, approaching. Sorted it all out, have you?

Yes, sarge. Ozz thinks Shufti began.

It was all a bit of mis-packing, sarge! said Polly quickly, anxious to keep away from anything connected with missing ringlets. Nothing to worry about! All sorted, sarge. No problem. Nothing to worry anyone. Not . . . a . . . thing, sarge.

Jackrum looked from the startled squad to Polly, and back, and back again. She felt his gaze boring into her, daring her to change her expression of mad, tense honesty.

Ye-es, he said slowly. Right. Sorted out, eh? Well done, Perks. Attention! Officer present!

Yes, yes, sergeant, thank you, but I dont think we need to be too formal, said Blouse, who looked rather pale. A word with you when you have finished, if you please? And I think we should bury the, er, bodies.

Jackrum saluted. Right you are, sir. Two volunteers to dig a grave for those poor souls! Goom and Tewt whats he doing?

Lofty was over by the blazing charcoal oven. She was holding a burning branch a foot or two from her face and turning it this way and that, watching the flames.

Ill do it, sarge, said Tonker, stepping beside Wazzer.

What are you, married? said Jackrum. You are on guard, Halter. I doubt whoever did itll come back, but if they do, you sing out, right? You and Igor come with me, and Ill show you your stations.

No coffee, moaned Maladict.

Foul muck, anyway, said Jackrum, walking away. A cup of hot sweet tea is the soldiers friend.

Polly grabbed the kettle for Blouses shaving water, and hurried away. That was another thing you learned in the militry: look busy. Look busy and no one worried too much about what you were busy at.

Bloody, bloody Strappi! Hed got her hair! Hed try to use it against her if he could, that was certain. Thatd be his style. What would he do now? Well, hed want to keep away from Jackrum, thatd be another certainty. Hed wait, somewhere. Shed have to, too.

The squad had made camp upwind of the smoke. It was supposed to be a rest stop, since no one had got much sleep last night, but as Jackrum handed out tasks he reminded them: There is an old militry saying, which is: Hard Luck For You.

There was no question of using the woven hut, but there were a few tarpaulin-covered frames built to keep the coppiced wood dry. Those not given jobs to do lay down on the stacked piles of twigs, which were yielding and didnt smell and were in any case better than the inhabited palliasses back at the barracks.

Blouse, as an officer, had a shelter to himself. Polly had stacked bundles of twigs to make a chair that was at least springy. Now she laid out his shaving things and turned to go

Could you shave me, Perks? said the lieutenant.

Fortunately, Pollys back was turned and he didnt see her expression.

This damn hand is quite swollen, Im afraid, Blouse went on. I would not normally ask, but

Yes, of course, sir, said Polly, because there was no alternative. Well now, lets see . . . shed got quite good at scraping a blunt razor across a face bare of hair, yes. Oh, and shed shaved a few dead pigs in the kitchens at The Duchess, but that was only because nobody likes hairy bacon. They didnt really count, did they? Panic rose, and rose faster at the sight of Jackrum approaching. She was going to cut an officers throat in the presence of a sergeant.

Well, when in doubt, bustle. Militry rule. Bustle, and hope theres a surprise attack.

Are you not being a little strict with the men, sergeant? said Blouse, as Polly flapped a towel round his neck.

No, sir. Keep em occupied, thats the bunny. Otherwise theyll mope, said Jackrum confidently.

Yes, but they have just seen a couple of badly mutilated bodies, said Blouse, and shuddered.

Good practice for em, sir. Theyll see plenty more.

Polly turned to the shaving gear shed laid out on another towel. Lets see . . . cut-throat razor, oh dear, the grey stone for coarse sharpening, the red stone for fine sharpening, the soap, the brush, the bowl . . . well, at least she knew how to make foam . . .

Deserters, sergeant. Bad business, Blouse went on.

You always get em, sir. Thats why the pay is always late. Walking away from three months back pay makes a man think twice.

Mr de Worde the newspaper man said there had been a great many desertions, sergeant. It is very strange that so many men would desert from a winning side.

Polly whirled the brush vigorously. Jackrum, for the first time since Maladict had joined, looked uncomfortable.

But whose side is he on, sir? he said.

Sergeant, I am sure you are not a stupid man, said Blouse, as, behind him, foam poured over the edge of the bowl and flopped on to the floor. There are desperate deserters abroad. Our borders appear to be sufficiently unguarded to enable enemy cavalry to operate forty miles inside our fair country. And High Command appears to be so desperate, yes, desperate, sergeant, that even half a dozen untrained and, frankly, very young men must go to the front.

The foam had a life of its own now. Polly hesitated.

Hot towel first, please, Perks, said Blouse.

Yessir. Sorry, sir. Forgot, sir, said Polly, panic rising. She had a vague recollection of walking past the barber shop in Munz. Hot towel on face. Right. She grabbed a small towel, tipped boiling water on to it, wrung it out and placed it on the lieutenants face. He did not actually scream, as such.

Aaaaagh something else worries me, sergeant.

Yessir?

The cavalry must have apprehended Corporal Strappi. I cannot see how else they found out about our men.

Good thinking, sir, said the sergeant, watching Polly apply the lather across mouth and nose.

I do hope they didnt pff torture the poor man, said the lieutenant. Jackrum was silent on that issue, but meaningfully so. Polly wished he wouldnt keep glancing at her.

But why would a deserter pff head straight for the pff front? said Blouse.

Makes sense, sir, for an old soldier. Especially a political.

Really?

Trust me on that, sir, said Jackrum. Behind Blouse, Polly brushed the razor up and down the red stone. It was already as slick as ice.

But our boys, sergeant, are not old soldiers. It takes pff two weeks to turn a recruit into a fighting man, said the lieutenant.

Theyre promising material, sir. I could do it in a couple of days, sir, said Jackrum. Perks?

Polly nearly sliced her thumb off. Yes, sarge, she quavered.

Do you think you could kill a man today?

Polly glanced at the razor. The edge glowed. Im sorry to say I think I could, sir!

There you have it, sir, said Jackrum, with a lopsided grin. Theres something about these lads, sir. Theyre quick. He walked behind Blouse, took the razor from Pollys grateful hand without a word, and said: Theres a few matters we ought to discuss, sir, private like. I think Perks here ought to get some rest.

Of course, sergeant. Pas devant les soldats jeuttes, eh?

And them too, sir, said Jackrum. Youre dismissed, Perks.

Polly walked away, her right hand still trembling. Behind her, she heard Blouse sigh and say: These are tricky times, sergeant. Command has never been so burdensome. The great General Tacticus says that in dangerous times the commander must be like the eagle and see the whole, and yet still be like the hawk and see every detail.

Yessir, said Jackrum, gliding the razor down a cheek. And if he acts like a common tit, sir, he can hang upside down all day and eat fat bacon.

Er . . . well said, sergeant.

The charcoal-burner and his wife were buried to the accompaniment of, to Pollys lack of surprise, a small prayer from Wazzer. It asked the Duchess to intercede with the god Nuggan to give eternal rest and similar items to the departed. Polly had heard it many times before; shed wondered how the process worked.

Shed never prayed since the day the bird burned, not even when her mother was dying. A god that burned painted birds would not save a mother. A god like that was not worth a prayer.

But Wazzer prayed for everyone. Wazzer prayed like a child, eyes screwed up and hands clenched until they were white. The reedy little voice trembled with such belief that Polly felt embarrassed, and then ashamed and, finally, after the ringing amen, amazed that the world appeared no different from before. For a minute or two, it had been a better place . . .

There was a cat in the hut. It cowered under the crude bed and spat at anyone who came close.

All the foods been taken but theres carrots and parsnips in a little garden down the hill a bit, Shufti said, as they walked away.

Itd be s-stealing from the dead, said Wazzer.

Well, if they object they can hold on, cant they? said Shufti. Theyre underground already!

For some reason that was, at this time, funny. Theyd have laughed at anything.

Now there was Jade, Lofty, Shufti and Polly. Everyone else was on guard duty. They sat by the fire, on which a small pot seethed. Lofty tended the fire. She always seemed more animated near a fire, Polly noticed.

Im doing horse scubbo for the rupert, said Shufti, easily dropping into a slang learned all of twenty hours ago. He specifically asked for it. Got lots of dry horse jerky from Threeparts, but Tonker says she can knock over some pheasants while shes on duty.

I hope she spends some time watching for enemies too, said Polly.

Shell be careful, said Lofty, prodding the fire with a stick.

You know, if were found out, well be beaten and sent back, said Shufti.

Who by? said Polly, so suddenly she surprised herself. By whom? Whos going to try, out here? Who cares out here?

Well, er, wearing mens clothes is an Abomination unto Nuggan

Why?

It just is, said Shufti firmly. But

youre wearing them, said Polly.

Well, it was the only way, said Shufti. And I tried them on and they didnt seem all that abominable to me.

Have you noticed men talk to you differently? said Lofty shyly.

Talk? said Polly. They listen to you differently, too.

They dont keep looking at you all the time, said Shufti. You know what I mean. Youre just a . . . another person. If a girl walked down the street wearing a sword a man would try to take it off her.

Wi trolls, we aint allowed to carry clubs, said Jade. Only large rocks. An it aint right for a girl to wear lichen, cos der boys say bald is modest. Had to rub bird doins inna my head to grow this lot.

That was quite a long speech for a troll.

We didnt know that, said Polly. Er . . . trolls all look the same to us, more or less.

Im natrally craggy, said Jade. I dont see why I should polish.

There is a difference, said Shufti. I think its the socks. Its like they pull you forward all the time. Its like the whole world spins around your socks. She sighed and looked at the horsemeat, which had been boiled almost white. Its done, she said. Youd better go and give it to the rupert, Polly . . . I mean, Ozzer. I told the sarge I could do something better but he said the lieutenant said how good it was last night

A small wild turkey, a brace of pheasants and a couple of rabbits, all tied together, landed in front of Shufti.

Good job we were guarding you, eh? said Tonker, grinning and whirring an empty sling around in one hand. One rock, one lunch. Maladicts staying on guard. He said hell smell anyone before they see him and hes too edgy to eat. What can you do with that lot?

Casserole of game, said Shufti firmly. Weve got the veg and Ive still got half an onion.* Im sure I can make an oven out of one of those

* A woman always has half an onion left over, no matter what the size of the onion, the dish, or the woman.

On your feet! Attention! snapped the silently moving Jackrum, behind them. He stood back with a faint smile on his face as they scrambled to their feet. Private Halter, I must have bleedin amazin eyesight, he said, when they were approximately upright.

Yes, sarge, said Tonker, staring straight ahead.

Can you guess why, Private Halter?

No, sarge.

Its because I knows you are on perimeter guard, Halter, but I can see you as clear as if you was standing right here in front of me, Halter! Cant I, Halter?

Yes, sarge!

Its just as well you are still on perimeter duty, Halter, because the penalty for absenting yourself from your post in time of war is death, Halter!

I only

No onlys! I dont want to hear no onlys! I dont want you to think that I am a shouty man, Halter! Corporal Strappi was a shouty man, but he was a damn political! Upon my oath I am not a shouty man but if you aint back at your post inside of thirty seconds Ill rip yer tongue out!

Tonker fled. Sergeant Jackrum cleared his throat and continued, in a level voice: This, my lads, is what we call a real orientation lectchoor, not one of the fancy political ones like Strappi gave yer. He cleared his throat. The purpose of this lectchoor is to let you know where we are. We are in the deep cack. It couldnt be worse if it was raining arseholes. Any questions?

Since there were none from the bemused recruits, he continued, while beginning a slow stroll around the squad, We know enemy forces are in the area. Currently they have no boots. But there will be others with boots aplenty. Also, there may be deserters in the area. They will not be nice people! They will be impolite! Therefore Lieutenant Blouse has decreed that we will travel off the roads and by night. Yes, we have met the enemy, and we have prevailed. That was a fluke. They werent expecting you to be rough, tough soldiers. Nor were you, so I dont want you to feel cocky about it. He leaned forward until his face was inches from Pollys. Are you feeling cocky, Private Perks?

No, sarge!

Good. Good. Jackrum stepped back. We are heading for the front, lads. The war. And in a nasty war, wheres the best place to be? Apart from on the moon, o course? No one?

Slowly, Jade raised a hand.

Go on, then, said the sergeant.

In the army, sarge, said the troll.  cos . . . She began to count on her fingers. One, you got weapons an armour an dat. Two, you are surrounded by other armed men. Er . . . Many, youse gettin paid and gettin better grub than the people in Civilian Street. Er . . . Lots, ifn you gives up, you getting taken prisner and deres rules about that like Not Kicking Prisners Inna Head and stuff, cos if you kick their prisners inna head theyll kick your prisners inna head so dats, like, youre kickin your own head, but deres no rule say you cant kick enemy civilians inna head. Theres other stuff too, but I ran outa numbers. She gave them a diamond grin. We may be slow but we aint stoopid, she added.

I am impressed, private, said Jackrum. And you are right. The only wasp in the jam is that you aint soldiers! But I can help you there. Bein a soldier is not hard. If it was, soldiers would not be able to do it. There is only three things you need to remember, which are, viz: one obey orders two give it to the enemy good and hard three dont die. Got that? Right! Youre nearly there! Well done! I propose to assist you in the execution of all three! You are my little lads and I will look after you! In the meantime, you got duties! Shufti, get cooking! Private Perks, see to the rupert! And after that, practise your shaving! I will now visit those on guard and deliver unto them the holy word! Dismissed!

They remained at something like attention until he was probably out of earshot, and then sagged.

Why does he always shout? said Shufti. I mean, he only has to ask . . .

Polly upended the horrible scubbo into a tin bowl, and almost ran to the lieutenants shelter. He looked up from a map and smiled at her as if she was delivering a feast.

Ah, scubbo, he said.

We are actually having other stuff, sir, Polly volunteered. Im sure theres enough to go round

Good heavens, no, its been years since Ive had food like this, said Blouse, picking up the spoon. Of course, at school we didnt appreciate it so much.

You had food like this at school, sir? said Polly.

Yes. Most days, said Blouse happily.

Polly couldnt quite fit this in her head. Blouse was a nob. Nobs ate nobby food, didnt they? Had you done something bad, sir?

I cant imagine what you mean, Perks, said Blouse, slurping at the horrible thin gruel. Are the men rested?

Yes, sir. The dead people were a bit of a shock

Yes. Bad business, sighed the lieutenant. Such is war, alas. I am only sorry you had to learn so fast. Such a terrible waste all the time. I am sure things can be sorted out when we reach Kneck, though. No general can expect young men like yourselves to be instant soldiers. I shall have something to say about that. His rabbity features looked unusually determined, as if a hamster had spotted a gap in its treadmill.

Do you require me for anything else, sir? said Polly.

Er . . . do the men talk about me, Perks?

Not really, sir, no.

The lieutenant looked disappointed. Oh. Oh, well. Thank you. Perks.

Polly wondered if Jackrum ever slept. She did a spell of guard duty, and he stepped out from behind her with Guess who, Perks! Youre on lookout. You should see the dreadful enemy before they see you. Whatre the four Ss?

Shape, shadow, silhouette and shine, sarge! said Polly, snapping to attention. Shed been expecting this.

That caused a moments pause from the sergeant before he said: Just knew that, did yer?

Nosir! A little bird told me when we changed guard, sir! Said youd asked him, sir!

Oh, so Jackrums little lads are gangin up on their kindly ol sergeant, are they? said Jackrum.

Nosir. Sharing information important to the squad in a vital survival situation, sarge!

Youve got a quick mouth on you, Perks, Ill grant you that.

Thank you, sarge!

But I see youre not standing in a bleedin shadow, Perks, nor have you done anything to change your bleedin shape, youre silhouetted against the bleedin light and your sabres shining like a diamond in a chimney-sweeps bleedin earole! Explain!

Its because of the one C, sarge! said Polly, still staring straight ahead.

And that is?

Colour, sarge! Im wearing bleedin red and white in a bleedin grey forest, sarge!

She risked a sideways glance. In Jackrums little piggy eyes there gleamed a gleam. It was the one you got when he was secretly pleased.

Ashamed of your lovely, lovely uniform, Perks? he said.

Dont want to be seen dead in it, sarge, said Polly.

Hah. As you were, Perks.

Polly smiled, straight ahead.

When she came off guard for a bowl of game casserole, Jackrum was teaching basic swordcraft to Lofty and Tonker, using hazel sticks as swords. By the time Polly had finished he was teaching Wazzer some of the finer points of using a high-performance pistol crossbow, especially the one about not turning round with it cocked and saying W-what is this bit for, sarge? Wazzer handled weapons like a houseproud woman disposing of a dead mouse  at arms length and trying not to look. But even she was better with them than Igor, who just didnt seem at home with the idea of what was, to him, d[?] surgery.

Jade was dozing. Maladict was hanging by his knees under the roof of one of the sheds, with his arms folded across his chest; he must have been telling the truth when he said there were some aspects of being a vampire that were hard to give up.

Igor and Maladict . . .

She still wasnt sure about Maladict, but Igor had to be a boy, with those stitches around the head, and that face that could only be called homely.* He was quiet, and neat, but maybe thats how Igors behaved . . .

* And even then it was the kind of home that has a burned-out vehicle on the lawn.

She woke up with Shufti shaking her.

Were moving! Better go and see to the rupert!

What? Huh? Oh . . . right!

There was a bustle all around her. Polly staggered to her feet and hurried over to Lieutenant Blouses shed, where he was standing in front of his wretched horse and holding the bridle with a lost expression.

Ah, Perks, he said. Im not at all sure Im doing this right . . .

No, sir. Youve got the waffles twisted and the snoffles are upside down, said Polly, whod often helped in the inns yard.

Ah, that would be why he was so difficult last night, said Blouse. I suppose I ought to know this sort of thing, but at home we had a man to do it . . .

Let me, sir, said Polly. She untwisted the bridle with a few careful movements. Whats his name, sir?

Thalacephalos, said Blouse sheepishly. That was the legendary stallion of General Tacticus, you know.

I didnt know that, sir, said Polly. She leaned back and glanced between the horses rear legs. Wow, Blouse really was short-sighted, wasnt he . . .

The mare looked at her partly with its eyes, which were small and evil, but mostly with its yellowing teeth, of which it had an enormous amount. She had the impression that it was thinking about sniggering.

Ill hold him for you while you mount, sir, she said.

Thank you. He certainly moves about a bit when I try!

I expect he does, sir, said Polly. She knew about difficult horses; this one had all the hallmarks of a right bastard, one of those not cowed at all by the obvious superiority of the human race.

The mare eyeballed and yellowtoothed her as Blouse mounted, but Polly had positioned herself carefully away from the uprights of the shelter. Thalacephalos wasnt the sort to buck and kick. She was the sneaky kind, Polly could see, the sort that stepped on your foot

She moved her foot just as the hoof came down. But Thalacephalos, angry at being thwarted, turned, twisted, lowered her head, and bit Polly sharply on the rolled-up socks.

Bad horse! said Blouse severely. Sorry about that, Perks. I think hes anxious to get to the fray! Oh, my word! he added, looking down. Are you all right, Perks?

Well, hes pulling a bit, sir said Polly, being dragged sideways. Blouse had gone white again.

But hes bitten . . . hes caught you by the . . . right on the . . .

The penny dropped. Polly looked down, and hastily remembered what shed heard during numerous rule-free bar fights.

Oh . . . ooo . . argh . . . blimey! Right inna fruit! Aargh! she lamented, and then, since it seemed a good idea at the time, brought both fists down heavily on the mares nose. The lieutenant fainted.

It took some time to bring Blouse round, but at least it gave Polly time to think.

He opened his eyes and focused on her.

Er, you fell off your horse, sir, Polly volunteered.

Perks? Are you all right? Dear boy, he had you by the

Only needs a few stitches, sir! said Polly cheerfully.

What? From Igor?

Nosir. Just the cloth, sir, said Polly. The trousers are a bit big for me, sir.

Ah, right. Too big, eh? Phew, eh? Near miss there, eh? Well, I mustnt lie around here all day

The squad helped him on to Thalacephalos, who was still sniggering unrepentantly. On the subject of too big, Polly made a mental note to do something about his jacket next time they stopped. She wasnt much good with a needle, but if Igor couldnt do something to make it look better then he wasnt the man she thought he was. And that was a sentence that begged a question.

Jackrum bellowed them into order. They were better at that now. Neater, too.

All right, Ins-and-Outs! Tonight we

A set of huge yellow teeth removed his cap.

Oh, I do apologize, sergeant! said Blouse behind him, trying to rein back the mare.

No bother, sir, these things happen! said Jackrum, furiously tugging his hat back.

I should like to address my men, sergeant.

Oh? Er . . . yes, sir, said Jackrum, looking worried. Of course, sir. Ins-and-Outs! Attenwaitforitshun!

Blouse coughed. Er . . . men, he said. As you know, we must make all speed to the Kneck valley where, apparently, we are needed. Travelling by night will prevent . . . entanglements. Er . . . I . . . He stared at them, his face contorted by some inner struggle. Er . . . I have to say I dont think we are . . . that is, all the evidence is . . . er . . . it doesnt seem to me that . . . er . . . I think I should tell you . . . er . . .

Permission to speak, sir? said Polly. Are you feeling all right?

We just have to hope that those put in power over us are making the right decisions, mumbled Blouse. But I have every confidence in you and I am sure you will do your best. Long live the Duchess! Carry on, Sergeant Jackrum.

Ins-and-Outs! Form up! March!

And they headed into the dusk and off to war.

The order of march was as last night, with Maladict going on ahead. The clouds were holding in some heat, and were thin enough to hint at moonlight here and there. Forests by night held no problems for Polly, and this wasnt true wild forest in any case. Nor was it, in truth, a march that they were doing. It was more like a high-speed creep, in ones and twos.

Shed acquired two of the horsebows, now stuck awkwardly between the straps of her pack. They were horrible things, rather like a cross between a small crossbow and a clock. There were mechanisms in the thick shaft, and the bow itself was barely six inches across; somehow, if you leaned your weight on it, you could cock it with enough stored energy to fire a nasty little metal arrow through an inch-thick plank. They were blued metal, sleek and evil. But there is an old militry saying: better me firing it at you than you firing it at me, you bastard.

Polly eased her way along the line until she was walking alongside Igor. He nodded to her in the gloom, and then turned his attention to walking. He needed to, because his pack was twice the size of the rest of them. No one felt inclined to ask him what was in it; sometimes, you thought you could hear liquid sloshing.

Igors sometimes passed through Munz, although technically they were an Abomination in the eyes of Nuggan. It had seemed to Polly that using bits of someone who was dead to help three or four other people stay alive was a sensible idea, but in the pulpit Father Jupe had argued that Nuggan didnt want people to live, he wanted them to live properly. There had been general murmurs of agreement from the congregation, but Polly knew for a fact that there were a couple of people sitting there with a hand or arm or leg that was a little less tanned or a little more hairy than the other one. There were lumberjacks everywhere in the mountains. Accidents happened, fast, sudden accidents. And, since there were not many jobs for a one-armed lumberjack, men went off and found an Igor to do what no amount of prayer could manage.

The Igors had a motto: What goes around, comes around. You didnt have to pay them back. You had to pay them forward, and that, frankly, was the bit where people got worried. When you were dying, an Igor would mysteriously arrive on the doorstep and request that he be allowed to take away any bits urgently needed by others on his little litht. Hed be quite happy to wait until the priest had gone and, it was said, when the time came hed do very neat work. However, it happened quite often that when an Igor turned up the prospective donor took fright and turned to Nuggan, who liked whole people. In which case the Igor would quietly and politely leave, and never come back. Hed never come back to the whole village, or the whole lumber camp. Nor would other Igors. What goes around comes around  or stops.

As far as Polly could tell, Igors believed that the body was nothing more than a more complicated kind of clothing. Oddly enough, thats what Nugganites thought, too.

Glad you joined, Igor? said Polly, as they jogged along.

Yeth, Ozz.

Could you take a look at the ruperts hand next time we stop, please? Hes cut it badly.

Yeth, Ozz.

Can I ask you something, Igor?

Yeth, Ozz.

Whatre female Igors called, Igor?

Igor stumbled and kept moving. He was silent for a while, and then said: All right, what did I do wrong?

Sometimes you forget to lisp, said Polly. But mostly . . . its just a feeling. Little things about the way you move, maybe.

The word youre looking for is Igorina, said Igorina. We dont lisp as much as the boys.

They continued in more silence until Polly said, I thought it was bad enough cutting my hair

The stitches? said Igorina. I can have them out in five minuteth. Theyre just for show.

Polly hesitated. But, after all, Igors had to be trustworthy, didnt they? You didnt cut your hair?

Actually, I just removed it, said Igorina.

I put mine in my pack, Polly went on, trying not to look at the stitches around Igorinas head.

So did I, said Igorina. In a jar. Its thtill growing.

Polly swallowed. You needed a lack of graphic imagination to talk about personal issues with an Igor. Mine was stolen back at the barracks. Im sure it was Strappi, she said.

Oh dear.

I hate to think of him with it!

Why did you bring it?

And that was the question. Shed planned, and shed been good at planning. Shed fooled the rest of them, even. Shed been cool and sensible and she hadnt felt more than a faint pang at cutting off her hair

and shed brought it with her. Why? She could have thrown it away. It wasnt magic. It was just hair. She could have thrown it away, just like that. Easily. But . . . but . . . ah, right, the maids could have found it. That was it. She had to get it out of the house quickly. Right. And then she could bury it somewhere when she was a long way away. Right.

But she hadnt, had she . . .

Shed been very busy. Right, said the little voice in inner treachery. She had been very busy fooling everyone but herself, right?

What could Strappi do? said Igorina. Jackrumd knock him over the moment he thaw him. Hes a deserter, and a thief!

Yes, but he could tell someone, said Polly.

Okay, then say its a lock of hair from the sweetheart you left behind you. Lots of soldiers carry a locket or something like that. You know: Her golden hair in ringletth fair, like the song says.

It was all my hair! A locket? You couldnt hold it all in your hat!

Ah, said Igorina. Then you could thay you loved her very much?

Despite everything, Polly started to laugh, and couldnt stop herself. She bit her sleeve and tried to keep going, with her shoulders shaking.

Something that felt like a small tree prodded her; in the back. Youse two oughta keep der noise down, rumbled Jade.

Sorry. Sorry, hissed Polly.

Igorina started to hum. Polly knew the song.

Im lonesome since I crossed the hill

And oer the moor and valley . . .

And she vowed: not that one, too. One song is enough. And I want to leave the girl behind me, but it seems I brought her with me . . . At which point they emerged from the trees and saw the red glow.

The rest of the squad were already gathered round, watching it. It covered quite a lot of the horizon, and brightened and faded in places as they watched.

Is that hell? said Wazzer.

No, but men have made it so, I fear, said the lieutenant. That is the Kneck valley.

Its on fire, sir? said Polly.

Bless you, thats just the light of cooking-fires reflected off the clouds, said Sergeant Jackrum. Always looks bad by night, a battlefield. Not to worry, lads!

Whatre they cooking, elephants? said Maladict.

And whats that? said Polly, pointing to a nearby hill, darker still against the night. On it, a little light was flickering on and off, very fast.

There was a whoosh and a metallic pop as Blouse pulled out a small telescope and opened it up. Its a light clacks, the devils! he said.

Deres another one over dere, rumbled Jade, pointing to a hill a lot further away. Twinkle, twinkle.

Polly stared at the redness in the sky, and then at the cold little light, winking on and off. Quiet, soft light. Harmless light. And behind it, a burning sky . . .

Itll be in code, said Blouse. Spies, Ill be bound.

A light clacks? said Tonker. Whats that?

An Abomination in the eyes of Nuggan, said Blouse. Unfortunately, because theyd be damn useful if we could have em too, eh, sergeant?

Yessir, said Jackrum automatically.

The only messages passing through the air should be the prayers of the faithful. Praise Nuggan, Praise the Duchess and so on and so forth, said Blouse, squinting. He sighed. Such a shame. How far to that hill, would you say, sergeant?

Two miles, sir, said Jackrum. Worth trying to sneak up?

They must know people will see them and come looking, so I expect they wont hang around for long mused Blouse. In any case, ah, those things would be highly directional. Youd lose it once you got down in the valley.

Permission to speak, sir? said Polly.

Of course, said Blouse.

How do they get the light so bright, sir? Its pure white!

Some kind of firework thingy, I believe. Why?

And they send messages with light?

Yes, Perks. And your point is . . . ?

And the people who get those messages send messages back the same way? Polly persevered.

Yes, Perks, that is the whole idea.

Then . . . maybe we dont have to go all the way to that hill, sir? The light is being aimed towards us, sir.

They all turned. The hill they were skirting loomed above them.

Well done, Perks! Blouse whispered. Lets go, sergeant! He swung himself off the horse, which automatically stepped sideways to make sure that he fell over when he landed.

Right you are, sir! said Jackrum, helping him up. Maladict, you take Goom and Halter and circle round to the left, the rest go round to the right  not you, Carborundum, no offence, but this has got to be quiet, okay? You stay here. Perks, you come with me

I shall come too, sergeant, said Blouse, and only Polly saw Jackrum grimace.

Good idea, sir! said the sergeant. I suggest you  I suggest Perks and I come with you. Everyone got that? Get to the top neat and quiet and no one, no one moves until you hear my signal

My signal, said Blouse firmly.

Thats what I meant, sir. Quick and quiet! Hit em hard but I want at least one left alive! Go!

The two teams fanned out to right and left and disappeared. The sergeant gave them a minute or twos start, and then set off with unusual speed for a man of his girth, so that for a moment Polly and the lieutenant were left standing. Behind them, a dejected Jade watched them go.

The trees thinned out on the steep slope, but not enough for much underbrush to get a hold. Polly found it easier to go on all fours, grabbing at tufts and saplings to steady herself. After a while she caught a whiff of smoke, chemical and acrid.

She was sure, too, that she could hear a faint clicking noise.

A tree extended a hand and pulled her into its shadow. Dont you say a bleedin word, hissed Jackrum. Wheres the rupert?

Dont know, sarge!

Damn! You cant let a rupert run around loose, theres no tellin what he might take it into his little head to do, now hes got the idea hes in charge! Youre is minder! Find im!

Polly slithered back down the slope and found Blouse steadying himself against a tree, wheezing gently.

Ah . . . Perks, he panted. My asthma seems to . . . be . . . coming back . . .

Ill help you up, sir, said Polly, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward. Could you wheeze a little more quietly, sir?

By degrees, dragging and pushing, she bundled the man up to Jackrums tree.

Glad you could join us, sir! hissed the sergeant, face contorted into an expression of maddened affability. If youd care to wait here, Perks and me will crawl up the

Im coming too, sergeant, Blouse insisted.

Jackrum hesitated. Yessir, he said. But with respect, sir, I know about skirmishing

Lets go, sergeant, said Blouse, dropping flat and beginning to drag himself forward.

Yessir, muttered Jackrum darkly.

Polly eased her way forward, too. The grass here was shorter, rabbit-nibbled, with small bushes here and there. She concentrated on keeping the noise down, and aimed for the clicking. The smell of chemical smoke grew stronger. It hung in the air around her. And, as she moved forward, she saw light, little specks of it. She raised her head.

There were three men a few feet away, silhouetted against the night. One of them was holding a large pipe, about five feet long, balanced on his shoulder at one end and on a tripod at the other. That end was aimed at the distant hill. On the other end, a foot or so behind the mans head, was a big square box. Light was leaking from joints in this; from a little stovepipe chimney on the top of it, heavy smoke poured out.

Perks, on the count of three, said Jackrum, on Pollys right. One

As you were, sergeant, said Blouse quietly, on her left.

Polly saw Jackrums big florid face turn with an expression of astonishment. Sir?

Hold position, said Blouse. Above them, the clicking continued.

Militry secrets, thought Polly. Spies! Enemies! And were just watching! It was like seeing blood drain from an artery.

Sir! hissed Jackrum, rage smoking off him.

Hold position, sergeant. That is an order, said Blouse calmly.

Jackrum subsided, but only into the deceptive calm of a volcano waiting to explode. The relentless chatter of the clacks went on. It seemed to go on for ever. Beside Polly, Sergeant Jackrum seethed and fretted like a dog on a leash.

The clicking stopped. Polly heard a distant murmur of conversation.

Sergeant Jackrum, whispered Blouse, you may get them with all speed!

Jackrum exploded out of the grass like a partridge. All right, my lads! Up boys and at em!

Pollys first thought, as she leapt up and ran, was that the distance was suddenly a lot wider than it had appeared.

All three men had turned at the sound of Jackrums cry. The one with the clacks tube was already dropping it and reaching for a sword, but Jackrum was bearing down on him like a landslide. The man made the mistake of standing his ground. There was a brief clash of swords and then a melee, and Sergeant Jackrum was a sufficiently deadly melee all by himself.

The second man flew past Polly but she was running for the third one. He backed away from her, still reaching up to his mouth, then turned to run and found himself face to face with Maladict.

Dont let him swallow! Polly yelled.

Maladicts arm shot up, and lifted the struggling man aloft by his throat.

It would have been a perfect operation had not the rest of the squad arrived, having put all their effort into running and left none to spare for slowing down. There were collisions.

Maladict went down as his captive kicked him in the chest and the man tried to scramble away, cannoning into Tonker. Polly leapt over Igorina, was almost tripped by a fallen Wazzer and threw herself desperately towards the quarry, now on his knees. He had a dagger out and waved it wildly in front of her while he grasped his throat with his other hand and made choking noises. She knocked the knife away, ran behind him and slapped him on the back as hard as she could. He fell forward. Before she could grab him a hand lifted him bodily and Jackrums voice roared: Cant have the poor man chokin to death, Perks! His other hand punched the man in the stomach with a noise like meat hitting a slab. The mans eyes crossed and something large and white flew out of his mouth and shot over Jackrums shoulder.

Jackrum dropped him and turned on Blouse. Sir, I protest, sir! he said, quivering with anger. We lay there and watched these devils sending who knows what messages, sir! Spies, sir! We couldve got em right there and then, sir!

And then, sergeant? said Blouse.

What?

Dont you think the people they were talking to would wonder what had happened if the messages had stopped in mid-flow? said the lieutenant.

Even so, sir

Whereas now we have their device, sergeant, and their masters dont know we have it, said Blouse.

Yeah, well, but you said they was sending messages in code, sir, and

Er, I think we have their cipher book as well, sarge, said Maladict, stepping forward with the white object in his hand. That man tried to eat it, sarge. Rice paper. But he rushed his food, you might say.

And you dislodged it, sergeant, and probably saved his life. Well done! said Blouse.

But one of em got away, sir, said Jackrum. Hell soon get to

Sergeant?

Jade was rising over the grass. As she plodded nearer they saw she was dragging a man by one foot. When she was closer it was obvious that the man was dead. Living people have more head.

I heard the shoutin and he come runnin and I jumped up and he come straight into me, head first! Jade complained. I didnt even get a chance to hit him!

Well, private, at least we can definitely say he was stopped, said Blouse.

Thur, thith man is dying, said Igorina, who was kneeling by the man Sergeant Jackrum had so positively saved from choking. He hath been poithened!

Hath he? By whom? said Blouse. Are you sure?

The green foam coming out of hith mouth ith a definite clue, thur.

Whats funny, Private Maladict? said Blouse.

The vampire chuckled. Oh, sorry, sir. They say to spies If youre caught, eat the documents, dont they? A good way of making sure they dont give away any secrets.

But youve got the . . . soggy book in your hands, corporal!

Vampires cant be poisoned that easily, sir, said Maladict calmly.

It wath probably only fatal by mouth in any case, thur, said Igorina. Terrible stuff. Thtuff. Heth dead, thur. Nothing I can do.

Poor fellow. Well, we have the codes, anyway, said Blouse. This is a great discovery, men.

And a prisoner, sir, and a prisoner, said Jackrum.

The one surviving man, who had been operating the clacks, groaned and tried to move.

A bit bruised, I expect, Jackrum added, with some satisfaction. When I land on someone, sir, they stay landed on.

Two of you, bring him with us, said Blouse. Sergeant, theres a few hours to dawn, and I want to be well away from here. I want the other two buried somewhere down in the woods, and

You just have to say carry on, sergeant, sir, said Jackrum, and it was almost a wail. Thats how it works, sir! You tell me what you want, I give em the orders!

Times are changing, sergeant, said Blouse.

Messages, flying across the sky. They were an Abomination unto Nuggan.

The logic sounded impeccable to Polly as she helped Wazzer to dig two graves. Prayers from the faithful ascended unto Nuggan, going upwards. A variety of unseen things, such as sanctity and grace and a list of this weeks Abominations, descended from Nuggan to the faithful, going downwards. What was forbidden was messages from one human to another going, as it were, from side to side. There could be collisions. If you believed in Nuggan, that is. If you believed in prayer.

Wazzers real name was Alice, she confided as she dug, but it was hard to apply the name to a small stick-thin lad with a bad haircut and not much skill with a shovel, who had a habit of standing just slightly too close to you and stared just slightly to the left of your face when she talked to you. Wazzer believed in prayer. She believed in everything. That made her kind of . . . awkward to talk to, if you didnt. But Polly felt she should make the effort.

How old are you, Wazz? she said, shovelling dirt.

N-n-nineteen, Polly, said Wazzer.

Whyd you join?

The Duchess told me to, said Wazzer.

That was why people didnt talk to Wazzer much.

Wazz, you do know that wearing mens clothes is an Abomination, dont you?

Thank you for reminding me, Polly, said Wazzer, without a trace of irony. But the Duchess told me that nothing I do in pursuit of my quest will be held Abominable.

A quest, eh, said Polly, trying to sound jovial. And what kind of quest is that?

I am to take command of the army, said Wazzer.

Hairs rose on the back of Pollys neck. Yes? she said.

Yes, the Duchess stepped out of her picture when I was asleep and told me to go at once to Kneck, said Wazzer. The Little Mother spoke to me, Ozz. She commanded me. She guides my steps. She led me out of vile slavery. How can that be an Abomination?

Shes got a sword, thought Polly. And a shovel. This needs careful handling. Thats nice, she said.

And . . . and I must tell you that . . . I . . . never in my life have I felt such love and camaraderie, Wazzer went on earnestly. The last few days have been the happiest of my life. You have all shown me such kindness, such gentleness. The Little Mother guides me. She guides us all, Ozz. You believe that, too. Dont you? The moonlight revealed the tracks of tears in the grime on Wazzers cheeks.

Um, said Polly, and sought wildly for a way to avoid lying.

She found it. Er . . . you know I want to find my brother? she said.

Well, that does you credit, the Duchess knows, said Wazzer quickly.

And, well . . . Im also doing it for The Duchess, said Polly, feeling wretched. I think about The Duchess all the time, I must admit. Well, that was true. It just wasnt honest.

Im so very glad to hear that, Ozz, because I had thought you were a backslider, said Wazzer. But you said that with such conviction. Perhaps this would be the time for us to get down on our knees and

Wazz, youre standing in another mans grave, said Polly. Theres a time and place, you know? Lets get back to the others, eh?

The happiest days of the girls life had been spent tramping through forests, digging graves and trying to dodge soldiers on both sides? The trouble with Polly was that she had a mind that asked questions even when she really, really didnt want to know the answers.

So . . . the Duchess is still talking to you, is she? she said, as they made their way among the dark trees.

Oh, yes. When we were in Plotz, sleeping in the barracks, said Wazzer. She said it was all working.

Dont, dont ask another question, said part of Pollys mind, but she ignored it out of sheer horrible curiosity. Wazzer was nice  well, sort of nice, in a slightly scary way  but talking to her was like picking at a scab; you knew what was likely to be under the crust, but you picked anyway.

So . . . what did you use to do back in the world? she said.

Wazzer gave her a haunting smile. I used to be beaten.

Tea was brewing in a small hollow near the track. Several of the squad were standing guard. No one liked the idea of men in dark clothes sneaking around.

Mug of saloop? said Shufti, holding them up. A few days ago theyd have called it sweet milky tea, but even if they couldnt walk the walk yet they were determined to talk the talk as soon as possible.

Whats happening? said Polly.

Dunno, said Shufti. Sarge and the rupert went off over that way with the prisoner but no one tells us groans anything.

Its grunts, I think, said Wazzer, taking the tea.

Ive done them a couple of mugs, anyway. See what you can find out, eh?

Polly gulped her tea down, grabbed the mugs and hurried away.

On the edge of the hollow Maladict was lounging against a tree. There was this about vampires: they could never look scruffy. Instead, they were . . . what was the word . . . déshabille. It meant untidy, but with bags and bags of style. In this case Maladicts jacket was open and hed stuck his packet of cigarettes in the band of his shako. He saluted her with his crossbow as she went past.

Ozz? he said.

Yes, corp?

Any coffee in their packs?

Sorry, corp. Only tea.

Damn! Maladict thumped the tree behind him. Hey, you went straight for the man who was swallowing the cipher. Straight for him. How come?

Just luck, said Polly.

Yeah, right. Try again. I have very good night vision.

Oh, all right. Well, the one on the left started to run and the one in the middle was dropping the clacks tube and reaching for his sword, but the one on the right thought that putting something into his mouth was more important even than fighting or running away. Satisfied?

You worked out all that in a couple of seconds? That was smart.

Yeah, right. Now please forget it, okay? I dont want to be noticed. I dont particularly want to be here. I just want to find my brother. Okay?

Fine. I just thought that youd like to know someone saw you. And youd better get that tea to em before they try to kill one another.

At least I was someone watching the enemy, Polly thought furiously as she walked away. I wasnt someone watching another soldier. Who does he think he is? Or she is?

She heard the raised voices as she pushed through a thicket.

You cant torture an unarmed man! That was Blouses voice.

Well, Im not waiting for him to arm himself, sir! He knows stuff! And hes a spy!

Dont you dare kick him in the ribs again! That is an order, sergeant!

Asking nicely didnt work, did it, sir? Pretty please with sprinkles on top is not a recognized method of interrogation! You shouldnt be here, sir! You should say Sergeant, find out what you can from the prisoner! and then go somewhere and wait until I tell you what I got out of him, sir!

You did it again!

What? What?

You kicked him again!

No, I didnt!

Sergeant, I gave you an order!

And?

Teas up! said Polly cheerfully.

Both men turned. Their expression changed. If they had been birds, their feathers would have gently settled back.

Ah, Perks, said Blouse. Well done.

Yeah . . . good lad, said Sergeant Jackrum.

Pollys presence seemed to lower the temperature. The two men drank their tea and eyed one another warily.

Youll have noticed, sergeant, that the men were wearing the dark-green uniform of the First Battalion the Zlobenian Fifty-ninth Bowmen. A skirmishing battalion, said Blouse, with cold politeness. That is not the uniform of a spy, sergeant.

Yessir? But theyd let their uniforms get very dirty, then. No shine on the buttons, sir.

Patrolling behind enemy lines is not spying, sergeant. You must have done it in your time.

More times than you could count, sir, said Jackrum. And I knew full well that if I got caught I was due a good kicking in the nadgers. But skirmishers is the worst, sir. You think youre safe in the lines, next moment it turns out that some bastard sitting in the bushes on a hill has been working out windage and yardage and has dropped an arrow right through your mates head. He picked up a strange-looking longbow. See these things theyve got? Burleigh and Stronginthearm Number Five Recurved, made in bloody Ankh-Morpork. A real killing weapon. I say we give him a choice, sir. He can tell us what he knows, and go out easy. Or keep mum, and go out hard.

No, sergeant. He is an enemy officer taken in battle and entitled to fair treatment.

No, sir. Hes a sergeant, and they dont deserve no respect at all, sir. I should know. Theyre cunning and artful, if theyre any good. I wouldnt mind if he was an officer, sir. But sergeants are clever.

There was a grunt from the bound prisoner.

Loosen his gag, Perks, said Blouse. Instinctively, even if the instinct was only a couple of days old, Polly glanced at Jackrum. The sergeant shrugged. She pulled the rag down.

Ill talk, said the prisoner, spitting out cotton fluff. But not to that tub of lard! Ill talk to the officer. You keep that man away from me!

Youre in no position to negotiate, soldier boy! snarled Jackrum.

Sergeant, said the lieutenant, Im sure you have things to see to. Please do so. Send a couple of men back here. He cant do anything against four of us.

But

That was another order, sergeant, said Blouse. He turned to the prisoner as Jackrum stumped off. What is your name, man?

Sergeant Towering, lieutenant. And if you are a sensible man, you will release me and surrender.

Surrender? said Blouse, as Igorina and Wazzer ran into the clearing, armed and bewildered.

Yep. Ill put in a good word for you when the boys catch up with us. You dont want to know how many men are looking for you. Could I have a drink, please?

What? Oh, yes. Of course, said Blouse, as if caught out in a display of bad manners. Perks, fetch some tea for the sergeant. Why are people looking for us, pray?

Towering gave him a cockeyed grin. You dont know?

No, said Blouse coldly.

You really dont know? Now Towering was laughing. He was far too relaxed for a bound man, and Blouse sounded far too much like a nice but worried man trying to appear firm and determined. To Polly, it was like watching a child bluffing in poker against a man called Doc.

I dont wish to play games, man. Out with it! said Blouse.

Everyone knows about you, lieutenant. Youre the Monstrous Regiment, you are! he said. No offence meant, of course. They say youve got a troll and a vampire and an Igor and a werewolf. They say you . . . he began to chuckle . . . they say you overpowered Prince Heinrich and his guard and stole his boots and made him hop away in the altogether!

In a thicket some way off, a nightingale sang. For quite a while, uninterrupted. Then Blouse said, Hah, no, you are in fact wrong. The man was Captain Horentz

Yeah, right, like hed tell you who he was with you pointing swords at him! said Towering. I heard from one of my mates that one of you kicked him in the meat-and-two-veg, but I havent seen the picture yet.

Someone took a picture of him getting kicked? squeaked Polly, drenched in a sudden horror.

Not of that, no. But theres copies all over the place of him in chains and I hear its been sent by the clacks to Ankh-Morpork.

Is . . . is he annoyed? Polly quavered, cursing Otto Chriek and his picture-making.

Well, now, let me see, said Towering sarcastically. Annoyed? No, I shouldnt think hes annoyed. Livid is the word, I think. Or raging? Yeah, I think ragings the word. Theres a lot of people looking for you lads now. Well done!

Even Blouse could see Pollys distress. Er . . . Perks, he said, it was you, wasnt it, who

Over and over in Pollys head the words ogodIkickedthePrinceinthefruitandveg were going round and round like a hamster in a runaway treadmill until, suddenly, it ran up against something solid.

Yessir, she snapped. He was forcing himself upon a young woman, sir. If you recall?

Blouses frown faded, and became a grin of childlike duplicity. Ah, yes, indeed. He was pressing his suit in no small way, was he not?

He didnt have ironing in mind, sir! said Polly fervently.

Towering glanced at Wazzer, grimly clutching a crossbow that Polly knew for a fact she was scared of, and Igorina, whod much rather be holding a surgeons knife than the sabre in her hand and looked worried sick. Polly saw his brief smile.

And there you have it, Sergeant Towering, said the lieutenant, turning to the prisoner. Of course, we all know there is some atrocious behaviour in times of war, but it is not the sort of thing we would expect of a royal prince.* If we are to be pursued because a gallant young soldier prevented matters from becoming even more disgusting, then so be it.

*Lieutenant Blouse read only the more technical history books.

Now I am impressed, said Towering. A real knight errant, eh? Hes a credit to you, lieutenant. Any chance of that tea?

Blouses skinny chest visibly swelled at the compliment. Yes, Perks, the tea, if you would be so good.

Leaving the three of you with this man whos positively radiating an intention to escape, Polly thought. Could perhaps Private Goom go and fetch she began.

A word in private, Perks? snapped Blouse. He drew her closer, but Polly kept her eye on Sergeant Towering. He might be bound hand and foot, but she wouldnt have trusted a man who grinned like that if hed been nailed to the ceiling.

Perks, you are making a great contribution but I really will not have my orders continually questioned, said Blouse. You are my batman, after all. I think I run a happy ship here, but I will be obeyed. Please?

It was like being savaged by a goldfish, but she had to admit he had a point. Er . . . sorry, sir, she said, backing away as long as possible so as not to miss the end of the tragedy. Then she turned and ran.

Jackrum was sitting by the fire, with the prisoners bow across his huge knees, slicing some sort of black sausage with a big clasp-knife. He was chewing.

Wheres the rest of us, sir? said Polly, scrabbling for a mug.

I sent em to scout a wide perimeter, Perks. Cant be too careful if matey-boys got pals out there.

. . . which was perfectly sensible. It just happened to mean that half the squad had been sent away . . .

Sarge, you know that captain back at the barracks? That was

Ive got good hearing, Perks. Kicked him in the Royal Prerogative, eh? Hah! Makes it all more interestin, eh?

Its going to go wrong, sarge, I just know it, said Polly, dragging the kettle off the hob and spilling half the water as she topped up the teapot.

Dyou chew at all, Perks? said Jackrum.

What, sarge? said Polly distractedly.

The sergeant held out a small piece of sticky, black . . . stuff. Tobacco. Chewing tobacco, said Jackrum. I favour Blackheart over Jolly Sailor, cos its rum-dipped, but others say

Sarge, that mans going to escape, sarge! I know he is! The lieutenant isnt in charge, he is. Hes all friendly and everything, but I can tell by his eyes, sarge!

Im sure Lieutenant Blouse knows what hes doing, Perks, said Jackrum primly. Youre not telling me a bound man can overcome four of you, are you?

Oh, sugar! said Polly.

Just down there, in the old black tin, said Jackrum. Polly tipped some into the worst cup of tea ever made by a serving soldier and ran back to the clearing.

Amazingly, the man was still in a sitting position, and still bound hand and foot. Her fellow Cheesemongers were watching him dejectedly. Polly relaxed, but only a little.

nd there you have it, lieutenant, he was saying. No disgrace in calling it quits, eh? Hell hunt you down soon enough, cos its personal now. But if you were to come along with me, Id do my best to see it goes easy with you. You dont want to get caught by the Heavy Dragoons right now. They aint got much of a sense of humour

Tea up, said Polly.

Oh, thank you, Perks, said Blouse. I think we can at least cut Sergeant Towerings hands free, dont you?

Yes, sir, said Polly, meaning no, sir. The man offered his bound wrists, and Polly reached out gingerly with her knife while holding the mug like a weapon.

Artful lad youve got here, lieutenant, said Towering. He reckons Im going to grab his knife off of him. Good lad.

Polly sliced the rope, brought her knife hand back quickly, and then carefully proffered the mug.

And hes made the tea lukewarm sos it wont hurt when I splashes it in his face, Towering went on. He gave Polly the steady, honest gaze of the born bastard.

Polly held it, lie for lie.

Oh, yeah. The Ankh-Morpork peopleve got a little printing press on a cart, over on the other side of the river, said Towering, still watching Polly. For morale, they say. And they sent the picture back to the city, too, on the clacks. Dont ask me how. Oh yeah, a good picture. Plucky Rookies Trounce Zlobenias Finest, they wrote. Funny thing, but it looks like the writer man didnt spot it was the Prince. But we all did!

His voice became even more friendly. Now look, mates, as a foot soldier like yourselves Im all for seeing the bloody donkey-boys made to look fools, so you come along with me and Ill see to it that at least you dont sleep in chains tomorrow. Thats my best offer. He took a sip of tea, and added, Its a better one than most of the Tenth got, Ill tell you. I heard your regiment got wiped out.

Pollys expression didnt change, but she felt herself curl up into a tiny ball behind it. Look at the eyes, look at the eyes. Liar. Liar.

Wiped out? said Blouse.

Towering dropped his mug of tea. He smacked the crossbow out of Wazzers hand with his left hand, grabbed the sabre from Igorina with his right hand, and brought the curved blade down on the rope between his legs. It happened fast, before any of them could quite focus on the change in the situation, and then the sergeant was on his feet, slapping Blouse across the face and grabbing him in an arm lock.

And you were right, kiddo, he said to Polly, over Blouses shoulder. Cryin shame you aint an officer, eh?

The last of the fallen tea dribbled into the soil. Polly reached slowly for her crossbow.

Dont. One step, one move from any of you, and Ill cut him, said the sergeant. Wont be the first officer Ive killed, believe me

The difference between them and me is, I dont care.

Five heads turned. There was Jackrum, outlined against the distant firelight. He had the mans own bow, drawn taut, and aimed directly at the sergeant in complete disregard of the fact that the lieutenants head was in the way. Blouse closed his eyes.

Youd shoot your own officer? said Towering.

Yep. Wont be the first officer Ive killed, neither, said Jackrum. You aint going anywhere, friend, except down. Easy or hard . . . I dont care. The bow creaked.

Youre just bluffing, mister.

Upon my oath, I am not a bluffing man. I dont think we was ever introduced, by the way. Jackrums the name.

The change in the man was a whole body event. He seemed to get smaller, as if every cell had said oh dear very quietly to itself. He sagged, and Blouse slumped a little.

Can I

Too late, said Jackrum.

Polly never forgot the sound the arrow made.

There was silence, and then a thump as Towerings body finally overbalanced and hit the ground.

Jackrum laid the bow aside carefully. Found out who he was messing with, he said, as if nothing much had happened. Shame, really. Seemed like a decent sort. Any saloop left, Perks?

Very slowly, Lieutenant Blouse raised his hand to his ear, which the arrow had perforated en route to its target, and then looked with strange detachment at the blood on his fingers.

Oh, sorry about that, sir, said Jackrum jovially. Just saw the one chance and I thought, well, its the fleshy part. Get yourself a gold earring, sir, and youll be the height of fashion! Quite a large gold earring, maybe.

Dont you all believe that stuff about the Ins-and-Outs, Jackrum went on. That was just lies. I like it when somethings up. So what we do now is . . . can anyone tell me what we do now?

Er . . . bury the body? hazarded Igorina.

Yeah, but check his boots. Hes got small feet and the Zlobenians have much better boots than us.

Steal the boots off a dead man, sarge? said Wazzer, still in shock.

Easier than getting em off a live one! Jackrum softened his voice a little when he saw their expressions. Lads, this is war, understand? He was a soldier, they were soldiers, you are soldiers . . . more or less. No soldier will see scran or good boots go to waste. Bury em decent and say what prayers you can remember, and hope theyve gone where theres no fighting. He raised his voice back to the normal bellow. Perks, round up the others! Igor, cover the fire, try to make it look like we were never here! We are moving out in number ten minutes! Can make a few miles before full daylight! Thats right, eh, lieutenant?

Blouse was still transfixed, but seemed to wake up now. What? Oh. Yes. Right. Yes, indeed. Er . . . yes. Carry on, sergeant.

The fire gleamed off Jackrums triumphal face. In the red glow his little dark eyes were like holes in space, his grinning mouth the gateway to a hell, his bulk some monster from the Abyss.

He let it happen, Polly knew. He obeyed orders. He didnt do anything wrong. But he could have sent Maladict and Jade to help us, instead of Wazzer and Igor, who arent quick with weapons. He sent the others away. He had the bow ready. He played a game with us as pieces, and won . . .

Poor old soldier, her father and his friends had sung, while frost formed on the window panes, poor old soldier! If ever I list for a soldier again . . . the devil shall be my sergeant!

In the firelight the grin of Sergeant Jackrum was a crescent of blood, his coat the colour of a battlefield sky. You are my little lads, he roared. And I will look after you.

They made more than six miles before Jackrum called a halt, and already the land was changing. There were more rocks, fewer trees. The Kneck valley was rich and fertile and it was from here that the fertility had been washed; it was a landscape of ravines and thick scrub woodland, with a few small communities scratching a living from the poverty-stricken soil. It was a good place to hide. And, in here, someone had already hidden. It was a stream-carved gully, but here at the end of summer the stream was just a trickle between the rocks. Jackrum must have found it by smell, because you couldnt see it from the track.

The ashes of the fire in the small gully were still warm. The sergeant got up, awkwardly, after inspecting them. Some lads like our pals from last night, he said.

Couldnt it just be a hunter, sarge? said Maladict.

It could, corporal, but it aint, said Jackrum. I brought you in here cos it looks like a blind gully and theres water and theres good vantage points up there and over there, he pointed, and theres a decent overhang to keep the weather off and its hard for anyone to creep up on us. Militry, in other words. And someone else thought the same as me last night. So while theyre out there looking for us, well sit snug where theyve already looked. Get a couple of lads up on guard right now.

Polly drew first watch, atop the small cliff at the edge of the gully. It was a good site, no doubt about it. A regiment could hide here. No one could get near without being seen, too. And she was pulling her weight like a proper member of the squad, so with any luck Blouse would find someone to shave him before she was off duty. Through a gap in the treetops below she could see a road of sorts running through the woodland. She kept an eye on it.

Eventually, Tonker relieved her with a cup of soup. On the far side of the gully, Wazzer was being replaced by Lofty.

Wherere you from, Ozz? said Tonker, while Polly savoured the soup.

There couldnt be any harm in telling. Munz, said Polly.

Really? Someone said you worked in a bar. What was the inn called?

Ah . . . there was the harm, right there. But she could hardly lie, now. The Duchess, she said.

That big place? Very nobby. Did they treat you okay?

What? Oh . . . yes. Yes. Pretty fair.

Hit you at all?

Eh? No. Never, said Polly, nervous of where this was going.

Work you hard?

Polly had to consider this. In truth, she worked harder than both the maids, and they at least had an afternoon off every week.

I was usually the first one up and the last one to bed, if thats what you mean, she said. And to change the subject quickly, she went on: What about you? You know Munz?

We both lived there, me and Tilda I mean Lofty, said Tonker.

Oh? Where?

The Girls Working School, said Tonker, and looked away.

And thats the kind of trap small talk can get you in, Polly thought. Not a nice place, I think, she said, feeling stupid.

It was not a nice place, yes. A very nasty place, said Tonker. Wazzer was there, we think. We think it was her. Used to be sent out a lot on work hire. Polly nodded. Once, a girl from the school came and worked as a maid at The Duchess. Shed arrive every morning, scrubbed raw in a clean pinafore, peeling off from a line of very similar girls led by a teacher and flanked by a couple of large men with long sticks. She was skinny, polite in a dull, trained sort of way, worked very hard and never talked to anybody. She was gone in three months, and Polly never found out why.

Tonker stared into Pollys eyes, almost mocking her innocence. We think she was the one they used to lock up sometimes in the special room. Thats the thing about the school. If you dont toughen up you go funny in the head.

I expect you were glad to leave, was all Polly could think of to say.

The basement window was unlocked, said Tonker. But I promised Tilda wed go back one day next summer.

Oh, so it wasnt that bad, then? said Polly, grateful for some relief.

No, itll burn better, said Tonker. Ever run across someone called Father Jupe?

Oh, yes, said Polly, and, feeling that something more was expected of her, added, He used to come to dinner when my mother he used to come to dinner. A bit pompous, but he seemed okay.

Yes, said Tonker. He was good at seeming.

Once again there was a dark chasm in the conversation that not even a troll could bridge, and all you could do was draw back from the edge.

Id better go and see to the lieu to the rupert, Polly said, standing up. Thank you very much for the soup.

She worked her way down through the scree and birch thickets until she emerged by the little stream that ran through the gully. And there, like some awful river god, was Sergeant Jackrum.

His red coat, a tent for lesser men, was draped carefully over a bush. He himself was sitting on a rock with his shirt off and his huge braces dangling, so that only a yellowing woolly vest saved the world from a sight of the mans bare chests. For some reason, though, hed kept his shako on. His shaving kit, with a razor like a small machete and a shaving brush you could use to hang wallpaper, was on the rock beside him.

Jackrum was bathing his feet in the stream. He glanced up when Polly approached, and nodded amiably.  morning, Perks, he said. Dont rush. Never rush for ruperts. Sit down for a spell. Get yer boots off. Let yer feet feel the fresh air. Look after your feet, and your feet will look after you. He pulled out his big clasp-knife and the rope of chewing tobacco. Sure you wont join me?

No thanks, sarge. Polly sat down on a rock on the opposite side of the stream, which was only a few feet wide, and started to tug at her boots. She felt as though shed been given an order. Besides, right now she felt she needed the shock of clean, cold water.

Good lad. Filthy habit. Worsen the smokes, said Jackrum, carving off a lump. Got started on it when I was but a lad. Bettern striking a light at night, see? Dont want to give away your position, course, you gotta gob a bundle every so often, but gobbin in the dark dont show up.

Polly dabbled her feet. The icy water did indeed feel refreshing. It seemed to jolt her alive. In the trees around the gully, birds sang.

Say it, Perks, said Jackrum, after a while.

Say what, sarge?

Oh, bleedin hell, Perks, its a nice day, dont muck me around. I seen the way youve been looking at me.

All right, sarge. You murdered that man last night.

Really? Prove it, said Jackrum calmly.

Well, I cant, can I? But you set it up. You even sent Igor and Wazzer to guard him. Theyre not good with weapons.

How good would they have to be, dyou think? Four of you against a man tied up? said Jackrum. Nah. That sergeant was dead the moment we got im, and he knew it. It took a bloody genius like your rupert to make him think hed got a chance. Were out in the woods, lad. What was Blouse gonna do with him? Whod we hand him over to? Would the lieutenant cart him around with us? Or tie him to a tree and leave him to kick wolves away until he gets too tired? Much more gentlemanly than giving him a quiet cigarette and a swift chop where you go quick, which is what he was expecting and what Id have given him.

Jackrum popped the tobacco into his mouth. You know what most of the militry training is, Perks? he went on. All that yelling from little spitbubs like Strappi? Its to turn you into a man who will, on the word of command, stick his blade into some poor sod just like him who happens to be wearing the wrong uniform. Hes like you, youre like him. He doesnt really want to kill you, you dont really want to kill him. But if you dont kill him first, hell kill you. Thats the start and finish of it. It dont come easy without trainin. Ruperts dont get that trainin, cos they are gentlemen. Well, upon my oath I am no gentleman, and Ill kill when I have to, and I said Id keep you safe and no damn ruperts going to stop me. He gave me my discharge papers! Jackrum added, radiating indignance. Me! And expected me to thank him! Every other rupert Ive served under has had the sense to write Not posted here or On extended patrol or something and shove it back in the mail, but not him!

What was it you said to Corporal Strappi that made him run away? said Polly, before she could stop herself.

Jackrum looked at her for a while, with no expression in his eyes. Then he gave a strange little chuckle. Now why would a little lad like you say a little thing like that? he said.

Because he just vanished and suddenly some old rule means youre back on the strength, sarge, said Polly. Thats why I said that little thing.

Hah! And theres no such rule, either, not like that one, said Jackrum, splashing his feet. But ruperts never read the book of rules unless theyre trying to find a reason to hang you, so I was safe there. Strappi was scared shitless, you know that.

Yes, but he could have slipped away later on, said Polly. He wasnt stupid. Rushing off into the night? He mustve had something real close to run from, right?

Cor, thats an evil brain you have there, Perks, said Jackrum happily. Once again Polly had the definite feeling that the sergeant was enjoying this, just as hed seemed pleased when shed protested about the uniform. He wasnt a bully like Strappi  he treated Igorina and Wazzer with something approaching fatherly concern  but with Polly and Maladict and Tonker he pushed all the time, wanting you to push back.

It does the job, sarge, she said.

I just had a little tate-ah-tate with him, as it were. Quiet, like. Explained all the nasty things that can happen vees-ah-vee the confusion o war.

Like being found with his throat cut? said Polly.

Has been known to happen, said Jackrum innocently. You know, lad, youre going to make a damn good sergeant one day. Any fool can use his eyes and ears, but you uses that brain to connect em up.

Im not going to be a sergeant! Im going to get the job done and go home! said Polly vehemently.

Yes, I said that once, too. Jackrum grinned. Perks, I dont need no clacky thing. I dont need no newsy paper. Sergeant Jackrum knows whats going on. He talks to the men coming back, the ones that wont talk to anyone else. I know more than the rupert, for all that he gets little letters from HQ that worry him so much. Everyone talks to Sergeant Jackrum. And in his big fat head, Sergeant Jackrum puts it all together. Sergeant Jackrum knows whats going on.

And whats that, sarge? said Polly innocently.

Jackrum didnt reply immediately. Instead, he reached down with a grunt and rubbed one of his feet. The corroded shilling on a string, which had lain innocently on the woollen vest, swung forward. But there was something else. For a moment something golden slipped out of the vests open neck. Something oval and golden, on a golden chain, flashed in the sunlight. Then he straightened up and it was dragged back out of sight.

This is a bloody odd war, lad, he said. Its true theres not just Zlobenian soldiers out there. Lads say theres uniforms theyd never seen before. Weve kicked a lot of backsides over the years, so maybe they really have ganged up and its gonna be our turn. But what I reckon is, theyre stuck. They took the keep. Oh, yes, I know. But theyve got to hold on to it. And winters coming and all those lads from Ankh-Morpork and everywhere are a long way from home. We might have a chance yet. Hah, especially now the Prince is dead set on finding the young soldier that kneed him in the wedding tackle. That means hes angry. Hell make mistakes.

Well, sarge, I think

Im glad you do, Private Perks, said Jackrum, suddenly becoming a sergeant again. And I think that after youve seen to the rupert and had a nap, you and me is going to show the lads some swordsmanship. Whatever bleedin war this is, sooner or later young Wazzer is going to have to use that blade he waggles about. Get going!

Polly found Lieutenant Blouse sitting with his back to the cliff, eating scubbo out of a bowl. Igorina was packing away her medical kit, and Blouses ear was bandaged.

Everything all right, sir? she said. Sorry I wasnt

I quite understand, Perks, you must stand your turn like the other lads, said Blouse, and Polly heard the inverted commas clank into place. I had a refreshing nap and the bleeding and, indeed, the shaking has quite stopped. However . . . I do still need a shave.

You want me to shave you, said Polly, her heart sinking.

I must set an example, Perks, but I have to say you lads make such an effort it puts me to shame. You all seem to have faces as smooth as a babys bottom, I must say!

Yes, sir. Polly pulled out the shaving gear and walked over to the fire, where the kettle was permanently boiling. Most of the squad was dozing, but Maladict was sitting cross-legged by the fire, doing something to his hat.

Heard about the prisoner last night, he said, without looking up. I dont think the el-tee is going to last very long, do you?

The who?

The lieutenant. From what I hear, Blouses probably going to have a nasty accident. Jackrum thinks hes dangerous.

Hes learning, just like us.

Yes, but the el-tees supposed to know what to do. Do you think he does?

Jackrums stuck, too, said Polly, topping up the kettle with cold water. I think we just keep going.

If theres anything there to get to, said Maladict. He held up the shako. What do you think?

The words Born To Die had been chalked on the side of the hat, next to the packet of cigarettes.

Very . . . individual, said Polly. Why do you smoke? Its not very . . . vampire, really.

Well, Im not supposed to be very vampire, said Maladict, lighting up with a shaking hand. Its the sucking. I need it. Im on edge. Im getting the no-coffee jitters. Im not good with woods in any case.

But youre a vam

Yeah, yeah, if this was crypts, no problem. But I keep thinking Im surrounded by lots of pointy stakes. Truth is . . . Im beginning to hurt. Its like going cold bat all over again! Im getting the voices and the sweats . . .

Sssh, said Polly, as Shufti grunted in her sleep. You cant be, she hissed. You said youd been going straight for two years!

Oh, bl . . . blur . . . blood? said Maladict. Who said anything about blood? Im talking about coffee, dammit!

Weve got plenty of tea Polly began.

You dont understand! This is about . . . craving. You never stop craving, you just switch it to something that doesnt cause people to turn you into a short kebab! I need coffee!

Why me? Polly thought. Do I have this little sign on me saying Tell me your troubles? Ill see what I can do, she said, and hastily filled the shaving mug.

Polly hurried back with the water, ushered Blouse to a rock, and stirred up some foam. She sharpened the razor, taking as long as she dared. When he coughed impatiently she took up position, raised the razor, and prayed . . .

. . . but not to Nuggan. Never to Nuggan, since her mother died . . .

And then Lofty was running across the ground, trying to shout a whisper. Movement!

Blouse nearly lost another earlobe.

Out from nowhere came Jackrum, boots on but braces dangling. He grabbed Lofty by the shoulder and swung her round. Where? he demanded.

Theres a track down there! Troopers! Carts! What do we do, sarge?

We keep the noise down! muttered Jackrum. Are they heading up here?

No, they went right past, sarge!

Jackrum turned and gave the rest of the squad a satisfied look. O-kay. Corporal, take Carborundum and Perks and go and have a look. The rest of you, tool up and try to be brave. Eh, lieutenant?

Blouse bemusedly dabbed foam off his face. What? Oh. Yes. See to it, sergeant.

Twenty seconds later, Polly was running after Maladict, down the slope. Here and there the bottom of the valley could be seen through the trees, and as she glanced down she saw sunlight flash off something metal. At least the trees had coated the woodland floor with a thick layer of needles, and, contrary to received opinion, most woods arent littered with branches that snap loudly. They reached the edge of the wood, where bushes fought one another for their place in the sun, and found a spot with a view.

There were only four troopers, in an unfamiliar uniform, riding in pairs ahead of and behind a cart. It was small, and had a canvas cover.

Whats in a little cart that four men have to protect? said Maladict. It must be valuable!

Polly pointed to the huge flag that hung limply from a pole on the wagon. I think its the newspaper man, she said. Its the same cart. Same flag, too.

Then its a good thing theyve gone right past, hissed Maladict. Lets just see them out of sight and creep away like good little mice, okay?

The party was travelling at the speed of the cart and, at this point, the two riders in the lead stopped and turned in their saddles, waiting for it to catch up. Then one of them pointed, back past the hidden watchers. There was a shout, too far away to be understood. The troopers in the rear trotted up to the cart, met with their comrades, and all four turned to look up. There was some discussion, and two riders trotted back along the road.

Oh, darn, said Polly. What have they spotted?

The horsemen went past their hiding place. A few moments later, they heard the horses enter the woods.

Do we run an get em? said Jade.

Let Jackrum do that, said Maladict.

But if he does, and the men dont come back Polly began.

When they dont come back, Maladict corrected her.

then those other two will get suspicious, wont they? One will probably stay here, the other will go to get help.

Then well sneak up and wait, said Maladict. Look, theyve dismounted. The carts pulled in, too. If they look as though theyre worried, well move in.

And do what, exactly? said Polly.

Threaten to shoot them, said Maladict firmly.

And if they dont believe us?

Then well threaten to shoot them in a much louder voice, said Maladict. Happy? And I hope to hell theyve got some coffee!

There are three things a soldier wants to do when theres a respite on the road. One involves lighting a cigarette, one involves lighting a fire, and the other one involves no flames at all but does, generally, require a tree.*

* Actually a tree is not, technically, required, but seems to be insisted upon for reasons of style.

The two troopers had a fire going and a billy-can steaming when a young man jumped down from the cart, stretched his arms, looked around, yawned, and sauntered a little way into the forest. He found a convenient tree and, a moment later, was apparently examining the bark at eye height with studied enthusiasm.

The tip of a steel crossbow bolt pressed against the back of his neck and a voice said: Raise your hands and turn around slowly!

What, right now?

Um . . . all right, no. You can finish what youre doing.

Actually I think thats going to be quite impossible. Let me just, er . . . right. Okay. The man raised his hands again. You realize I just have to shout?

So? said Polly. I just have to pull this trigger. Shall we have a race?

The man turned round.

See? said Polly, stepping back. Its him again. De Worde. The writer man.

Youre them! he said.

Dem who? said Jade.

Oh dear, said Maladict.

Look, Id give anything to talk to you! said de Worde. Please?

Youre with the enemy! hissed Polly.

What? Them? No! Theyre from Lord Rusts regiment. From Ankh-Morpork! Theyve been sent to protect us!

Troops to protect you in Borogravia? said Maladict. Who from?

You mean from whom? Er . . . well . . . you, in theory.

Jade leaned down. Efficient, arent dey . . .

Look, I must talk to you, said the man urgently. This is astounding! Everyones looking for you! Did you kill that old couple in the woods?

Birds sang. Far off, there was the call of the female blue-capped woodpecker.

A patrol found the fresh graves, said de Worde.

High above an ice heron, a winter migrant from the Hub, gave an ugly honk as it searched for lakes.

I take it you didnt, then, said de Worde.

We buried them, said Maladict coldly. We dont know who killed them.

We did take some vegetables, said Polly. She remembered laughing about it. Admittedly it was only because it was that or start crying, but even so . . .

Youve been living off the land? Hed tugged a notebook out of his pocket and was scribbling in it with a pencil.

We dont have to talk to you, said Maladict.

No, no, you must! Theres so much you need to know! Youre in the . . . Ups-and-Downs, right?

Ins-and-Outs, said Polly.

And you the man began.

Ive had enough of this, said Maladict, and marched away from the tree and into the clearing. The two cavalry men looked up from their fire, and there was a moment of immobility before one reached for his sword.

Maladict swung the bow quickly from one to the other, its point hypnotizing them like a swinging watch. Ive got only one shot but theres two of you, he said. Who shall I shoot? You choose. Now, listen very carefully: wheres your coffee? Youve got coffee, havent you? Cmon, everyones got coffee! Spill the beans!

They stared at the crossbow and slowly shook their heads.

What about you, writer man? snarled Maladict. Wherere you hiding the coffee?

We only have cocoa, said the writer, raising his hands quickly as Maladict turned on him. Youre welcome to

Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air*, and sat down with his head in his hands. Were all gonna die, he said. The troopers shifted as though to stand up, and Jade raised her sapling.

* And failed to hit anything, especially a duck. This is so unusual in situations like this that it should be reported under new humour regulations. If it had hit a duck, which quacked and then landed on somebodys head, this would of course have been very droll and would certainly have been reported. Instead, it drifted in the breeze a little and landed in an oak tree some thirty feet away, where it missed a squirrel.

Dont even fink about it, she said.

Polly turned to the writer man. You want us to talk to you, sir? Then you talk to us. Is this about . . . Prince Heinrichs . . . socks?

Maladict stood up in one mad movement. I say we grease the lot of them and go home! he said, to no one in particular. One, Two, Three! What We Are Fighting For!

Socks? said the writer, looking nervously at the vampire. Whatve socks got to do with it?

I just gave you an order, Polly, said Maladict.

What is it you think we dont know? Polly insisted, glaring at de Worde.

Well, to start with youre just about all thats left of the Ins-and-Outs

Thats not true!

Oh, theres prisoners and wounded, I think. But why should I lie to you? Why did he call you Polly?

Because I know a lot about birds, said Polly, mentally cursing. How do you know whats been happening to the regiment?

Because its my job to know things, said the man. Whats that bird up there?

Polly glanced up. I dont have time for stupid games, she said. And thats a She stopped. Something was wheeling high above, in the forbidden blue.

You dont know? said de Worde.

Yes, of course I know, said Polly irritably. Its a white-necked buzzard. But I thought they never came this far into the mountains. I only ever saw one in a book She raised her bow again, and tried to take control. Am I right, Mr Its-my-job-to-know-things?

De Worde raised his hands again and gave her a sickly smile. Probably, he said. I live in a city. I know sparrows from starlings. After that everythings a duck as far as Im concerned.

Polly glared at him.

Look, please, said the man. You need to listen to me. You need to know things. Before its too late.

Polly lowered the bow. If you want to talk to us, wait here, she said. Corporal, we are leaving. Carborundum, pick up those troopers!

Hold it, said Maladict. Whos the corporal in this squad?

You are, said Polly. And youre drooling, and swaying, and your eyes look weird. So what was your point, please?

Maladict considered this. Polly was tired and frightened and somewhere inside this was all being transmuted into anger. Hers was not an expression you wanted to see at the far end of a crossbow. An arrow couldnt kill a vampire, but that didnt mean it didnt hurt.

Right, yeah, he said. Carborundum, pick up those troopers! We are leaving!

There was a bird whistle as Polly neared the hiding place. She identified this one as the sound of the Very Bad Bird Impersonator, and made a note to teach the girls some bird calls that at least sounded real. They were harder to do than most people thought.

The squad were in the gully, armed and at least looking dangerous. There was a certain amount of relaxation when they saw Jade carrying the two bound troopers. Two more were sitting disconsolately against the cliff, hands tied behind them.

Maladict walked smartly up to Blouse and saluted. Two prisoners, el-tee, and Perks thinks theres someone down there you ought to talk to. He leaned forward. The newspaper man, sir.

Then well jolly well keep well away from him, said Blouse. Eh, sergeant?

Right, sir! said Jackrum. Nothing but trouble, sir!

Polly saluted madly. Please, sir! Permission to speak, sir!

Yes, Perks? said Blouse.

Polly saw there was one chance, and one only. She had to find out about Paul. Now her mind worked as fast as it had on the hill last night, when shed gone for the man with the code book.

Sir, I dont know if hes worth talking to, sir, but he may be worth listening to. Even if you think hell only tell us lies. Because sometimes, sir, the way people tell you lies, if they tell you enough lies, well, they sort of . . . show you what shape the truth is, sir. And we dont have to tell him the truth, sir. We could lie to him, too.

I am not by nature an untruthful man, Perks, said Blouse coldly.

Glad to hear it, sir. Are we winning the war, sir?

You stop that right now, Perks! Jackrum roared.

It was only a question, sarge, said Polly reproachfully.

Around the clearing the squad waited, ears sucking up every sound. Everyone knew the answer. They waited for it to be said aloud.

Perks, this kind of talk spreads despondency, Blouse began, but he said it as if he didnt believe it and didnt care who knew.

No, sir. It doesnt really. Its better than being lied to, said Polly. She changed her voice, gave it that edge her mother used to use on her when she was being scolded. Its evil to lie. No one likes a liar. Tell me the truth, please.

Some harmonic of that tone must have found a home in an old part of Blouses brain. As Jackrum opened his mouth to roar, the lieutenant held up a hand.

We are not winning, Perks. But we have not lost yet.

I think we all know that, sir, but its good to hear you say it, said Polly, giving him an encouraging smile.

That seemed to work, too. I suppose there is no harm in at least being civil to the wretched fellow, said Blouse, as if thinking aloud. He may give away valuable information under cunning questioning.

Polly looked at Sergeant Jackrum, who was staring upwards like a man in prayer.

Permission to be the man to interrogate the gentleman, sir, said the sergeant.

Permission denied, sergeant, said Blouse. Id like him to live and dont want to lose another lobe. However, you may take Perks back to the cart and drive it up here.

Jackrum gave him the smart salute. Polly had already learned to recognize it; it meant that Jackrum had already made plans.

Very good, sir, he said. Come on, Perks.

Jackrum was quiet as they walked back down over the needle-carpeted slope. Then, after a while, he said: Dyou know why them troopers found our little nook, Perks?

No, sarge.

The lieutenant ordered Shufti to put the fire out immediately. It wasnt as if there was even any smoke. So Shufti goes and pours the kettle on it.

Polly gave this a few seconds thought. Steam, sarge?

Right! In a bloody great rising cloud. Not Shuftis fault. The gallopers werent any trouble, though. Bright enough not to try to outrun half a dozen crossbows, at least. Thats clever for a cavalryman.

Well done, sarge.

Dont talk to me as if I was a rupert, lad, said Jackrum easily.

Sorry, sarge.

I see youre learnin how to steer an officer, though. You gotta make sure they gives you the right orders, see? Youll make a good sergeant, Perks.

Dont want to, sarge.

Yeah, right, said Jackrum. It could have meant anything.

After watching the track for a minute or two they stepped out and headed towards the cart. De Worde was sitting on a stool beside it, writing in a notebook, but he stood up hurriedly when he saw them.

Itd be a good idea to get off the track, he said, as soon as they approached. There are a lot of patrols, I understand.

Zlobenian patrols, sir? said Jackrum.

Yes. In theory this  he pointed to the flag that hung limply from the cart  should keep us safe, but everyones a bit jumpy at the moment. Arent you Sergeant Jack Ram?

Jackrum, sir. And Ill thank you for not writing my name down in your little book, sir.

Sorry, sergeant, but thats my job, said de Worde breezily. I have to write things down.

Well, sir, soldierin is my job, said Jackrum, climbing on to the cart and gathering up the reins. But youll note how at this moment in time I am not killin you. Lets go, eh?

Polly climbed into the back of the cart as it lumbered off. It was full of boxes and equipment, and while it might once have been neatly organized, that organization was now but a distant memory, a clear indication that this cart was the property of a man. Next to her, half a dozen of the largest pigeons she had ever seen dozed on a perch in their wire cage, and she wondered if they were a living larder. One of them opened one eye and lazily went Lollollop? which is pigeon for Duh?

Most of the rest of the boxes had labels like  she leaned closer  Capt Horace Calumneys Patent Field Biscuits, and Dried Stew. As she was musing that Shufti would have very much liked to get her hands on one or two of those boxes, a bundle of clothes hanging from the ceiling of the rocking cart moved slightly and a face appeared.

Good mornink, it said, upside down.

William de Worde turned round on the seat in front. Its only Otto, private, he said. Dont be afraid.

Yes, I vill not bite, said the face cheerfully. It smiled. A vampires face does not look any better upside down, and a smile in these circumstances does nothing to improve matters. That is guaranteed.

Polly lowered the crossbow. Jackrum would have been impressed by how quickly she had raised it. So was she, and embarrassed too. The socks were doing the thinking again.

Otto very elegantly lowered himself to the bed of the cart. Vhere are ve goink? he said, steadying himself as they bounced over a rut.

A little place I know, sir, said Jackrum. Nice and quiet.

Good. I need to exercise the imps. Zey get fretful if zey are cooped up for too long. Otto pushed aside a stack of paper and revealed his large picture-making box. He lifted a small hatch.

Rise und shine, lads, he said. There was a chorus of high-pitched voices from inside.

Id better just mark your card re Tiger, Mr de Worde, said Jackrum, as the cart rolled up an old logging track.

Tiger? Whos Tiger?

Oops, said Jackrum. Sorry, thats what we call the lieutenant, sir, on account of him being so brave. Forget I said that, will you?

Brave, is he? said de Worde.

And clever, sir. Dont let him fool you, sir. He is one of the great militry minds of his generation, sir.

Pollys mouth dropped open. She had suggested they lied to the man, but . . . this?

Really? Then why is he just a lieutenant? said the writer.

Ah, I can see theres no fooling you, sir, said Jackrum, oozing knowingness. Yes, its a puzzler, sir, why he calls himself a lieutenant. Still, I dare say he has his reasons, eh? Just like Heinrich calling himself a captain, right? He tapped the side of his nose. I see everything, sir, and I dont say a word!

All I could find out was that he did some kind of desk job at your HQ, sergeant, said de Worde. Polly saw him taking his notebook out, slowly and carefully.

Yes, I expect thats what you would find out, sir, said Jackrum, with a huge conspiratorial wink. And then, when things are at their worst, they let him out, sir. They unleash him, sir. Me, I dont know a thing, sir.

What does he do, explode? said de Worde.

Haha, nice one, sir! said Jackrum. No, sir. What he does, sir, is assess situations, sir. I dont understand it myself, sir, not being a big thinker, but the proof of the pudding, sir, is in the eating of same, and last night we were jumped by eight twenty Zlobenian troopers, sir, and the lieutenant just assessed the situation in a flash and skewered five of the buggers, sir. Like a kebab, sir. Mild as milk to look at, but rouse him and hes a whirlwind of death. Of course, you did not hear it from me, sir.

And hes in charge of a bunch of recruits, sergeant? said de Worde. That doesnt sound very likely to me.

Recruits who captured some crack cavalrymen, sir, said Jackrum, looking pained. Thats leadership for you. Comes the hour, comes the man, sir. Im just a simple old soldier, sir, seen em come and seen em go. Upon my oath I am not a lying man, sir, but I look at Lieutenant Blouse in wonderment.

He just seemed confused, to me, said de Worde, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

That was a bit of concussion, sir. He took a wallop that would have felled a lesser man, and still got back on to his feet. Amazing, sir!

Hmm, said de Worde, making a note.

The cart splashed across the shallow little stream and rocked into the gully. Lieutenant Blouse was sitting on a rock. Hed made an effort, but his tunic was grubby, his boots were muddy, his hand was swollen and one ear, despite Igorinas ministrations, was still inflamed. He had his sword on his knees. Jackrum carefully brought the cart to a halt by a thicket of birch trees. All four of the enemy troopers were tied up against the cliff. Apart from them, the camp appeared to be deserted.

Where are the rest of the men, sergeant? whispered de Worde, as he slid down off the cart.

Oh, theyre around, sir, said Jackrum. Watching you. Probably not a good idea to make any sudden move, sir.

No one else was visible . . . and then Maladict faded into view.

People never really looked at things, Polly knew. They glanced. And what had been a patch of scrub was now Corporal Maladict. Polly stared. Hed cut a hole in the centre of his old blanket, and the mud and grass stains on the mildewed greyness had turned him into part of the landscape until hed saluted. Hed also stuck leafy twigs all over his hat.

Sergeant Jackrum goggled. Polly had never really seen proper goggling before, but the sergeant had the face to do it at championship level. She could feel him drawing breath while at the same time assembling cusswords for a right royal thundering  and then he remembered he was playing Sergeant Big Jolly Fat Man, and this was not the time to segue into Sergeant Incandescent.

Lads, eh? he chuckled to de Worde. What will they think of next?

De Worde nodded nervously, pulled a wad of newspapers from under his seat, and advanced on the lieutenant.

Mr de Worde, isnt it? said Blouse, standing up. Perks, can we manage a cup of, er, saloop for Mr de Worde? Theres a good chap. Do take a rock, sir.

Good of you to see me, lieutenant, said de Worde. It looks as though youve been in the wars! he added, with an attempt at joviality.

No, only this one, said Blouse, looking puzzled.

I meant that you have been wounded, sir, said de Worde.

These? Oh, theyre nothing, sir. Im afraid the one on my hand was self-inflicted. Sword drill, you know.

Youre left-handed then, sir?

Oh, no.

Polly, washing out a mug, heard Jackrum say out of the corner of his mouth: Shouldve seen the other two fellows, sir!

Are you aware of the progress of the war, lieutenant? said de Worde.

You tell me, sir, said Blouse.

All your army is bottled up in the Kneck valley. Dug in, mostly, just beyond the reach of the keeps weaponry. Your forts elsewhere along the border have been captured. The garrisons at Drerp and Glitz and Arblatt have been overwhelmed. As far as I can tell, lieutenant, your squad are the only soldiers still at large. At least, he added, the only ones still fighting.

And my regiment? said Blouse quietly.

The remnant of the Tenth took part in a brave but, frankly, suicidal attempt to retake Kneck Keep a few days ago, sir. Most of the survivors are prisoners of war, and I have to tell you that almost all your high command have been captured. They were in the keep when it was taken. There are big dungeons in that fort, sir, and theyre pretty full.

Why should I believe you?

I do, thought Polly. So Paul is either dead, wounded or captured. And it doesnt help much by thinking of it as two chances in three that he is alive.

De Worde threw his newspapers at the lieutenants feet. Its all there, sir. I didnt make it up. Its the truth. It will remain true whether you believe it or not. There are more than six countries ranged against you, including Genua and Mouldavia and Ankh-Morpork. There is no one on your side. You are alone. The only reason youre not beaten yet is because you wont admit it. Ive seen your generals, sir! Great leaders, and your men fight like demons, but they wont surrender!

Borogravia doesnt know the meaning of the word surrender, Mr de Worde, said the lieutenant.

Can I lend you a dictionary, sir? snapped de Worde, going red in the face. Its very similar to the meaning of making some kind of peace while youve got a chance, sir! Its rather like quitting while youve still got a head, sir! Good heavens, sir, dont you understand? The reason that there still is an army in the Kneck valley is that the allies havent decided what to do with it! Theyre fed up with the slaughter!

Ah, so we still fight back! said Blouse.

De Worde sighed. You dont understand, sir. They are fed up with slaughtering you. Theyve got the keep now. Theres some big war engines up there. They . . . frankly, sir, some of the alliance would just as soon wipe out the remains of your army. Itd be like shooting rats in a barrel. They have you at their mercy. And yet you keep on attacking. You attack the keep! Its on sheer rock and its got walls a hundred feet high. You make salients across the river. Youre bottled up and youve got nowhere to go and the allies could simply massacre you any time they want, and you act as though youre just facing some kind of temporary setback. Thats whats really happening, lieutenant! You are just a last little detail.

Have a care, please, Blouse warned.

Excuse me, sir, but do you know anything about recent history? In the past thirty years you have declared war on every single one of your neighbours at least once. All countries fight, but you brawl. And then last year you invaded Zlobenia again!

They invaded us, Mr de Worde.

You have been misinformed, lieutenant. You invaded the Kneck province.

That was confirmed as Borogravian by the Treaty of Lint, more than a hundred years ago.

Signed at swordpoint, sir. And no one cares now, in any case. Its all got beyond your stupid little royal scuffles. Because your men tore down the Grand Trunk, you see. The clacks towers. And tore up the coach road. Ankh-Morpork regards that as bandit activity.

Have a care, I said! said Blouse. I note you are displaying the Ankh-Morpork flag with evident pride on your wagon.

Civis Morporkias sum, sir. I am an Ankh-Morpork citizen. You could say that Ankh-Morpork shelters me under her wide and rather greasy wing, although I agree the metaphor could use some work.

Your Ankh-Morpork soldiers arent in a position to protect you, however.

Sir, you are right. You could have me killed right now, said de Worde simply. You know that. I know that. But you wont, for three reasons. The officers of Borogravia tend towards honour. Everyone says that. Thats why they dont surrender. And I bleed most distressingly. And you dont need to, because everyone is interested in you. Suddenly, its all changed.

Interested in us?

Sir, in a sense you could help a lot right now. Apparently people back in Ankh-Morpork were amazed when . . . look, have you heard about what we call human interest, sir?

No.

De Worde tried to explain. Blouse listened with his mouth open and, at the end, said: Have I got this right? Although many people have been killed and wounded in this wretched war, its not been of much interest to your readers? But it is now, just because of us? Because of a little skirmish in a town theyve never heard of? And because of it, were suddenly a plucky little country and people are telling your newspaper that your great city should be on our side?

Yes, lieutenant. We put out a second edition last night, you see. After Id found out that Captain Horentz was really Prince Heinrich. Did you know this at the time, sir?

Of course not! snapped Blouse.

And you, Private, er, Perks, would you have kicked him in the . . . would you have kicked him had you known?

Polly dropped a mug in her nervousness, and looked at Blouse.

You may answer, of course, Perks, said the lieutenant.

Well, yes, sir. I would have kicked him. Harder, probably. I was defending myself, sir, Polly said, carefully avoiding further details. You couldnt be sure what someone like de Worde would do with them.

Right, good, yes, said de Worde. Then you might be pleased with this. Our cartoonist Fizz drew this for the special edition. It was on the front page. Weve sold a record number of copies. He handed her a flimsy piece of paper, which by the look of the creases had been folded many times.

It was a line drawing, with lots of shading. It showed a huge figure, with a large sword, a monstrous monocle and a moustache as wide as a coathanger, menacing a much smaller figure armed with nothing more than an instrument for lifting beets  in fact there was a beet stuck on the end of it. At least, that was clearly what had been happening right up to the point when the smaller figure, wearing a not bad attempt at an Ins-and-Outs shako and a face that looked slightly like Pollys, had kicked the other one squarely in the groinal regions. A sort of balloon was coming out of Pollys mouth, containing the words: That for your Royal Prerogative, you Blaggard! The balloon issuing from the mouth of the ogre, who could only be Prince Heinrich, said: Oh my Succession! That such A Small Thing could hurt so Much! And in the background a fat woman in a rumpled ballgown and a huge old-fashioned helmet was clasping her hands to an unbelievably large bosom, staring at the fight with a mixture of concern and admiration, and ballooning: Oh my Swain! I fear our Liaison is Cut short!

Since no one else was saying much, but was simply staring, de Worde said, rather nervously: Fizz is rather, er, direct in these matters, but amazingly popular. Ahem. You see, the curious thing is that although Ankh-Morpork is probably the biggest bully around, in a subtle kind of way, we nevertheless have a soft spot for people who stand up to bullies. Especially royal ones. We tend to be on their side, provided it doesnt cost us too much.

Blouse cleared his throat. Its quite a good likeness of you, Perks, he said hoarsely.

I only used my knee, sir! Polly protested. And that fat lady certainly wasnt there!

Thats Morporkia, said de Worde. Shes a sort of representation of the city, except that in her case shes not covered in mud and soot.

And I have to add, for my part, said Blouse, in his talking-to-a-meeting voice, that Borogravia is in fact larger than Zlobenia, although most of the country is little more than barren mountainside

That doesnt actually matter, said de Worde.

It doesnt? said Blouse.

No, sir. Its just a fact. Its not politics. In politics, sir, pictures like this are powerful. Sir, even the alliance commanders are talking about you, and the Zlobenians are angry and bewildered. If you, the heroes of the hour, could make a plea for a little common sense

The lieutenant took a long, deep breath. This is a foolish war, Mr de Worde. But I am a soldier. I have kissed the Duchess, as we say. Its an oath of loyalty. Dont tempt me to break it. I must fight for my country. We will repel all invaders. If there are deserters, we will find them and rally them again. We know the country. While we are free, Borogravia will be free. You have had your say. Thank you. Where is that tea, Perks?

What? Oh, nearly done, sir! said Polly, turning back to the fire.

It had been a sudden strange fancy, but a stupid plan. Now, out here, all the drawbacks were visible. How would she have got Paul home? Would he have wanted to come? Could she have managed it? Even if he was still alive, how could she hope to get him out of a prison?

So youll be guerilla fighters, eh? said Mr de Worde, behind her. Madmen, all of you.

No, we are not irregulars, said Blouse. We kissed the Duchess. We are soldiers.

Oh, well, said de Worde. Then I admire your spirit, at least. Ah, Otto . . .

The vampire iconographer ambled up, and gave them a shy smile. Do not be afraid. I am a Black Ribboner just like your corporal, he said. Light is my passion now.

Oh? Er . . . well done, said Blouse.

Take the pictures, Otto, said de Worde. These gentlemen have a war to fight.

Out of interest, Mr de Worde, Blouse interrupted, how did you get the pictures back to your city so quickly? Magic, I assume?

What? De Worde looked momentarily off balance. Oh no, sir. Wizards are expensive and Commander Vimes has said that there is going to be no first use of magic in this war. We send things by pigeon to our office in the keep and then by clacks from the nearest trunk tower.

Oh, really? said Blouse, showing rather more animation than Polly had seen up until now. Using numbers to indicate a scale of grey shades, perhaps?

Mein Gotts! said Otto.

Well, yes, as a matter of fact we do, said de Worde. Im very impressed that you

I have seen the clacks towers on the far bank of the Kneck, said Blouse, his eyes lighting up. Very clever idea, using big shuttered boxes rather than the old-fashioned semaphore arms. And would I be right in my surmise that the box on the top, which opens its shutters once a second, is a kind of system, er, clock that makes certain the whole clacks line keeps in step? Oh, good. I thought so. One beat a second is probably the limit of the mechanisms, so no doubt all your efforts now are concentrated on maximizing the information content per shutter operation? Yes, I imagined that would be the case. As for sending pictures, well, sooner or later all things are numbers, yes? Of course, you would use each of the two columns of four boxes to send a grey code, but it must be very slow. Have you considered a squeezing algorithm?

De Worde and Chriek exchanged a glance. Are you sure you havent been talking to anyone about this, sir? said the writer.

Oh, its all very elementary, said Blouse, smiling happily. I had thought about it in the context of military maps which are, of course, mostly white space. So I wondered if it would be possible to indicate a required shade on one column and, on the other side, indicate how far along that rank that shade would persist. And a delightful bonus here is that if your map is simply in black and white, then you have even more

You havent seen inside a clacks tower, have you? said de Worde.

Alas, no, said Blouse. This is simply thinking aloud based on the de facto existence of your picture. I believe I can see a number of other little mathematical, ahem, tricks to make the passage of information even swifter, but I am sure these have already occurred to you. Of course, a fairly minor modification could potentially double the information burden of the whole system at a stroke. And that is without using coloured filters at night, which Im sure even with the overhead of extra mechanical effort would surely increase throughput by Im sorry, did I say something wrong?

The two men both wore a glazed expression. De Worde shook himself. Oh . . . er, no. Nothing, he said. Er . . . you seem to have got the grasp of things quite . . . quickly.

Oh, it was perfectly straightforward once I started thinking about it, said Blouse. It was exactly the same when I had to redesign the departments filing system, you see. People build something that works. Then circumstances change, and they have to tinker with it to make it continue to work, and they are so busy tinkering that they cannot see that a much better idea would be to build a whole new system to deal with the new circumstances. But to an outsider, the idea is obvious.

In politics as well as, er, filing systems and clackses, do you think? said de Worde.

Blouses brow wrinkled. Im sorry, I dont think I follow . . . he said.

Would you agree that sometimes a countrys system is so out of date that its only the outsiders that can see the need for wholesale change? said de Worde. He smiled. Lieutenant Blouse did not.

Just a point to ponder, maybe, said de Worde. Er . . . since you wish to tell the world of your defiance, would you object if my colleague takes your picture?

Blouse shrugged. If it gives you any satisfaction, he said. Its an Abomination, of course, but these days its hard to find something that isnt. You must tell the world, Mr de Worde, that Borogravia wont lie down. We will not give in. We will fight on. Write that down in your little notebook, please. While we can stand, we will kick!

Yes, but once again may I implore you to

Mr de Worde, you have I am sure heard the saying that the pen is mightier than the sword?

De Worde preened a little. Of course, and I

Do you want to test it? Take your picture, sir, and then my men will escort you back to your road.

Otto Chriek stood up and bowed to Blouse. He unslung his picture box.

This vill only take vun minute, he said.

It never does. Polly watched in horrified fascination as Otto took picture after picture of Lieutenant Blouse in a variety of what the lieutenant thought were heroic poses. It is a terrible thing to see a man trying to jut out a chin he does not, in fact, have.

Very impressive, said de Worde. I just hope you live to see it in my paper, sir.

I shall look forward to it with the keenest anticipation, said Blouse. And now, Perks, please go along with the sergeant and put these two gentlemen back on their way.

Otto sidled up to Polly as they walked back to the cart. I need to tell you somezing about your vampire, he said.

Oh, yes?

You are a friend of his? said Otto.

Yes, said Polly. Is something wrong?

Zere is a problem . . .

Hes got twitchy because he has run out of coffee?

Alas, if only it vas that simple. Otto looked awkward. You have to understand that ven a vampire forgoes . . . the b-vord, there is a process that ve call transference? Ve force ourselves to desire something else? For me this vas not painful. I crave the perfection of light and shade. Pictures are my life! But your friend chose . . . coffee. And now he has none.

Oh. I see.

I vunder if you do. It probably seemed so sensible to him. It is a human craving, and no one minds if you say, as it might be, I am dying for a cup of coffee, or Id kill for a cup of coffee. But without coffee, he vill, I am afraid . . . revert. You understand, this is very difficult for me to talk about . . . Otto trailed off.

By revert you mean . . . ?

First vill come mild delusions, I think. A psychic susceptibility to all kinds of influences from who knows vhere, and vampires can hallucinate so stronkly zat zey can be contagious. I zink zat is happening already. He vill become . . . erratic. This may last for several days. And then his conditioning vill break and he vill be, vunce again, a true vampire. No more Mr Nice Coffee Drinker Guy.

Cant I do anything to help him?

Otto reverentially laid his picture box in the back of the cart, and turned to her. You can find him some coffee, or . . . you can keep a vooden stake and a big knife ready. You vould be doink him a favour, believe me.

I cant do that!

Otto shrugged. Find someone who vill.

He is amazing! said de Worde, as the cart rocked back down through the trees. I know the clacks is against your religion, but he seems to understand all about it.

Like I said, sir, he assesses stuff, said Jackrum, beaming. Mind like a razor.

He was talking about clacks algorithms that the companies are only just now investigating, said de Worde. That department he was talking about

Ah, I can see nothing gets past you, sir, said Jackrum. Very hush-hush. Cant talk about it.

To be frank, sergeant, Id always assumed that Borogravia was, well . . . backward.

Jackrums smile was waxy and bright. If we seem to be a long way back, sir, its only sos we can get a good run-up.

You know, sergeant, its a great shame to see a mind like that wasted, said de Worde, as the cart lurched in a rut. This is not an age of heroes and famous last stands and death-or-glory charges. Do your men a favour and try to tell him that, will you?

Wouldnt dream of it, sir, said Jackrum. Here is your road, sir. Where will you be heading now?

To the Kneck valley, sergeant. This is a good story, sergeant. Thank you. Allow me to shake you by the hand.

Glad to hear you think that, sir, said Jackrum, extending his hand. Polly heard the faint clink of coins in their passage from palm to palm. De Worde took the reins.

But I must tell you, sergeant, that well probably send off our stuff by pigeon within the hour, he said. We will have to say you have prisoners.

Dont worry about that, sir, said Jackrum. By the time their mates come out here to rescue those gallopers, well be halfway back to the mountains. Our mountains.

They parted. Jackrum watched them out of sight, and turned to Polly.

Him with his airs and graces, he said. Did you see that? He insulted me by giving me a tip! He glanced at his palm. Hmm, five Morpork dollars? Well, at least hes a man who knows how to insult you handsomely, he added, and the coins disappeared into his jacket with remarkable speed.

I think he wants to help us, sarge, said Polly.

Jackrum ignored that. I hate bloody Ankh-Morpork, he said. Whore they to tell us what to do? Who cares what they think?

Do you think we can really join up with deserters, sarge?

Nope. They deserted once, whats to stop em a second time? They spat on the Duchess when they deserted, they cant kiss and make up now. You get one kiss, thats all.

But Lieutenant Blouse

The rupert should stick to sums. He thinks hes a soldier. Never walked on a battlefield in his life. All that rubbish he gave your man was death-or-glory stuff. And Ill tell you, Perks, Ive seen Death more often than I care to remember, but Ive never clapped eyes on Glory. Im all for sending the fools to look for us where we aint, though.

Hes not my man, sarge, said Polly.

Yeah, well, youre at home with the writin and readin, grumbled Jackrum. You cant trust the people who do that stuff. They mess around with the world, and it turns out everything you know is wrong.

They reached the gully again. The squad had come back from their various hiding places, and most were clustered around one of the newspapers. For the first time, Polly saw the Picture.

It was actually quite good, especially of Shufti and Wazzer. She was mostly hidden by the bulk of Jackrum. But you could see the sullen cavalrymen behind them, and their expressions were a picture in themselves.

Its a good one of Tonker, said Igorina, who didnt lisp so much when there were no officers to hear.

Do you think having a picture like this is an Abomination in the Eyes of Nuggan? said Shufti nervously.

Probably, said Polly absent-mindedly. Most things are. She ran her eye down the text next to the picture. It was full of phrases like plucky farm boys and humiliation of some of Zlobenias best troops and sting in the tail. She could see why it had caused trouble.

She rustled through the other pages. They were crammed with strange stories about places shed never heard of, and pictures of people she didnt recognize. But one page was a mass of grey text, under a line of much bigger printing which read:

Why This Mad State Must Be Stopped

Bewildered, her eye picked up phrases from the sea of letters: disgraceful invasions of neighbouring states, deluded worshippers of a mad god, a strutting bully, outrage after outrage, flying in the face of international opinion . . .

Dont you lads read that rubbish, you dont know where its been, said Sergeant Jackrum jovially, arriving behind them. Itll all be lies. We are leaving right Corporal Maladict!

Maladict, emerging from the trees, gave a lazy salute. He was still wearing his blanket.

What are you doing out of uniform?

Im in uniform underneath, sarge. We dont want to be seen, right? Like this, we become part of the jungle.

Its a forest, corporal! And without bloody uniforms, how the hell will we know our friends from our enemies?

Maladict lit a cigarette before he replied. The way I see it, sarge, he said, the enemy is everyone but us.

Just one moment, sergeant, said Blouse, who had looked up from a newspaper and had been watching the apparition with considerable interest. There are precedents in antiquity, you know. General Song Sung Lo moved his army disguised as a field of sunflowers, and General Tacticus once commanded a battalion to dress as spruces.

Sunflowers? said Jackrum, his voice oozing with disdain.

Both actions were successful, sergeant.

No uniforms? No badges? No stripes, sir?

Possibly you could be an extra large bloom? said Blouse, and his face betrayed no hint of amusement. And you have surely carried out actions at night, when all markings are invisible ?

Yessir, but night is night, sir, while sunflowers is . . . is sunflowers, sir! Ive worn this uniform for moren fift all my life, sir, and sneaking around without a uniform is downright dishonourable! Its for spies, sir! Jackrums face had gone beyond red into crimson, and Polly was amazed to see tears in the corners of his eyes.

How can we be spies, sergeant, in our own country? said Blouse calmly.

The el-tees got a point, sarge, said Maladict.

Jackrum turned like a bull at bay, and then to Pollys amazement he sagged. But she wasnt amazed for long. She knew the man. She didnt know why, but there was something about Jackrum that she could read. It was in the eyes. He could lie with eyes as honest and tranquil as those of an angel. And if he appeared to be backing away, it was indeed only to get a run-up later on.

All right, all right, the sergeant said. Upon my oath, I am not a man to disobey orders. And the eyes twinkled.

Well done, sergeant, said Blouse.

Jackrum pulled himself together. I dont want to be a sunflower, though, he said.

Happily there are only fir trees in this area, sergeant.

Point well made, sir. Jackrum turned to the awed squad. All right, Last Detail, he bellowed. You heard the man! Spruce up!

It was an hour later. As far as Polly could tell, theyd started out for the mountains but had travelled in a wide semi-circle so that they ended up facing back the way they had come, but a few miles away. Was Blouse leading, or had he left it to Jackrum?

Neither man was complaining.

The lieutenant called a halt in a thicket of birch, thus doubling the size of the thicket. You could say that the camouflage effects were effective, because bright red and white shows up against greens and greys. Beyond that, though, language tended to run out.

Jade had scraped off her paint, and was green and grey anyway. Igorina looked like a walking brush. Wazzer quivered like an aspen all the time, so her leaves rustled permanently. The others had made more or less reasonable attempts, and Polly was pretty proud of her own efforts. Jackrum was about as tree-like as a big red rubber ball; Polly suspected that hed surreptitiously shined up his brasswork, too. Every tree held a mug of tea in limb or hand. After all, theyd stopped for five minutes.

Men, said Blouse, as if hed only just reached that conclusion. You may have gathered that we are heading back towards the mountains to raise a deserters army there. This story is, in fact, a ruse for the benefit of Mr de Worde! He paused, as if expecting some reaction. They stared at him. He went on: We are, in fact, continuing our journey to the Kneck valley. This is the last thing the enemy will be expecting.

Polly glanced at the sergeant. He was grinning.

It is an established fact that a small, light force can get into places that a battalion cannot penetrate, Blouse went on. Men, we will be that force! Is that not right, Sergeant Jackrum?

Yessir!

We will come down like a hammer on those forces smaller than us, said Blouse happily.

Yessir!

And from those that outnumber us, we will merge silently into the forest

Yessir!

We will slip past their sentries

Thats right, sir, said Jackrum.

and take Kneck Keep from under their noses!

Jackrums tea sprayed across the clearing.

I dare say our enemy feels impregnable just because he commands a heavily armed fort on a rocky crag with walls a hundred feet high and twenty feet thick, Blouse continued, as if half the trees werent now dripping tea. But he is in for a surprise!

You all right, sarge? whispered Polly. Jackrum was making strange little noises in his throat.

Does anyone have any questions? said Blouse.

Igorina raised a branch. How will we get in, sir? she said.

Ah. Good question, said Blouse. And all will become apparent in due time.

Aerial cavalry, said Maladict.

Pardon, corporal?

Flying machines, sir! said Maladict. They wont know where to expect us. We touch down in a handy LZ, take them out, and then dust off.

Blouses clear brow wrinkled a little. Flying machines? he said.

I saw a picture of one by someone called Leonard of Quirm. A sort of . . . flying windmill. Its just like a big screw up in the sky

I dont think we need one of those, although the advice is welcomed, said Blouse.

Not when weve got a big screw-up down here, sir! Jackrum managed. Sir, this is just a bunch of recruits, sir! All that stuff about honour and freedom and that, that was just for the writer man, right? Good idea, sir! Yeah, lets get to the Kneck valley, and lets sneak in and join the rest of the lads. Thats where we ought to be, sir. You cant be serious about taking the keep, sir! I wouldnt try that with a thousand men.

I might try it with half a dozen, sergeant.

Jackrums eyes bulged. Really, sir? Whatll Private Goom do? Tremble at them? Young Igor will stitch em up, will he? Private Halter will give em a nasty look? Theyre promising lads, sir, but theyre not men.

General Tacticus said the fate of a battle may depend upon the actions of one man in the right place, sergeant, said Blouse calmly.

And having a lot more soldiers than the other bugger, sir, Jackrum insisted. Sir, we should get to the rest of the army. Maybe its trapped, maybe it isnt. All that stuff about them not wanting to slaughter us, sir, that makes no sense. The idea is to win, sir. If the rest of em have stopped attacking, its because theyre frightened of us. We should be down there. Thats the place for young recruits, sir, where they can learn. The enemy is looking for em, sir!

If General Froc is among those captured, the keep will be where he is held, said Blouse. I believe he was the first officer you served under as sergeant, am I right?

Jackrum hesitated. Thats right, sir, he said eventually. And he was the dumbest lieutenant Ive ever met, bar one.

I am positive there is a secret entrance into the keep, sergeant.

Pollys memory nudged her. If Paul was alive, he was in the keep. She caught Shuftis eye. The girl nodded. Shed been thinking along the same lines. She didnt talk much about her . . . fiance, and Polly wondered how official the arrangement was.

Permission to speak, sarge? she said.

Okay, Perks.

Id like to try to find a way into the keep, sarge.

Perks, are you volunteering to attack the biggest, strongest castle within five hundred miles? Single-handed?

Ill go, too, said Shufti.

Oh, two of you? said Jackrum. Oh, well, thats all right then.

Ill go, said Wazzer. The Duchess has told me that I should.

Jackrum looked down at Wazzers thin little face and watery eyes, and sighed. He turned back to Blouse. Lets get a move on, sir, shall we? We can talk about this later. At least were headed to Kneck, first stop on the road to hell. Perks and Igor, you take point. Maladict?

Yo!

Er . . . you scout on ahead.

I hear you!

Good.

As the vampire walked past Polly the world, just for a moment, changed; the forest became greener, the sky greyer, and she heard a noise overhead, like whopwhopwhop. And then it was gone.

Vampire hallucinations are contagious, she thought. Whats going on in his head? She hurried forward with Igorina, and they set off again through the forest.

Birds sang. The effect was peaceful, if you didnt know about birdsong, but Polly could recognize the alarm calls close by and the territorial threats far off and, everywhere, the preoccupation with sex. That took the edge off the pleasure.*

* Its hard to be an ornithologist and walk through a wood when all around you the world is shouting: Bugger off, this is my bush! Aargh, the nest thief! Have sex with me, I can make my chest big and red!

Polly? said Igorina.

Hmm?

Could you kill someone if you had to?

Polly came right back to the here and now. What sort of question is that to ask anyone?

I think its the sort youd ask a tholdier, said Igorina.

I dont know. If they were attacking me, I suppose. Hurt them hard enough to keep them lying down, anyway. And you?

We have a great respect for life, Polly, said Igorina solemnly. Its easy to kill thomeone, and almost impossible to bring them back again.

Almost?

Well, if you dont have a really good lightning rod. And even if you have, theyre never quite the same. Cutlery tends to stick to them.

Igorina, why are you here?

The clan isnt very . . . keen on girls getting too involved in the Great Work, said Igorina, looking downcast.  Stick to your needlework, my mother keeps saying. Well, thats all very fine, but I know Im good at the actual incisions as well. Especially the fiddly bits. And I think a woman on the slab would feel a lot better about things if she knew there was a female hand on the we-belong-dead switch. Tho I thought some battlefield experience would convince my father. Soldiers arent choosy about who saves their lives.

I suppose men are the same the world over, said Polly.

On the inside, certainly.

And . . . er . . . you really can put your hair back? Polly had seen it in its jar when theyd been breaking camp; it had spun gently in its bottle of green liquid, like some fine, rare seaweed.

Oh, yes. Scalp transplants are easy. It stings a bit for a couple of minutes, thats all

There was movement between the trees, and then the blur resolved itself into Maladict. He held a finger to his lips as he drew closer, and whispered urgently: Charlies tracking us!

Polly and Igorina looked at one another. Whos Charlie?

Maladict stared at them, and then rubbed his face distractedly. Im . . . sorry, er . . . sorry, its . . . look, were being followed! I know it!

The sun was setting. Polly peered over the rocky ledge, back the way they had come. She could make out the track, golden and red in the late afternoon light. Nothing was moving. The outcrop was near the top of another rounded hill; the rear of it became the floor of a little enclosed space, surrounded by bushes. It made a good lookout for people who wanted to see without being seen, and it had done so in the recent past, by the look of the old fires.

Maladict was sitting with his head in his hands, with Jackrum and Blouse on either side of him. They were trying to understand, and not making much progress.

So you cant hear anything? said Blouse.

No.

And you didnt see anything and cant smell anything? said Jackrum.

No! I told you! But there is something after us. Watching us!

But if you cant Blouse began.

Look, Im a vampire, panted Maladict. Just trust me, okay?

I thould, tharge, said Igorina, from behind Jackrum. We Igorth often therve vampireth. In timeth of strethth their perthonal thpace can extend ath much ath ten mileth from their body.

There was the usual pause that follows an extended lisp. People need time to think.

Streth-th? said Blouse.

You know how you can feel that someones looking at you? mumbled Maladict. Well, its like that, times a thousand. And its not a . . . a feeling, its something I know.

Lots of people are looking for us, corporal, said Blouse, patting him kindly on the shoulder. It doesnt mean that theyll find us.

Polly, looking down on the gold-lit woodland, opened her mouth to speak. It was dry. Nothing came out.

Maladict shook the lieutenants hand away. This . . . person isnt looking for us! They know where we are!

Polly forced saliva into her mouth, and tried again. Movement!

And then it wasnt there any more. Shed have sworn there had been something on the path, something that merged with the light, revealing itself only by the changing, wavering pattern of shadows as it moved.

Er . . . perhaps not, she muttered.

Look, weve all lost sleep and were all a little strung out, said Blouse. Lets just keep things down, shall we?

I need coffee! moaned Maladict, rocking back and forth.

Polly squinted at the distant pathway. The breeze was shaking the trees, and red-gold leaves were drifting down. For a moment there was just a suggestion . . . She got to her feet. Stare at shadows and waving branches for long enough and you could see anything. It was like looking at pictures in the flames.

O-kay, said Shufti, whod been working over the fire. This might do it. It smells like coffee, anyway. Well . . . quite like coffee. Well . . . quite like coffee if coffee was made from acorns, anyway.

Shed roasted some acorns. At least the woods had plenty of them at this time of year, and everybody knew that roasted, ground acorns could be substituted for coffee, didnt they? Polly had agreed that it was a worth a try, but as far as she could recall no one had ever, given the choice, said No, I will not touch horrible coffee any more! Its a Long Black ground-acorn substitute for me, with extra floating gritty bits!

She took the mug from Shufti and carried it over to the vampire. As she bent down . . . the world changed.

. . . whopwhopwhop . . .

The sky was a haze of dust, turning the sun into a blood-red disc. For a moment Polly saw them in the sky, giant fat screws spinning in the air, hovering in the air but drifting slowly towards her

Hes having flashsides, whispered Igorina, at her elbow.

Flashsides?

Like . . . someone elses flashbackth. We dont know anything about them. They could come from anywhere. A vampire at this stage is open to all sorts of influences! Give him the coffee, please!

Maladict grabbed the mug and tried to down the contents so quickly that they spilled over his chin. They watched him swallow.

Tastes like mud, he said, putting down the mug.

Yes, but is it working?

Maladict looked up and blinked his eyes. Ye gods, that stuff is gruesome.

Are we in a forest or a jungle? Any flying screws? Igorina demanded. How many fingers am I holding up?

You know, thats something an Igor should never say, said Maladict, grimacing. But . . . the . . . feelings arent so strong. I can suck it down! I can gut it out.

Polly looked at Igorina, who shrugged and said, Thats nice, and motioned to Polly to join her a little way off.

He, or possibly she, is right on the edge, she said.

Well, we all are, said Polly. Were hardly getting any sleep.

You know what I mean. Ive, er . . . taken the liberty of, er . . . being prepared. Wordlessly, Igorina let her jacket fall open, just for a moment. Polly saw a knife, a wooden stake and a hammer, in neatly stitched little pockets.

Its not going to come to that, is it?

I hope not, said Igorina. But if it does, Im the only one who can reliably find the heart. People always think its more to the left than

Its not going to come to that, said Polly firmly.

The sky was red. The war was a day away.

Polly crept along just below the ridge with the tea can. It was tea that kept the army on its feet. Remember whats real. . . well, that took some doing. Tonker and Lofty, for example. It didnt matter which of them was on guard, the other one would be there as well. And there they were, sitting side by side on a fallen tree, staring down the slope. They were holding hands. They always held hands, when they thought they were alone. But it seemed to Polly that they didnt hold hands like people who were, well, friends. They held hands tightly, as someone who has slipped over a cliff would hold hands with a rescuer, fearing that to let go would be to fall away.

Tea up! she quavered.

The girls turned, and she dipped a couple of mugs into the scalding tea.

You know, she said quietly, no one would hate you if you ran away tonight.

What do you mean, Ozz? said Lofty.

Well, whats there in Kneck for you? You got away from the school. You could go anywhere. I bet the two of you could sneak

Were staying, said Tonker severely. We talked about it. Where else would we go? Anyway, supposing something is following us?

Probably just an animal, said Polly, who didnt believe it herself.

Animals dont do that, said Tonker. And I dont think Maladict would get so excited. Its probably more spies. Well, well get them.

Nobody is going to take us back, said Lofty.

Oh. Er . . . good, said Polly, backing away. Well, must get on, no one likes cold tea, eh?

She hurried round the hill. Whenever Lofty and Tonker were together, she felt like a trespasser.

Wazzer was on guard in a small dell, watching the land below with her usual expression of slightly worrying intensity. She turned as Polly approached.

Oh, Polly, said Wazzer. Good news!

Oh, good, said Polly weakly. I like good news.

She says it will be all right for us not to wear our dimity scarves, said Wazzer.

What? Oh. Good, said Polly.

But only because we are serving a Higher Purpose, said Wazzer. And, just as Blouse could invert commas, Wazzer could drop capital letters into a spoken sentence.

Thats good, then, said Polly.

You know, Polly, said Wazzer, I think the world would be a lot better if it was run by women. There wouldnt be any wars. Of course, the Book would consider such an idea a Dire Abomination unto Nuggan. It may be in error. I shall consult the Duchess. Bless this cup that I may drink of it, she added.

Er, yes, said Polly, and wondered what she should dread more: Maladict suddenly turning into a ravening monster, or Wazzer reaching the end of whatever mental journey she was taking. Shed been a kitchen maid and now she was subjecting the Book to critical analysis and talking to a religious icon. That sort of thing led to friction. The presence of those seeking the truth is infinitely to be preferred to those who think theyve found it.

Besides, she thought as she watched Wazzer drink, you only thought the world would be better if it was run by women if you didnt actually know many women. Or old women, at least. Take the whole thing about the dimity scarves. Women had to cover their hair on Fridays, but there was nothing about this in the Book, which was pretty dar pretty damn rigorous about most things. It was just a custom. It was done because it was always done. And if you forgot, or didnt want to, the old women got you. They had eyes like hawks. They could practically see through walls. And the men took notice, because no man wanted to cross the crones in case they started watching him, so half-hearted punishment would be dealt out. Whenever there was an execution, and especially when there was a whipping, you always found the grannies in the front row, sucking peppermints.

Polly had forgotten her dimity scarf. She did wear it at home on Fridays, for no other reason than that it was easier than not doing so. She vowed that, if ever she got back, shed never do it again . . .

Er . . . Wazz? she said.

Yes, Polly?

Youve got a direct line to the Duchess, have you?

We talk about things, said Wazzer dreamily.

You, er, couldnt raise the question of coffee, could you? said Polly wretchedly.

The Duchess can only move very, very small things, said Wazzer.

A few beans, perhaps? Wazz, we really need some coffee! I dont think the acorns are that much of a substitute.

I will pray, said Wazzer.

Good. You do that, said Polly. And, strangely enough, she felt a little more hopeful. Maladict had hallucinations, but Wazzer had a certainty you could bend steel round. It was the opposite of a hallucination, somehow. It was as if she could see what was real and you couldnt.

Polly? said Wazzer.

Yes?

You dont believe in the Duchess, do you? I mean the real Duchess, not your inn.

Polly looked into the small, pinched, intense face. Well, I mean, they say shes dead, and I prayed to her when I was small, but since you ask I dont exactly, um, believe as she gabbled.

She is standing just behind you. Just behind your right shoulder.

In the silence of the wood, Polly turned. I cant see her, she said.

I am happy for you, said Wazzer, handing her the empty mug.

But I didnt see anything, said Polly.

No, said Wazzer. But you turned round . . .

Polly had never asked too many questions about the Girls Working School. She was, by definition, a Good Girl. Her father was an influential man in the community, and she worked hard, she didnt have much to do with men and, most importantly, she was . . . well, smart. She was bright enough to do what a lot of other people did in the chronic, reason-free insanity that was everyday life in Munz. She knew what to see and what to ignore, when to obey and when to merely present the face of obedience, when to speak and when to keep her thoughts to herself. She learned the ways of the survivor. Most people did. But if you rebelled, or were merely dangerously honest, or had the wrong kind of illness, or were not wanted, or were a girl who liked boys more than the old women thought you should and, worse, were not good at counting . . . then the school was your destination.

She didnt know much about what went on in there, but imagination rushed to fill the gap. And she wondered what happened to you in that hellish pressure cooker. If you were tough, like Tonker, it boiled you hard and gave you a shell. Lofty . . . it was hard to know. She was quiet and shy until you saw firelight reflected in her eyes, and sometimes the flames were there in the absence of any fire to reflect. But if you were Wazzer, dealt a poor hand to start with, and locked up, and starved, and beaten, and mistreated Nuggan knew how (and yes, Polly thought, Nuggan probably did know how) and pushed deeper and deeper into yourself, what would you find down there? And then youd look up from those depths into the only smile you ever saw.

The last man on guard duty was Jackrum, because Shufti was cooking. He was sitting on a mossy rock, crossbow in one hand, staring at something in his hand. He spun round as she approached, and Polly caught the gleam of gold as something was shoved back in his jacket.

The sergeant lowered the bow. You make enough noise for an elephant, Perks, he said.

Sorry, sarge, said Polly, who knew she hadnt. He took the tea mug, and turned to point downhill.

See that bush down there, Perks? he said. Just to the right of that fallen log?

Polly squinted. Yes, sarge, she said.

Notice anything about it?

Polly stared again. There must be something wrong about it, she decided, otherwise he wouldnt have asked her. She concentrated. The shadows wrong, she decided at last.

Good lad. The reason bein, our chum is behind the bush. Hes been a-watching of me, and Ive been a-watching of him. Nothing else for it. Hell have it away on his toes as soon as he sees anyone move, and hes too far away to drop an arrow on him.

An enemy?

I dont think so.

A friend?

Cocky devil, at any rate. He doesnt care that I know hes there. You go on back up the hill, lad, and bring down that big bow we got off of the There he goes!

The shadow had vanished. Polly stared into the wood, but the long light was getting crimson and dusk was unfolding between the trees.

Its a wolf, said Jackrum.

A werewolf? said Polly.

Now, what makes you think that?

Because Sergeant Towering said wed got a werewolf in the squad. Im sure we havent. I mean, wed have found out by now, wouldnt we? But I wondered if theyd seen one.

Cant do anything about it, anyway, said Jackrum. A silver arrow would do the job, but weve got none.

What about our shilling, sarge?

Oh, you think you can kill a werewolf with an IOU?

Oh, yeah. Then Polly added: Youve got a real shilling, sarge. Around your neck with that gold medallion.

If you could have twisted steel round Wazzers conviction, you could have heated it with Jackrums glare.

Whats round my neck is no business of yours, Perks, and the only thing worse than a werewolf is me if anyone tries to take my shilling off me, understand?

He softened as he saw Pollys terrified expression. Well move on after weve eaten, he said. Find a better place for a rest. Somewhere easier to defend.

Were all pretty tired, sarge.

So I want us all to be upright and armed if our friend comes back with his chums, said Jackrum.

He followed her gaze. The gold locket had slipped out of his jacket, and dangled guiltily on its chain. He deftly tucked it away.

She was just a . . . girl I knew, he said. Thats all, right? It was a long time ago.

I didnt ask you, sarge, said Polly, backing away.

Jackrums shoulders settled. Thats right, lad, you didnt. And I aint asking you about anything, neither. But I reckon wed better find the corporal some coffee, eh?

Amen to that, sarge!

And our ruperts dreaming of laurel wreaths all round his head, Perks. Weve got ourselves a goddamn hero here. Cant think, cant fight, no bloody use at all except for a famous last stand and a medal sent to his ol mum. And Ive been in a few famous last stands, lad, and theyre butcher shops. Thats what Blouses leading you into, mark my words. Whatll you lot do then, eh? Weve had a few scuffles, but thats not war. Think youll be man enough to stand, when the metal meets the meat?

You did, sarge, said Polly. You said you were in a few last stands.

Yeah, lad. But I was holding the metal.

Polly walked back up the slope. All this, she thought, and we havent even got there. Sarge is thinking about the girl he left behind . . . well, thats normal. And Tonker and Lofty only think about one another, but I suppose after youve been in that school . . . and as for Wazzer . . .

She wondered how shed have survived the school. Would she have grown hard, like Tonker? Would she have just folded up inside, like the maids who came and went and worked hard and never had a name? Or perhaps she would have become like Wazzer, and found some door in her own head . . . I may be lowly, but I talk to gods.

. . . Wazzer had said not your inn. Had she ever told Wazzer about The Duchess? Surely not. Surely she . . . but, no, she had told Tonker, hadnt she? That was it, then. All explained. Tonker must have mentioned it to Wazzer at some point. Nothing weird about it at all, even if practically no one ever had a conversation with Wazz. It was so hard. She was so intense, so coiled up. But that had to be the only explanation. Yes. She wasnt going to let there be any other.

Polly shivered, and was aware that someone was walking beside her. She looked up and groaned.

Youre a hallucination, right?

OH, YES. YOU ARE ALL IN A STATE OF HEIGHTENED SENSIBILITY CAUSED BY MENTAL CONTAGION AND LACK OF SLEEP.

If youre a hallucination, how do you know that?

I KNOW IT BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT. I AM SIMPLY BETTER AT ARTICULATING IT.

Im not going to die, am I? I mean, right now?

NO. BUT YOU WERE TOLD THAT YOU WOULD WALK WITH DEATH EVERY DAY.

Oh . . . yes. Corporal Scallot said that.

HE IS AN OLD FRIEND.YOU MIGHT SAY HE IS ON THE INSTALMENT PLAN.

Do you mind walking a bit more . . . invisibly?

OF COURSE. HOWS THIS?

And quietly, too?

There was silence, which was presumably the answer. And polish yourself up a bit, said Polly to the empty air. And that robe needs a wash.

There was no reply, but she felt better for saying it.

Shufti had cooked beef stew with dumplings and herbs. It was magnificent. It was also a mystery.

I dont 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 round and took a look inside . . .

Theres a name for someone who does that sort of thing, private, said Blouse severely.

Yeah, its 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 didnt think it up, sir, said Shufti brightly. Sarge told me to.

Polly stopped, spoon halfway to her mouth, and swivelled 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 Duchesss 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.

The two men held eye contact for a moment, and then Blouse reached behind him and into his pack. Polly saw him draw out a small yet thick book.

Rule 611, he murmured. Blouse glanced up at the sergeant, and thumbed through the thin, shiny pages. 611. Pillaging, Plundering and Looting. Ah, yes. And . . . let me see . . . you are with us, Sergeant Jackrum, owing to Rule 796, I think you reminded me at the time . . .

There was another silence broken only by the riffle of the pages. Theres no Rule 796, Polly remembered. Are they going to fight over this?

796, 796, said Blouse softly. Ah . . . He stared at the page, and Jackrum stared at him.

Blouse closed the book with a leathery flwap. Absolutely correct, sergeant! he said brightly. I commend you on your encyclopaedic knowledge of the regulations!

Jackrum looked thunderous. What?

You were practically word perfect, sergeant! said Blouse. And there was a gleam in his eye. Polly remembered Blouse looking at the captured cavalry captain. This was that same look, the look which said: now I have the upper hand.

Jackrums chins wobbled.

You had something to add, sergeant? said Blouse.

Er, no . . . sir, said Jackrum, his face an open declaration of war.

Well leave at moonrise, said Blouse. I suggest we all get some rest until then. And then . . . may we prevail. He nodded to the group, and walked over to where Polly had spread his blanket in the lee of the bushes. After a few moments there were some snores, which Polly refused to believe. Jackrum certainly didnt. He got up and strode out of the firelight. Polly hurried after him.

Did you hear that? snarled the sergeant, staring out at the darkening hills. The little yoyo! What right has he got, checking up in the book o words?

Well, you did quote chapter and verse, sarge, said Polly.

So? Officers are sposed to believe what theyre told. And then he smiled! Did you see? Caught me out and smiled at me! Thinks hes got one over on me, just because he caught me out!

You did lie, sarge.

I did not Perks! Its not lying when you do it to officers! Its presentin them with the world the way they think it ought to be! You cant let em start checkin up for themselves. They get the wrong ideas. I told you, hell be the death of all of us. Invading the bloody keep? The mans wrong in the head!

Sarge! said Polly urgently.

Yes, what?

Were being signalled, sarge!

On a distant hilltop, twinkling like an early evening star, a white light was flashing.

Blouse lowered his telescope. Theyre repeating CQ, he said. And I believe those longer pauses are when theyre aiming their tube in different directions. Theyre looking for their spies. Seek You, see? Private Igor?

Thur?

You know how that tube works, dont you?

Oh, yeth, thur. You jutht light a flare in the box, and then itth just point and click.

Youre not going to answer it, are you, sir? said Jackrum, horrified.

I am indeed, sergeant, said Blouse briskly. Private Carborundum, please assemble the tube. Manickle, please bring the lantern. I shall need to read the code book.

But thatll give away our position! said Jackrum.

No, sergeant, because although this term may be unfamiliar to you I intend to what we call lie, said Blouse. Igor, Im sure you have some scissors, although Id rather you didnt attempt to repeat the word.

I have thome of the appliantheth you mention, thur, said Igorina stiffly.

Good. Blouse looked round. Its almost pitch dark now. Ideal. Take my blanket and cut, oh, a three-inch circle out of it, then tie the blanket over the front of the tube.

That will cut off motht of the light, thur!

Indeed it will. My plan depends upon it, said Blouse proudly.

Sir, they will see the light, theyll know were here, said Jackrum, as though repeating things to a child.

I explained, sergeant. I will lie, said Blouse.

You cant lie when

Thank you for your input, sergeant, that will be all for now, said Blouse. Are we ready, Igor?

Jutht about, thur, said Igorina, tying the blanket across the end of the tube. Okay, thur. Ill light the flare when you thay.

Blouse unfolded the little book. Ready, private? he said.

Yup, said Jade.

On the word long you will hold the trigger for the count of two, and then let go. On the word short you will hold it down for the count of one, and likewise let go. Got that?

Yup, el-tee. Could hold it down for lots, if you like, said Jade. One, two, many, lots. Im good at countin. High as you like. Jus say der word.

Two will suffice, said Blouse. And you, Private Goom, I want you to take my telescope and look for long and short flashes from that light over there, understand?

Polly saw Wazzers face and said quickly: Ill do that, sir!

A small white hand was laid on her arm. In the miserly glimmer of the dark lantern, Wazzers eyes glowed with the light of certainty. The Duchess guides our footsteps now, she said, and took the telescope from the lieutenant. What we are doing is her work, sir.

Is it? Oh. Well . . . thats good, said Blouse.

She will bless this instrument of far seeing that I may use it, said Wazzer.

Indeed? said Blouse nervously. Well done. Now . . . are we ready? Send as follows . . . long . . . long . . . short . . .

The shutter in the tube clicked and rattled as the message flashed out across the sky. When the troll lowered the tube, there was half a minute of darkness. And then: Short . . . long . . . Wazzer began.

Blouse held the code book up to his face, his lips moving as he read by the pinpoints of light escaping from the loins of the box. W . . . R . . . U, he said. And M. . . S . . . G . . . P . . . R . . .

Thats not a message! said Jackrum.

On the contrary, they want to know where we are, because theyre having trouble seeing our light, said Blouse. Send as follows . . . short . . .

I protest, sir!

Blouse lowered the book. Sergeant, I am about to tell our spy that we are seven miles further away than we really are, do you understand? And I am certain they will believe us because I have artificially reduced the light output from our device, do you understand? And I will tell them that their spies have encountered a very large party of recruits and deserters heading for the mountains and are in pursuit, do you understand? I am making us invisible, do you understand? Do you understand, Sergeant Jackrum?

The squad held their breath.

Jackrum drew himself stiffly to attention. Fully understood, sir! he said.

Very well!

Jackrum continued at attention as the messages were exchanged, like a naughty pupil forced to stand by the teachers desk.

Messages flashed across the sky, from hilltop to hilltop. Lights flickered. The clacks tube rattled. Wazzer called out the longs and shorts. Blouse scribbled in the book. S . . . P . . . P . . . 2, he said aloud. Hah. Thats an order to remain where we are.

More flashes, sir, said Wazzer.

T . . . Y . . . E . . . 3 . . . said Blouse, still making notes. Thats be ready to give aid. N . . . V . . . A . . . S . . . N . . . Thats . . .

Thats not a code, sir! said Polly.

Private, send as follows right now! Blouse croaked. Long . . . long . . .

The message went. They watched, while the dew fell and, overhead, the stars came out and twinkled messages no one ever tried to read.

The clacks went silent.

Now we leave as soon as possible, said Blouse. He gave a little cough. I believe the phrase is Let us get the heck out of here.

Close, sir, said Polly. Quite . . . close.

There was an old, very old Borogravian song with more Zs and Vs in it than any lowlander could pronounce. It was called Plogviehze! It meant The Sun Has Risen! Lets Make War! You needed a special kind of history to get all that in one word.

Sam Vimes sighed. The little countries here fought because of the river, because of idiot treaties, because of royal rows, but mostly they fought because they had always fought. They made war, in fact, because the sun came up.

This war had tied itself in a knot.

Downriver, the valley narrowed to a canyon before the Kneck plunged over a waterfall a quarter of a mile high. Anyone trying to get up through the jagged mountains there would find themselves in a world of gorges, knife-edged ridges, permanent ice and even more permanent death. Anyone trying to cross the Kneck into Zlobenia now would be butchered on the shore. The only way out of the valley was back along the Kneck, which would put an army under the shadow of the keep. That had been fine when the keep was in Borogravian hands. Now that it had been captured, theyd be passing in range of their own weapons.

. . . And such weapons! Vimes had seen catapults that would throw a stone ball three miles. When it landed it would crack into needle-sharp shards. Or there was the other machine that sent six-foot steel discs skimming through the air. Once theyd hit the ground and leapt up again they were unreliable as hell, but that only made them more terrifying. Vimes had been told that the edged disc would probably keep going for several hundred yards, no matter how many men or horses it encountered on the way. And they were only the latest ideas. There were plenty of conventional weapons, if by that you meant giant bows, catapults and mangonels that hurled balls of Ephebian fire, which clung while it burned.

From up here, in his draughty tower, he could see the fires of the dug-in army all across the plain. They couldnt retreat, and the alliance, if thats what you could call the petulant hubbub, didnt dare head up the valley into the heart of the country with that army at their back, yet didnt have enough men to hold the keep and corral the enemy.

And in a few weeks it would start to snow. The passes would fill up. Nothing would be able to get through. And every day, thousands of men and horses would need feeding. Of course, the men could, eventually, eat the horses, thus settling two feeding problems at a stroke. After that there would have to be the good ol leg rota, which Vimes understood from one of the friendlier Zlobenians was a common feature of winter warfare up here. Since he was Captain Hopalong Splatzer, Vimes believed him.

And then it would rain, and then the rain and the snowmelt together would turn the damn river into a flood. But before that the alliance would have bickered itself apart and gone home. All the Borogravians had to do, in fact, was hold their ground to score a draw.

He swore under his breath. Prince Heinrich had inherited the throne in a country where the chief export was a kind of hand-painted wooden clog, but in ten years, he vowed, his capital city of Rigour would be the Ankh-Morpork of the mountains! For some reason, he thought Ankh-Morpork would be pleased about this.

He was anxious, he said, to learn the Ankh-Morpork way of doing things, the kind of innocent ambition that could well lead an aspiring ruler to . . . well, find out the Ankh-Morpork way of doing things. Heinrich had a reputation locally for cunning, but Ankh-Morpork had overtaken cunning a thousand years ago, had sped past devious, had left artful far behind and had now, by a roundabout route, arrived at straightforward.

Vimes leafed through the papers on his desk, and looked up when he heard a shrill, harsh cry outside. A buzzard came in a long, shallow swoop through the open window and alighted on a makeshift perch at the far end of the room. Vimes strolled over as the little figure on the birds back raised his flying goggles.

Hows it going, Buggy? he said.

Theyre getting suspicious, Mister Vimes. And Sergeant Angua says its getting a bit risky now theyre so close.

Tell her to come on in, then.

Right, sir. And they still need coffee.

Oh, damn! Havent they found any?

No, sir, and its getting tricky with the vampire.

Well, if theyre suspicious now then theyll be certain if we drop a flask of coffee on them!

Sergeant Angua says well probably get away with it, sir. She didnt say why. The gnome looked expectantly at Vimes. So did his buzzard. Theyve come a long way, sir. For a bunch of girls. Well . . . mostly girls.

Vimes reached out absent-mindedly to pet the bird.

Dont, sir! Shell have your thumb off! Buggy yelled.

There was a knock on the door, and Reg came in with a tray of raw meat. Saw Buggy overhead, so I thought Id nip down to the kitchens, sir.

Well done, Reg. Dont they ask why you want raw meat?

Yes, sir. I tell them you eat it, sir.

Vimes paused before answering. Reg meant well, after all.

Well, it probably cant do my reputation any harm, he said. By the way, what was going down in the crypt?

Oh, theyre not what Id call proper zombies, sir, said Reg, selecting a piece of meat and dangling it in front of Morag. More like dead men walking.

Er . . . yes? said Vimes.

I mean theres no real thinking going on, the zombie continued, picking up another lump of raw rabbit. No embracing the opportunities of a life beyond the grave, sir. Theyre just a lot of old memories on legs. That sort of thing gives zombies a bad name, Mister Vimes. It makes me so angry! Morag tried to snap at another lump of bloody rabbit fur that Reg, oblivious for the moment, was waving aimlessly.

Er . . . Reg? said Buggy.

How hard can it be, sir, to move with the times? Now take me, for example. One day I woke up dead. Did I

Reg! Vimes warned, as Morags head bobbed back and forth.

take it lying down? No! And I didnt

Reg, be careful! Shes just had two of your fingers off!

What? Oh. Reg held up a denuded hand and stared at it. Oh, now, will you look at that? He peered down at the floor, with a hope that was quickly dashed. Blast. Any chance we can make her throw up?

Only by sticking your fingers down her throat, Reg. Sorry. Buggy, do the best you can, please. And you, Reg, go back downstairs and see if theyve got any coffee, will you?

Oh dear, murmured Shufti.

Its big, said Tonker.

Blouse said nothing.

Not seen it before, sir? said Jackrum cheerfully, as they stared at the distant keep from where they lay in some bushes half a mile away.

If there is a fairy-tale scale for castles, where the top end is occupied by those white, spire-encrusted castles with the blue pointy roofs, then Kneck Keep was low, black and clung to its outcrop like a storm cloud. A bed of the Kneck ran round it; along the peninsula on which it was built the approach road was wide and bereft of cover and an ideal stroll for those who were tired of life. Blouse took all this in.

Er, no, sergeant, he said. Ive seen pictures, of course, but . . . they dont do it justice.

Any of them books you read tell you what to do, sir ? said Jackrum. They were lying in some bushes half a mile away.

Possibly, sergeant. In The Craft of War, Song Sung Lo said: to win without fighting is the greatest victory. The enemy wishes us to attack where he is strongest. Therefore, we will disappoint him. A way will present itself, sergeant.

Well, its never presented itself to me, and Ive been here dozens of times, said Jackrum, still grinning. Hah, even the ratsd have to disguise themselves as washerwomen to get in that place! Even if you get up that road, youve got narrow entrances, holes in the ceiling to pour hot oil through, gates everywhere that a troll couldnt smash through, coupla mazes, a hundred little ways you can be shot at. Oh, its a wonderful place to attack.

I wonder how the alliance got in? said Blouse.

Treachery, probably, sir. The worlds full of traitors. Or perhaps they discovered the secret entrance, sir. You know, sir? The one youre sure is there. Or praps youve forgotten? Its the sort of thing that can slip your mind when youre busy, I expect.

We shall reconnoitre, sergeant, said Blouse coldly, as they crawled out of the bushes. He brushed leaves off his uniform. Thalacephalos or, as Blouse referred to her, the faithful steed had been turned loose miles back. You couldnt sneak on horseback and, as Jackrum had pointed out, the creature was too skinny for anyone to want to eat and too vicious for anyone to want to ride.

Right, sir, yes, we might as well do that, sir, said Jackrum now, all gloating helpfulness. Where would you like us to reconnoitre, sir?

There must be a secret entrance, sergeant. No one would build a place like that with only one entrance. Agreed?

Yessir. Only, perhaps they kept it a secret, sir. Only trying to help, sir.

They turned at the sound of urgent praying. Wazzer had fallen to her knees, hands clasped together. The rest of the squad edged away slowly. Piety is a wonderful thing. N [?]

What is he doing, sergeant? said Blouse.

Praying, sir, said Jackrum.

Ive noticed he does it a lot. Is that, er, within regulations, sergeant? the lieutenant whispered.

Always a difficult one, sir, that one, said Jackrum. I have, myself, prayed many times on the field of battle. Many times have I said the Soldiers Prayer, sir, and I dont mind admitting it.

Er . . . I dont think I know that one, said Blouse.

Oh, I reckon the wordsll come to you soon enough, sir, once youre up against the foe. Genrally, though, theyre on the lines of O god, let me kill this bastard before he kills me. Jackrum grinned at Blouses expression. Thats what I call the Authorized Version, sir.

Yes, sergeant, but where would we be if we all prayed all the time? said the lieutenant.

In heaven, sir, sitting at Nuggans right hand, said Jackrum promptly. Thats what I was taught as a little nipper, sir. Of course, itd be a bit crowded, so its just as well we dont.

At which point, Wazzer stopped praying and stood up, brushing dust off her knees. She gave the squad her bright, worrying smile. The Duchess will guide our steps, she said.

Oh. Good, said Blouse weakly.

She will show us the way.

Wonderful. Er . . . did she mention a map reference at all? said the lieutenant.

She will give us eyes that we might see.

Ah? Good. Well, jolly good, said Blouse. I definitely feel a lot better for knowing that. Dont you, sergeant?

Yessir, said Jackrum.  cos before this, sir, we didnt have a prayer.

They scouted in threes, while the rest of the squad lay up in a deep hollow among the bushes. There were enemy patrols, but its not hard to avoid half a dozen men who stick to the tracks and arent being careful not to make a noise. The troops were Zlobenian, and acted as though they owned the place.

For some reason Polly ended up patrolling with Maladict and Wazzer or, to put it another way, a vampire on the edge and a girl who was possibly so far over it that shed found a new edge out beyond the horizon. She was changing every day, that was a fact. On the day theyd all joined up, a lifetime ago, shed been this shivering little waif who flinched at shadows. Now, sometimes, she seemed taller, full of some ethereal certainty, and shadows fled before her. Well, not in actual fact, Polly would admit. But she walked as if they should.

And then there had been the Miracle of the Turkey. That was hard to explain.

The three of them had been moving along the cliffs. Theyd circled a couple of Zlobenian lookout posts, forewarned by the smell of cooking-fires but, alas, not by the smell of any coffee. Maladict seemed to be mostly in control, except for a tendency to mutter to himself in letters and numbers, but Polly had stopped that by threatening to hit him with a stick the very next time he did it.

Theyd reached a cliff edge that gave yet another view of the keep, and once again Polly raised the telescope and scanned the sheer walls and jumbled rocks for any sign of another entrance.

Look down at the river, said Wazzer.

The circle of view blurred upwards as Polly shifted the scope; when it stopped moving she saw whiteness. She had to lower the instrument to see what shed been looking at.

Oh my, she said.

Makes sense, though, said Maladict. And theres a path all along the river, see? Theres a couple more women on it.

Tiny gateway, though, said Polly. And itd be so easy to search people for weapons.

Soldiers couldnt get through, them, said the vampire.

We could, said Polly. And were soldiers. Arent we?

There was a pause before Maladict said: Soldiers need weapons. Swords and crossbows get noticed.

There will be weapons inside, said Wazzer. The Duchess has told me. The castle is full of weapons.

Did she tell you how to make the enemy let go of them? said Maladict.

All right, all right, said Polly quickly. We ought to tell the rupert as soon as possible, okay? Lets get back.

Hold on, Im the corporal, said Maladict.

Well? said Polly. And?

Lets get back? said Maladict.

Good idea.

She should have listened to the birdsong, she realized later. The shrill calls in the distance would have told her the news, if only shed been calm enough to listen.

They hadnt gone more than thirty yards before they saw the soldier.

Someone in the Zlobenian army was dangerously clever. Hed realized that the way to spot interlopers was not to march noisily along the beaten paths, but to sneak quietly between the trees.

The soldier had a crossbow; it was sheer luck . . . probably sheer luck that he was looking the other way when Polly came round a holly bush. She flung herself behind a tree and gestured madly at Maladict further down the path, who had the sense to take cover.

Polly drew her sword and held it clutched to her chest in both hands. She could hear the man. He was some way away, but he was moving towards her. Probably the little lookout they had just found was a regular point on the patrol route. After all, she thought bitterly, it was just the sort of thing some untrained idiots might come across; maybe a quiet patrol could even surprise them there . . .

She shut her eyes and tried to breathe normally. This was it this was it this was it! This was where she found out.

What to remember what to remember what to remember . . . when the metal meets the meat . . . be holding the metal.

She could taste metal in her mouth.

The man would walk right past her. Hed be alert, but not that alert. A slash would be better than a stab. Yes, a good swipe at head height would kill . . .

. . . some mothers son, some sisters brother, some lad whod followed the drum for a shilling and his first new suit. If only shed been trained, if only shed had a few weeks stabbing straw men until she could believe that all men were made of straw . . .

She froze. Down the angle of the path, still as a tree, head bowed, stood Wazzer. As soon as the scout reached Pollys tree, shed be seen.

Shed have to do it now. Perhaps thats why men did it. You didnt do it to save duchesses, or countries. You killed the enemy to stop him killing your mates, that they in turn might save you . . .

She could hear the cautious tread close to the tree. She raised the sabre, saw the light flash along its edge

A wild turkey rose from the scrub on the other side of the path in one rocketing tower of wings and feathers and echoing noise. Half flying, half running, it bounded off into the woods. There was the thud of a bow and a last squawk.

Oh, good shot, Woody, said a voice near by. Looks like a big un!

Did you see that? said another voice. Another step and Id have tripped over it!

Behind her tree, Polly breathed out.

A third voice, some way off, called out: Lets head back, eh, corp? The way that went off, the Tigers probably run a mile!

Yeah, and Im so scared, said the closest voice. The Tigers behind every tree, right?

Okay, lets call it a day. My wifell cook him a treat

Gradually, the voices of the soldiers got lost amongst the trees. Polly lowered the sword. She saw Maladict peer out of his bush and stare at her. She raised a finger to her lips. He nodded. She waited until the birdsong had settled down a little before stepping out. Wazzer seemed to be lost in thought; Polly took her very carefully by the hand. Quietly, dodging from tree to tree, they headed back to the hollow. Most particularly, Polly and Maladict didnt talk. But they looked one another in the eye once or twice.

Of course a turkey would lie low until a hunter almost trod on it. Of course that one mustve been there all the time, and only lost its bird nerve when the scout crept up. It had been an unusually large bird, one that no hungry soldier could resist, but . . . well?

Because the brain treacherously does not stop thinking just because you want it to, Pollys added: she said the Duchess could move small things. How small is a thought in the mind of a bird?

Only Jade and Igorina were waiting for them in the hollow. The others had found a better base a mile away, they said.

We found the secret entrance, said Polly quietly, as they headed away.

Can we get in? said Igorina.

Its the washerwomens entrance, said Maladict. Its right down by the river. But theres a path.

Washerwomen? said Igorina. But this is a war!

Clothes still get dirty, I suppose, said Polly.

Dirtier, I should think, said Maladict.

But . . . our countrywomen? Washing clothes for the enemy? said Igorina, looking shocked.

If its that or starve, yes, said Polly. I saw a woman come out carrying a basket of loaves. They say the keep is full of granaries. Anyway, you sewed up an enemy officer, didnt you?

Thats different, said Igorina. We are duty bound to thave our fellow ma person. Nothing has ever been said about his their underwear.

We could get in, said Polly, if we disguised ourselves as women.

Silence greeted this. Then: Disguised? said Igorina.

You know what I mean! said Polly.

As washerwomen? said Igorina. These are thurgeons hands!

Really? Where did you get them? said Maladict. Igorina stuck out her tongue at him.

Anyway, I dont intend that we should do any washing, said Polly.

Then what do you intend? said Igorina.

Polly hesitated. I want to get my brother out if hes in there, she said. And if we could stop the invasion that would be a good idea.

That might take extra starch, said Maladict. I dont want to, you know, spoil the spirit of the moment, but that is a really awful idea. The el-tee wont agree to something as wild as that.

No, he wont, said Polly. But hell suggest it.

Hmm, said Blouse, a little later. Washerwomen? Is that usual, Sergeant Jackrum?

Oh, yes, sir. I expect the women in the villages round here do it, just like they did when we held the keep, said Jackrum.

You mean they give aid and comfort to the enemy? Why?

Better than starving, sir. Fact of life. It doesnt always stop at washing, neither.

Sergeant, there are young men here! snapped Blouse, blushing.

Theyll have to find out about ironing and darning sooner or later, sir, said Jackrum, grinning.

Blouse opened his mouth. Blouse shut his mouth.

Teas up, sir, said Polly. Tea was an amazingly useful thing. It gave you an excuse to talk to anyone.

They were in what remained of a half-ruined farmhouse. By the look of it, not even patrols bothered to come here  there were no signs of former fires or even the most temporary occupation. It stank of decay and half the roof was gone.

Do the women just come and go, Perks? said the lieutenant.

Yes, sir, said Polly. And I had an idea, sir. Permission to tell you my idea, sir? She saw Jackrum raise an eyebrow. She was laying it on thick, she had to admit, but time was pressing.

Please do, Perks, said Blouse. Else I fear you may explode.

They could be spies for us, sir! We could even get them to open the gates for us!

Well done, private! said Blouse. I do like a soldier to think.

Yeah, right, growled Jackrum. Any sharper an hell cut hisself. Sir, theyre washerwomen, sir, basically. No offence to young Perks, keen lad that he is, but your average guard pays attention when Old Mother Riley tries to open the gates. Theres not just a pair of gates, neither. Theres six pairs, and nice little courtyards between em for the guards to have a squint at you to see if yous a wrong un, and drawbridges, and spiky ceilings that drop down if someone doesnt like the look of you. Try opening that lot with soapy hands!

Im afraid the sergeant has a point, Perks, said Blouse sadly.

Well, supposing a couple of women managed to knock out a few guards, sir, they could let us in through their little door, said Polly. We might even be able to capture the commander of the fort, sir! I bet theres plenty of women in the keep, sir. In the kitchens and so on. They could . . . open doors for us!

Oh, come on, Perks Jackrum began.

No, sergeant. Wait, said Blouse. Astonishingly enough, Perks, in your boyish enthusiasm you have, although you havent realized it, given me a very interesting idea . . .

Have I, sir? said Polly, who in her boyish enthusiasm had considered trying to tattoo the idea on Blouses head. For someone so clever, he really was slow.

Indeed you have, Perks, said Blouse. Because, of course, we only need one washerwoman to get us inside, do we not?

The inverted commas sounded promising. Well, yes, sir, said Polly.

And, if one as it were thinks outside the box, the woman does not in fact need to be a woman!

Blouse beamed. Polly allowed her brow to wrinkle in honest puzzlement.

Doesnt she, sir? she said. I dont think I quite understand, sir. I am perplexed, sir.

 She could be a man, Perks! said Blouse, almost exploding with delight. One of us! In disguise!

Polly breathed a sigh of relief. Sergeant Jackrum laughed.

Lord bless you, sir, dressing up as washerwomen is for gettin out of places! Militry rules!

If a man gets inside, he could disable any guards near the door, spy out the situation from a military perspective, and let the rest of the troops in! said Blouse. If this was done at night, men, we could be holding key positions by the morning!

But these arent men, sir, said Jackrum. Polly turned. The sergeant was looking right at her, right through her. Oh darn, I mean damn . . . he knows . . .

I beg your pardon?

They are . . . my little lads, sir, Jackrum went on, winking at Polly. Keen lads, full of mustard, but they aint ones for cuttin throats and stabbin hearts. They signed up to be pikemen in the press, sir, in a proper army. You are my little lads, I says to em when I signed em up, and I will look after you. I cant stand by and let you take em to certain death!

Its my decision to make, sergeant, said Blouse. We are at the hinge of destiny. Who, in the pinch, is not ready to lay down his life for his country?

In a proper stand-up fight, sir, not getting beaten over the head by a bunch of nasty men for creeping around their fort. You know Ive never been one for spies an hidin your colours, sir, never.

Sergeant, we have no choice. We must take advantage of the tide of fortune.

I know about tides, sir. They leave little fish gaspin. The sergeant stood up, fists clenching.

Your concern for your men does you credit, sergeant, but it falls to us

A famous last stand, sir? said Jackrum. He spat expertly into the fire in the tumbledown hearth. To hell with them, sir. Thats just a way of dyin famous!

Sergeant, your insubordination is getting

Ill go, said Polly quietly.

Both men stopped, turned and stared.

Ill go, Polly repeated, louder. Someone ought to.

Dont be daft, Perks! snapped Jackrum. You dont know whats in there, you dont know what guards are waitin just inside the door, you dont know

Ill find out, then, sarge, wont I, said Polly, smiling desperately. Maybe I can get to somewhere where you can see and send signals, or . . .

On this issue, at least, the sergeant and I are of one mind, Perks, said Blouse. Really, private, it would simply not work. Oh, youre brave, certainly, but what makes you think you stand a chance of passing yourself off as a woman?

Well, sir . . . what?

Your keenness will not go unrecorded, Perks, said Blouse, smiling. But, yknow, a good officer keeps an eye on his men and I have to say that Ive noticed in you, in all of you, little . . . habits, perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, like the occasional deep exploration of a nostril maybe, and a tendency to grin after passing wind, a natural boyish inclination to, ahem, scratch your . . . selves in public . . . that sort of thing. These are the kind of little details thatd give you away in a trice and tell any observer that you were a man in womens clothing, believe me.

Im sure I could pull it off, sir, said Polly weakly. She could sense Jackrums eyes on her. You bloomi you bloody well know, dont you. How long have you known?

Blouse shook his head. No, they would see through you in a flash. You are a fine bunch of lads, but there is only one man here whod stand a chance of getting away with it. Manickle?

Yessir? said Shufti, rigid with instant panic.

Can you find me a dress, do you think?

Maladict was the first to break the silence. Sir, are you telling us . . . youre going to try to get in dressed as a woman?

Well, Im clearly the only one whos had any practice, said Blouse, rubbing his hands together. At my old school, we were in and out of skirts all the time. He looked around at the circle of absolutely expressionless faces. Theatricals, you see? he said brightly. No gels at our boarding school, of course. But we didnt let that stop us. Why, my Lady Spritely in A Comedy of Cuckolds is still talked about, I understand, and as for my Yumyum Is Sergeant Jackrum all right?

The sergeant had folded up, but with his face level with his knees he managed to croak: Old war wound, sir. Come upon me sudden, like.

Please help him, Private Igor. Where was I . . . I can see you all look puzzled, but theres nothing strange about this. Fine old tradition, men dressing up as gels. In the sixth form, the chaps used to do it for a jape all the time. He paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully, Especially Wrigglesworth, for some reason . . . He shook his head as if dislodging a thought and went on: Anyway, I have some experience in this field, dye see?

And . . . what would you do if I mean when you got in, sir? said Polly. You wont just have to fool the guards. Therell be other women in there.

That will not present a problem, Perks, said Blouse. I shall act in a feminine way and I have this stage trick, dye see, where I make my voice sound quite high-pitched, like this. The falsetto could have scratched glass. See? he said. No, if we need a woman, Im your man.

Amazing, sir, said Maladict. For a moment I could have sworn there was a woman in the room.

And I could certainly find out if there are any other badly guarded entrances, Blouse went on. Who knows, I might even be able to procure a key off one of the guards by means of feminine wiles! In any case, if things are all clear I shall send a signal. A towel hanging from a window, perhaps. Something clearly unusual, anyway.

There was some more silence. Several of the squad were staring at the ceiling.

Ye-es, said Polly. I can see youve thought this out carefully, sir.

Blouse sighed. If only Wrigglesworth were here, he said.

Why, sir?

Amazingly clever chap at layin his hands on a dress, young Wrigglesworth, said the lieutenant.

Polly caught Maladicts eye. The vampire made a face and shrugged.

Um . . . said Shufti.

Yes, Manickle?

I do have a petticoat in my pack, sir.

Good heavens! Why?

Shufti went red. She hadnt worked out an answer.

Bandageth, thur, Igorina cut in smoothly.

Yes! Yes! Thats right! said Shufti. I . . . found it in the inn, back in Plün . . .

I athked the lads to acquire any thuitable linen they might find, thur. Jutht in cathe.

Very sound thinking, that man! said Blouse. Anyone else got anything?

I wouldnt be at all thurprithed, thur, said Igorina, staring round the room.

Glances were exchanged. Packs were unslung. Everyone except Polly and Maladict had something, produced with downcast eyes. A shift, a petticoat and, in most cases, a dimity scarf, carried out of some sort of residual, unexplainable need.

You obviously mustve thought wed take serious damage, said Blouse.

Cant be too careful, thur, said Igorina. She grinned at Polly.

Of course, I have rather short hair at present . . . Blouse mused.

Polly thought of her ringlets, now lost and probably stroked by Strappi. But desperation spooled through her memory.

They looked like older women, mostly, she said quickly. They wore headscarves and wimples. Im sure Igori sure Igor can make up something, sir.

We Igorth are very rethortheful, thur, Igorina agreed. She pulled a black leather wallet out of her jacket. Ten minuteth with a needle, thur, thatth all I need.

Oh, I can do old women wonderfully well, said Blouse. With a speed that made Lofty jump, he suddenly thrust out both hands twisted like claws, contorted his face into an expression of mad imbecility and screeched, Oh deary me! My poor old feet! Things today arent what they used to be! Lawks!

Behind him, Sergeant Jackrum put his head in his hands.

Amazing, sir, said Maladict. Ive never seen a transformation like it!

Perhaps just a wee bit less old, sir? Polly suggested, although in truth Blouse had reminded her of her Auntie Hattie two-thirds of the way through a glass of sherry.

You think so? said Blouse. Oh, well, if youre really sure.

And, er, if you do meet a guard, er, old women dont usually try to, try to

canoodle whispered Maladict, whose mind had clearly been hurtling down the same horrible slope.

canoodle with them, Polly finished, blushing, and then after a seconds thought added, Unless shes had a glass of sherry, anyway.

And I do thuggetht you go and have a thhave, thur . . .

Thhave? said Blouse.

Shave, sir, said Polly. Ill lay out the kit, sir.

Ooh, yes. Of course. Dont see many old women with beards, eh? Except my Auntie Parthenope, as I recall. And . . . er . . . no ones got a couple of balloons, have they?

Er, why, sir? said Tonker.

A big bosom always gets a laugh, said Blouse. He looked round the row of faces. Not a good idea, perhaps? I got a huge round of applause as the Widow Trembler in Tis Pity Shes A Tree. No?

I think Igor could sew something a bit more, er, realistic, sir, said Polly.

Really? Oh, well, if you really think so . . . said Blouse dejectedly. Ill just go and get myself into character.

He disappeared into the buildings only other room. After a few seconds, the rest of them heard him reciting Lawks, my poor feet! in varying tones of fingernail screech.

The squad went into a huddle.

What was all that about? said Tonker.

He was talking about the theatre, said Maladict.

Whats that?

An Abomination unto Nuggan, of course, said the vampire. Itd take too long to explain, dear child. People pretending to be other people to tell a story in a huge room where the world is a different place. Other people sitting and watching them and eating chocolate. Very, very abominable.

I saw a Punch and Judy show in the town once, said Shufti. Then they dragged the man away and it became an Abomination.

I remember that, said Polly. Crocodiles should not be seen to eat figures of authority, apparently, although until the puppet show no one in the town knew what a crocodile was. The bit where the clown had beaten his wife had also constituted an Abomination, because hed used a stick thicker than the regulation one inch.

The lieutenant wont last a minute, you know, she said.

Yes, but he wont lithten, will he? said Igorina. Ill do my betht with my scissorth and needle to make a woman of him, but

Igorina, when its you talking about this sort of thing some very strange pictures turn up in my head, said Maladict.

Sorry, said Igorina.

Can you pray for him, Wazzer? said Polly. I think were going to need a miracle here.

Wazzer obediently closed her eyes and folded her hands for a moment and then said shyly: Im afraid she says it will take more than a turkey.

Wazz? said Polly. Do you really Then she stopped, with the bright little face watching her.

Yes, I do, said Wazzer. I really talk to the Duchess.

Yeah, well, I used to, too, snapped Tonker. I used to beg her, once. That stupid face just stared and did nothing. She never stopped anything. All that stuff, all that stupid The girl stopped, too many words blocking her brain. Anyway, why should she talk to you?

Because I listen, said Wazzer quietly.

And what does she say?

Sometimes she just cries.

She cries?

Because there are so many things that people want, and she cant give them anything. Wazzer gave them all one of her smiles that lit up the room. But everything will be fine when I am in the right place, she said.

Well, thats all right, then Polly began, in that cloud of deep embarrassment that Wazzer called up within her.

Yeah, right, said Tonker. But Im not praying to anyone, okay? Ever again. I dont like this, Wazz. Youre a decent kid, but I dont like the way you smile She stopped. Oh, no . . .

Polly stared at Wazzer. Her face was thin and all angles, and the Duchess in the painting had looked, well, like an overfed turbot, but now the smile, the actual smile . . .

Im not putting up with that! Tonker snarled. You stop that right now! I mean it! Youre giving me the creeps! Ozz, you stop her him smiling like that!

Just calm down, all of you Polly began.

Bleedin well shut up! said Jackrum. A man cant hear himself chew. Look, youre all edgy. That happens. And Wazzer heres just got a bit of religion before the fight. That happens, too. And what you do is, you save it all up for the enemy. Quieten down. That is what we in the militry call an order, okay?

Perks? It was Blouse.

Youd better hurry, said Maladict. His corset probably wants lacing . . .

In fact Blouse was sitting on what remained of a chair.

Ah, Perks. A shave, please, he said.

Oh, I thought your hand was better, sir . . .

Er . . . yes. Blouse looked awkward. The problem, Perks, is . . . I have never actually shaved myself at all, to be honest. I had a man to do it for me at school, and then of course in the army I shared a batman with Blitherskite and, er, those attempts I made on my own behalf have been somewhat bloody. I never really thought about it until I got to Plotz and, er . . . suddenly it was embarrassing . . .

Sorry about that, sir, said Polly. It was a strange old world.

Later on perhaps you could give me a few tips, Blouse went on. You keep yourself beautifully shaven, I cant help noticing. General Froc would be pleased. Hes very anti-whiskers, they say.

If you like, sir, said Polly. There was no getting out of it. She made a show of sharpening the razor. Perhaps she could manage it with only a few small cuts . . .

Do you think I should have a reddened nose? said Blouse.

Probably, sir, said Polly. Sarge knows about me, Im sure, she thought. I know he does. Whys he keeping quiet?

Probably, Perks?

What? Oh. No . . . why a red nose, sir? said Polly, applying the lather with vigour.

It would look more pff amusing, perhaps.

Not sure thats the purpose of the exercise, sir. Now, if youd just, er, lie back, sir

Theres something you should know about young Perks, sir.

Polly actually yelped. Walking as silently as only a sergeant can, Jackrum had stolen into the room.

pff Sergeant? said Blouse.

Perks doesnt know how to shave a man, sir, said Jackrum. Give me the razor, Perks.

Doesnt know how to shave? said Blouse.

Nosir. Perks lied to us, right, Perks?

All right, sarge, no need to drag it out, sighed Polly. Lieutenant, Im

under age, said Jackrum. Right, Perks? Only fourteen, arent you? He looked at Polly over the top of the lieutenants head, and winked.

Er . . . I told a lie to get enlisted, sir, yes, said Polly.

I dont think a lad like that ought to be dragged into the keep, however game he is, said Jackrum. And I dont think hes the only one. Right, Perks?

Oh, so thats the game. Blackmail, Polly thought.

Yes, sarge, she said wearily.

Cant have a massacre of little lads, sir, now can we? said Jackrum.

I see your pff point, sergeant, said the lieutenant, as Jackrum gently drove the blade down his cheek. That is a tricky one.

Best to call it a day, then? said Jackrum.

On the other hand, sergeant, I do know that you pff yourself joined up as a child, said Blouse. The blade stopped moving.

Well, it was all different in those Jackrum began.

You were five years old, apparently, the lieutenant went on. You see, when I heard that I would be meeting you, a legend in the army, of course I had a look at our files so that I could, perhaps, make a few timely jokes in presenting you with your honourable discharge. You know, humorous little reminiscences about times gone by? Imagine how puzzled I was, therefore, to find that you appear to have been drawing actual wages for, well, it was a little hard to be certain, but possibly as much as sixty years.

Polly had put a keen edge on the razor. It rested against the lieutenants cheek. Polly thought about the murder  oh, all right, the killing of an escaping prisoner  in the wood. It wont be the first officer Ive killed . . .

Probably one of them clerical errors, sir, said Jackrum coldly. In the gloomy room, with moss now colonizing the walls, the sergeant loomed large.

An owl, perched on the chimney, gave a screech. It echoed down into the room.

In fact no, sergeant, said Blouse, apparently oblivious of the razor. Your package, sergeant, had been tampered with. On numerous occasions. Once, even by General Froc. He deducted ten years from your age and signed the change. And he wasnt the only one. Frankly, sergeant, Im forced to only one conclusion.

And whats that, sir? The razor halted again, still pressed against Blouses neck. The silence seemed to last for some time, sharp and drawn out.

That there was some other man called Jackrum, said Blouse slowly, whose records have . . . got mixed up with yours and . . . every attempt to sort it out by officers who were, er, not entirely at home with figures only made it more confusing.

The razor started to move again, with silky smoothness. I think youve put your finger right on it, sir, said Jackrum.

I am going to write an explanatory note and add it to the packet, Blouse went on. It seems to me the sensible thing to do would be to ask you here and now how old you are. How old are you, sergeant?

Forty-three, sir, said Jackrum instantly. Polly looked up, expecting the generic thunderclap that ought to accompany such a universe-sized untruth.

Are you sure? said Blouse.

Forty-five, sir. The hardships of a soldiers life show up onna face, sir.

Even so

Ah, I recall a couple of extra birthdays what had slipped my memory, sir. Im forty-seven, sir. Still no rumble of celestial disapproval, Polly noticed.

Er . . . yes. Very well. After all, you should know, eh, sergeant? I shall amend it.

Thank you, sir.

Just like General Froc did. And Major Galosh. And Colonel Legin, sergeant.

Yessir. Clerical error has followed me around all the days of my life, sir. Ive been a martyr to it. Jackrum stood back. There we are, sir. Face as smooth as a babys bum. Smooth is how things should be, eh, sir? Ive always liked things smooth.

They watched Lieutenant Blouse walk down through the trees to the path. They watched him join the erratic, straggling line of women on their way to the door. They listened for screams, and heard none.

D-does any woman sway that much? said Wazzer, peering through the bushes.

Not legally, I think, said Polly, scanning the keep with the lieutenants telescope. Well, well just have to wait for some sort of signal that hes okay.

Somewhere overhead, a buzzard screamed.

No, theyll have got him the moment he walked through the door, said Maladict. Bet on it.

They left Jade on watch. With her paint scraped off, a troll could settle into rocky scenery so well that no one was likely to notice her before they walked into her, and by the time theyd walked into her it was too late.

They made their way back through the woods, and had almost reached the ruined farmhouse when it happened.

You are holding up well, Mal, said Polly. Maybe those acorns did the trick? You havent mentioned coffee at all

Maladict stopped, and turned slowly. To Pollys horror, his face was suddenly shiny with sweat. You had to bring it up, didnt you? he said hoarsely. Oh, please, no! I was holding on so tight! I was doing so well! He fell forward, but managed to get on to his hands and knees. Then he raised his head, and his eyes were glowing red. Fetch . . . Igorina, he muttered, gasping. I know shes ready for this . . .

. . . whopwhopwhop . . .

Wazzer was praying furiously. Maladict tried to stand up again, fell back on to his knees, and raised his arms imploringly to the sky.

Get out of here while you can, he mumbled, as his teeth visibly lengthened. Ill

There was a shadow, a sense of movement, and the vampire slumped forward, stunned by an eight-ounce sack of coffee beans that had dropped out of a clear sky.

Polly arrived at the farmhouse carrying Maladict on her shoulder. She made him as comfortable as possible on some ancient straw, and the squad consulted.

Do you think we ought to try to take the sack out of his mouth? said Shufti nervously.

I tried, but he fights, said Polly.

But hes unconscious!

He still wont let go of it! Hes sucking it. Id swear he was out cold, but he just sort of reached out and grabbed it and bit! It dropped out of a clear sky!

Tonker stared at Wazzer. The Duchess does room service? she said.

No! She says she d-didnt!

You get freak rainth of fish, said Igorina, kneeling down by Maladict. I suppose its possible that a whirlwind tore through a coffee plantation, and then possibly a lightning discharge in the upper ether

At what point did it blow through a factory making small coffee sacks? said Tonker. Ones with a jolly turbaned man printed on them apparently saying Klatchian Rare Roasted! When a Pickaxe is Not Enough! 

Well, if youre going to put it like that, it does theem a little far-fetched . . . Igorina stood up, adding, I think hell be fine when he wakes up. Possibly a little talkative, though.

Okay, lads, get some rest, said Jackrum, coming in. Lets give the rupert a couple of hours to muck things up, and then we can nip around the valley and slip down and join the rest of the army. Good grub and proper blankets to sleep on, hey? Thats the ticket!

We dont know hes going to mess up, sarge, said Polly.

Oh, yeah, right, maybe hell have married the commander of the garrison by now, eh? Stranger things have happened, although I cant remember when. Perks and Manickle, youre on watch. The rest of you, get some shut-eye.

A Zlobenian patrol went past in the distance. Polly watched it out of sight. It was turning into a fine day, warm with a bit of wind. Good drying weather. A good day to be a washerwoman. And maybe Blouse would succeed. Maybe all the guards were blind.

Pol? Shufti whispered.

Yes, Shuf . . . Look, what was your name back in the world?

Betty. Its Betty. Er . . . most of the Ins-and-Outs are in the keep, right?

Apparently.

So thats where Im most likely to find my fiance, yes?

Weve talked about that, Polly thought. Could be.

Might be quite hard if theres a lot of men . . . said Betty, a woman with something on her mind.

Well, if we get as far as the prisoners and ask around theyll be bound to know his name. What is it?

Johnny, whispered Betty.

Just Johnny? said Polly.

Er . . . yes . . .

Ah, Polly thought. I think I know how this goes . . .

Hes got fair hair and blue eyes, and I think he had one gold earring, and . . . and a funny-shaped . . . what dyou call it? Oh, yes . . . sort of carbuncle on his, his . . . bottom.

Right. Right.

Um . . . now I come to tell someone, it doesnt sound very helpful, I suppose.

Not unless were in a position to have a very unusual identity parade, Polly thought, and I cant imagine what position that would be.

Not as such, she said.

He said everyone in the regiment knows him, Betty went on.

Right? Oh, good, said Polly. All we need to do is ask.

And, er, we were going to break a sixpence in half, you know, like they do, so that if he had to be away for years wed be sure wed got the right person cos the two halves would match . . .

Oh, that would be a bit of a help, I expect.

Well, yes, except, well, I gave him the sixpence, and he said hed get the blacksmith to break it in his vice, and he went off and, er, I think he got called away . . . Bettys voice trailed off.

Well, that was about what I expected, Polly thought.

I expect you think Im a silly girl, mumbled Betty after a while.

A foolish woman, perhaps, said Polly, turning to watch the landscape intently.

It was, you know, a whirlwind romance . . .

Sounds more like a hurricane to me, said Polly, and Betty grinned.

Yes, it was a bit like that, she said.

Polly matched smile for smile. Betty, its daft to talk about silly and foolish at a time like this, she said. Where are we going to look for wisdom? To a god who hates jigsaws and the colour blue? A fossil government led by a picture? An army that thinks stubbornness is the same as courage? Compared to all that, all youve got wrong is timing!

I dont want to end up in the school, though, said Betty. They took away a girl from our village and she was kicking and screaming

Then fight them! said Polly. Youve got a sword now, havent you? Fight back! She saw the look of horror on Bettys face, and remembered that this wasnt Tonker she was talking to. Look, if we get out of this alive well talk to the colonel. He might be able to help. After all, perhaps your boy really was called Johnny, she thought, perhaps he really was called away suddenly. Hope is a wonderful thing. She went on: If we get out of this theres going to be no school and no beatings. Not for you or any of us. Not if weve got brains. Not if were smart.

Betty was almost in tears, but she managed another smile. And Wazzers talking to the Duchess, too. Shell fix things!

Polly stared out at the bright, unchanging landscape, empty except for a buzzard making wide circles in the forbidden blue. Im not sure about that, she said. But someone up there likes us.

Twilight was brief at this time of year. There had been no sign from Blouse.

I watched until I couldnt see, said Jade, as they sat and watched Shufti make stew. Some of der women dat came out was ones I saw goin in dis mornin, too.

Are you sure? said Jackrum.

We might be fick, sarge, said Jade, looking hurt, but trolls have great . . . er . . . vis-you-all ack-you-it-tee. More women was going in dis evenin, too.

Night shift, said Tonker.

Oh well, he tried, said Jackrum. With any luck hes in a nice warm cell and theyve found him a pair of long pants. Get your kit together, lads. Well creep around and into our lines and youll be snug in bed by midnight.

Polly remembered what shed said, hours ago, about fighting. You had to start somewhere. I want to try the keep again, she said.

You do, Perks, do you? said Jackrum, with mock interest.

My brothers in there.

Nice safe place for him, then.

He might be injured. I vote for the keep.

Vote? said Jackrum. My word, thats a new one. Voting in the army? Who wants to get killed, lads, lets have a show of hands? Knock it off, Perks.

Im going to try it, sarge!

You are not!

Try and stop me! The words came out before she could stop them. And thats it, she thought, the shout heard round the world. No going back after this. Ive run off the edge of the cliff and its all downhill from here.

Jackrums expression stayed blank for a second or two, and then he said, Anyone else voting for the keep?

Polly looked at Shufti, who blushed.

But: We are, said Tonker. Beside her, Lofty struck a match, and held it so that it flared. That was pretty much a speech from Lofty.

Why, pray? said Jackrum.

We dont want to sit around in a swamp, said Tonker. And we dont like being ordered around.

Should have thought of that before you joined an army, lad!

We arent lads, sarge.

You are if I says you are!

Well, its not as though I wasnt expecting it, Polly thought. Ive played this out enough times in my head. Here goes . . . All right, sarge, she said. Its time to have it out, here and now.

Ooo, er, said Jackrum theatrically, fishing his screwed-up paper of tobacco out of his pocket.

What?

Jackrum sat down on the remains of a wall. Just injecting a little sauciness into the conversation, he said. Carry on, Perks. Have your say. I thought itd come to this.

You know Im a woman, sarge, said Polly.

Yup. I wouldnt trust you to shave cheese.

The squad stared. Jackrum opened his big knife and examined the chewing tobacco as though it was the most interesting thing present.

So . . . er . . . what are you going to do about it? said Polly, feeling derailed.

Dunno. Cant do anything, can I? You were born like it.

You didnt tell Blouse! said Polly.

Nope.

Polly wanted to knock the wretched tobacco out of the sergeants hand. Now that she had got over the surprise, there was something offensive about this lack of reaction. It was like someone opening a door just before your battering ram hit it; suddenly you were running through the building and not certain how to stop.

Well, were all women, sarge, said Tonker. How about that?

Jackrum sawed at the tobacco.

So? he said, still paying attention to the job in hand.

What? said Polly.

Think no one else ever tried it? Think youre the only ones? Think your ol sarge is deaf, blind and stupid? You could fool one another and anyone can fool a rupert, but you cant fool Jackrum. Werent sure about Maladict and still aint, because with a vampire, who knows? And not sure about you, Carborundum, because with a troll, who cares? No offence.

None taken, rumbled Jade. She caught Pollys eye and shrugged.

Not so good at reading the signs, not knowing many trolls, said the sergeant. I had you down pat in the first minute, Ozz. Something in the eyes, I reckon. Like . . . you were watching to see how good you were.

Oh hell, Polly thought. Er . . . do I have a pair of socks belonging to you?

Yep. Well washed, I might add.

Youll have them back right now! said Polly, grabbing for her belt.

In your own time, Perks, in your own time, no rush, said Jackrum, raising a hand. Well washed, please.

Why, sarge? said Tonker. Why didnt you give us away? You couldve given us away any time!

Jackrum slewed his wad from cheek to cheek and sat chewing for a while, staring at nothing.

No, you aint the first, he said. Ive seen a few. Mostly by themselves, always frightened . . . and mostly they didnt last long. But one or two of them were bonny soldiers, very bonny soldiers indeed. So I looked at you lot and I thought to myself, well now, I thought, I wonder how theyll do when they find out theyre not alone? You know about lions? They nodded. Well, the lion is a big ol coward, mostly. If you want trouble, you want to tangle with the lioness. Theyre killers, and they hunt together. Its the same everywhere. If you want big grief, look to the ladies. Even with insects, right? Theres a kind of beetle where she bites his head off right while hes exercisin his conjugals, and thats what I call serious grief. On the other hand, from what I heard he carries on regardless, so maybe its not the same for beetles.

He looked around at their blank expressions. No? he said. Well, maybe I thought, a whole bunch of girls all at once, thats . . . strange. Maybe theres a reason. Polly saw him glance briefly at Wazzer. Anyway, I wasnt goin to shame you all in front of a little toad like Strappi, and then there was all that business in Plotz, and then, well, we was gallopin, as it were, caught up in things with no time to get off. You did well, lads. Very well. Shaped up like good uns.

Im going into the keep, said Polly.

Oh, dont worry about the rupert, said Jackrum. Probably hes enjoying a nice bowl of scubbo right now. He went to a school for young gentlemen, so prison will be just like old times.

Were still going, sarge. Sorry, said Polly.

Oh, dont say sorry, Perks, you were doing well up til then, said Jackrum bitterly.

Shufti stood up. Im going too, she said. I think my . . . fiance is in there.

I have to go, said Wazzer. The Duchess guides my steps.

Ill go, then, said Igorina. Im probably going to be needed.

I shouldnt fink I could get by as a washerwoman, rumbled Jade. Ill stay here and watch over Mal. Hah, if hes still after blood when he wakes up hes gonna have blunt teeth!

They looked at one another in silence, embarrassed but defiant. Then there was the sound of someone clapping, slowly.

Oh, very nice, said Jackrum. A band of brothers, eh? Sorry . . . sisters. Oh dear, oh dear. Look, Blouse was a fool. It was probly all them books. He read all that stuff about it being a noble thing to die for your country, I expect. I was never that keen on readin, but I know the job is making some other poor devil die for his.

He slewed his black tobacco from side to side. I wanted you to be safe, lads. Down in the press of men, I reckoned I could get you through this, no matter how many friends the Prince has sent after you. I look at you lads, and I think: you poor boys, you dont know nothin about war. What you goin to do? Tonker, you are a crack shot, but after one shot whos backing you up while you reload? Perks, you know a trick or two, but the blokes in the castle will maybe know a trick or five. Youre a good cook, Shufti; too bad its going to be too hot in there. Will the Duchess turn aside arrows, Wazzer?

Yes. She will.

I hope you are right, my lad, said Jackrum, giving the girl a long slow look. Persnally, Ive found religion in battle is as much use as a chocolate helmet. Youll need more than a prayer if Prince Heinrich catches you, I might add.

Were going to try it, sarge, said Polly. Theres nothing for us in the army.

Will you come with us, sarge? said Shufti.

No, lad. Me as a washerwoman? I doubt it. Dont seem to have a skirt anywhere about me, for a start. Er . . . just one thing, lads. How are you going to get in?

In the morning. When we see the women going in again, said Polly.

Got it all planned, general? And youll be dressed as women?

Er . . . we are women, sarge, said Polly.

Yes, lad. Technical detail. But you kitted out the rupert with all your little knick-knacks, didnt you? Whatre you going to do, tell the guards you opened the wrong cupboard in the dark?

Another embarrassed silence descended. Jackrum sighed. This aint proper war, he said. Still, I said Id look after you. You are my little lads, I said. His eyes gleamed. And you still are, even if the worlds turned upside down. Ill just have to hope, Miss Perks, that you picked up a few tricks from ol sarge, although I reckon you can think of a few of your own. And now Id better get you kitted up, right?

Perhaps we could sneak in and steal something from the villages where the servants come from? said Tonker.

From a bunch of poor women? said Polly, her heart sinking. Anyway, thered be soldiers everywhere.

Well, how do we get womens clothes on a battlefield? said Lofty.

Jackrum laughed, stood up, stuck his thumbs in his belt and grinned. I told you, lads, you dont know nuffin about war! he said.

. . . and one of the things they hadnt known was that it has edges.

Polly wasnt certain what shed expected. Men and horses, obviously. In her minds eye they were engaged in mortal combat, but you couldnt go on doing that all day. So there would be tents. And that was about as far as the minds eye had seen. It hadnt seen that an army on campaign is a sort of large, portable city. It has only one employer, and it manufactures dead people, but like all cities it attracts . . . citizens. What was unnerving was the sound of babies crying, off in the rows of tents. She hadnt expected that. Or the mud. Or the crowds. Everywhere there were fires, and the smell of cooking. This was a siege, after all. People had settled in.

Getting down on to the plain in the dark had been easy. There was only Polly and Shufti trailing after the sergeant, whod said that more would be too many and in any case would show up. There were patrols, but their edge had been dulled by sheer repetitiveness. Besides, the allies werent expecting anyone to make much effort to get into the valley, at least in small groups. And men in the dark make a noise, far more noise than a woman. Theyd located a Borogravian sentry in the gloom by the noise of him trying to suck a morsel of dinner out of his teeth. But another one had located them when they were a stones throw from the tents. He was young, so he was still keen.

Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe! The light from a cooking-fire glinted off a crossbow.

See? whispered Jackrum. This is where your uniform is your friend. Arent you glad you kept it?

He swaggered forward, and spat tobacco between the young sentrys boots. My names Jackrum, he said. Thats Sergeant Jackrum. As for the other bit . . . you choose.

Sergeant Jackrum? said the boy, his mouth staying open.

Yes, lad.

What, the one who killed sixteen men at the Battle of Zop?

There was only ten of em, but good lad for knowin it.

The Jackrum who carried General Froc through fourteen miles of enemy territory?

Thats right.

Polly saw teeth in the gloom as the sentry grinned. My dad told me he fought with you at Blunderberg!

Ah, that was a hot battle, that was! said Jackrum.

No, he meant in the pub afterwards. He pinched your drink and you smacked him in the mouth and he kicked you in the nadgers and you hit him in the guts and he blacked your eye and then you hit him with a table and when he came round his mates stood him beer for the evening for managing to lay nearly three punches on Sergeant Jackrum. He tells the story every year, when its the anniversary and hes pis reminiscing.

Jackrum thought for a moment, and then jabbed a finger at the young man. Joe Hubukurk, right? he said.

The smile broadened to the point where the top of the young mans head was in danger of falling off. Hell be smirking all day when I tell him you remember him, sarge! He says that where you piss grass dont grow!

Well, what can a modest man say to that, eh? said Jackrum.

Then the young man frowned. Funny, though, he thought you were dead, sarge, he said.

Tell him I bet him a shilling Im not, said Jackrum. And your name, lad?

Lart, sarge. Lart Hubukurk.

Glad you joined, are you?

Yes, sarge, said Lart loyally.

Were just having a stroll, lad. Tell your dad I asked after him.

I will, sarge! The boy stood to attention like a one-man guard of honour. This is a proud moment for me, sarge!

Does everyone know you, sarge? whispered Polly, as they walked away.

Aye, pretty much. On our side, anyway. Ill make so bold as to declare that most of the enemy that meets me dont know anything much afterwards.

I never thought it was going to be like this! hissed Shufti.

Like what? said Jackrum.

Theres women and children! Shops! I can smell bread baking! Its like a . . . a city.

Yeah, but what were after isnt going to be in the main streets. Follow me, lads. Sergeant Jackrum, suddenly furtive, ducked between two big heaps of boxes and emerged beside a smithy, its forge glowing in the dusk.

Here the tents were open-sided. Armourers and saddlers worked by lantern-light, shadows flickering across the mud. Polly and Shufti had to step out of the way of a mule train, each animal carrying two casks on its back; the mules moved aside for Jackrum. Maybe hes met them before, too, thought Polly, maybe he really does know everyone.

The sergeant walked like a man with the deeds to the world. He acknowledged other sergeants with a nod, lazily saluted the few officers there were around here, and ignored everybody else.

You been here before, sarge? said Shufti.

No, lad.

But you know where youre going?

Correct. I aint been here, but I know battlefields, especially when everyones had a chance to dig in. Jackrum sniffed the air. Ah, right. Thats the stuff. Just you two wait here.

He disappeared between two stacks of lumber. They heard a distant muttering and, after a moment or two, he reappeared holding a small bottle.

Polly grinned. Is that rum, sarge?

Well done, my little bar steward. And wouldnt it be nice if it was rum, upon my word. Or whisky or gin or brandy. But this dont have none of those fancy names. This is the genuine stingo, this is. Pure hangman.

Hangman? said Shufti.

One drop and youre dead, said Polly. Jackrum beamed, as a master to a keen pupil.

Thats right, Shufti. Its rotgut. Wheresoever men are gathered together, someone will find something to ferment in a rubber boot, distil in an old kettle and flog to his mates. Made from rats, by the smell of it. Ferments well, does your average rat. Fancy a taste?

Shufti shied away from the proffered bottle. The sergeant laughed. Good lad. Stick to beer, he said.

Dont the officers stop it? said Polly.

Officers? What do they know about anything? said Jackrum. An I bought this off of a sergeant, too. Anyone watching us?

Polly peered into the gloom. No, sarge.

Jackrum poured some of the liquid into one pudgy hand and splashed it on to his face. Ye-ouch, he hissed. Stings like the blazes. And now to kill the tooth worms. Got to do the job properly. He took a quick sip from the bottle, spat it out, and shoved the cork back in. Muck, he said. Okay, lets go.

Where are we going, sarge? said Shufti. You can tell us now, cant you?

A quiet little place where our needs will be met, said Jackrum. Itll be around here somewhere.

You dont half smell of drink, sarge, said Shufti. Will they let you in if you smell drunk?

Yes, Shufti, lad, they will, said Jackrum, setting off again. The reason being, my pockets jingle and I smell of booze. Everyone likes a rich drunk. Ah . . . down this little valley here, thatll be our . . . yeah, I was right. This is the place. Tucked away, delicate like. See any clothes hanging out to dry, boys?

There were a few washing lines strung behind the half-dozen or so drab tents in this side valley, which was little more than a wash gouged out by winter rains. If there had been anything on them it had been taken in against the heavy dew.

Shame, said Jackrum. Okay, so well have to do it the hard way. Remember: just act natural and listen to what I say.

Im sh-shaking, sarge. Shufti muttered.

Good, good, very natural, said Jackrum. This is our place, I think. Nice and quiet, no one watching us, nice little path up there to the top of the wash . . . He stopped at a very large tent and tapped on the board outside with his swagger stick.

The SoLid DoVes, Polly read.

Yeah, well, these ladies werent hired for their spelling, said Jackrum, pushing open the flap of the tent of ill repute.

Inside was a stuffy little area, a sort of canvas antechamber. A lady, lumpy and crowlike in a black bombazine dress, rose from a chair and gave the trio the most calculating look Polly had ever met. It finished off by putting a price on her boots.

The sergeant doffed his cap and in a jovial, rotund voice that peed brandy and crapped plum pudding said, Good evening, madarm! Sergeant Smiths the name, yes indeed! An me and my bold lads here have been so fortunate as to acquire the spoils of war, if you catch my drift, and nothing would do for it but they were clamouring, clamouring to go to the nearest house of good repute for to have a man made of em!

Little beady eyes skewered Polly again. Shufti, ears glowing like signal beacons, was staring fixedly at the ground.

Looks like thatd be a job and a half, said the woman shortly.

You never spoke a truer word, madarm! beamed Jackrum. Two of your fair flowers apiece should do it, I reckon. There was a clink as, staggering slightly, Jackrum put several gold coins on the rickety little table.

Something about the gleam of them thawed things no end. The womans face cracked into a smile as glutinous as slug gravy.

Well now, we are always honoured to entertain the Ins-and-Outs, sergeant, she said. If you . . . gentlemen would like to step through to the, er, inner sanctum?

Polly heard a very faint sound behind her, and turned. She hadnt noticed the man sitting on a chair just inside the door. He had to be a man, because trolls werent pink; he made Eyebrow back in Plün look like some kind of weed. He wore leather, which was what shed heard creaking, and he had his eyes just slightly open. When he saw her looking at him, he winked. It wasnt a friendly wink.

There are times when a plan suddenly isnt going to work. When youre in the middle of it is not the time to find this out.

Er, sarge, she said. The sergeant turned, saw her frantic grimace, and appeared to spot the guard for the first time.

Oh dear, wheres my manners? he said, lurching back and fumbling in his pocket. He came up with a gold coin which he folded in the astonished mans hand. Then he turned round, tapping the side of his nose with an expression of idiol[?] knowingness.

A word of advice, lads, he said. Always give the guard a tip. He keeps the riff-riff-raff out, very important. Very important man.

He stumbled back to the lady in black, and belched hugely. And now, madarm, if we can meet these visions of loveliness you are hiding under this here bushel? he said.

It depended, Polly thought a few seconds later, on how and when and after drinking how much of what whether you had those visions. She knew about these places. Serving behind a bar can really broaden your education. There were a number of ladies back home who were, as her mother put it, no better than they should be, and at twelve years old Polly had got a slap for asking how good they should have been, then. They were an Abomination unto Nuggan, but men have always found space in their religion for a little sinning here and there.

The word to describe the four ladies seated in the room beyond, if you wanted to be kind, was tired. If you didnt want to be kind a whole range of words were just hanging in the air.

They looked up without much interest.

This is Faith, Prudence, Grace and Comfort, said the lady of the house. The night shift has not yet come on, Im afraid.

Im sure these beauties will be a great education for my roaring boys, said the sergeant. But . . . may I be so bold as to enquire about your name, madarm?

Im Mrs Smother, sergeant.

And do you have a first name, may I ask?

Dolores, said Mrs Smother, to my . . . special friends.

Well now, Dolores, said Jackrum, and there was another jingle of coins in his pocket, I will come right out with it and be frank, because I can see you are a woman of the world. These frail blossoms are all very well in their way, for I know the fashion these days is for ladies with less meat on em than a butchers pencil, but a gentleman such as me, who has been around the world and seen a thing or two, well, he learns the value of . . . maturity. He sighed. Not to mention Hope and Patience. The coins jingled again. Perhaps you and I might retire to some suitable boodwah, madarm, and discuss the matter over a cordial or two?

Mrs Smother looked from the sergeant to the lads, glanced back in the anteroom, and looked back at Jackrum with her head on one side and a thin, calculating smile on her lips.

Ye-es, she said. Youre a fine figure of a man, Sergeant Smith. Let us take a load off your . . . pockets, shall we?

She joined arm-in-arm with the sergeant, who winked roguishly at Polly and Shufti. Were well set, then, lads! he chuckled. Now, just sos you dont get carried away, when its time to go Ill blow my whistle and you better finish what youre doin, haha, and meet me sharpish. Duty calls! Remember the fine tradition of the Ins-and Outs! Giggling and almost tripping up, he left the room on the arm of the proprietress.

Shufti sidled hurriedly up to Polly and whispered: Is sarge all right, Ozzer?

Hes just had a bit too much to drink, said Polly loudly, as all four of the girls stood up.

But he Shufti got a nudge in the ribs before she could say any more. One of the girls carefully laid down her knitting, took Pollys arm, flashed her finely crafted expression of interest and said, Youre a well-set-up young man, arent you . . . whats your namer[?] dear? Im Gracie.

Oliver, said Polly. And what the hell is the fine tradition of the Ins-and-Outs?

Ever seen a woman with no clothes on before, Oliver? The girls giggled.

Pollys brow wrinkled as, just for a moment, she was caught unawares. Yes, she said. Of course.

Ooo, it looks like weve got ourselves a regular Don Joo-ann, girls, said Gracie, stepping back. We may have to send out for reinforcements! Why dont you an me and Prudence go off to a little nook I know, and your little friend will be the guest of Faith and Comfort. Comforts very good with young men, aint you, Comfort?

Sergeant Jackrum had been wrong in his description of the girls. Three of them were indeed several meals short of a healthy weight, but when Comfort got up out of her large armchair you realized that it had, in fact, been quite a small armchair and had mostly been Comfort. For a large woman she had a small face, locked in a piggy-eyed scowl. There was a deaths head tattoo on one arm.

Hes young, said Gracie. Hell heal. Come along, Don Joo-ann . . .

In a way, Polly was relieved. She didnt take to the girls. Oh, the profession could bring anyone down, but shed got to know some of her towns ladies of uneasy virtue and they had an edge she couldnt find here.

Why do you work here? she said, as they entered a smaller, canvas-walled room. There was a rickety bed taking up most of the space.

You know, you look a bit too young to be that sort of customer, said Gracie.

What sort? said Polly.

Oh, a holy joe, said Gracie.  Whats a girl like you doing in a place like this? and all that stuff. Feel sorry for us, do you? At least if someone cuts up rough weve got Garry outside and after hes finished with the bloke the colonel gets told and the bastard gets bunged in clink.

Yeah, said Prudence. From what we hear were the safest ladies within twenty-five miles. Old Smothers not too bad. We get money to keep and we get fed and she dont beat us, which is more than can be said for husbands, and you cant wander around loose, now, can you?

Jackrum put up with Blouse because youve got to have an officer, Polly thought. If you dont have an officer, some other officerll take you over. And a woman by herself is missing a man, while a man by himself is his own master. Trousers. Thats the secret. Trousers and a pair of socks. I never dreamed it was like this. Put on trousers and the world changes. We walk different. We act different. I see these girls and I think: idiots! Get yourself some trousers!

Can you please get your clothes off? she said. I think wed better hurry.

One of the Ins-and-Outs, this one, said Gracie, slipping her dress off her shoulders. Keep an eye on your cheeses, Pru!

Er . . . why does that mean were in the Ins-and-Outs? said Polly. She made a show of unbuttoning her jacket, wishing that she believed in anyone there to pray to so that she could pray for the whistle.

Thats cos you lads always have your eye on business, said Gracie.

And maybe there was someone listening, at that. The whistle blew.

Polly grabbed the dresses and ran out, oblivious of the yells behind her. She collided with Shufti outside, tripped over the groaning form of Garry, saw Sergeant Jackrum holding the tent flap open, and bulleted into the night.

This way! the sergeant hissed, grabbing her by the collar before shed gone a few feet and swinging her round. You too, Shufti! Move!

He ran up the side of the wash like a childs balloon being blown by the wind, leaving them to scramble after him. His arms were full of clothing, which snagged and danced behind him. Up above was knee-deep scrub, treacherous in the gloom. They tripped and staggered across it until they reached heavier growth, whereupon the sergeant got hold of both of them and pushed them into the bushes. The shouts and screams were fainter now.

Now well just keep quiet, like, he whispered. Theres patrols about.

Theyll be bound to find us, Polly hissed, while Shufti wheezed.

No, they wont, said Jackrum. First, theyll all be running towards the shoutin, because thats natur there they go . . . Polly heard more shouts in the distance. And bloody fools they are, too. Theyre supposed to be guarding the perimeter, and theyre running towards trouble in the camp. And theyre running straight towards lamplight, so there goes their night eyes! If I was their sergeant theyd be due a fizzer! Cmon. He stood up, and hauled Shufti to her feet. Feeling all right, lad?

It w-was horrible, sarge! One of them put her hand . . . on . . . on my socks!

Something that doesnt often happen, Ill bet any man, said Jackrum. But you did a good job. Now, well walk nice and quiet, and no more talking til I say, okay?

They plodded on for ten minutes, skirting the camp. They heard several patrols, and saw a couple of others on the hilltops as the moon rose, but it dawned on Polly that, loud though the shouting had been, it was only part of the huge patchwork of sound that rose from the camp. The patrols this far away probably hadnt heard it, or at least were commanded by the kinds of soldiers who didnt want to get put on a fizzer.

In the dark, she heard Jackrum take a deep breath. Okay, thats far enough. Not a bad job of work, lads. Youre real Ins-and-Outs now!

That guard was out cold, said Polly. Did you hit him?

Ysee, Im fat, said Jackrum. People dont think fat men can fight. They think fat men are funny. They think wrong. Gave im a chop to the windpipe.

Sarge! said Shufti, horrified.

What? What? He was coming at me with his club! said Jackrum.

Why was he doing that, sarge? said Polly.

Ooh, you cunning soldier, you, said Jackrum. All right, I grant you that Id just given madarm the ol quietus, but to be fair I know when someones just handed me a bleedin drink full o sleepy drops.

You hit a woman, sarge? said Polly.

Yeah, and maybe when she wakes up in her corsets shell decide that next time a poor ol drunk fat man wanders in it mightnt be such a good idea to try to roll him for his wad, growled Jackrum. Id be in a ditch wiout my drawers on and a damned great headache if shed had her way, and if you two was daft enough to complain to an officer shed swear black was blue that I didnt have a penny on me when I came in and was drunk and disorderly. And the colonel wouldnt care a fig, cos hed reckon a sergeant daft enough to get caught like that had it coming to him. I know, you see. I look after my lads. There was a clink in the dark. Plus a few extra dollars wont go amiss.

Sarge, you didnt steal the cashbox, did you? said Polly.

Yeah. Got a good armful of her wardrobe, too.

Good! said Shufti fervently. It wasnt a nice place!

It was mostly my money in any case, said Jackrum. Business has been a bit slow today, by the feel of it.

But its immoral earnings! said Polly, and then felt a complete fool for saying it.

No, said Jackrum. It was immoral earnings, now its the proceeds of common theft. Lifes a lot easier when you learns to think straight.

Polly was glad there was no mirror. The best that could be said for the squads new clothing was that it covered them up. But this was a war. You seldom saw new clothes on anybody. Yet they felt awkward. And there was no sense in that at all. But they looked at one another in the chilly light of dawn and giggled in embarrassment. Wow, Polly thought, look at us: dressed as women.

Oddly enough, it was Igorina who really looked the part. Shed disappeared into the other tumbledown room carrying her pack. For ten minutes the squad had heard the occasional grunt or ouch, and then shed returned with a full head of fair, shoulder-length hair. Her face was the right shape, missing the lumps and bumps theyd come to know. And the stitches on her forehead shrank and disappeared as Polly watched in astonishment.

Doesnt that hurt? she said.

It smarts a bit for a few minutes, said Igorina. You just have to have the knack. And the special ointment, of course.

But whys there a curved scar on your cheek now? said Tonker. And those stitches are staying.

Igorina looked down demurely. Shed even restyled one of the dresses into a dirndl, and looked like a fresh young maid from the beer cellar. Just to look at her was to mentally order a large pretzel.

Youve got to have something to show, she said. Otherwise youre letting down the clan. And actually I think the stitches are rather fetching . . .

Well, okay, Tonker conceded. But lisp a bit, will you? I know this is completely wrong, but now you look, oh, I dont know . . . weird, I suppose.

Okay, line up, said Jackrum. He stood back, and gave them a look of theatrical disdain. Well, Ive never seen such a lot of scrubb washerwomen in all my life, he said. I wish you all the luck youre bleeding well gonna need. Therell be someone watching the door for you to come out, and thats all I can promise. Private Perks, youre acting unpaid corporal on this one. I hope youve picked up one or two little lessons on our stroll. In and out, thats what you should do. No famous last stands, please. When in doubt, kick em in the nadgers and scarper. Mind you, if you frighten them like you frighten me, you should have no trouble.

Are you sure you wont join us, sarge? said Tonker, still trying not to laugh.

No, lad. You wont get me in skirts. Everyone has their place, right? The place where they draw the line? Well, thats mine. Im pretty steeped in sin, one way and another, but Jackrum always shows his colours. Im an old soldier. Ill fight like a soldier does, in the ranks, on the battlefield. Besides, if I went in there simpering in petticoats Id never hear the end of it.

The Duchess says there is a d-different path for Sergeant Jackrum, said Wazzer.

And I dont know if you dont frighten me worst of all, Private Goom, said Jackrum. He hitched up his equatorial belt. Youre right, though. When youre inside I shall nip down, nice and quiet, and slip into our lines. If I cant raise a little diversionary attack, my names not Sergeant Jackrum. And since it is Sergeant Jackrum, that proves it. Hah, theres plenty of men in this mans army that owe me a favour  he gave a little sniff  or wouldnt say no to my face. And plenty of likely lads wholl want to tell their grandchildren they fought alongside Jackrum, too. Well, Ill give em their chance at real soldierin.

Sarge, itll be suicide to attack the main gates! said Polly.

Jackrum slapped his belly. See this lot? he said. Its like having yer own armour. Bloke once stuck a blade in this up to the hilt and was as surprised as hell when I nutted him. Anyway, you ladsll be making so much fuss the guards will be distracted, right? Youre relying on me, Im relying on you. Thats militry, that is. You give me a signal, any signal. Thats all Ill need.

The Duchess says your path takes you further, said Wazzer.

Oh yeah? said Jackrum jovially. And wheres that, then? Somewhere with a good pub, I hope!

The Duchess says, um, it should lead to the town of Scritz, said Wazzer. She said it quietly while the rest of the squad were laughing, less at the comment than as a way of losing some of the tension. But Polly heard it.

Jackrum really, really was good, she thought. The fleeting expression of terror was gone in an instant. Scritz? Nothing there, he said. Dull town.

There was a sword, said Wazzer.

Jackrum was ready this time. There was not a flicker of expression, just the blank face that he was so good at. And that was odd, Polly thought, because there should have been something, even if it was only puzzlement.

Handled lots of swords in my time, he said dismissively. Yes, Private Halter?

Theres one thing you didnt tell us, sarge, said Tonker, lowering her hand. Why is the regiment called the Ins-and-Outs?

First into battle, last out of the fray, said Jackrum automatically.

So why are we nicknamed the Cheesemongers?

Yes, said Shufti. Why, sarge? Because the way those girls were talking, it sounded like its something we ought to know.

Jackrum made a clicking noise of exasperation. Oh, Tonker, why the hell did you wait til youd got your trousers off before asking me that? Ill feel embarrassed telling yer now! And Polly thought: thats bait, right? You want to tell us. You want to get any conversation away from Scritz . . .

Ah, said Tonker. Its about sex, then, is it?

Not as such, no . . .

Well, tell me, then, said Tonker. Id like to know before I die. If it makes you feel any better Ill nudge people and go gnher, gnher, gnher.

Jackrum sighed. Theres a song, he said. It starts Twas on a Monday morning, all in the month of May

Then it is about sex, said Polly flatly. Its a folk song, it starts with twas, it takes place in May, QED its about sex. Is a milkmaid involved? I bet there is.

There could be, Jackrum conceded.

Going for to market? For to sell her wares? said Polly.

Very likely.

O-kay. That gives us the cheese. And she meets, lets see, a soldier, a sailor, a jolly ploughboy or just possibly a man clothed all in leather, I expect? No, since its about us, itll be a soldier, right? And since its one of the Ins-and-Outs . . . oh dear, I feel a humorous double-entendre coming on. Just one question: what item of her clothing fell down or came untied?

Her garter, said Jackrum. Youve heard it before, Perks.

No, but I just know how folk songs go. We had folk singers in the lower bar for six months back hom where I worked. In the end we had to get a man in with a ferret. But you remember stuff . . . oh, no . . .

Was there canoodling, sarge? said Tonker, grinning.

Kayaking, I expect, said Igorina, to general sniggering.

No, he stole the cheese, didnt he? sighed Polly. As the poor girl was lying there waiting for her garter to be tied, hem hem, he damn well made off with her cheese, right?

Er . . . not damn. Not with the skirt on, Ozz, Tonker warned.

Then its not Ozz, either, said Polly. Fill yer hat with bread, fill yer boots with soup! And steal the cheese, eh, sarge?

Thats right. Weve always been a very practical regiment, said Jackrum. An army marches on its stomach, lads. On mine, o course, it could troop the colour!

It was her own fault. She should have been able to tie up her own garters, said Lofty.

Yeah. Probably wanted her cheese stolen, said Tonker.

Wise words, said Jackrum. Off you go, then . . . cheesemongers!

The mist was still thick as they made their way down through the woods to the path by the river. Pollys skirt kept catching in brambles. It must have done so before shed joined up, but shed never noticed it so much. Now it was seriously hindering her. She reached up and absent-mindedly adjusted the socks, which shed separated to use as padding elsewhere. She was too skinny, that was the trouble. The ringlets had been useful there. They said girl. In their absence, she had to rely on a scarf and a socks change.

All right, she whispered, as the ground levelled out. Remember, no swearing. Giggle, dont snigger. No belching. No weapons, either. They cant be that stupid in there. Anyone brought a weapon?

There was a shaking of heads.

Did you bring a weapon, Tonk Magda?

No, Polly.

No item of any sort with a certain weapon-like quality? Polly insisted.

No, Polly, said Tonker demurely.

Anything, perhaps, with an edge?

Oh, you mean this?

Yes, Magda.

Well, a woman can carry a knife, cant she?

Its a sabre, Magda. Youre trying to hide it, but its a sabre.

But Im only using it like a knife, Polly.

Its three feet long, Magda.

Size isnt important, Polly.

No one believes that. Leave it behind a tree, please. That is an order.

Oh, all right!

After a while, Shufti, who had appeared to be thinking deeply, said: I cant understand why she didnt just tie up her own garter . . .

Shuft, what the hell Tonker began.

heck, Polly corrected her, and youre talking to Betty, remember.

What the heck are you talking about, Betty? said Tonker, rolling her eyes.

Well, the song, of course. And you dont have to lie down to tie a garter in any case. Itd be more difficult, said Shufti. Its all a bit silly.

No one said anything for a while. It was, perhaps, easy to see why Shufti was on her quest.

Youre right, said Polly eventually. Its a silly song.

A very silly song, Tonker agreed.

They all agreed. It was a silly song.

They stepped out on to the river path. Ahead of them a small group of women were hurrying round the bend in the track. Automatically, the squad looked up. The keep grew out of the sheer cliff; it was hard to see where the unhewn rock ended and the ancient masonry began. They could see no windows. From here, it was just a wall extending to the sky. No way in, it said. No way out. In this wall are few doors, and they close with finality.

This close to the deep, slow river, the air was bone-chillingly cold, and grew colder the higher they looked. Around the curve they could see the little rock shelf where the back door was, and the women ahead of them talking to a guard.

This is not going to work, said Shufti under her breath. Theyre showing him some papers. Anyone brought theirs? No?

The soldier had looked up and was watching the girls, with that blank official expression of someone who was not looking for excitement or adventure in his life.

Keep moving, murmured Polly. If it all gets really bad, burst into tears.

Thats disgusting, said Tonker.

Their treacherous feet were taking them closer all the time. Polly kept her eyes downwards, as was proper in an unmarried woman. There would be others watching, she knew it. Theyd probably be bored, they might not be expecting any trouble, but up on those walls there were eyes fixed on her.

They reached the guard. Just inside the narrow stone doorway there was another one, lounging in the shadow.

Papers, said the guard.

Oh, sir, I have none, said Polly. Shed been working out the speech on the way down through the wood. War, fears of invasion, people fleeing, no food . . . you didnt have to make things up, you just had to reassemble reality. I had to leave

Oh, right, the guard interrupted. No papers? No problem! If youd just step in and see my colleague? Nice of you to join us! He stood aside and waved a hand towards the dark entrance.

Mystified, Polly stepped inside, with the others following. Behind them, the door swung shut. Inside, she saw that they were in a long passage with many slits in the walls to rooms on either side. Lamplight shone from the slits. She could see shadows beyond them. Bowmen concealed there could turn anyone trapped in here into mince.

At the end of the corridor another door swung open. It led into a small room in which there sat, at a desk, a young man in a uniform Polly didnt recognize, although it had a captains insignia. Standing to one side was a much, much larger man in the same uniform, or possibly two uniforms stitched together. He had a sword. There was that about him: when this man held a sword, it was clearly being held, and held by him. The eye was drawn to it. Even Jade would have been impressed.

Good morning, ladies, said the captain. No papers, eh? Take off your scarves, please.

And thats it, thought Polly, as the bottom of her stomach dropped away. And we thought we were being clever. There was nothing for it but to obey.

Ah. Youll tell me your hair was shaved off as a punishment for fraternizing with the enemy, eh? said the man, barely looking up. Except for you, he added to Igorina. Didnt feel like fraternizing with any enemies? Something wrong with decent Zlobenian boys?

Er . . . no, said Igorina.

Now the captain gave them a bright little smile. Gentlemen, lets not mess about, shall we? You walk wrong. We do watch, you know. You walk wrong and you stand wrong. You, he pointed to Tonker, have got a bit of shaving soap under one ear. And you, sir, are either deformed or youve tried the old trick of sticking a pair of socks down your vest.

Crimson with embarrassment and humiliation, Polly hung her head.

Getting in or out disguised as washerwomen, said the captain, shaking his head. Everyone outside this stupid country knows that one, lads, but most of them make more effort than you boys. Well, for you the war is over. This place has got big, big dungeons and I dont mind telling you youre probably going to be better off in here than outside Yeah, what do you want?

Shufti had raised a hand. Can I show you something? she said. Polly didnt turn, but watched the captains face as, beside Polly, cloth rustled. She couldnt believe it. Shufti was raising her skirt. . .

Oh, said the captain, sitting back in his chair. His face went red.

There was an explosion from Tonker, but it was an explosion of tears. They came out accompanied by a long, mournful wail, as she threw herself on to the floor.

We walked so-oo far! We lay in ditches to hide from soldiers! Theres no food! We want to work! You called us boys! Why are you so-oo cruel?

Polly knelt down and half picked her up, patting her on the back as Tonkers shoulders heaved with the force of her sobs.

Its been very hard for all of us, she said to the red-faced captain.

If you can take him down I can garrotte the other one with my apron string, whispered Tonker in her ear, between howls.

Have you seen everything you wish to see? said Polly to the blushing captain, every syllable tinkling with ice.

Yes! No! Yes! Please! said the captain, giving the guard the agonized glance of a man who knows that hes going to be the laughing stock of the whole fort inside the hour. Once was quite I mean, Ive seen . . . look, Im completely satisfied. Private, go and fetch one of the women from the laundry. I am so sorry, ladies, I . . . I have a job to do . . .

Do you enjoy it? said Polly, still freezing.

Yes! said the captain hurriedly. I mean, no! No, yes! We have to be careful . . . ah . . .

The big soldier had returned, trailing a woman. Polly stared.

Some, er, new volunteers, said the captain, waving vaguely towards the squad. Im sure Mrs Enid will have some use for them . . . er . . .

Certainly, captain, said the woman, curtsying demurely. Polly still stared.

Off you go . . . ladies, said the captain. And if youre hard workers Mrs Enid will I am sure give you a pass sos we dont have this trouble again . . . er . . .

Shufti put both hands on his desk, leaned towards him and said Boo. His chair hit the wall.

I may not be clever, she said to Polly. But Im not stupid.

But Polly was still staring at Lieutenant Blouse. Hed curtsied surprisingly well.

The soldier escorted them along a tunnel which opened on to a ledge overlooking what was either a cave or a room; it was at that level in the keep where there was not much difference. This wasnt a laundry, but clearly some hot, damp afterlife for those who required punishment with extra scrubbing. Steam rolled across the ceiling, condensed, and dripped on to a floor that was already running with water. And it went on for ever, washtub after washtub. Women moved like ghosts through the drifting, tumbling clouds of fog.

There you go, ladies, he said, and slapped Blouse on the rump. See you tonight, then, Daphne?

Oh, yes! trilled Blouse.

Five oclock, then, said the soldier, and ambled off down the corridor.

Daphne? said Polly, when the man had gone.

My nom de guerre, said Blouse. I still havent found a way out of the lower areas but the guards all have keys and I shall have his key in my hand by half past five. Pardon?

I think Tonker  sorry, Magda  just bit her tongue, said Polly.

Her? Oh, yes. Well done for staying in character, er . . .

Polly, said Polly.

Good choice of name, said Blouse, leading the way down some steps. Its a good common, maidservanty sort of name.

Yes, thats what I thought, said Polly gravely.

Er . . . Sergeant Jackrum not with you, then? said the lieutenant, with a trace of nervousness.

No, sir. He said he was going to lead a charge on the main gates, sir, if we sent him a signal. I hope he doesnt try without one.

Good heavens, the mans mad, said Blouse. Splendid effort from the lads, though. Well done. Youd definitely pass for women to the casual observer.

Coming from you, Daphne, that is a big compliment, said Polly, thinking: gosh, Im really good at keeping a straight face.

But you didnt need to come after me, said Blouse. Im sorry I couldnt get a signal to you, but Mrs Enid allowed me to stay overnight, you see. The guards dont do so many checks at night so I made use of my time to look for ways into the upper keep. All gated or really heavily guarded, Im afraid. However, Private Hauptfidel has taken rather a shine to me . . .

Well done, sir! said Polly.

Sorry, I want to be clear, sir, said Tonker. You have a date with a guard.

Yes, and Ill suggest we go somewhere dark and then when Ive got what I want I shall break his neck, said Blouse.

Isnt that going a bit far on a first date? said Tonker.

Sir, did you have any trouble getting in? said Polly. This had been nagging at her. It seemed so unfair.

No, not at all. I just smiled and wiggled my hips and they waved me through. What about you?

Oh, we had a little bit, said Polly. It was a bit hair it was a bit awkward for a moment or two.

What did I tell you? said Blouse triumphantly. Its all down to thespian ability! But you were plucky lads to try it. Come and meet Mrs Enid. A very loyal lady. The brave womenfolk of Borogravia are on our side!

And, indeed, there was a picture of the Duchess in the alcove that served the laundry mistress for an office. Mrs Enid wasnt a particularly large woman but she had forearms like Jade, a soaking wet apron, and the most mobile mouth Polly had ever seen. Her lips and tongue drew out every word like a big shape in the air; the laundresses, in a cavern full of hissing steam, echoes, falling water and the thud of wet clothes on stone, watched lips when ears were overwhelmed. When she was listening her mouth moved all the time, too, like someone trying to dislodge a piece of nut from a tooth. She wore her sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

She listened impassively as Blouse introduced the squad. I see, she said. Right. You leave your lads here with me, sir. You ought to get back to the pressing room.

When Blouse had bounced and wobbled back through the steam, Mrs Enid looked them all up and down, and then straight through.

Lads, she grunted. Hah! Thats all he knows, eh? For a woman to wear the clothes of a man is an Abomination in the Eyes of Nuggan!

But were dressed as women, Mrs Enid, said Polly meekly.

Mrs Enids mouth moved ferociously. Then she folded her arms. It was like a barricade going up against all that was ungodly.

Its not right, she said. Ive got a son and a husband prisoner in this place and Im working meself to the bone for the enemy just sos I can keep an eye on em. Theyre gonna invade, yknow. Its amazing what we hear down here. So what goods rescuing your men going to do em when were all under the heel of the Zlobenian hand-painted clog, eh?

Zlobenia will not invade, said Wazzer confidently. The Duchess will see to it. Be not afraid.

Wazzer got given the sort of look she always got when someone heard her for the first time.

Been praying, ave yer? said Mrs Enid kindly.

No, just listening, said Wazzer.

Nuggan talks to you, does he?

No. Nuggan is dead, Mrs Enid, said Wazzer.

Polly took Wazzers matchstick-thin arm and said: Excuse us a moment, Mrs Enid. She hustled the girl behind a huge, water-driven clothes mangle. It heaved and clanked as a background to their conversation.

Wazzer, this is getting . . . Pollys native tongue had no word for freaky, but if she had known about the word she would have welcomed its inclusion . . . strange. Youre worrying people. You cant just go around saying that a god is dead.

Gone, then. Dwindled . . . I think, said Wazzer, her brow furrowing. No longer with us . . .

We still get the Abominations.

Wazzer tried to concentrate. No, theyre not real. Theyre like . . . echoes. Dead voices in an ancient cave, bouncing back and forth, the words changing, making nonsense . . . like flags that were used for signals but now just flap in the wind . . . Wazzers eyes went unfocused and her voice altered, became more adult, more certain . . . and they come from no god. There is no god here now.

So where do they come from?

From your fear . . . They come from the part that hates the Other, that will not change. They come from the sum of all your pettiness and stupidity and dullness. You fear tomorrow, and youve made your fear your god. The Duchess knows this.

The water-mangle creaked onwards. Around Polly the boilers hissed, water gushed in the runnels. The air was loaded with the smells of soap and damp cloth.

I dont believe in the Duchess, either, said Polly. That was just trickery in the woods. Anyoned look round. It doesnt mean I believe in her.

That doesnt matter, Polly. She believes in you.

Really? Polly glanced around the steaming, dripping cave. Is she here, then? Has she graced us with her presence?

Wazzer had no concept of sarcasm. She nodded. Yes.

Yes.

Polly looked behind her.

Did you just say yes? she demanded.

Yes, said Wazzer.

Yes.

Polly relaxed. Oh, its an echo. This is a cave, after all. Uh . . .

. . . which doesnt explain why my voice doesnt come bouncing back . . .

Wazz . . . I mean, Alice? she said thoughtfully.

Yes, Polly? said Wazzer.

I think it would be a really good idea if you dont talk too much about this to the others, she said. People dont mind believing in, you know, gods and so on, but they get very nervous if you tell them theyre showing up. Er . . . shes not going to show up, is she?

The person you dont believe in? said Wazzer, showing a flash of spirit.

Im . . . not saying she doesnt exist, said Polly weakly. I just dont believe in her, thats all.

Shes very weak, said Wazzer. I hear her crying in the night.

Polly sought for further information in the pinched-up face, hoping that in some way Wazzer was making fun of her. But nothing but puzzled innocence looked back.

Why does she cry? she said.

The prayers. They hurt her.

Polly spun round when something touched her shoulder. It was Tonker.

Mrs Enid says were to get to work, she said. She says the guards come round and check . . .

It was womens work, and therefore monotonous, backbreaking and social. It had been a long time since Polly had got her hands in a washtub, and the ones here were long wooden troughs, where twenty women could work at once. Arms on either side of her squeezed and pummelled, wrung out garments and slapped them into the rinsing trough behind them. Polly joined in, and listened to the buzz of conversation around her.

It was gossip, but bits of information floated in it like bubbles in the washtub. A couple of guards had taken liberties  that is, more than had already been taken  and had apparently been flogged for it. This caused much comment along the tub. Apparently some big milord from Ankh-Morpork was in charge of things and had ordered it. He was some kind of wizard, said the woman opposite. They said he could see things happening everywhere, and lived on raw meat. They said he had secret eyes. Of course, everyone knew that that city was the home of Abominations. Polly, industriously rubbing a shirt on a washboard, thought about this. And thought about a lowland buzzard in this upland country, and some creature so fast and stealthy that it was only a suggestion of shadow . . .

She took a spell on the copper boilers, ramming the stewing garments under the bubbling surface, and noted that in this place without weapons of any sort she was using a heavy stick about three feet long.

She enjoyed the work, in a dumb kind of way. Her muscles did all the necessary thinking, leaving her brain free. No one knew for sure that the Duchess was dead. It more or less didnt matter. But Polly was sure of one thing. The Duchess had been a woman. Just a woman, not a goddess. Oh, people prayed to her in the hope that their pleas would be gift-wrapped and sent on to Nuggan, but that gave her no right to mess with the heads of people like Wazzer, who had enough trouble as it was. Gods could do miracles, Duchesses posed for pictures.

Out of the corner of her eye Polly saw a line of women taking large baskets from a platform at the end of the room and stepping out through another doorway. She dragged Igorina away from the wash trough and told her to join them. And notice everything! she added.

Yes, corp, said Igorina.

Because I know one thing, said Polly, waving at the piles of damp linen, and its that this lot will need the breeze . . .

She went back to work, occasionally joining in the chatter for the look of the thing. It wasnt hard. The washerwomen kept away from some subjects, particularly ones like husbands and sons. But Polly picked up clues here and there. Some were in the keep. Some were probably dead. Some were out there, somewhere. Some of the older women wore the Motherhood Medal, awarded to women whose sons had died for Borogravia. The bastard metal was corroding in the damp atmosphere, and Polly wondered if the medals had arrived in a letter from the Duchess, with her signature printed on the bottom and the sons name squeezed up tight to fit the space:

We honour and congratulate you, Mrs L. Lapchic of Well Lane, Munz, on the death of your son Otto PwtrHanLapchic on June 25 at """"

The place was always censored in case it brought aid and comfort to the enemy. It astonished Polly to find that the cheap medals and thoughtless words did, in a way, bring aid and comfort to the mothers. Those in Munz who had received them wore them with a sort of fierce, indignant pride.

She wasnt sure she trusted Mrs Enid very much. She had a son and a husband up in the cells, and shed had a chance to weigh up Blouse. Shed be asking herself: whats more likely, that he gets them all out and keeps them safe, or that theres going to be an almighty mess which might well harm us all? And Polly couldnt blame her if she went with the evidence . . .

She was aware of someone talking to her. Hmm? she said.

Look at this, will you? said Shufti, waving a sodden pair of mens long pants at her. They keep putting the colours in with the whites!

Well? So what? These are enemy longjohns, said Polly.

Yes, but theres such a thing as doing it properly! Look, they put in this red pair and all the others are going pink!

And? I used to love pink when I was about seven.*

* It is an established fact that, despite everything society can do, girls of seven are magnetically attracted to the colour pink.

But pale pink? On a man?

Polly looked at the next tub for a moment, and patted Shufti on the shoulder. Yes. It is very pale, isnt it? Youd better find a couple more red items, she said.

But thatd make it even worse Shufti began.

That was an order, soldier, Polly whispered in her ear. And add some starch.

How much?

All you can find.

Igorina returned. Igorina had good eyes. Polly wondered if theyd ever belonged to someone else. She gave Polly a wink and held up a thumb. It was, to Pollys relief, one of her own.

In the huge ironing room, only one person was working at the long boards when Polly, taking advantage of the temporary absence of Mrs Enid, hurried in. It was Daphne. All the rest of the women were gathered round, as if they were watching a demonstration. And they were.

the collar, dyou see, said Lieutenant Blouse, flourishing the big, steaming, charcoal-filled iron. Then the sleeve cuffs and finally the sleeves. Do one front half at a time. You should hang them immediately but, and heres a useful tip, dont iron them completely dry. Its really a matter of practice, but

Polly stared in fascinated wonder. Shed hated ironing. Daphne, could I have a word? she said, during a pause.

Blouse looked up. Oh, P . . . Polly, he said. Um, yes, of course.

Its amazing what Daphne knows about pleat lines, said a girl, in awe. And press cloths!

I am amazed, said Polly.

Blouse handed the iron to the girl. There you are, Dympha, he said generously. Remember: always iron the wrong side first, and only ever do the wrong side on dark linens. Common mistake. Coming, Polly.

Polly kicked her heels for a while outside, and one of the girls came up with a big pile of fresh-smelling ironing. She saw Polly, and leaned close as she went past. We all know hes a man, she said. But hes having such fun and he irons like a demon!

Sir, how do you know about ironing? said Polly, when they were back in the washing room.

Had to do my own laundry back at HQ, said Blouse. Couldnt afford a gel and the batman was a strict Nugganite and said it was girls work. So I thought, well, it cant be hard, otherwise we wouldnt leave it to women. They really arent very good here. You know they put the colours and the whites together?

Sir, you know you said you were going to steal a gate key off a guard and break his neck? said Polly.

Indeed.

Do you know how to break a mans neck, sir?

I read a book on martial arts, Perks, said Blouse, a little severely.

But you havent actually done it, sir?

Well, no! I was at HQ, and you are not allowed to practise on real people, Perks.

You see, the person whose neck you want to break will have a weapon at that moment and you, sir, wont, said Polly.

I have tried out the basic principle on a rolled-up blanket, said Blouse reproachfully. It seemed to work very well.

Was the blanket struggling and making loud gurgling noises and kicking you in the socks, sir?

The socks? said Blouse, puzzled.

In fact I think your other idea would be better, sir, said Polly hurriedly.

Yes . . . my, er . . . other idea . . . which one was that, exactly?

The one where we escape from the washhouse via the clothes-drying area, sir, after silently disabling three guards, sir. Theres a kind of moving room down the corridor over there, sir, which gets winched all the way to the roof. Two guards go up there with the women, sir, and theres another guard up on the roof. Acting together, wed take out each unsuspecting guard, which would be more certain than you against an armed man, with all due respect, sir, and that would leave us very well positioned to go anywhere in the keep via the rooftops, sir. Well done, sir!

There was a pause. Did I, er, go into all that detail? said Blouse.

Oh, no, sir. You shouldnt have to, sir. Sergeants and corporals deal with the fine detail. Officers are there to see the big picture.

Oh, absolutely. And, er . . . how big was this particular picture? said Blouse, blinking.

Oh, very big, sir. A very big picture indeed, sir.

Ah, said Blouse, and straightened up and assumed what he considered to be the expression of one with panoramic vision.

Some of the ladies here used to work in the upper keep, sir, when it was ours, Polly went on quickly. Anticipating your order, sir, I had the squad engage them in light conversation about the layout of the place, sir. Being aware of the general thrust of your strategy, sir, I think I have found a route to the dungeons.

She paused. It had been good flannelling, she knew. It was almost worthy of Jackrum. Shed larded it with as many sirs as she dared. And she was very proud of anticipating your order.

She hadnt heard Jackrum use it, but with a certain amount of care it was an excuse to do almost anything. General thrust was pretty good, too.

Dungeons, said Blouse thoughtfully, momentarily losing sight of the big picture. In fact I thought I said

Yessir. Because, sir, if we can get a lot of the lads out of the dungeons, sir, youll be in command inside the enemys citadel, sir!

Blouse grew another inch, and then sagged again. Of course, there are some very senior officers here. All of them senior to me

Yessir! said Polly, well on the way to graduating from the Sergeant Jackrum School of Outright Rupert Management. Perhaps wed better try to let the enlisted men out first, sir? We dont want to expose the officers to enemy fire.

It was shameless and stupid, but now the light of battle was in Blouses eyes. Polly decided to fan it, just in case. Your leadership has really been a great example to us, sir, she said.

Has it?

Oh, yes, sir.

No officer could have led a finer bunch of men, Perks, said Blouse.

Probably they have, sir, said Polly.

And what man could dare hope for such an opportunity, eh? said Blouse. Our names will go down in the history books! Well, mine will, obviously, and I shall jolly well see to it that you chaps get a mention too. And who knows? Perhaps I may win the highest accolade that a gallant officer may obtain!

Whats that, sir? said Polly dutifully.

Having either a foodstuff or an item of clothing named after one, said Blouse, his face radiant. General Froc got both, of course. The frock coat and Beef Froc. Of course, I could never aspire that high. He looked down bashfully. But I have to say, Perks, that I have devised several recipes, just in case!

So well be eating a Blouse one day, sir? said Polly. She was watching the baskets being stacked.

Possibly, possibly, if I may dare hope, said Blouse. Er . . . my favourite is a sort of pastry ring, dyou see, filled with cream and soaked in rum

Thats a Rum Baba, sir, said Polly absently. Tonker and the others were watching the stacked baskets, too.

Its been done?

 fraid so, sir.

How about . . . er . . . a dish of liver and onions?

Its called liver-and-onions, sir. Sorry, said Polly, trying not to lose concentration.

Er, er, well, it has struck me that some dishes are named after people when really they just made a little change to a basic recipe

We must go now, sir! Now or never, sir!

What? Oh. Right. Yes. We must go!

It was a military manoeuvre hitherto unrecorded. The squad, coming from different directions on Pollys signal, arrived at the baskets just ahead of the women whod proposed to take them up, grabbed the handles and advanced. Only then did she realize that probably no one else wanted the job, and the women were only too happy to let idiot newcomers take the strain. The baskets were big and the wet washing was heavy. Wazzer and Igorina could barely lift one basket between them.

A couple of soldiers were waiting by the door. They looked bored, and paid little attention. It was a long walk to the elevator.

Polly hadnt been able to picture it when it had been described. You had to see it. It really was just a big open box of heavy timbers, attached to a thick rope, which ran up and down in a sort of chimney in the rock. When they were aboard, one of the soldiers hauled on a much thinner rope that disappeared up into the darkness. The other one lit a couple of candles, whose only apparent role was to make the darkness more gloomy.

No fainting now, girls! he said. His mate chuckled.

Two of them and seven of us, Polly thought. The copper stick banged against her leg as she moved, and she knew for a fact that Tonker was limping because she had strapped a washing dolly under her dress. That was for serious washerwomen; it was a long stick with what looked like a three-legged milking stool on the end of it, the better for agitating clothes in a big cauldron of boiling water. You could probably smash a skull with it.

The stone walls dropped past as the platform rose.

How thrilling! trilled Daphne. And this goes all the way up through your big castle, does it?

Oh, no, miss. Gotta go up through the rock first, miss. Lots of old workings and everything before we get that high.

Oh, I thought we were in the castle already. Blouse gave Polly a worried look.

No, miss. Theres just the washhouse down there, cos of the water. Hah, its a climb and a half even to the lower cellars. Lucky for you theres this elevator, eh?

Wonderful, sergeant, said Blouse, and allowed Daphne back. How does it work?

Its corporal, miss, said the string-puller, touching his forelock. Its pulled up and down by prisners in a treadmill, miss.

Oh, how horrid!

Oh no, miss, its quite humane. Er . . . if youre free after work, er, I could take you up and show you the mechanism . . .

That would be lovely, sergeant!

Polly put her hand over her eyes. Daphne was a disgrace to womanhood.

The elevator rumbled upwards, quite slowly. Mostly they passed raw rock but sometimes there were ancient gratings or areas of masonry, suggestive of tunnels long ago blocked

There was a jerk, and the platform stopped moving. One of the soldiers swore under his breath, but the corporal said, Dont be afraid, ladies. This often happens.

Why should we be afraid? said Polly.

Well, because were hanging by a rope a hundred feet up the shaft and the lifting machinerys thrown a cog.

Again, said the other soldier. Nothing works properly here.

Sounds like a good reason to me, said Igorina.

How long will it take to repair? said Tonker.

Hah! Last time it happened we were stuck for an hour!

Too long, Polly thought. Too many things could happen. She looked up through the beams in the roof. The square of daylight was a long way up.

We cant wait, she said.

Oh dear, who will save us? Daphne quavered.

Well have to find a way to pass the time, eh? said one of the guards. Polly sighed. That was one of those phrases, like Well, lookee what we have here, that meant things were only going to get a lot worse.

We know how it is, ladies, the guard went on. Your menfolk away, and all. Its as bad for us, too. I cant remember when I last kissed my wife.

And I cant remember when I last kissed his wife, either, said the corporal.

Tonker jumped up, caught a beam, and chinned herself to the top of the box. The elevator shook and, somewhere, a piece of rock dislodged and crashed down the shaft.

Hey, you cant do that! said the corporal.

Where does it say? said Tonker. Polly, theres one of those filled-in tunnels here, only most of the stones have been knocked out. We could get in easily.

You cant get out! Well get into trouble! said the corporal.

Polly pulled his sword out of his scabbard. The space was too crowded to do much with it except threaten, but she had it, not him. It made a huge difference.

Youre already in trouble, she said. Please dont force me to make it worse. Lets get out of here. Is that okay, Daphne?

Um . . . yes, of course, said Blouse.

The other guard laid a hand on his own sword. Okay, girls, this has gone he began, and then slumped. Shufti lowered her copper stick.

I hope I didnt hit him too hard, she said.

Who cares? Come on, I can give you all a hand up, said Tonker.

Igorina, could you have a look at him, and Shufti began nervously.

Hes a man, and hes groaning, said Tonker from above. Thats good enough for me. Come on.

The lone guard watched as the others were womanhandled on to the beams.

Er, excuse me, he said to Polly, as she helped Blouse up.

Yes? What?

Would you mind giving me a wallop on the back of the head? he said, looking wretched. Only it looks like I didnt put up a fight against a bunch of women.

Why dont you put up a fight? said Polly, narrowing her eyes. Were only a bunch of women.

Im not crazy! said the guard.

Here, let me, said Igorina, producing her stick. Blows to the head are potentially harmful and should not be undertaken lightly. Turn round, sir. Remove your helmet, please. Would twenty minutes unconsciousness be okay?

Yes, thanks very mu

The guard folded up.

I really hope I didnt hurt the other one, moaned Shufti, from above.

Hes swearing, said Polly, removing his sword. That sounds like hes okay.

She handed up the candles, and then was hauled on to the trembling roof of the elevator. When she had a firm footing in the mouth of the tunnel she found a sliver of stone and stamped it hard into the space between the shaft wall and the wooden frame, which shook. It wasnt going anywhere for a while.

Tonker and Lofty were already investigating the tunnel. By candlelight, it looked like good masonry beyond the clumsy attempt at walling it up.

It must be cellars, said Tonker. I reckon they mustve made the shaft not long ago and just walled up where it cut through. Could have done a better job, too.

Cellars are close to dungeons, said Polly. Now, pinch out one candle, because that way well have light for twice as long, and then

Perks, a word please? said Blouse. Over here?

Yessir.

When they were standing a little apart from the rest of the squad, Blouse lowered his voice and said: I dont wish to discourage initiative, Perks, but what are you doing?

Er . . . anticipating your orders, sir.

Anticipating them?

Yessir.

Ah. Right. This is still small-picture stuff, is it?

Exactly, sir.

Then my orders, Perks, are to proceed with speed and caution to release the prisoners.

Well done, sir. Well go through this . . . this

Crypt, said Igorina, looking round.

The candle blew out. Somewhere ahead of them, in darkness absolute and velvet thick, stone moved on stone.

I wonder why this passage was sealed up? said the voice of Blouse.

I think Ive stopped wondering why it was sealed up in such a hurry, said Tonker.

I wonder who tried to open it? said Polly.

There was a crash of, as it might be, a heavy slab falling off an ornate tomb. It could have been half a dozen other things but, somehow, that was the image that sprang to mind. The dead air moved a little.

I dont want to worry anyone, said Shufti, but I can hear the sound of sort of feet, sort of dragging.

Polly remembered the man lighting the candles. Hed dropped the bundle of matches into the brass saucer of the candlestick, hadnt he? Moving her hand slowly, she groped for them.

If you didnt want to worry anyone, came the voice of Tonker from the dry, thick darkness, why the hell did you just tell us that?

Pollys fingers found a sliver of wood. She raised it to her nose, and sniffed the sulphurous smell.

Ive got one match, she said. Im going to try to light the candle again. Everyone look for a way out. Ready?

She sidled to the invisible wall. Then she scratched the match down the stone, and yellow light filled the crypt.

Someone whimpered. Polly stared, candle forgotten. The match went out.

O-kay, said the subdued voice of Tonker. Walking dead people. So?

The one near the archway was the late General Puhloaver! said Blouse. I have his book on The Art of Defence.

Best not to ask him to autograph it, sir, said Polly, as the squad bunched together.

There was the whimpering again. It seemed to come from where Polly remembered Wazzer standing. She heard her praying. There were no words that she could make out, just a fierce and urgent whispering.

Maybe these washing sticks can slow them down a bit? Shufti quavered.

More than being dead already? said Igorina.

No, a voice whispered, and light filled the crypt.

It was barely brighter than a glow-worm, but single photon can do a lot of work in chthonic darkness. It rose above the kneeling Wazzer until it was woman height, because it was a woman. Or, at least, it was the shadow of a woman. No, Polly saw, it was the light of a woman, a moving web of lines and highlights in which there came and went, like pictures in a fire, a female shape.

Soldiers of Borogravia . . . attention! said Wazzer. And underneath her reedy little tone was a shadow voice, a whisper that filled and refilled the long room.

Soldiers of Borogravia . . . attention!

Soldiers . . .

Soldiers, attention!

Soldiers of Borogravia . . .

The lurching figures stopped. They hesitated. They shuffled backwards. With a certain amount of clattering and tongueless bickering, they formed two lines. Wazzer stood up.

Follow me, she said.

Follow me . . .

. . . me . . .

Sir? said Polly to Blouse.

I think we go, dont you? said the lieutenant, who seemed oblivious of Wazzers activities now he was in the presence of the military might of the centuries. Oh, god . . . theres Brigadier Galosh! And Major-general the Lord Kanapay! General Annorac! Ive read everything he wrote! I never thought Id see him in the flesh!

Partly flesh, sir, said Polly, dragging him forward.

Every great commander of the last five hundred years was buried here, Perks!

Im very pleased for you, sir. If we could just move a little faster . . .

It is my fondest hope that Ill spend the rest of eternity here, you know.

Wonderful, sir, but not starting today. Can we catch up with the rest of them, sir?

As they passed, hand after ragged hand was raised in jerky salute. Staring eyes gleamed in hollow faces. The strange light glistened on dusty braid and stained, faded cloth. And there was a noise, harsher than the whispering, deep and guttural. It sounded like the creaking of distant doors, but individual voices rose and fell as the squad passed the dead figures . . .

Death to Zlobenia . . . get them . . . remember . . . give them hell . . . vengeance . . . remember . . . theyre not human . . . avenge us . . . revenge . . .

Up ahead, Wazzer had reached some high wooden doors. They swung open at her touch. The light travelled with her, and the squad were on her heels. To be too far behind was to be in the dark.

Couldnt I just ask Major-general Blouse began, dragging on Pollys hand.

No! You cant! Dont dawdle! Come on! Polly commanded.

They reached the doors, which Tonker and Igorina slammed behind them. Polly leaned against the wall.

I think that was the most . . . most amazing moment of my life, said Blouse, as the boom died away.

I think this is mine, said Polly, fighting for breath.

Light still glowed around Wazzer, who turned to face the squad with an expression of beatific pleasure. You must speak to the High Command, she said.

You must speak to the High Command, whispered the walls.

Be kind to this child.

Be kind to this child . . .

. . . this child . . .

Polly caught Wazzer before she hit the ground.

What is happening with her? said Tonker.

I think the Duchess really is speaking through her, said Polly. Wazzer was unconscious, only the whites of her eyes showing. Polly laid her down gently.

Oh, come on! The Duchess is just a painting! Shes dead!

Sometimes you give in. For Polly, that time had been the length of time it took to walk through the crypt. If you dont believe, or dont want to believe, or if you dont simply hope that theres something worth believing in, why turn round? And if you dont believe, who are you trusting to lead you out of the grip of dead men?

Dead? she said. So what? What about the old soldiers back there who havent faded away? What about the light? And you heard how Wazzers voice sounded.

Yeah, but . . . well, that sort of thing doesnt happen to people you know, said Tonker. It happens to . . . well, strange religious people. I mean, a few days ago she was learning how to fart loudly!

She? whispered Blouse to Polly. She? Why is

Once again a part of Pollys mind overtook the sudden panic. Sorry, Daphne? she said.

Oh . . . yes . . . of course . . . cant be too . . . yes . . . the lieutenant murmured.

Igorina knelt down by the girl and put a hand on her forehead. Shes on fire, she said.

She used to pray all the time back at the Grey House, said Lofty, kneeling down.

Yeah, well, there was a lot to pray about, if you werent strong, growled Tonker. And every bloody day we had to pray to the Duchess to thank Nuggan for slops you wouldnt give to a pig! And that damn picture everywhere, that fishy stare . . . I hate it! It could drive you mad. Thats what happened to Wazz, right? And now you want me to believe the fat old biddy is alive and treating our friend there like some . . . puppet or something? I dont believe that. And if its true, it shouldnt be!

Shes burning up, Magda, said Lofty quietly.

Dyou know why we joined up? said Tonker, red in the face. To get away! Anything was better than what we had! Ive got Lofty and Loftys got me, and were sticking with you because theres nothing else for us. Everyone says the Zlobenians are terrible, right? But theyve never done anything to us, theyve never hurt us. If they want to come over here and hang a few bastards, I could give em a list! Everywhere theres something bad happening, everywhere the small-minded bullies are inventing new cruelties, new ways of keeping us down, that bloody face is watching! And you say its here?

Were here, said Polly. And you are here. And were going to do what we came to do and get out, understand? You kissed the picture, you took the shilling!

I damn well didnt kiss her face! And a shillings the least they owe me!

Then go! shouted Polly. Desert! We wont stop you, because Im sick of your . . . your bullshit! But you make up your mind right now, right now, understand? Because when we meet the enemy I dont want to think youre there to stab me in the back!

The words flew out before she could stop them, and there was no power in the world that could snatch them back.

Tonker went pale, and a certain life drained out of her face like water from a funnel. What was that you said?

The words You heard me! lined up to spring from Pollys tongue, but she hesitated. She told herself: it doesnt have to go this way. You dont have to let a pair of socks do the talking.

Words that were stupid, she said. Im sorry. I didnt mean it.

Tonker settled slightly. Well . . . all right, then, she said grudgingly. Just so long as you know were in this for the squad, okay? Not for the army and not for the bloody Duchess.

That was a treasonable speech, Private Halter! said Lieutenant Blouse.

Everyone but Polly had forgotten about him, and he stood there like an easy man to forget.

However, he went on, I realize were all somewhat . . . he looked down at his dress . . . confused and, er, bewildered by the pace of events . . .

Tonker tried to avoid Pollys eye. Sorry, sir, she muttered, glowering.

I must make it clear that I will not stand to hear such things repeated, said Blouse.

No, sir.

Good, said Polly quickly. So lets

But I will overlook it this time, Blouse went on.

Polly could see Tonker snap. The head was raised slowly. Youll overlook it? said Tonker. You will overlook it?

Careful, said Polly, just loud enough for Tonker to hear.

Let me tell you something about us, lieutenant, said Tonker, grinning horribly.

We are here, private, whoever we are, snapped Polly. Now lets find the cells!

Um . . . said Igorina, were quite close, I think. I can see a sign. Um. Its at the end of this passage. Um . . . just behind those three rather puzzled armed men with the, um . . . efficient-looking crossbows. Um. I think what youve just been saying was important and needed to be said. Only, um . . . not just now, perhaps? And not so loudly?

Only two guards were watching them now, raising their bows cautiously. The other was running away down the passage, shouting.

The squad, as one man, or woman, shared the thoughts.

Theyve got bows. We havent. Theyve got reinforcements behind them. We havent. All weve got is a darkness full of the restless dead. We havent even got a prayer any more.

Blouse made an effort, nevertheless. In the tones of Daphne he shrilled: Oh, officers . . . we seem to have got lost on the way to the ladies room . . .

They were not put into a dungeon, although they were marched past plenty. There were lots of bleak stone corridors, lots of heavy doors with bars and lots and lots of bolts, and lots of armed men whose job, presumably, only became interesting if all the bolts disappeared. They were put into a kitchen. It was huge, and clearly not the kind of place where people chopped herbs and stuffed mushrooms. In a gloomy, grimy, soot-encrusted hall like this, cooks had probably catered for hundreds of hungry men. Occasionally the door was opened and shadowy figures stared in at them. No one had said anything, at any time.

They were expecting us, muttered Shufti. The squad were sitting on the floor with their backs to a huge, ancient chopping block, except for Igorina, who was tending to the still-unconscious Wazzer.

They couldnt have got that elevator up by now, said Polly. I wedged that stone in good and hard.

Then maybe the washerwomen gave us away, said Tonker. I didnt like the look of Mrs Enid.

It doesnt matter now, does it? said Polly. Is that the only door?

Theres a storeroom at the other end, said Tonker. No exit, except a grille in the floor.

Could we get out that way?

Only diced.

They stared glumly at the distant door. It had opened again, and there was some muffled conversation amongst the silhouettes beyond. Tonker had tried advancing on the open doorway, and found men with swords suddenly occupying it.

Polly turned to look at Blouse, who was slumped against the wall, staring blankly upwards.

Id better go and tell him, she said. Tonker shrugged.

Blouse opened his eyes and smiled wanly when Polly approached. Ah, Perks, he said. We almost made it, eh?

Sorry we let you down, sir, said Polly. Permission to sit, sir?

Treat the rather chilly flagstones as if they were your own, said Blouse. And it was I that let you down, Im afraid.

Oh, no, sir Polly protested.

You were my first command, said Blouse. Well, apart from Corporal Drebb and he was seventy and only had one arm, poor chap. He pinched the bridge of his nose. All I had to do was get you to the valley. That was all. But, no, I foolishly dreamed of a world where everyone would one day wear a Blouse. Or eat one, possibly. I should have listened to Sergeant Jackrum! Oh, will I ever look my dear Emmeline in the face again?

I dont know, sir, said Polly.

That was meant to be more of a rhetorical cry of despair than an actual question, Perks, said Blouse.

Sorry, sir, said Polly. She took a deep breath, ready for the plunge into the icy depths of the truth. Sir, you ought to know that

And Im afraid once they realize we arent women well be put in the big dungeons, the lieutenant went on. Very big, and very dirty, Im told. And very crowded.

Sir, we are women, sir, said Polly.

Yes, well done, Perks, but we dont have to pretend any more.

You dont understand, sir. We really are women. All of us.

Blouse grinned nervously. I think youve got a little . . . confused, Perks. I seem to recall that the same thing happened to Wrigglesworth

Sir

although I have to say he was very good at choosing curtains

No, sir. I was a I am a girl, and I cut my hair and pretended I was a boy and took the Duchesss shilling, sir. Take my word for it, sir, because I really dont want to have to draw you a picture. We played a trick on you, sir. Well, not a trick, really, but we, all of us, had reasons for being somewhere else, sir, or at least not being where we were. We lied.

Blouse stared at her. Youre sure?

Yes, sir. I am of the female persuasion. I check every day, sir.

And Private Halter?

Yes, sir.

And Lofty?

Oh, yes, sir. Both of them, sir. Dont go there, sir.

What about Shufti?

Expecting a baby, sir.

Suddenly, Blouse looked terrified. Oh, no. Here?

Not for several months, sir, I believe.

And poor little Private Goom?

A girl, sir. And Igor is really an Igorina. And wherever she is, Carborundum is really Jade. Were not sure about Corporal Maladict. But the rest of us definitely have pink blankets, sir.

But you didnt act like women!

No, sir. We acted like men, sir. Sorry, sir. We just wanted to find our men or get away or prove a point or something. Sorry it had to happen to you, sir.

Youre sure about all this, are you?

What are you expecting me to say? Polly thought. Whoops, now I come to think about it, yes, were really men after all? She settled for saying: Yes, sir.

So . . . youre not called Oliver, then? It seemed to Polly that the lieutenant was having a lot of difficulty with all this; he kept asking the same basic question in different ways, in the hope of getting something other than the answer he didnt want to hear.

No, sir. Im Polly, sir

Oh? Do you know there is a song about

Yes, sir, said Polly firmly. Believe me, Id rather you didnt even hum it.

Blouse stared at the far wall, eyes slightly unfocused. Oh dear, Polly thought. You took a terrible risk, he said distantly. A battlefield is no place for women.

This war isnt staying on battlefields. At a time like this, a pair of trousers is a girls best friend, sir.

Blouse fell silent again. Suddenly, Polly felt very sorry for him. He was a bit of a fool, in that special way very clever people have of being foolish, but he wasnt a bad man. Hed been decent to the squad and hed cared about them. He didnt deserve this.

Sorry you had to be involved, sir, she said.

Blouse looked up. Sorry? he said, and to her amazement he was looking more cheerful than he had all day. Good heavens, you dont have to be sorry. Do you know anything about history, Polly?

Can we stick with Perks, sir? Im still a soldier. No, I dont know much history, sir. At least, much that I trust.

Then youve never heard of the Amazon warriors of Samothrip? The most fearsome fighting force for hundreds of years. All women! Absolutely merciless in battle! They were deadly with the longbow, although in order to get maximum draw they had to cut off one of their, um . . . er . . . I say, you ladies havent been cutting off your, um, er . . .

No, we havent cut off any um ers, sir. Only hair.

Blouse looked incredibly relieved. Well, and then theres the female bodyguards of King Samuel in Howandaland. All seven feet tall, I understand, and deadly with the spear. Throughout Klatch, of course, there are many stories of female warriors, often fighting alongside their men. Fearsome and fearless, I believe. Men would desert rather than face females, Perks. Couldnt deal with em.

Once again, Polly felt the slightly unbalanced feeling of having tried to jump a hurdle that turned out not to be there. She took refuge in: What do you thinks going to happen now, sir?

I havent a clue, Perks. Um . . . whats wrong with young Goom? Some kind of religious mania?

Could be, sir, said Polly guardedly. The Duchess talks to her.

Oh dear, said Blouse. She

The door opened. A dozen soldiers filed in and spread out on either side. They had a variety of uniforms  mostly Zlobenian, but several Polly recognized now as Ankh-Morporkic or whatever they called it. They were all armed, and held their weapons like men who expected to use them.

When they had lined up and were glaring at the squad, a smaller group of men stepped in. Again, there was a variety of uniforms, but they were a lot more expensive. These were worn by officers  high-ranking ones, to judge by the expressions of disdain. The tallest of them, made taller by his high, plumed cavalry helmet, stared along his nose at the women. He had pale blue eyes, and his face suggested that he did not really want to see anything at all in this room unless it had been thoroughly cleaned first.

Who is the officer here? he said. He sounded like a lawyer.

Blouse stood up and saluted. Lieutenant Blouse, sir, Tenth Infantry.

I see. The man looked at his fellow officers. I believe we can dispense with the guard now, dont you? This matter should be handled quietly. And for heavens sake cant we find this man a pair of trousers?

There were a few murmurs. The man nodded to the sergeant of the guard. The armed men filed out, and the door shut behind them.

My name is Lord Rust, said the man. I head the Ankh-Morpork detachment here. At least, and he sniffed, the military detachment. You have been treated well? You have not been manhandled? I see there is a . . . young lady on the floor.

Shes in a swoon, sir, said Polly. The blue eyes lighted upon her.

You would be? he said.

Corporal Perks, sir, said Polly. There were some barely suppressed smiles from the officers.

Ah. I believe you are the one seeking her brother? said Lord Rust.

How do you know my name? said Polly.

We are an, mm, efficient army, said Rust, and treated himself to a little smile of his own. Your brothers name is Paul?

Yes!

We shall locate him, eventually. And I understand another lady was seeking her young man?

Shufti curtsied nervously. Me, sir.

Again, we shall locate him, if you give us his name. Now, please listen to me carefully. You, Miss Perks, and the rest of you, will be taken from here, tonight, entirely unharmed, and escorted back into your country as far as our patrols can take you, which, I suspect, will be quite a long way. Is that understood? You will have what you came for. Wont that be nice? And you will not return here. The troll and the vampire have been captured. The same offer applies to them.

Polly was watching the officers. They looked nervous . . .

. . . except for one at the back. Shed thought all the guards had gone and, while this man was dressed like a guard  dressed, that is, like a badly dressed guard  he wasnt acting like one. He was leaning against the wall by the door, smoking half a cigar, and grinning. He looked like a man enjoying a show.

Very generously, Rust went on, this offer applies to you too, Lieutenant . . . Blouse, wasnt it? But in your case you would be on parole in a house in Zlobenia, very pleasant I understand, healthy walks in the countryside and all that sort of thing. This offer has not been extended to your superior officers here, I may add.

So why make it to us? Polly thought. Are you frightened? Of a bunch of girls? That makes no sense . . .

Behind the officers, the man with the cigar winked at Polly. His uniform was very old-fashioned  an ancient helmet, a breastplate, some slightly rusted chain mail, and big boots. He wore it like a workman wears his overalls. Unlike the braid and brilliance in front of her, the only statement his clothes made was that he didnt intend to get hurt. They had no insignia that Polly could see, apart from a small shield hooked on to the breastplate.

If you will excuse me a moment, said Blouse, I will consult with my men.

Men? said Rust. Theyre a bunch of women, man!

But at this moment, sir, said Blouse coolly, I would not exchange them for any six men you offered me. If you gentlemen would care to wait outside?

Behind the group, the badly dressed man burst into silent laughter. His sense of humour was not shared by the rest of the group, however.

You cannot possibly consider refusing this offer! said Lord Rust.

Nevertheless, sir, said Blouse. We will take a few minutes. I think the ladies would prefer some privacy. One of them is expecting a child.

What, here? As one man, the group drew back.

Not yet, I believe. But if you would just step outside

When the officers had retreated to the masculine safety of the corridor the lieutenant turned to his squad. Well, men? For you, it is a very attractive offer, I have to say.

Not for us, said Tonker. Lofty nodded.

Nor me, said Shufti.

Why not? said Blouse. You would get your husband.

That might be a bit difficult, mumbled Shufti. Anyway, what about the invasion?

Im not going to be sent home like a package, said Igorina. Anyway, that man has an objectionable bone structure.

Well, Private Goom cant join us right now, sighed Blouse. So that leaves you, Polly.

Why are they doing this? said Polly. Why do they want us out of the way? Why arent they just leaving us locked up? This place must be full of cells.

Ah, perhaps they are sensible of the frailties of your sex, said Blouse, and then fried in their stares. I didnt say I was, he added quickly.

They could just kill us, said Tonker. Well, they could, she added. Why not? Whod care? I dont think we count as prisoners of war.

But they havent, said Polly. And theyre not even threatening us. Theyre being very careful. I think theyre frightened of us.

Oh, yeah, right, said Tonker. Maybe they think were going to chase them and give them a big wet sloppy kiss?

Good, then were agreed that were 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 hadnt 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 werent watching him  but Polly was watching.

That seemed to go well, said Blouse, turning away.

I hope were 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 wasnt even wearing an officers 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.

Didnt have stripes, said Polly. Whyd he want to say jolly good to us?

Or hate our donkey so much? said Shufti. Hows Wazzer?

Sleeping, said Igorina. I think.

What do you mean?

Well, I dont think shes dead.

You dont think she is? said Polly.

Yes, said Igorina. Its like that. I wish I could keep her warmer.

I thought you said she was burning up?

She was. Now shes 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 doesnt 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 Scallotd make candle scubbo.

Polly checked the chimney, which smelled as though there had not been a fire in it for a long time. It was big and wide, but six feet up a heavy grille was hung with sooty cobwebs. It looked rusted and ancient, and could probably be shifted by twenty minutes work with a crowbar, but theres never a crowbar when you want one.

There were some couple of sacks of ancient, dry and dusty flour in the storeroom. It smelled bad. There was a thing with a funnel and a handle and some mysterious screws.* There were a couple of rolling pins, a lettuce strainer, some ladles . . . and there were forks. Lots of toasting forks. Polly felt let down. It was ridiculous to expect that someone imprisoning people in some ad hoc cell would leave in all the ingredients to effect an escape but, nevertheless, she felt that some universal rule had been broken. They had nothing better than a club, really. The toasting forks might prick, the lettuce strainer might pack a punch, and the rolling pins were at least a traditional female weapon, but all you could do with the thing with a funnel and a handle and mysterious screws was baffle people.

* Every long-established kitchen has one of these, and no one ever remembers why. It is generally for something that no one does any more and, even when it was done, it wasnt done with any real enthusiasm, such as celery basting, walnut shredding or, in the worst case, edible dormouse stuffing.

The door opened. Armed men came in to act as protection for a couple of women, carrying blankets and firewood. They scurried in with their eyes cast down, deposited their burdens, and almost ran out. Polly strode over to the guard who seemed to be in charge, and he backed away. A huge key ring jingled on his belt.

You knock next time, all right? she said.

He grinned nervously. Yeah, right, he said. They said we werent to talk to you . . .

Really?

The jailer glanced around. But we reckon youre doing bloody well, for girls, he said conspiratorially.

So that means you wont shoot at us when we break out? said Polly sweetly.

The grin faded. Dont try it, said the jailer.

What a big bunch of keys you have there, sir, said Tonker, and the mans hand flew to his belt.

You just stay in here, he said. Things are bad enough already. You stay here!

He slammed the door. A moment later they heard something heavy being pushed up against it.

Well, now we have a fire, at least, said Blouse.

Er . . . This was from Lofty. She volunteered a word so seldom that the rest turned to look at her, and she stopped in embarrassment.

Yes, Lofty? said Polly.

Er . . . I know how to get the door open, muttered Lofty. So it stays open, I mean.

Had it been anyone else, someone would have laughed. But words from Lofty had obviously been turned over for some time before utterance.

Er . . . good, said Blouse. Well done.

Ive been thinking about it, said Lofty.

Good.

It will work.

Just what we need, then! said Blouse, like a man trying against all the odds to keep cheerful.

Lofty looked up at the big sooty beams that ran across the room. Yes, she said.

But therell still be guards outside, said Polly.

No, said Lofty. There wont.

There wont?

Theyll have gone away. Lofty stopped, with the air of one whod said everything that needed to be said.

Tonker walked over and took her arm. Well just have a little chat, shall we? she said, and led the girl to the other side of the room. There was some whispered conversation. Lofty spent most of it staring at the floor, and then Tonker came back.

We will need the bags of flour from the storeroom, and the rope from the well, she said. And one of those . . . what are those big round things that cover dishes? With a knob on?

Dish covers? said Shufti.

And a candle, Tonker went on. And a lot of barrels. And a lot of water.

And what will all this do? said Blouse.

Make a big bang, said Tonker. Tilda knows a lot about fire, believe me.

When you say she knows a lot. . . Polly began uncertainly.

I mean every place she worked at burned down, said Tonker.

They rolled the empty barrels to the middle of the room and filled them with water from the pump. Under Loftys monosyllabic direction and the rope from the well, they hauled three leaking, dusty flour sacks up as high as possible, so that they twisted gently over the space between the barrels and the door.

Ah, said Polly, standing back. I think I understand. A flour mill on the other side of town blew up two years ago.

Yes, said Tonker. That was Tilda.

What?

Theyd been beating her. And worse. And the thing about Tilda is, she just watches and thinks and somewhere in there it all comes together. Then it explodes.

But two people died!

The man and his wife. Yes. But I heard that other girls sent there never came back at all. Shall I tell you that Tilda was pregnant when they brought her back to the Grey House after the fire? She had it, and they took it away, and we dont know what happened to it. And then she got beaten again because she was an Abomination unto Nuggan. Does that make you feel better? said Tonker, tying the rope to a table leg. Theres just us, Polly. Just her and me. No inheritance, no nice home to go back to, no relatives that we know of. The Grey House breaks us all, somehow. Wazzer talks to the Duchess, I dont have . . . middle gears, and Tilda frightens me when she gets her hands on a box of matches. You should see her face then, though. It lights up. Of course, Tonker smiled in her dangerous way, so do other things. Better get everyone into the storeroom while we light the candle.

Shouldnt Tilda do that?

She will. But well have to drag her away, otherwise shell stay and watch.

This had started like a game. She hadnt thought of it like a game, but it was a game called Let Polly keep The Duchess. And now . . . it didnt matter. Shed made all kinds of plans, but she was beyond plans now. Theyd done bloody well, for girls . . .

A final barrel of water had been placed, after some discussion, in front of the storerooms door. Polly looked over the top of it at Blouse and the rest of the squad.

Okay, everybody, were . . . er . . . about to do it, she said. Are we sure about this, Tonker?

Yep.

And we wont get hurt?

Tonker sighed. The dusty flour will explode. Thats simple. The blast coming this way will hit the barrels full of water whichll probably last just long enough to see it rebound. The worst that should happen to us is that we get wet. Thats what Tilda thinks. Would you argue? And in the other direction, theres only the door.

How does she work this out?

She doesnt. She just sees how it should go. Tonker handed Polly the end of a rope. This goes over the beam and down to the dish lid. Can you hold it, lieutenant? But dont pull it until we say. I really mean that. Cmon, Polly.

In the space between the barrels and the door, Lofty was lighting a candle. She did it slowly, as if it was a sacrament or some ancient ceremony every part of which held enormous and complex meaning. She lit a match, and held it carefully until the flame caught. She waved it back and forth on the base of the candle, which she thrust firmly on to the flagstones so that the hot wax stuck it into position. Then she applied the match to the candle wick and knelt there, watching the flame.

Okay, said Tonker. Im just going to pick her up, and you just carefully lower the lid over the candle, right? Cmon, Tilda.

She raised the girl carefully to her feet, whispering to her all the time, and then nodded to Polly, who lowered the lid with a carefulness that amounted to reverence.

Lofty walked as though asleep. Tonker stopped by the leg of the heavy kitchen table, to which shed attached the other end of the rope holding the flour bags.

Okay so far, she said. Now, when I pull the knot we each grab an arm and we run, Polly, understand? We run. Ready? Got her? She hauled on the rope. Run!

The flour sacks dropped, streaming white dust as they fell, and exploded in front of the door. Flour rose like a fog. They raced for the storeroom and fell in a heap past the barrel as Tonker screamed, Okay, lieutenant! Blouse pulled the rope that raised the lid and let the candle flame reach

The word was not whoomph. The experience was whoomph. It had a quality that overwhelmed every sense. It shook the world like a sheet, painted it white and then, surprisingly, filled it with the smell of toast. And then it was over, in a second, leaving nothing but distant screams and the rumble of collapsing masonry.

Polly uncurled, and looked up into Blouses face. I think we grab things and run now, sir, she said. And screaming would help.

I think I can manage the screaming, muttered Shufti. This is not a very nurturing experience.

Blouse gripped his ladle. I hope this isnt going to be our famous last stand, he said.

In fact, sir, said Polly, I think its going to be our first. Permission to yell in a bloodcurdling way, sir?

Permission granted, Perks!

*

The floor was awash with water and bits  quite small bits  of barrel. Half the chimney had collapsed into the fireplace and the soot was blazing fiercely. Polly wondered if, down in the valley, itd look like a signal.

The door had gone. So had a lot of wall around it. Beyond

Smoke and dust filled the air. In it, men lay groaning, or picked their way aimlessly across the rubble. When the squad arrived they did not simply fail to put up a fight, they failed to understand. Or hear. The women lowered their weapons. Polly spotted the sergeant, who was sitting and hitting the side of his head with the flat of his hand.

Give me the keys! she demanded.

He tried to focus. What?

The keys!

Ill have a brown one, please.

Are you okay?

What?

Polly reached down and snatched the key ring from the unresisting mans belt, fighting down an instinct to apologize. She threw it to Blouse. Will you do the honours, sir? I think well be having a lot of visitors really soon. She turned to the squad. The rest of you, get their weapons off them!

Some of these men are badly hurt, Polly, said Igorina, kneeling down. Theres one here with multiple.

Multiple what? said Polly, watching the steps.

Just. . . multiple. Multiple everything. But I know I can save his arm, because Ive just found it over there. I think he mustve been holding his sword and

Just do what you can, okay? said Polly.

Hey, theyre enemies, said Tonker, picking up a sword.

Thith ith an Igor thing, said Igorina, taking off her pack. Im thorry, you wouldnt underthtand.

Im beginning not to. Tonker joined Polly in her watch on the stairs. Around them, men groaned and stone creaked. I wonder how much damage we did? Theres a lot of dust up there . . .

Therell be a lot of people here soon, said Polly, more calmly than she felt. Because this is going to be it, she thought. This time theres going to be no turkey to save us. This is where I find out if Im the meat or the metal . . .

She could hear Blouse unlocking doors, and the shouts from those within. Lieutenant Blouse, Tenth Infantry! he was saying. This is a rescue, broadly speaking. Sorry about the mess.

Probably his inner Daphne had added that last bit, Polly thought. And then the corridor was full of released men, and someone said, What are these women doing here! For gods sake, give me that sword, girl!

And, right now, she wasnt inclined to argue.

Men take over. It is probably because of socks.

The squad retired to the kitchen, where Igorina was at work. She worked fast, efficiently and, on the whole, with very little blood. Her large pack was open beside her. The jars inside were blue, green and red; some of them smoked when she opened them, or gave off strange lights. Her fingers moved in a blur. It was fascinating to watch her working. At least, it was if you hadnt just eaten.

Squad, this is Major Erick von Moldvitz! He asked to meet you.

They turned at the sound of Blouses voice. Hed brought a newcomer. The major was young, but much more heavily built than the lieutenant. He had a scar across his face.

Stand easy, lads, he said. Blouse here has been telling me what crackin work youve been doing. Well done! Dressin up as women, eh? Lucky you werent found out!

Yessir, said Polly. From outside, there came the sound of cries and fighting.

Didnt bring your uniforms with you? said the major.

Couldve been tricky if they were found on us, said Polly, staring at Blouse.

Couldve been tricky anyway, eh, if you were searched? said the major, winking.

Yessir, said Polly obediently. Lieutenant Blouse told you all about us, did he, sir?

Just behind the major, Blouse was making a universal gesture. It consisted of both hands held palm up and outwards and waggled furiously with all fingers extended.

Hah, yes. Stole some clothes from a knockin shop, eh? Young lads like you shouldnt have gone in a place like that, eh? Those places are an Abomination, if theyre run right! said the major, wagging a finger theatrically. Anyway, were doing well. Hardly any guards this deep in the keep, ysee. The whole place was built on the basis that the enemy would be on the outside! I say, whats that man doin to the man on the slab?

Patching him up, thur, said Igorina. Thewing hith arm back on.

Hes an enemy, aint he?

Code of the Igorth, thur, said Igorina reproachfully. A thpare hand where needed, thur.

The major sniffed. Oh well, cant argue with you fellows, eh? But when youve finished, weve got plenty of chaps out there who could do with your help.

Thertainly, thur, said Igorina.

Any news of my brother, sir? said Polly. Paul Perks?

Yes, Blouse here mentioned him, Perks, but theres men locked up everywhere and its a little tricky right now, eh? said the major brusquely. As for the rest of you, well get you into a pair of trousers as soon as possible and you can join in the fun, eh?

The fun, said Tonker, in a hollow voice.

The fun being . . . ? said Polly.

Weve got as far as the fourth floor already, said von Moldvitz. We might not have the whole keep back, but we hold the outer courtyards and some of the towers. By morning, well control who comes in and goes out. Were back in the war! They wont invade now. Most of their top brass are in the inner keep.

Back in the war, murmured Polly.

And we will win! said the major.

Oh, sugar, said Shufti.

Something was going to give, Polly knew. Tonker had that look she got before she exploded, and even Shufti was fidgeting. It would only be a matter of time before Lofty found her box of matches, which Polly had hidden in a cupboard.

Igorina packed up her bag and smiled brightly at the major. Ready to go, thur, she said.

At least remove the wig, eh?

Itth my own hair, thur, said Igorina.

Looks a bit. . . cissy, then, said the major. It would be better if

I am, in fact, female, sir, said Igorina, dropping most of the lisp. Trust me, Im an Igor. We know about this sort of thing. And my needlework ith second to none.

A woman? said the major.

Polly sighed. We all are, sir. Really women. Not just dressed up as women. And right now I dont want to put any trousers on because then Id be a woman dressed up as a man dressed up as a woman dressed up as a man, and then Id be so confused I wouldnt know how to swear. And I want to swear right now, sir, very much.

The major turned stiffly to Blouse. Did you know about this, lieutenant? he barked.

Well . . . yes, sir. Eventually. But even so, sir, I would

This cell was an old guardroom. It was damp, and had two creaking bunks.

On the whole, said Tonker, I think it was better when we were locked up by the enemy.

Theres a grille in the ceiling, said Shufti.

Not big enough to climb through, said Polly.

No, but we can hang ourselves before they do it.

Im told its a very painful way to die, said Polly.

Who by? said Tonker.

Occasionally the sounds of battle filtered through the narrow window. Mostly it was yells; often it was screams. Fun was being had.

Igorina sat staring at her hands. Whats wrong with these? she said. Didnt I do a good job on that arm? But no, theyre afraid I might touch their privates.

Perhaps you could have promised to operate only on officers, said Tonker. No one laughed, and probably no one would have bothered to run for it if the door had swung open. It was a proud and noble thing to escape from the enemy, but if you were escaping from your own side, where would you escape to?

On one of the bunks, Wazzer slept like a hibernating bear. You had to watch her for some time to see her breathe.

What can they do to us? said Shufti nervously. You know . . . really do to us?

We were wearing mens clothes, said Polly.

But thats only a beating.

Oh, theyll find some other stuff, believe you me, said Tonker. Besides, who knows were here?

But we got them out of prison! Our side!

Polly sighed. Thats why, Shufti. No one wants to know that a bunch of girls dressed up as soldiers and broke into a big fort and let out half an army. Everyone knows females cant do that. Neither side wants us here, understand?

On a battlefield like this, wholl worry about a few more bodies? said Tonker.

Dont say that! Lieutenant Blouse spoke up for us, said Shufti.

What, Daphne? said Tonker. Hah! Just another body. Theyve probably locked him up somewhere, just like us.

There was a distant cheering, which went on for some time.

Sounds like theyve got the building, said Polly.

Hooray for us, said Tonker, and spat.

After a while, a small hatch was opened in the door and a silent man handed through a big can of scubbo and a tray of horse-bread. It wasnt bad scubbo or, at least, not bad scubbo by the standards of bad scubbo. There was some discussion about whether being fed meant you werent going to be executed, until someone pointed out the tradition of the Last Hearty Meal.

Igorina gave it as her cultural opinion that the stew was not only hearty but lungy and livery too. But at least it was hot.

A couple of hours later a can of saloop was handed through, with some mugs. This time, the guard winked.

An hour after that, the door was unlocked. A young man in a majors uniform stepped inside.

Oh well, lets go on as we started, Polly thought. She leapt to her feet. Squaddd . . . tennn . . . hut[?]!

With reasonable speed, the squad at least managed to stand up straight and in a line. The major acknowledged her by tapping the peak of his cap with a stick. It was definitely thinner than an inch.

Stand easy . . . corporal, isnt it? he said.

Yessir. That sounded promising.

I am Major Clogston, of the Provosts office, said the major. And Id like you to tell me all about it. About everything. I will make notes, if you dont mind.

Whats this about? said Tonker.

Ah, youd be . . . Private Halter, said Clogston. Ive already spoken at length to Lieutenant Blouse. He turned, nodded at the guard hovering in the doorway, and shut the door. He also closed the hatch.

You are going to be tried, he said, sitting down on the spare bunk. The politicos want you to be tried by a full Nugganatic court, but that would be tricky here, and no one wants this to go on for any longer than it has to. Besides, there has been an . . . unusual event. Someone has sent a communique to General Froc asking about you all by name. At least, he added, by your surnames.

Was that Lord Rust, sir?

No, it was someone called William de Worde. I dont know if youve run across his newspaper thing? Were wondering how he knew you were captured.

Well, we didnt tell him! said Polly.

It makes things a little . . . tricky, said Clogston. Although, from your point of view, a lot more hopeful. There are those members of the army who are, let us say, considering the future of Borogravia. That is, they would like there to be one. My job is to present your case to the tribunal.

Is that a court martial? said Polly.

No, theyre not that stupid. Calling it a court martial would indicate that they accept that you are soldiers.

You did, said Shufti.

De facto is not dejure, said Clogston. Now, as I said . . . tell me your story, Miss Perks.

Thats Corporal, thank you!

I apologize for the lapse. Now . . . go on . . . Clogston opened his bag and produced a pair of half-moon spectacles, which he put on, and took out a pencil and something white and square. Whenever youre ready? he added.

Sir, are you really going to write on a jam sandwich? said Polly.

What? The major looked down, and laughed. Oh. No. Excuse me. I really mustnt miss meals. Blood sugar, you know . . .

Only its oozing, sir. Dont mind us. Weve eaten.

It took an hour, with many interruptions and corrections, and two more sandwiches. The major used up quite a lot of notebook, and occasionally had to stop and stare at the ceiling.

. . . and then we were thrown in here, said Polly, sitting back.

Pushed, really, said Igorina. Nudged.

Mmm, said Clogston. You say Corporal Strappi, as you knew him, was . . . suddenly very ill at the thought of going into battle?

Yessir.

And in the tavern in Plün you really kneed Prince Heinrich in the fracas?

In or about the fracas, sir. And I didnt know it was him at the time, sir.

I see you havent mentioned the attack on the hilltop where, according to Lieutenant Blouse, your prompt action got the enemy code book . . .

Not really worth mentioning, sir. We didnt do much with it.

Oh, I dont know. Because of you and that nice man from the newspaper the alliance has had two regiments trotting around in the mountains after some guerrilla leader called Tiger. Prince Heinrich insisted, and is in fact in command. He is, you could say, a sore loser. Very sore, according to rumour.

The newspaper writer believed all that stuff? said Polly, amazed.

I dont know, but he certainly wrote it down. You say Lord Rust offered to let you all go home quietly?

Yessir.

And the consensus was that he could . . .

Stick it up his jumper, sir.

Oh, yes. I couldnt read my own writing. J . . . U . . . M . . . Clogston carefully wrote the word in capital letters, and then said: I am not saying this, I am not here, but some . . . senior . . . people on our side are wondering if you would just quietly go . . . ?

The question hung in the air like a corpse from a beam.

Ill put that down as jumper too, then, shall I? said Clogston.

Some of us have got nowhere to go to, said Tonker.

Or no one to go with, said Shufti.

We havent done anything wrong, said Polly.

Jumper it is, then, said the major. He folded up his little spectacles and sighed. They wont even tell me what charges are going to be made.

Being Bad Girls, said Tonker. Who are we fooling, sir? The enemy wanted just to be quietly rid of us, and the general wants the same thing. Thats the trouble about the good guys and the bad guys. Theyre all guys!

Would we have got a medal, sir, if wed been men? Shufti demanded.

Yep. Certainly. And Blouse would have been promoted on the spot, I imagine. But right now were at war, and this might not be the time

to thank a bunch of Abominable women? Polly suggested.

Clogston smiled. I was going to say to lose concentration. Its the political branch who are pushing for this, of course. They want to stop word getting around. And high command want this over quickly for the same reason.

When is all this going to start? said Polly.

In about half an hour.

This is stupid! said Tonker. Theyre in the middle of a war and theyre going to take the time to hold a trial for a few women who havent even done anything wrong?

The general has insisted, said Clogston. He wants this cleared out of the way.

And what authority has this tribunal got? said Polly coldly.

Thousands of men under arms, said Clogston. Sorry. The trouble is, when you say to a general You and whose army? he just has to point out of the window. But I intend to prove that the meeting should be a court martial. You all kissed the Duchess? You took the shilling? I say that makes it military business.

And thats good, is it?

Well, it means there are procedures. The last Abomination from Nuggan was against jigsaw puzzles. They break the world into pieces, he says. Thats making people think, at last. The army may be crazy, but at least its crazy by numbers. Its reliably insane. Er, your sleeping friend . . . will you leave her here?

No, said the squad, as one woman.

She needs my constant attention, said Igorina.

If we leave her she might have a sudden attack of vanishing without a trace, said Tonker.

We stick together, said Polly. We dont leave a man behind.

The room chosen for the tribunal was a ballroom. More than half the keep had been taken back, Polly learned, but the distribution of ground was erratic. The alliance still held the central buildings, and the armoury, but were entirely surrounded by Borogravian forces. The current prize to fight for was the main gate complex, which hadnt been built to withstand attack from inside. What was happening out there now was a brawl, a midnight bar fight but on a huge scale. And, since there were various war engines atop the towers now occupied by either side, the keep was shooting at itself, in the finest traditions of the circular firing squad.

The floor in here smelled of polish and chalk. Tables had been pushed together to make a rough semicircle. There must have been more than thirty officers, Polly thought. Then she saw the other tables behind the semicircles, and the maps, and the people scurrying in and out, and realized that this was not just about them. This was a war-room.

The squad were marched in, and stood at attention. Igorina had browbeaten a couple of guards to carry Wazzer on a stretcher. That circle of stitches under her eye was worth more than a colonels pips. No soldier wanted to be on the wrong side of the Igors.

They waited. Occasionally an officer would glance at them, and go back to looking at a map, or talking. Then Polly saw some whispering going on, heads turned again, and there was a drift towards the semicircle of seats. There was a definite sense that here was a tiresome chore that, regrettably, had to be done.

General Froc did not look directly at the squad until he had taken his seat in the centre of the group and adjusted his papers neatly. Even then, his eye passed over them quickly, as if it was afraid to stop. Polly had never seen him before. He was a handsome man, and still had a fine head of white hair. A scar down one side of his face had just missed an eye, and showed up against the wrinkles.

Things are moving well, he said, to the room at large. We have just heard that a flying column led by the remnant of the Tenth are closing on the keep and attacking the main gates from outside. Someone must have seen what is happening. The army is on the move!

There was a certain amount of refined cheering at this, none of it from the squad. The general glanced at them again.

Is this all of them, Clogston? he said.

The major, who at least had a small table to himself, stood up and saluted. No, sir, he said. We are awaiting

The doors opened again. Jade was brought in, chained between two much larger trolls. Maladict and Blouse trailed behind her. It seemed that in all the rush and confusion no one had found any trousers for Blouse, and Maladict looked slightly blurred. His chains jingled constantly.

I object to the chains, sir, said Clogston.

The general held a whispered consultation with a few of the other officers. Yes, we do not want undue formality, he said, nodding at the guards. Remove them. You trolls can go. I just want the guards to remain on the door. Now, let us proceed. This really shouldnt take too long. Now then, you people, he settled himself in his chair, this really is very simple. With the exception of Lieutenant Blouse, you will agree to be returned to your homes and placed in the charge of a responsible male, understood? And no more will be said about this matter. You have showed considerable spirit, there is no doubt about that, but it was misplaced. We are not ungrateful, however. We understand that none of you is married and so we will present you all with suitable, indeed, with handsome dowries

Polly saluted. Permission to speak, sir?

Froc stared at her, and then looked pointedly at Clogston.

Youll have a chance to speak later, corporal, said the major.

But what exactly have we done wrong, sir? said Polly. They should tell us.

Froc looked at the far end of the row of chairs. Captain? he said.

A short officer got to his feet. In Pollys face, the tide of recognition raced across the mudflats of hatred.

Captain Strappi, political division, sir he began, and stopped at the groan from the squad. When it had died away he cleared his throat, and went on: Twenty-seven Abominations have been committed under Nugganatic law, sir. I suspect there have been many more. Under military law, sir, we have the simple fact that they posed as men in order to join up. I was there, sir, and saw it all.

Captain Strappi, may I congratulate you on your rapid promotion? said Lieutenant Blouse.

Yes, indeed, captain, said Clogston. Apparently you were a humble corporal only a few days ago?

Plaster dust drifted down again as something heavy struck the wall outside. Froc brushed it off his paperwork.

Not one of ours, I hope, he said, to a certain amount of laughter. Do go ahead, captain.

Strappi turned to the general. As you know, sir, it is occasionally necessary for us in the political division to assume a lower rank in order to gain intelligence. Covered under the Regulations, sir, he added.

The look that General Froc gave him stirred a little teacup of hope in Pollys breast. No one could like something like Strappi, not even a mother. Then the general turned back to Clogston.

Is this germane, major? he said testily. We know they disguised themselves as

women, sir, said Clogston smoothly. Thats all we know, sir. Apart from Captain Strappis assertion, and I intend to suggest later that this is tainted, I havent yet heard any evidence that they have dressed in any other way.

We have the evidence of our own eyes, man!

Yes, sir. Theyre wearing dresses, sir.

And theyre practically bald!

Yes, sir, said Clogston. He picked up a thick book, dripping with bookmarks. Book of Nuggan, sir: It is a Beatitude unto Nuggan that An Woman shall wear her hair short, that the amorous propensities of men be not therefore inflamed. 

I dont see a lot of bald women around! snapped Froc.

Yes, sir. It is one of those utterances that people find somewhat tricky, like the one about not sneezing. I should say at this point, sir, that I intend to show that Abominations are routinely committed by all of us. We have got into the habit of ignoring them, in fact, which opens up an interesting debate. In any case, short hair is Nugganatically correct. In short, sir, and in short hair, the ladies appear to have been involved in nothing more than a little laundry, a kitchen accident and the release of your good self from the cells.

I saw them! snarled Strappi. They looked like men and they acted like men!

Why were you in the recruiting party, captain? said Major Clogston. I would not have thought one of those would have been a hotbed of seditious activity?

Is that a relevant question, major? said the general.

I dont know, sir, said Clogston. Thats why I asked. I dont think we would wish it to be said that these ladies had not been given a fair hearing?

Said by whom? said Froc. My officers can be relied upon to be discreet.

Said by the ladies themselves, sir?

Then we must require that they do not speak to anyone!

Oh, I say! said Blouse.

And how will you enforce this, sir? said Clogston. Against these women who, we are agreed, stole you out of the jaws of the enemy?

There was some muttering amongst the officers.

Major Clogston, did you have lunch? said the general.

No, sir.

Colonel Vester said you become a little . . . erratic when you miss meals . . .

No, sir. I become tetchy, sir. But I think a little tetchiness is called for right now. I put a question to Captain Strappi, sir.

Very well, captain, perhaps you will tell us why you were with that recruiting party? said the general wearily.

I was . . . investigating a soldier, sir. A non-commissioned officer. Our attention had been drawn to irregularities in his files, sir, and where there are irregularities we generally find sedition. I hesitate to talk about this, sir, because this sergeant has been of some service to yourself

Hrumph! said the general loudly. This is not a matter for discussion here, I think.

It was just that according to the files, several officers had helped Strappi went on.

Hrumph! Not matters for this court, captain! Are we agreed, gentlemen?

Yes, sir, it was just that the major asked me and I Strappi began, bewildered.

Captain, I suggest you learn what a hrumph means! roared Froc.

So what were you looking for when you rummaged through our stuff? said Polly, as Strappi shrank.

Mmmmmy cccccoffee! said Maladict. Yyyyyou ssssstole mmmmmy cccccoffee!

And you ran away when you were told you were going into combat, you little dogs pizzle! said Tonker. Polly said you pissed your drawers!

General Froc slammed his fist on the table, but Polly noticed that one or two officers were trying to conceal a smile. These are not matters for this inquiry! he said.

Although, sir, one or two of them seem to me to be subjects for investigation later on, said a colonel, further along the table. The personal belongings of enlisted men may only be searched in their presence, general. This may seem a trivial point, but men have mutinied over it in the past. Did you, in fact, believe the . . . men to be women when you did this, captain?

Oh, say yes, please say yes, Polly thought, as Strappi hesitated. Because when we talk about how those cavalrymen found us so quickly, itll mean you set them on a bunch of Borogravian girls. Lets see how that one plays in Plün! And if you didnt know, then why were you rummaging?

Strappi preferred the rock to the hard place. Stone clattered down in the courtyard outside, and he had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

I was, er, generally suspicious of them, sir, because they were so keen

Sir, I protest! said Clogston. Keenness is not a military vice!

In moderation, certainly, said Froc. And you found evidence of some sort, did you?

I did find a petticoat, sir, said Strappi, feeling his way with care.

Then why didnt you Froc began, but Strappi interrupted.

I did serve for a while with Captain Wrigglesworth, sir, he said.

And? said Froc, but the officer on his left leaned over and whispered something to him. Oh, Wrigglesworth. Ha, yes, said Froc. Of course. Fine officer, Wrigglesworth. Keen on, er

Amateur dramatics, a colonel supplied, in a noncommittal voice.

Right! Right! Ver good for morale, that sort of thing. Hrumph.

With respect, general, I think I can offer a way through? said another man with a generals rank.

Really, Bob? said Froc. Oh, well . . . feel free. The record will show that I am yielding the floor to General Kzupi.

Im sorry, sir, I thought these proceedings were not being recorded? said Clogston.

Yes, yes, of course, thank you so much for jogging my memory, said Froc. However, if we were to have a record, that is what it would show. Bob?

Ladies, said General Kzupi, flashing the squad a glossy smile. And you too, of course, Lieutenant Blouse, and you too, er . . . he looked quizzically at Maladict, who stared straight back . . . sir? General Kzupi, though, was not to be derailed by an eyeballing vampire, even one that couldnt stand still. Firstly, may I offer on behalf of all of us, I think, our thanks for the incredible job you have done? A splendid effort. But, sadly, the world we live in has certain . . . rules, you understand? To be frank, the problem here is not that you are women. As such, that is. But you persist in maintaining that you are. You see? We cant have that.

You mean if we put on uniforms again, and swaggered around belching and saying har har, fooled you all that would be all right? said Polly.

Perhaps I could help? said yet another voice. Froc looked along the table.

Ah, Brigadier Stoffer. Yes?

This is all rather damn silly, general

Hrumph! said Froc.

What say? said Stoffer, looking puzzled.

There are ladies present, brigadier. That is, ahah, the problem.

Damn right! said Tonker.

Understood, general. But the party was led by a man, am I right?

Lieutenant Blouse tells me he is a man, sir, said Clogston. Since he is an officer and a gentleman, I will take his word for it.

Well, then, problem solved. These young ladies helped him. Smuggled him in, and so forth. Assisted him. Fine traditions of Borogravian womanhood and all that. Not soldiers at all. Give the man a big medal and make him a captain, and all thisll be forgotten.

Excuse me one moment, general, said Clogston. I will consult with what we would call the accused if anyone would enlighten me as to the precise nature of the charges.

He walked over to the squad and lowered his voice. I think this is the best offer youre going to get, he said. I can probably get the money, too. How about it?

Its completely ridiculous! said Blouse. They showed tremendous courage and determination. All this would not have been possible without them.

Yes, Blouse, and you would be allowed to say that, said Clogston. Stoffer has come up with quite a clever idea. Everyone gets what they want, but you just have to avoid any suggestion that you were in fact acting as soldiers. Brave Borogravian women going to the aid of a gallant hero, that works. You could take the view that these are changing times, and you are helping them change faster. Well?

The squad exchanged glances.

Er . . . Id be happy about that, Shufti ventured. If everyone else is.

So youd have your baby without a husband? said Polly.

Hes probably dead anyway, whoever he was, sighed Shufti.

The general has influence, said Clogston. He might be able to

No, Im not buying into this, said Tonker. Its a gooey little lie. To hell with them.

Lofty? said Polly.

Lofty struck a match, and stared at it. She could find matches anywhere.

There was another crump, high above.

Maladict? said Polly.

Llet tthe bball rroll. II ssay nno.

And you, lieutenant? Clogston asked.

Its dishonourable, said Blouse.

Could be problems for you if you dont accept, though. With your career.

I suspect I havent got one, major, whatever happens. No, I will not live a lie. I know, now, that Im not a hero. Im just someone who wanted to be one.

Thank you, sir, said Polly. Er . . . Jade?

One of der trolls what arrested me hit me with his club an I frew a table at him, said Jade, looking at the floor.

That was mistreatment of a pris Blouse began, but Clogston said: No, lieutenant, I know something about trolls. They are very . . . physical. So . . . hes a rather attractive lad, is he, private?

I got a good feelin about him, said Jade, blushing. So I dont want to be sent home. Nothin for me there, anyway.

Private Igor . . . ina? said Blouse.

I think we ought to give in, said Igorina.

Why? said Polly.

Because Wazzers dying. She raised a hand. No, please dont cluster round. Give her air, at least. She hasnt eaten. I cant get any water down her at all. She looked up with red-rimmed eyes. I dont know what to do!

The Duchess talked to her, said Polly. You all heard. And you know what we saw down in the crypt.

And I said I dont believe any of that! said Tonker. Its her . . . mind. They made her crazy enough. And we were all so tired, wed see anything. All that stuff about wanting to get to the High Command? Well, here they are, and I dont see any miracles. Do you?

I dont think she would have wanted us to give in, said Polly.

No.

Did you hear that? said Polly, although she wasnt certain that the word had turned up in her head via her ears.

No, I didnt! said Tonker. I didnt hear it!

I dont think we can accept this compromise, sir, said Polly to the major.

Then I wont, said Shufti promptly. I dont . . . this wasnt . . . I only came because . . . but . . . look, Im staying with you. Erm . . . what can they do to us, sir?

Put you in a cell for a long time, probably, said the major. Theyre being kind to you

Kind? said Polly.

Well, they think theyre being kind, said Clogston. And they could be a lot worse. And theres a war on. They dont want to look bad, but Froc didnt get to be a general by being nice. I have to warn you about that. Youre still turning this down?

Blouse looked round at his men. I believe we are, major.

Good, said Clogston, winking.

Good.

Clogston went back to his table and shuffled his papers. The allegedly accused, sir, regretfully turn down the offer.

Yes, I thought they might, said Froc. In that case, they are to be returned to the cells. They will be dealt with later. Plaster showered down as something hit the outer wall again. This has gone quite far enough!

We wont be sent to the cells! Tonker shouted.

Then that is mutiny, sir! said Froc. And we know how to deal with that!

Excuse me, general, does that then mean the tribunal does agree that these ladies are soldiers? said Clogston.

General Froc glared at him. Dont you try to tie me up with procedural nonsense, major!

Its hardly nonsense, sir, its the very basis

Duck.

The word was the faintest, merest suggestion in Pollys head, but it also seemed to be wired to her central nervous system. And not only hers. The squad ducked, Igorina throwing herself across her patients body.

Half the ceiling collapsed. The chandelier fell down and exploded in a kaleidoscope of splintering prisms. Mirrors shattered. And then there was, by comparison at least, silence, broken only by the thud of a few late bits of plaster and the tinkle of a tardy shard.

Now. . .

Footsteps approached the big doors at the end of the room, where the guards were just struggling to their feet. The doors swung open.

Jackrum stood there, shining like the sunset. The light glinted off his shako badge, polished to the point where it would blind the incautious with its terrible gleam. His face was red, but his jacket was redder, and his sergeants sash was the pure quill of redness, its very essence, the red of dying stars and dying soldiers. Blood dripped off the cutlasses thrust into his belt. The guards, still shaking, tried to lower their pikes to bar his way.

Do not try it, lads, I beg you, said Jackrum. Upon my oath I am not a violent man, but do you think Sergeant Jackrum is going to be stopped by a set of bleedin cutlery?

The men looked at Jackrum, steaming with barely controlled rage, and then at the astonished generals, and took an immediate decision on their own desperate initiative.

Good lads, said Jackrum. With your permission, General Froc?

He did not wait for a reply but marched forward with parade-ground precision. He came to boot-crashing attention in front of the senior generals, still brushing plaster dust from their uniforms, and saluted with the precision of a semaphore.

I beg to report, sir, that we now hold the main gates, sir! Took the liberty of putting together a force of the Ins-and-Outs, the Side-to-Sides and the Backwards-and-Forwards, sir, just in case, saw a big cloud o flame and smoke over the place, and arrived at the gates just as your lads did. Got em coming and going, sir!

There was a general cheer, and General Kzupi leaned towards Froc. In view of this pleasing development, sir, perhaps we should hurry up and close this

Froc waved him into silence. Jackrum, you old rogue, he said, leaning back in his chair. I heard you were dead. How the devil are you?

Fightin fit, sir! barked Jackrum. Not dead at all, despite the hopes of many!

Glad to hear it, man. But, while your rosy face is a welcome sight at any time, we are here to

Fourteen miles I carried you, sir! Jackrum roared, sweat pouring down his face. Pulled that arrow out of your leg, sir. Sliced that devil of a captain who pushed an axe in your face, sir, and Im glad to see the scars looking well. Killed that poor sentry lad just to steal his water bottle for you, sir. Looked into his dyin face, sir, for you. Never asked for nothing in return, sir. Right, sir?

Froc rubbed his chin and smiled. Well, I seem to remember there was that little matter of fudging some details, changing a few dates he murmured.

Dont give me that bleedin slop, sir, with respect. That wasnt for me, that was for the army. For the Duchess, sir. And, yeah, I see a few other gentlemen round this table who had reason to do the same little service for me. For the Duchess, sir. And if you was to leave me one sword Id stand and fight any man in your army, sir, be he never so young and full of mustard!

In one movement he pulled a cutlass from his belt and brought it down on the paperwork between Frocs hands. It bit through into the wood of the table, and stayed there.

Froc didnt flinch. Instead he looked up and said calmly, Hero though you may be, sergeant, I fear that you have gone too far.

Have I gone the full fourteen miles yet, sir? said Jackrum.

For a moment there was no sound but that of the cutlass, vibrating to a halt. Froc breathed out. Very well, he said. What is your request, sergeant?

I notes you have my little lads before you, sir! Im hearing that they are in a spot of bother, sir!

The girls, Jackrum, are to be restrained in a place of safety. This is no place for them. And that is my order, sergeant.

I said to em when they signed up, sir, I said: if anyone drags you away theyll have to drag me away, too, sir!

Froc nodded. Very loyal of you, sergeant, and very much in your character. Nevertheless

And I have information vital to these here deliberations, sir! There is something I must tell you, sir!

Well, by all means tell us, man! said Froc. You dont have to take all

It requires that some of you gentlemen quit this room, sir, said Jackrum, desperately. He was still at attention, still holding the salute.

Now you do ask too much, Jackrum, said Froc. These are loyal officers of her grace!

No doubt of it, sir! Upon my oath I am not a gossiping man, sir, but I will speak my piece to those I choose, sir, or speak it to the world. Theres ways to do that, sir, nasty new-fangled ways. Your choice, sir!

At last, Froc coloured. He stood up abruptly. Are you seriously telling me that youd

This is my famous last stand, sir! said Jackrum, saluting again. Do or die, sir!

All eyes turned to Froc. He relaxed. Oh, very well. It cant do any harm to listen to you, sergeant. God knows youve earned it. But make it quick.

Thank you, sir.

But try this again and youll be on the biggest fizzer you can imagine.

No worry there, sir. Never been one for fizzers. I will by your leave point to certain men . . .

They were about half of the officers. They rose with greater or lesser protest, but rise they did, under Frocs sapphire glare, and filed out into the corridor.

General, I protest! said a departing colonel. We are being sent out of the room like naughty children while these . . . females are

Yes, yes, Rodney, and if our friend the sergeant doesnt have a damn good explanation Ill personally turn him over to you for punishment detail, said Froc. But hes entitled to his last wild charge if any man is. Go quietly, theres a good chap, and keep the war going until we get there. And have you finished this strange charade, sergeant? he added, as the last of the officers left.

All but one last thing, sir, said Jackrum, and stamped over to the guards. They were at attention already, but nevertheless contrived to become more attentive. You lads go outside this door, said the sergeant. No one is to come close, understand. And I know you boys wont try to eavesdrop, because of whatd happen to you if I ever found that you had done so. Off you go, hup, hup, hup!

He shut the doors behind them and the atmosphere changed. Polly couldnt quite detect how, but perhaps it was that the click of the doors had said This is our secret and everyone present was in on it.

Jackrum removed his shako and laid it gently on the table in front of the general. Then he took off his coat and handed it to Polly, saying, Hold this, Perks. Its the property of her grace. He rolled up his sleeves. He relaxed his enormous red braces. And then, to Pollys horror if not to her surprise, he brought out his paper screw of foul chewing tobacco and his blackened penknife.

Oh, I say a major began, before a colleague nudged him into silence. Never had a man cutting a wad of black tobacco been the subject of such rapt, horrified attention.

Things are going well outside, he said. Shame you arent all out there, eh? Still, the truths important too, right? And thats what this tribunal is for, no doubt about it. It must be important, the truth, else you wouldnt be here, am I right? course I am.

Jackrum finished the cut, palmed the stuff into his mouth and got it comfortable in a cheek, while the sounds of battle filtered through from outside. Then he turned and walked towards the major who had just spoken. The man cringed a little in his chair.

Whatve you got to say about the truth, Major Derbi? said Jackrum conversationally. Nothing? Well, then, what shall I say? What shall I say about a captain who turned and ran sobbing when we came across a column of Zlobenians, deserting his own men? Shall I say that ol Jackrum tripped him up and pummelled him a bit and put the fear of . . . Jackrum into him, and he went back and twas a famous victory he had that day, over two enemies, one of them being in his own head. And he came to ol Jackrum again, drunk with battle, and said moren he ought . . .

You bastard, said the major softly.

Shall I tell the truth today . . . Janet? said Jackrum.

The sounds of battle were suddenly much louder. They poured into the room like the water rushing to fill a hole in the ocean floor, but all the sound in the world could not have filled that sudden, tremendous silence.

Jackrum strolled on towards another man. Good to see you here, Colonel Cumabund! he said cheerfully. O course, you were only Lieutenant Cumabund when I was under your command. Plucky lad you were, when you led us against that detachment of Kopelies. And then you took a nasty sword wound in the fracas, or just above, and I got you through with rum and cold water, and found that plucky you might be, but lad you werent. Oh, how you gabbled away in your feverish delirium . . . Yes, you did. Thats the truth . . . Olga.

He stepped round the table and started to stroll along behind the officers; those he passed stared woodenly ahead, not daring to turn, not daring to make any movement that would attract attention.

You could say I know something about all of yez, he said. Quite a lot about some of you, just enough about most of you. A few of you, well, I could write a book. He paused just behind Froc, who stiffened.

Jackrum, I he began.

Jackrum put a hand on each of Frocs shoulders. Fourteen miles, sir. Two nights, cos we lay up by day, the patrols were that thick. Cut about pretty dreadful, you were, but you got better nursing from me than any sawbones, Id bet. He leaned forward until his mouth was level with the generals ear, and continued in a stage whisper: What is there left about you that I dont know? So . . . are you really looking for the truth . . . Mildred?

The room was a museum of waxworks. Jackrum spat on the floor.

You cannot prove anything, sergeant, said Froc eventually, with the calm of an icefield.

Well now, not as such. But they keep telling me this is the modern world, sir. I dont need proof, exactly. I know a man whod have such a tale to tell, and itd be in Ankh-Morpork in a couple of hours.

If you leave this room alive, said a voice.

Jackrum smiled his evillest smile, and bore down on the source of the threat like an avalanche. Ah! I thought one of yez would try that, Chloe, but I note you never made it beyond major, and no wonder since you try to bluff with no bleedin cards in your hand. Nice try, though. But, first, I could take you to the bleedin cleaners before those guards were back in here, upon my oath, and, second, you dont know what Ive writ down and who else knows. I trained all you girls at one time or another, and some of the cunning you got, some of the mustard, some of the sense . . . well, you got it from me. Didnt you? So dont any of you go thinking you can be artful about this, because when it comes to cunning I am Mister Fox.

Sergeant, sergeant, sergeant, said Froc wearily, what is it you want?

Jackrum completed his circuit of the table and finished in front of it, once again like a man before his judges.

Well, blow me down, he said quietly, looking along the row of faces. You didnt know, did you . . . you didnt know. Is there a . . . a man among you that knew? You thought, every one of you, that you were all alone. All alone. You poor devils. And look at you. Moren a third of the countrys High Command. You made it on your own, ladies. What could you have done if youd acted tog

He stopped, and took a step towards Froc, who looked down at her cloven paperwork. How many did you spot, Mildred?

That will be general, sergeant. Im still a general, sergeant. Or sir will do. And your answer is: one or two. One or two.

And you promoted them, did you, if they was as good as men?

Indeed not, sergeant. What do you take me for? I promoted them if they were better than men.

Jackrum opened his arms wide, like a ringmaster introducing a new act. Then what about the lads I brought with me, sir? As cracking a bunch of lads as Ive ever seen. He cast a bloodshot eye around the table. And Im good at weighing up a lad, as you all know. Theyd be a credit to your army, sir!

Froc looked at her colleagues on either side. An unspoken question harvested unsaid answers.

Yes, well, she said. All seems clear to us, in the light of new developments. When beardless lads dress up as gels, theres no doubt that people will get confused. And thats what weve got here, sergeant. Mere confusion. Mistaken identities. Much ado, in fact, about nothing. Clearly they are boys, and may return home right now with an honourable discharge.

Jackrum chuckled and stuck out a palm, flexing the fingers upwards like a man bargaining. Once again, there was the communion of spirits.

Very well. They can, if they wish, continue in the army, said Froc. With discretion, of course.

No, sir!

Polly stared at Jackrum, and then realized the words had, in fact, come from her own mouth.

Froc raised her eyebrows. What is your name again? she said.

Corporal Perks, sir! said Polly, saluting.

She watched Frocs face settle into an expression of condescending benevolence. If she uses the words my dear I shall swear, she thought.

Well, my dear

Not your dear, sir or madam, said Polly. In the theatre of her mind The Duchess Inn burned to a cinder and her old life peeled away, black as charcoal, and she was flying, ballistic, too fast and too high and unable to stop. I am a soldier, general. I signed up. I kissed the Duchess. I dont think generals call their soldiers my dear, do they?

Froc coughed. The smile remained, but had the decency to be a bit more restrained. And private soldiers dont talk like that to generals, young lady, so well let that pass, shall we?

Just here, in this room, I dont know what passes and what stays, sir, said Polly. But it seems to me that if you are still a general then Im still a corporal, sir. I cant speak for the others, but the reason Im holding out, general, is that I kissed the Duchess and she knew what I was and she . . . didnt turn away, if you understand me.

Well said, Perks, said Jackrum.

Polly plunged on. Sir, a day or two ago Id have rescued my brother and gone off home and Id have thought it a job well done. I just wanted to be safe. But now I see theres no safety while theres all this . . . this stupidity. So I think Ive got to stay and be a part of it. Er . . . try to make it less stupid, I mean. And I want to be me, not Oliver. I kissed the Duchess. We all did. You cant tell us we didnt and you cant tell us it doesnt count, because its between us and her

You all kissed the Duchess, said a voice. It had an . . . echo.

You all kissed the Duchess . . .

Did you think that it meant nothing? That it was just a kiss?

Did you think it meant nothing . . .

. . . just a kiss . . .

The whispered words washed against the walls like surf, and came back stronger, in harmonies.

Did you kiss meant nothing meant a kiss just think a kiss meant a kiss . . .

Wazzer was standing up. The squad stood petrified as she walked unsteadily past them. Her eyes focused on Polly.

How good to wear a body again, she said. And to breathe. Breathing is wonderful . . .

How good . . .

To breathe wonderful a body again to breathe . . .

Something was in Wazzers face. Her features were all there, all correct, her nose was as pointed and as red, her cheekbones as hollow . . . but there were subtle changes. She held up a hand and flexed her fingers.

Ah, she said. So . . . There was no echo this time, but the voice was stronger and deep. No one would ever have said that Wazzers voice had been attractive but this one was. She turned to Jackrum, who dropped on to his fat knees and whipped off his shako.

Sergeant Jackrum, I know that you know who I am. You have waded through seas of blood for me. Perhaps we should have done better things with your life, but at least your sins were soldiers sins, and not the worst of them, at that. You are hereby promoted to sergeant major, and a better candidate for the job I have never met. You are steeped in deviousness, cunning and casual criminality, Sergeant Jackrum. You should do well.

Jackrum, eyes cast down, raised a knuckle to his forehead. . . . not worthy, your grace, he muttered.

Of course you arent. The Duchess looked around. Now, where is my army . . . ah. There was no echo at all in the voice now, and none of Wazzers cowering and downcast eyes. She positioned herself directly in front of Froc, who was staring with his mouth open.

General Froc, you must do one final service for me.

The general glared. Who the hell are you?

You need to ask? As always, Jackrum thinks faster than you. You know me. I am the Duchess Annagovia.

But you are one of the other officers began, but Froc held up a hand again.

The voice . . . is familiar, she said, in a faraway whisper.

Yes. You remember the ball. I remember it, too. Forty years ago. You were the youngest captain ever. We danced, stiffly in my case. I asked you how long you had been a captain, and you said

Three days, breathed Froc, with her eyes shut.

And we ate Brandy Pillows, and a cocktail that I believe was called

Angels Tears, said Froc. I kept the menu, your grace. And the dance card.

Yes, said the Duchess. You did. And when old General Scaffer led you away, he said, Thatll be something to tell your grandchildren, my boy. But you were . . . so dedicated that you never had children . . . my boy . . .

. . . my boy . . . my boy . . .

I see heroes! said the Duchess, staring at the tableau of officers. All of you gave up . . . much. But I demand more. Much more. Is there any amongst you who for the sake of my memory will not die in battle? Wazzers head turned and looked along the row. No. I see there is not. And now I demand that you do what the ignorant might feel is the easier thing. You must refrain from dying in battle. Revenge is not redress. Revenge is a wheel, and it turns backwards. The dead are not your masters.

What is it you want of me, maam? Froc managed.

Call in your other officers. Make what truces are necessary, for now. This body, this poor child, will lead you. I am weak, but I can move small things. Thoughts, perhaps. I will leave her . . . something, a light in the eye, a tone in the voice. Follow her. You must invade.

Certainly! But how

You must invade Borogravia! In the name of sanity, you must go home. The winter is coming, the trusting animals are not fed, old men die of cold, women mourn, the country corrodes. Fight Nuggan, because he is nothing now, nothing but the poisonous echo of all your ignorance and pettiness and malicious stupidity. Find yourself a worthier god. And let . . . me . . . go! All those prayers, all those entreaties . . . to me! Too many hands clasped, that could more gainfully answer your prayers by effort and resolve! And what was I? Just a rather stupid woman when I was alive. But you believed I watched over you, and listened to you . . . and so I had to, I had to listen, knowing that there was no help . . . I wish people would not be so careless about what they believe. Go. Invade the one place youve never conquered. And these women will help. Be proud of them. And, lest you think to twist my meaning, lest you doubt. . . let me, as I leave, return to you this gift. Remember. A kiss.

. . . a kiss . . .

. . . a kiss a kiss return to you kiss . . .

. . . remember . . .

As one woman, as one man, the crowd in the room reached up hesitantly to their left cheek. And Wazzer folded up, very gently, collapsing like a sigh.

Froc was the first to speak. This is . . . I think we need to . . . She faltered into silence.

Jackrum got to his feet, brushed the dust off his shako, placed it on his head and saluted. Permission to speak, sir? he said.

Oh, good heaven, Jackrum! said Froc distractedly. At a time like this? Yes, yes . . .

What are your orders, sir?

Orders? Froc blinked, and looked around. Orders, orders . . . yes. Well, I am the commander, I can request a . . . yes, I can request a truce, sergeant

Thats sergeant major, sir, said Jackrum. Right you are, sir, Ill organize a runner to go to the alliance.

I suppose a . . . white flag would be

Good as done, sir. Leave it to me, said Jackrum, radiating efficiency.

Yes, of course . . . Er, before, before we go any further . . . ladies and gentlemen, I . . . er . . . some of the things said here . . . the whole issue of women joining as . . . women . . . obviously . . . She raised her hand to her cheek again, in a kind of wonderment. They are welcome. I . . . salute them. But for those of us that went before, perhaps it is not . . . not yet the time. You understand?

What? said Polly.

Lips sealed, sir! said Jackrum. You can leave it all to me, sir! Captain Blouses squad, attention! You will obtain uniforms! You cant go around still dressed as washerwomen, oh dear me!

We are soldiers? said Polly.

O course you are, otherwise I wouldnt be shouting at you, you orrible little woman! The worlds turned upside down! Its a bit more important than you right now, eh? Youve got what youre after, right? Now get hold of a uniform, find yourself a shako and wipe your face, at least. You are taking the official truce to the enemy.

Me, sarge? said Polly.

Right! Just as soon as the officers have done the official letter. Tonker, Lofty . . . see what you can find for Perks to wear. Perks, dont be cowed, and bull yourself up. The rest of you, hurry up and wait!

Sergeant Jac er, sergeant major? said Blouse.

Yessir?

Im not a captain, you know.

Are you not? said Jackrum, grinning. Well, leave it to Jackrum, sir. We shall see what the day brings, eh? Minor point, sir. I should lose the dress if I was you!

Jackrum marched off, his inflated chest as red as a robins and twice as threatening. He shouted at orderlies, harried guards, saluted officers and, despite everything, hammered the blade of purpose out of the red-hot steel of panic. He was a sergeant major in a roomful of confused ruperts, and he was happier than a terrier in a barrel of rats.

Stopping a battle is much harder than starting it. Starting it only requires you to shout Attack! but when you want to stop it, everyone is busy.

Polly could feel the news spreading. Theyre girls! The orderlies scuttling in and out once more kept staring at them, as if they were some kind of strange insects. I wonder how many Jackrum missed, Polly thought. I wonder . . .

Bits of uniform turned up. Jade found some trousers that fitted by locating a clerk who was Pollys height, lifting him up and pulling them off him. A jacket was acquired. Lofty even stole a shako of the right size and polished the badge with her sleeve until it gleamed. Polly was just doing up her belt when she spotted a figure on the far side of the room. Shed completely forgotten about him.

She pulled the belt tight and thrust the leather through the buckle as she walked and then strode through the crowds of figures. Strappi saw her coming, but it was too late. There was no escape short of running, and captains didnt run from corporals. He stood his ground, like a rabbit hypnotized by the approaching vixen, and raised his hands as she approached.

Now then, Perks, Im a captain and I had a job to he began.

And how long do you think youll hold that rank, now, sir? hissed Polly. When I tell the general about our little fight? And how you sicked the Prince on to us? And how you bullied Wazzer? And about my hair, you sticky little miserable apology for a man! Shuftis a better man than you and shes pregnant!

Oh, we knew there were women getting in, said Strappi. We just didnt know how far the rot went

You took my hair because you thought it meant something to me, hissed Polly. Well, you can keep it! Ill grow some more, and no one is going to stop me, understand? Oh, and one other thing. This is how far the rot goes!

It was a blow rather than a slap, and it knocked him down so hard that he rolled. But he was Strappi, and staggered upright with a finger pointed for vengeance.

She struck a superior officer! he screamed.

A few heads turned. They looked at Strappi. They looked at Polly. Then they looked back grinning to what they had been doing.

I should run away again, if I was you, said Polly. She turned on her heel, feeling the heat of his impotent fury.

As she was about to rejoin Jade and Maladict, someone touched her arm. She spun round.

What? Oh . . . sorry, Major Clogston, she said. She felt she wouldnt be able to deal with Strappi again, not without committing murder. That would probably get her into trouble, even now.

I should like to thank you for a most enjoyable day, said the major. I did my best, but I think we were all . . . outclassed.

Thank you, sir, said Polly.

This was a pleasure, Corporal Perks, said Clogston. I shall watch your future career with interest and envy. Congratulations. And since in here protocol seems to be flapping loose, I will shake you by the hand.

They shook. And now, we have duties, said Major Clogston, as Jade arrived with a white sheet on a pole. Oh, and by the way . . . my name is Christine. And, you know, I really dont think I could get used to wearing a dress again . . .

Maladict and Jade were chosen to see Polly through the castle, a troll because a troll commands respect and a vampire because a vampire demands it. There were groans and cheers as they elbowed their way along the passages, because news had already got around. That was another reason for taking Jade. Trolls could push.

Okay, said Jackrum, bringing up the rear. At the bottom of these steps theres a door, and beyond that door is enemy territory. Put the white flag out first. Important safety tip.

Cant you come with us, sarge?

Hah, me? I dare say theres a few people out there whod take a pot shot at me white flag or no. Dont you worry. The words gone out.

What words that, sarge?

Jackrum leaned closer. They aint gonna shoot a girl, Perks!

You told them?

Lets just say that news gets around fast, said Jackrum. Grab the advantage. And Ill find your brother while youre gone, upon my oath. Oh, one other thing . . . look at me, Perks. Polly turned, in the crowded, jostling corridor. Jackrums eyes twinkled. I know I can trust you, Perks. Id trust you like Id trust myself. Best of luck. And make the most of it, lad. Kissin dont last!

Well, that couldnt be plainer, Polly thought, as the armed men by the door beckoned them forward.

Stick to the walls, okay, ladies? And be quick with that rag!

The heavy door swung open. Half a dozen arrows bounced and pinwheeled along the corridor. Another one tore through the flag. Polly waved it desperately. She heard distant shouting, and then cheers.

Okay, go! said a guard, pushing her forward.

She stepped out into the sudden daylight and, to make sure, waved the flag overhead a few more times. There were men in the courtyard and lining the battlements around it. There were bodies, too.

A captain, with blood soaking through his jacket, stepped across the fallen and held out his hand. You may give that to me, soldier, he said.

No, sir. I must deliver it to your commander, and wait for his reply, sir.

Then you give it to me, soldier, and I will bring you back the reply. You have surrendered, after all.

No. This is a truce. Thats not the same thing. I have to hand this over personally and you arent big enough. A thought hit her. I demand to take this to Commander Vimes!

The captain stared at her, and then looked closer. Arent you one of those

Yes, said Polly.

And you locked them in chains and threw the key away?

Yes, said Polly, seeing her life start to flash past her eyes.

And they had to hop miles with shackles on and no clothes?

Yes!

And youre just . . . women?

Yes! said Polly, letting the just go for now.

The captain leaned closer and spoke while trying not to move his lips. Dan gug show. Ell done. Agout time soes arragunk arsetards ere aken own a eg! He leaned back. Commander Vimes it is, then. Follow me, miss.

Polly felt hundreds of eyes on her as the squad was let into the inner keep. There were one or two wolf whistles, because there were more soldiers in there, including quite a few trolls. Jade bent down, snatched up a rock and hurled it at one of them, hitting him between the eyes.

No one move! shouted Maladict, waving his hands urgently as a hundred men raised their weapons. That was the troll version of blowing a kiss!

And, indeed, the troll who had been hit was waving at Jade, a little unsteadily.

Can we knock it off with the lovey-dovey, please? said Polly to Jade. The soft people are likely to get the wrong idea.

Its stopped the whistling, though, Maladict observed.

More people watched them as they climbed flight after flight of stone steps. No one could take this place, Polly could see that. Every flight was seen by another one higher up, every visitor would be sighted on before shed even glimpsed a face.

A figure stepped out of the shadows as they reached the next floor. It was a young woman, in old-fashioned leather and mail armour, with a breastplate. She had long, very fair hair; for the first time in weeks, Polly felt a twinge of envy.

Thank you, captain, Ill take over from here, she said, and nodded to Polly. Good evening, Corporal Perks . . . if you would follow me, please?

Shes a woman! And a sergeant! Maladict whispered.

Yes, I know, said Polly.

But she gave an order to that captain!

Maybe shes a political . . .

And shes obviously female!

Im not blind, Mal, said Polly.

Im not deaf, either, said the woman, turning and smiling. My name is Angua. If you will wait here, Ill have some coffee sent in. Theres a bit of an argument going on in there at the moment.

They were in a sort of anteroom, not much more than a widened area of corridor with a few benches. There were big double doors at the far end, behind which voices were being raised. Angua left.

Just like that? said Maladict. Whats to stop us taking over the place?

All those men with crossbows we passed on the way up? said Polly. Why us? she thought, looking blankly at the wall.

Oh, yes. Those. Yes. Er . . . Poll?

Yes?

Im actually Maladicta. She sat back. There! Ive told someone!

Dats nice, said Jade.

Oh, good, said Polly. Id be going out to give the latrines their afternoon swill about now, she thought. This has got to be better than that, right?

I thought I did pretty well, Maladicta went on. Now, I know what youre thinking. Youre thinking: vampires have a pretty good time of it whatever sex they are, right? But its the same everywhere. Velvet dresses, underwired nightgowns, acting crazy all the time, and dont lets even go near the whole bathing in virgins blood thing. You get taken a lot more seriously if they think youre male.

Right, said Polly. All in all, its been a long day. A bath would be nice.

I thought I did pretty well right up until the whole coffee thing. A necklace of the roast beans, thatd be the thing. Ill be better prepared another time.

Yeah, said Polly. Good idea. With real soap.

Soap? How would soap work?

What? Oh . . . sorry, said Polly.

Did you hear anything I said?

Oh, that. Yes. Thank you for telling me.

Is that it?

Yes, said Polly. Youre you. Thats good. Im me, whoever I am. Tonkers Tonker. Its all just . . . people. Look, a week ago the high spot of my day was reading the new graffiti in the mens latrines. I think youd agree that a lot has happened since then. I dont think Im going to be surprised at anything any more. The coffee-bean necklace sounds good, by the way. She drummed her feet on the floor impatiently. Right now, I just wish theyd hurry up in there.

They sat and listened, and then Polly became aware of a little column of smoke coming from behind a bench on the other side of the space. She walked over and peered over the back. A man was lying there, head on one arm, smoking a cigar. He nodded when he saw Pollys face.

Theyre going to be ages yet, he said.

Arent you that sergeant I saw in the old kitchen? Making faces behind Lord Rust from Ankh-Morpork?

I was not making faces, miss. Thats how I always look when Lord Rust is talking. And I was a sergeant once, its true, but, look, no stripes.

Make der faces once too often? said Jade.

The man laughed. He hadnt shaved today, by the look of it. Something like that, yes. Come along to my office, its warmer. I only came out here because people complain about the smoke. Dont worry about that lot in there, they can wait. Im only down the passage.

They followed him. The door was, indeed, only a few steps away. The man pushed it open, walked across the little room beyond, and sat down in a chair. The table in front of it overflowed with papers.

I think we can get enough food up here to see you through the winter, he said, picking up a sheet of paper apparently at random. Grains a bit short but weve got a handy surplus of white drumhead cabbage, keeps wonderfully, full of vitamins and minerals . . . but you might want to keep your windows open, if you follow me. Dont stare. I know the countrys a month away from starvation.

But I havent even shown this letter to anyone! Polly protested. You dont know what we

I dont have to, said the man. This is about food and mouths. Good grief, we dont have to fight you. Your country is going to fall over anyway. Your fields are overgrown, most of your farmers are old men, the bulk of the grub goes to the army. And armies dont do much for agriculture except marginally raise the fertility of the battlefield. The honour, the pride, the glory . . . none of that matters. This war stops, or Borogravia dies. Do you understand?

Polly remembered the gale-swept fields, the old people salvaging what they could . . .

Were just messengers, she said. I cant negotiate

You know your gods dead? said the man. Nothing left but a voice, according to some of our priests. The last three Abominations were against rocks, ears and accordion players. Okay, I might be with him on the last one, but . . . rocks? Hah! We can advise you if youre going to look for a new one, by the way. Oms very popular at the moment. Very few abominations, no special clothing, and hymns you can sing in the bath. You wont get Offler the Crocodile God up here with your winters, and the Unorthodox Potato Church is probably a bit too uncomplicated for

Polly started to laugh. Look, sir, Im just a . . . what is your name, please?

Sam Vimes. Special envoy, which is kind of like an ambassador but without the little gold chocolates.

Vimes the Butcher? said Maladicta.

Oh, yes. Ive heard that one, said Vimes, grinning. Your people havent really mastered the fine art of propaganda. And Im telling you because well, have you heard of Om?

They shook their heads.

No? Well, in the Old Book of Om theres a story about some city full of wickedness, and Om decided to destroy it with holy fire, this being back in the old smiting days before hed got religion. But Bishop Horn protested about this plan, and Om said hed spare the city if the bishop could find one good man. Well, the bishop knocked on every door, and turned up empty-handed. It turned out, after the place had been reduced to a glass plain, that there were probably plenty of good people there and, being good, they werent the sort to admit it. Death by modesty, a terrible thing. And you, ladies, are the only Borogravians I know much about, apart from the military who, frankly, arent chatty. You dont appear to be as insane as your countrys foreign policy. Youre the one piece of international goodwill it has. A bunch of young boys outwitting crack cavalrymen? Kicking the Prince in the fork? People at home liked that. And now it turns out that youre girls? Theyll love that. Mr de Worde is going to have fun with that when he finds out.

But we dont have any power! We cant negotiate a

What does Borogravia want? Not the country. I mean the people.

Polly opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again and thought about the answer. To be left alone, she said. By everybody. For a while, anyway. We can change things.

Youll accept the food?

We are a proud country.

What are you proud of?

It came swiftly, like a blow, and Polly realized how wars happened. You took that shock that had run through her, and let it boil.

. . . it may be corrupt, benighted and stupid, but its ours . . .

Vimes was watching her face. From this desk here, he said, the only thing your country has to be proud of right now is you women.

Polly stayed silent. She was still trying to cope with the anger. It made it worse to know that he was right. We have our pride. And thats what were proud of. Were proud of being proud . . .

Very well, then, will you buy some food? said Vimes, watching her carefully. On credit? I suppose you still have someone in your country who knows about the kind of international affairs that dont involve edged weapons?

People would accept that, yes, said Polly hoarsely.

Good. Ill send a clacks back tonight.

And why would you be so generous, Mr Ankh-Morpork?

Because Im from a wonderfully warm-hearted city, corporal . . . hah, no, I cant say that and keep a straight face, said Vimes. Do you want to know the truth? Most people in Ankh-Morpork hadnt even heard of your country until the clacks went down. Theres dozens of little countries round here selling one another hand-painted clogs or beer made from turnips. Then they knew you as the bloody mad idiots who fight everyone. Now they know you as . . . well, people who do just what theyd do. And tomorrow theyll laugh. And therere other people, people who sit and think about the future every day, who believe its worth a little to be friends with a country like that.

Why? said Maladicta suspiciously.

Because Ankh-Morpork is a friend to all freedom-loving people everywhere! said Vimes. Gods, it must be the way I tell em. Ze chzy Brogocia proztfik! He saw their blank expressions. Sorry, Ive been away from home too long. And frankly, Id rather be back there.

But why did you say you were a cherry pancake? said Polly.

Didnt I say I am a citizen of Borogravia?

No. Brogocia is the cherry pancake, Borogvia is the country.

Well, I made the effort, at least. Look, wed rather Prince Heinrich wasnt ruler of two countries. Thatd make one quite big country, much bigger than the other ones round here. So itd probably get bigger still. He wants to be like Ankh-Morpork, you see. But what he means is he wants power, and influence. He doesnt want to earn them, he doesnt want to grow into them or learn the hard way how to use them. He just wants them.

Thats playing politics! said Maladicta.

No. Its just telling the truth. Make peace with him, by all means. Just leave the road and the towers alone. Youll get the food anyway, at whatever price. Mr de Wordes article will see to that.

You sent the coffee, said Polly.

Oh, yes. That was Corporal Buggy Swires, my eye in the sky. Hes a gnome.

And you set a werewolf on us?

Well, set is a bit strong. Angua followed you, just to be on the safe side. Shes a werewolf, yes.

The girl we met? She didnt look like one!

Well, they dont, usually, said Vimes. Right up until the moment when they do, if you see what I mean. And she was following you because I was looking for anything thatd stop thousands of people dying. And thats not politics either, said Vimes. He stood up. And now, ladies, I have to go and present your document to the alliance leaders.

You came out for a smoke at the right time, didnt you? said Polly, slowly and carefully. You knew we were on our way, and you made sure youd get to us first.

Of course. Cant leave this to a bunch of . . . oh, yes . . . ruperts.

Where is my brother, Mister Vimes? said Polly stiffly.

You seem very sure I know . . . said Vimes, not looking her in the face.

Im certain you do, said Polly.

Why?

Because no one else does!

Vimes stubbed out his cigar. Angua was right about you, he said. Yes, I, er, arranged for him to be put in what I like to call protective custody. Hes fine. Angua will take you to him now, if you like. Your brother, possibility of revenge, blackmail, who knows what . . . I thought he might be safer if I knew exactly who held the keys.

The end of the journey, Polly thought. But it wasnt, not any more. She got the distinct impression that the man opposite was reading her thoughts.

Thats what all this was about, isnt it? he said.

No, sir. Its just how it started, said Polly.

Well, it continues like this, said Vimes. This is going to be a busy day. Right now I shall take this offer of a truce into the room down the passage and present it to the very important men  his voice went flat to say those words  who are discussing what to do about Borogravia. Youll get a truce, the food, and probably some other help.

How do you know that? said Polly. They havent discussed it!

Not yet. But, as I said . . . I used to be a sergeant. Angua!

The door opened. Angua came in. As Vimes had said, you couldnt tell who was a werewolf until you found out . . .

And now Id better have a shave before I go to see the very important men, said Vimes. People set a lot of store by shaving.

Polly felt embarrassed walking down the steps with Sergeant Angua. How did you start a conversation? So youre a werewolf, then? would be sort of idiotic. She was glad that Jade and Maladicta had been left in the waiting room.

Yes, I am, said Angua.

But I didnt say it! Polly burst out.

No, but Im used to situations like this. Ive learned to recognize the way people dont say things. Dont worry.

You followed us, said Polly.

Yes.

So you mustve known we werent men.

Oh, yes, said Angua. My sense of smell is much better than my eyesight, and Ive got sharp eyes. Humans are smelly creatures. For what its worth, though, I wouldnt have told Mister Vimes if I hadnt heard you talking to one another. Anyone could have heard you, you dont need to be a werewolf for that. Everyones got secrets they dont want known. Werewolves are a bit like vampires in that way. Were tolerated . . . if were careful.

That I can understand, said Polly. So are we, she thought.

Angua stopped by a heavy, studded door. Hes in here, she said, producing a key and turning it in the lock. Ill go back and chat to the others. Come and find me when youre ready . . .

Polly stepped inside, heart pounding, and there was Paul. And there was a buzzard, on a perch by the open window. And on the wall, where Paul was working so intensely that his tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth and he hadnt even noticed the door opening, was another buzzard, flying in the heart of the sunrise.

Right now, Polly could forgive Ankh-Morpork anything. Someone had found Paul a box of coloured chalks.

The long day got longer. She had a kind of power. They all did. People gave them space, watched them. The fighting had stopped and they were the cause and no one knew exactly why.

There were lighter moments. They might have power, but General Froc gave the orders. And General Froc might give the orders, but it was permissible to suppose that it was Sergeant-major Jackrum who anticipated them.

And perhaps that was why Shufti asked Polly and Tonker to go with her, and they were ushered into a room where a couple of guards stood on either side of a sheepish young man called Johnny who had fair hair and blue eyes and a gold earring and his trousers round his knees in case Shufti wanted to check his other distinguishing feature.

He also had a black eye.

This the one? said Major Clogston, who was leaning against the wall eating an apple. The general has asked me to tell you that there will be a dowry of five hundred crowns, with the armys compliments.

Johnny brightened up slightly when he heard that. Shufti gave him a long and careful look.

No, she said at last, turning away. Thats not him.

Johnny opened his mouth, and Polly snapped: No one asked you to speak, private! And, such was the nature of the day, he shut up.

Im afraid hes the only candidate, said Clogston. Weve got any amount of earrings, heads of fair hair, blue eyes and Johnnies  and, surprisingly, a fair number of carbuncles. But hes the only one with everything. Are you sure?

Positive, said Shufti, still staring at the boy. My Johnny must have been killed.

Clogston walked over and lowered her voice. In that case, uh, the general did say, informally, that a marriage certificate, a ring and a widows pension could be arranged, she said.

Can she do that? whispered Polly.

For one of you? Today? Youll be amazed what can be done, said Clogston. Dont think too badly of her. She means well. Shes a very practical man.

No, said Shufti. I . . . its . . . well, no. Thank you, but no.

Are you sure? said Polly.

Positive, said Shufti, looking defiant. Since she was not naturally a defying kind of person it was not quite the look that she thought it was and it ought to have been, having overtones of haemorrhoid sufferer, but the effort was there.

Clogston stepped back. Well, if youre certain, private? Fair enough, then. Take that man away, sergeant.

Just a moment, said Shufti. She walked over to the bewildered Johnny, stood in front of him, held out her hand and said: Before they take you away again I want my sixpence back, you son of a bitch!

Polly held out her hand to Clogston, who shook it and smiled. There had been another little victory, of sorts. If the landslide is big enough, even square pebbles will roll.

*

Polly headed back to the rather larger cell that had been made available as the womens barracks, or at least the barracks for the official women. Men, grown men, had fallen over themselves to put cushions in there, and bring in wood for the fire. It was all very strange. Polly felt they were being treated as something dangerous and fragile, like, say, a huge and wonderful jar full of poison. She turned the corner into the big courtyard and there was de Worde with Mr Chriek. There was no escaping them. They were definitely people looking for someone.

The man gave her a look in which reproach was mingled with hope. Er . . . so youre women, then? he said.

Er, yes, said Polly.

De Worde took out his notebook.

This is an amazing story, he said. You really fought your way here and got in disguised as washerwomen?

Well, we were women, and we did some washing, said Polly. I suppose it was quite a cunning disguise, really. We got in by not being disguised, you could say.

General Froc and Captain Blouse say theyre very proud of you, de Worde went on.

Oh, he has got promoted, then? said Polly.

Yes, and Froc said you did wonderfully well, for women.

Yes, I suppose we did, said Polly. Yes. Very well, for women.

The general went on to say . . . de Worde consulted his notebook, that you are a credit to the women of your country. I wonder if youd care to comment?

He looked innocent, so possibly he didnt understand the raging argument that had just broken out in Pollys head. A credit to the women of your country. Were proud of you. Somehow those words locked you away, put you in your place, patted you on the head and dismissed you with a sweetie. On the other hand, you had to start somewhere . . .

Thats very nice of him, said Polly. But we just want to get the job done and go home. Thats what soldiers want. She thought for a moment, and then added: And hot sweet tea. To her amazement, he wrote this down.

Just one last question, miss: do you think the world would be a different place if more women were soldiers? de Worde asked. He was smiling again, she noted, so this was probably a joky kind of question.

Oh, I think youd have to ask General Froc that, said Polly. And Id like to watch her expression if you do . . .

Yes, but what do you think, miss?

Thats corporal, please.

Sorry, corporal . . . and?

The pencil was hovering. Around it, the world turned. It wrote things down, and then they got everywhere. The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press was heavier than the siege weapon. Just a few words can change everything . . .

Well, said Polly, I

There was a sudden bustling around the gates at the other end of the courtyard, and some cavalry officers arrived. They must have been expected, because Zlobenian officers were converging in a great hurry.

Ah, I see the Prince is back, said de Worde. Hes probably not going to be happy about the truce. They sent some gallopers out to meet him.

Can he do anything about it?

De Worde shrugged. He left some very senior officers here. It would be rather shocking if he did.

The tall figure had dismounted, and was striding towards Polly, or rather, she realized, the big doorway next to her. Frantic clerks and officers trailed after him, and were brushed off. But when a white oblong was waved in front of his face by one man he grabbed it and stopped so quickly that several other officers bumped into him.

Um, said de Worde. The edition with the cartoon, I expect. Um.

The paper was thrown down.

Yes, probably that was it, said de Worde.

Heinrich advanced. Now Polly could make out his expression.

It was thunderous. Beside her, de Worde turned over to a fresh page in his notebook and cleared his throat.

Youre going to talk to him? said Polly. In that mood? Hell cut you down!

I have to, said de Worde. And, as the Prince and his retinue reached the doorway he took a step forward and said, in a voice that cracked slightly, Your highness? I wonder if I could have a word?

Heinrich turned to scowl at him, and saw Polly. For a moment, their gazes locked.

The Princes adjutants knew their master. As the mans hand flew to his sword they closed on him in a mob, completely surrounding him, and there was some frantic whispering, in which some rather louder injections from Heinrich on the broad theme of What? could be heard, followed by a toccata on The hell you say!

The crowd parted again. The Prince slowly and carefully brushed some dust off his spotless jacket, glanced only briefly at Otto and de Worde and, to Pollys horror, strolled towards her . . .

. . . with one white-gloved hand extended.

Oh no, she thought. But hes cleverer than Vimes thinks he is, and he can control his temper. And, suddenly, Im everyones mascot.

For the good of our great countries, said Heinrich, it is suggested that we publicly shake the hand of friendship. He smiled again, or at least allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up.

Because she could think of no other way out, Polly took the huge hand and obediently shook it.

Oh, ver good, said Otto, grasping his picture box. I can only take zer vun, of course, because unfortunately I shall have to use flash. Just vun moment . . .

Polly was learning that an art form which happens in a fraction of a second nevertheless needs a long time to take place, allowing a smile to freeze into a mad grimace or, in the worst cases, a death rictus. Otto muttered to himself as he adjusted the equipment. Heinrich and Polly maintained the grip and stared at the picture box.

So, muttered the Prince, the soldier boy isnt a soldier boy. That is your good luck!

Polly kept her fixed grin. Do you often menace frightened women? she said.

Oh, that was nothing! You are only a peasant girl, after all! What do you know of life? And you showed spirit!

Everyone say chiz! Otto commanded. Vun, two, three . . . oh, bug

By the time the after-images had died away, Otto was back on his feet again. Vun day I hope to find a filter zat vorks, he muttered. Thank you, everyvun.

That was for peace and goodwill between nations, said Polly, smiling sweetly and letting go of the Princes hand. She took a step back. And this, your highness, is for me . . .

Actually, she didnt kick. Life was a process of finding out how far you could go, and you could probably go too far in finding out how far you could go. But a mere twitch of a leg was enough, just to see the idiot collapse in the ridiculous, knock-kneed, protective crouch.

She marched away, singing inside. This was not a fairy-tale castle and there was no such thing as a fairy-tale ending, but sometimes you could threaten to kick the handsome prince in the ham-and-eggs.

And now, there was one other little thing.

The sun was setting before Polly found Jackrum again, and blood-red light shone through the high windows of the keeps biggest kitchen. He was sitting alone at a long table by the fire, in full uniform, and he was eating a slab of thick bread plastered with pork dripping. A mug of beer was not far from his other hand. He looked up as she approached, and nodded companionably towards another chair. Around them, women ran to and fro. Pork drippin with salt and pepper, and a mug of beer, he said. Thats the ticket. You can keep your cuisine. Want a slice? He waved a hand at one of the kitchen girls who was dancing attendance on him.

Not right now, sarge.

Sure? said Jackrum. Theres an old sayin: kissing dont last, cooking do. I hope that its one you dont have cause to reflect upon.

Polly sat down. Kissing is lasting so far, she said.

Shufti get sorted out? said Jackrum. He finished the beer, snapped his fingers at the serving girl, and pointed to the empty mug.

To her own satisfaction, sarge.

Fair enough. You cant get fairer. So what next, Perks?

Dunno, sarge. Ill go with Wa with Alice and the army and see what happens.

Best of luck. Look after em, Perks, cos I aint coming, said Jackrum.

Sarge? said Polly, shocked.

Well, looks like were going to be short by one war at present, eh? Anyway, this is it. The end of the road. Ive done my bit. Cant go on now. Shot me quiver with the general, and I dare say he will be glad to see the back of me. Besides, old age is creepin on. I killed five poor devils when we attacked today, and afterwards I found meself wonderin why. Not good, that. Time to get out before I blunt me own edge.

Youre sure, sarge?

Yeah. Seems to me the ol my country right or wrong thing has had its day. Time to put my feet up and find out what it is weve been fighting for. Sure you wont have any dripping? Its got crunchy bits. Thats what I call style, in dripping.

Polly waved away the proffered slab of grease-smeared bread, and sat in silence while Jackrum engulfed it.

Funny thing, really, she said, at last.

Whats that, Perks?

Finding out that its not about you. You think youre the hero, and it turns out youre really part of someone elses story. Wazz Alice will be the one they remember. We just had to get her here.

Jackrum said nothing but, as Polly would have predicted, pulled his crumpled bag of chewing tobacco out of his pocket. She slipped a hand in her own pocket and pulled out a small packet. Pockets, she thought. Weve got to hang on to pockets. A soldier needs pockets.

Try this, sarge, she said. Go on, open it.

It was a small, soft leather pouch, with a drawstring. Jackrum held it up so that it twisted this way and that.

Well, Perks, upon my oath I am not a swearing man he began.

No, youre not. Ive noticed, said Polly. But that grubby old paper was getting on my nerves. Why didnt you ever get a proper pouch made for yourself? One of the saddlers here sewed that up for me in half an hour.

Well, thats life, isnt it? said Jackrum. Every day you think ye gods, its about time I had a new bag, but then it all gets so busy you end up using the old one. Thank you, Perks.

Oh, I thought, What can I give the man who has everything? and that was all I could afford, said Polly. But you dont have everything, sarge. Sarge? You dont, do you?

She sensed him freeze over.

You stop right there, Perks, he said, lowering his voice.

I just thought you might like to show someone that locket of yours, sarge, said Polly cheerfully. The one round your neck. And dont glare at me, sarge. Oh, yeah, I could walk away and Id never be sure, really sure, and maybe youd never show it to anyone else, ever, or tell them the story, and one day well both be dead and . . . well, what a waste, eh?

Jackrum glared.

Upon your oath, you are not a dishonest man, said Polly. Good one, sarge. You told people every day.

Around them, beyond the dome, the kitchen buzzed with the busyness of women. Women always seemed to be doing things with their hands  holding babies, or pans, or plates, or wool, or a brush, or a needle. Even when they were talking, busyness was happening.

No one would believe yer, said Jackrum, at last.

Who would I want to tell? said Polly. And youre right. No one would believe me. Id believe you, though.

Jackrum stared into his fresh mug of beer, as if trying to see the future in the foam. He seemed to reach a decision, pulled the gold chain out of his noisome vest, unfastened the locket, and gently snapped it open.

There you go, he said, passing it across. Much good may it do you.

There was a miniature painting in each side of the locket: a dark-haired girl, and a blond young man in the uniform of the Ins-and-Outs.

Good one of you, said Polly.

Pull the other one, its got bells on, said Jackrum.

No, honestly, said Polly. I look at the picture, and look at you . . . I can see that face in her face. Paler, of course. Not so . . . full. And who was the boy?

William, his name was, said Jackrum.

Your sweetheart?

Yes.

And you followed him into the army . . .

Oh, yeah. Same old story. I was a big strong girl, and . . . well, you can see the picture. The artist did his best, but I was never an oil painting. Barely a watercolour, really. Where I came from, what a man looked for in a future wife was someone who could lift a pig under each arm. And a couple of days later I was lifting a pig under each arm, helping my dad, and one of my clogs came off in the muck and the ol man was yelling at me and I thought: the hell with this, Willie never yelled. Got hold of some mens clothes, never you mind how, cut my hair right off, kissed the Duchess, and was a Chosen Man within three months.

Whats that?

Its what we used to call a corporal, said Jackrum. Chosen Man. Yeah, I smiled about that, too. And I was on my way. The armys a piece of piss compared to running a pig farm and looking after three lazy brothers.

How long ago was that, sarge?

Couldnt say, really. I swear I dont know how old I am, and thats the truth, said Jackrum. Lied about my age so often I ended up believing me. She began, very carefully, to transfer the chewing tobacco into the new bag.

And your young man? said Polly quietly.

Oh, we had great times, great times, said Jackrum, stopping for a moment to stare at nothing. He never got promoted on account of his stutter, but I had a good shouty voice and officers like that. But Willie never minded, not even when I made it to sergeant. And then he got killed at Sepple, right next to me.

Im sorry.

You dont have to be, you didnt kill him, said Jackrum evenly. But I stepped over his body and skewered the bugger that did. Wasnt his fault. Wasnt my fault. We were soldiers. And then a few months later I had a bit of a surprise, and he was called William, too, just like his father. Good job I had a bit of leave, eh? Me gran raised him for me, put him to a trade as an armourer over in Scritz. Good trade, that. No one kills a good armourer. They tell me he looks just like his dad. A captain I met once had bought a bloody good sword off him. Showed it to me, not knowin the histry, o course. Damn good sword. It had scrollwork on the hilt and everything, very classy. Hes married with four kids now, I heard. Got a carriage and pair, servants, big house . . . yeah, I see youre paying attention . . .

Wazzer  well, Wazzer and the Duchess said

Yeah, yeah, they talked about Scritz, and a sword, said Jackrum. Thats when I knew it wasnt just me watchin over you lads. I knew youd survive. The old girl needed you.

So youve got to go there, sarge.

Got to? Who says? Ive served the old girl the whole of my life, and shes got no call on me now. Im my own man, always have been.

Are you, sarge? said Polly.

Are you crying, Perks?

Well . . . its a bit sad, sarge.

Oh, I dare say I sobbed a bit too, once in a while, said Jackrum, still tucking the tobacco into the new pouch. But when alls said and done, Ive had a good life. Saw the cavalry break at the Battle of Slomp. I was part of the Thin Red Line that turned aside the Heavy Brigade at Sheeps Drift, I saved the Imperial flag from four real bastards at Raladan, and Ive been to a lot of foreign countries and met some very interesting people, who I mostly subsequently killed before they could do me over good and proper. Lost a lover, still got a son . . . theres many a woman whos faced worse, believe me.

And . . . you spotted other girls . . .

Hah! Became a kind of hobby, really. Most of em were frightened little things, running away from god knows what. They got found out soon enough. And there were plenty like Shufti, chasin their lad. But there were a few who had what I call the twinkle. A bit of fire, maybe. They just needed pointing in the right direction. I gave them a leg up, you might say. A sergeants a powerful man, sometimes. A word here, a nod there, sometimes even doctorin some paperwork, a whisper in the dark

a pair of socks, said Polly.

Yeah, that sort of thing, said Jackrum, grinning. Always a big concern to them, the whole latrine business. Least of your worries, I used to say. In peace no one cares, in battle everyone takes a piss the same way, and damn quickly, too. Oh, I helped em. I was their whatsit, their eminence grease, and grease it was, too, slidin them to the top. Jackrums Little Lads, I called em.

And they never suspected?

What, suspect Jolly Jack Jackrum, so full of rum and vinegar? said Jackrum, the old evil grin coming back. Jack Jackrum, who could stop a bar fight by belchin? No, sir! I dare say some of em suspected something, maybe, I dare say they worked out that there was something going on somewhere, but I was just the big fat sergeant who knew everyone and everything and drank everything, too.

Polly dabbed at her eyes. What are you going to do now, then, if you dont go to Scritz?

Oh, Ive got a bit put by, said Jackrum. More than a bit, in point of actual fact. Pillage, plunder, loot . . . it all adds up, whatever you call it. I didnt piss it all up against a wall like the other lads, right? I expect I can remember most of the bleedin places I buried it. Always thought I might open an inn, or maybe a knocking shop . . . oh, a proper high class place, you dont have to look at me like that, nothin like that stinking tent. No, Im talkin about one with a chef and chandeliers and a lot of red velvet, very exclusive. Id get some nobby lady to front it and Id be the bouncer and run the bar. Heres a tip, lad, for your future career, and its one some of the other Little Lads learned for emselves: sometimes itll help if you visits one of them naughty places, otherwise the menll wonder about you. I always used to take a book to read and advise the young lady to get some sleep, cos they does a tough job.

Polly let that pass, but said: You dont want to go back and see your grandchildren?

Wouldnt wish meself on him, lad, said Jackrum firmly. Wouldnt dare. My boys a well-respected man in the town! Whatve I got to offer? Hell not want some fat ol biddy banging on his back door and gobbing baccy juice all over the place and telling him shes his mother!

Polly looked at the fire for a moment, and felt the idea creep into her mind. What about a distinguished sergeant major, shiny with braid, loaded with medals, arriving at the front door in a grand coach and telling him hes his father? she said.

Jackrum stared.

Tides of war, and all that, Polly went on, mind suddenly racing. Young love. Duty calls. Families scattered. Hopeless searching. Decades pass. Fond memories. Then . . . oh, an overheard conversation in a bar, yeah, thatd work. Hope springs. A new search. Greasing palms. The recollections of old women. At last, an address

Whatre you saying, Perks?

Youre a liar, sarge, said Polly. Best Ive ever heard. One last lie pays for all! Why not? You could show him the locket. You could tell him about the girl you left behind you . . .

Jackrum looked away, but said: Youre a shining bastard of a thinker, Perks. And where would I get a grand coach, anyway?

Oh, sarge! Today? There are . . . men in high places wholl give you anything you ask for, right now. You know that. Especially if it means theyd see the back of you. You never put the bite on them for anything much. If I was you, sarge, Id cash in a few favours while you can. Thats the Ins-and-Outs, sarge. Take the cheese while its there, cos kissin dont last.

Jackrum took a deep, long breath. Ill think about it, Perks. Now you push off, all right?

Polly stood up. Think hard, sarge, eh? Like you said, anyone whos got anyone left is ahead of the game right now. Four grandchildren? Id be a proud kid if I had a grandad who could spit tobacco juice far enough to hit a fly on the opposite wall.

Im warning you, Perks.

It was just a thought, sarge.

Yeah . . . right, Jackrum growled.

Thanks for getting us through it, sarge.

Jackrum didnt turn round.

Ill be going, then, sarge.

Perks! said Jackrum, as she reached the door. Polly stepped back into the room.

Yes, sarge?

I . . . expected better of em, really. I thought theyd be better at it than men. Trouble was, they were better than men at being like men. They do say the army can make a man of you, eh? So . . . whatever it is you are going to do next, do it as you. Good or bad, do it as you. Too many lies and theres no truth to go back to.

Will do, sarge.

Thats an order, Perks. Oh . . . and Perks?

Yes, sarge?

Thanks, Perks.

Polly paused when she got to the door. Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.

Six months passed. The world wasnt perfect, but it was still turning.

Polly had kept the newspaper articles. They werent accurate, not in the detail, because the writer told . . . stories, not what was actually happening. They were like paintings, when you had been there and had seen the real thing. But it was true about the march on the castle, with Wazzer on a white horse in front, carrying the flag. And it was true about people coming out of their houses and joining the march, so that what arrived at the gates was not an army but a sort of disciplined mob, shouting and cheering. And it was true that the guards had taken one look at it and had seriously reconsidered their future, and that the gates had swung open even before the horse had clattered on to the drawbridge. There was no fighting, no fighting at all. The shoe had dropped. The country had breathed out.

Polly didnt think it was true that the painting of the Duchess, alone on its easel in the big, empty throne room, had smiled when Wazzer walked towards it. Polly had been there and didnt see it happen, but lots of people swore it had, and you might end up wondering what the truth really was, or whether there were lots of different kinds of truth.

Anyway, it had worked. And then . . .

. . . they went home. A lot of soldiers did, under the fragile truce. The first snows were already falling and, if people had wanted a war, then the winter had given them one. It came with lances of ice and arrows of hunger, it filled the passes with snow, it made the world as distant as the moon . . .

That was when the old dwarf mines had opened up, and pony after pony emerged. It had always been said there were dwarf tunnels everywhere, and not just tunnels; secret canals under the mountains, docks, flights of locks that could lift a barge a mile high in busy darkness, far below the gales on the mountain tops.

They brought, indeed, cabbage and potatoes and roots and apples and barrels of fat, things that kept. And winter was defeated, and the snowmelt roared down the valleys, and the Kneck scrawled its random wiggles across the flat silt of the valley.

Theyd gone home, and Polly wondered if theyd ever really been away. Were we soldiers? she wondered. Theyd been cheered on the road to PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg, and had been much better treated than their rank deserved, and even had a special uniform designed for them. But the vision of Gummy Abbens kept rising in her mind . . .

We werent soldiers, she decided. We were girls in uniform. We were like a lucky charm. We were mascots. We werent real, we were always a symbol of something. Wed done very well, for women. And we were temporary.

Tonker and Lofty were never going to be dragged back to the school now, and theyd gone their own way. Wazzer had joined the generals household, and had a room of her own, and quietness, and made herself useful and was never beaten. Shed written Polly a letter, in tiny spiky handwriting. She seemed happy; a world without beatings was heaven. Jade and her beau had wandered off to do something more interesting, as trolls very sensibly did. Shufti . . . had been on a timetable of her own. Maladicta had disappeared. And Igorina had set up by herself in the capital, dealing with womens problems, or at least those womens problems that werent men. And senior officers had given them medals, and watched them go with fixed, faint smiles. Kisses dont last.

And, now, it wasnt that good things were happening, it was just that bad things had stopped. The old women still grumbled, but they were left to grumble. No one had any directions, no one had a map, no one was quite certain who was in charge. There were arguments and debates on every street corner. It was frightening and exhilarating. Every day was an exploration. Polly had worn a pair of Pauls old trousers to clean the floor of the big bar, and had got barely a hurrumph from anyone. Oh, and the Girls Working School had burned down, and on the same day two slim masked figures had robbed a bank. Polly had grinned when she heard that. Shufti had moved into The Duchess. Her baby was called Jack. Paul doted on it. And now . . .

Someone had been drawing in the gents privy again. Polly couldnt wash it off, so she contented herself with correcting the anatomy. Then she swooshed the place clean  at least, clean by pub urinal standards  with a couple of buckets and ticked off the chore, just as she did every morning. When she arrived back in the bar there were a group of worried men there, talking to her father. They looked mildly frightened when she strode in.

Whats happening? she said.

Her father nodded to Gummy Abbens, and everyone stepped back a little. What with the spittle and the bad breach, you never wanted a conversation with Gummy to be particularly intimate.

The swede-eatersh is at it again! he said. Theyre gonna invade cos the Prince saysh we belong to him now!

Its all down to him being the Duchesss distant cousin, said Pollys father.

But I heard it still wasnt settled! said Polly. Anyway, theres still a truce!

Sheems like hes shettling it, said Gummy.

The rest of the day passed at an accelerated pace. There were groups of people talking urgently in the streets, and a crowd around the gates to the town hall. Every so often a clerk would come out and nail another communique on the gates; the crowd would close over it like a hand, open again like a flower. Polly elbowed her way to the front, ignoring the mutterings around her, and scanned the sheets.

The same old stuff. They were recruiting again. The same old words. The same old croakings of long dead soldiers, inviting the living to join them. General Froc might be female, but he was also, as Blouse would have said, a bit of an old woman. Either that or the heaviness of those epaulettes had weighed her down.

Kissing dont last. Oh, the Duchess had come alive before them and turned the world upside down for a space and maybe they had all decided to be better people, and out of certain oblivion had come a space to breathe.

But then . . . had it really happened? Even Polly sometimes wondered, and she had been there. Was it just a voice in their heads, some kind of hallucination? Werent soldiers in desperate straits famous for seeing visions of gods and angels? And somewhere in the course of the long winter the miracle had faded, and people had said yes, but weve got to be practical.

All we were given was a chance, thought Polly. No miracle, no rescue, no magic. Just a chance.

She walked back to the inn, her mind buzzing. When she got there, a package was waiting. It was quite long, and heavy.

It came all the way from Scritz on the cart, said Shufti excitedly. Shed been working in the kitchen. It had become, now, her kitchen. I wonder what it can be? she said pointedly.

Polly levered the lid off the rough wooden crate, and found that it was full of straw with an envelope lying on top of it. She opened it.

Inside was an iconograph. It looked expensively done, a stiff family group with curtains and a potted palm in the background to give everything a bit of style. On the left was a middle-aged man looking proud; on the right was a woman of about the same age, looking rather puzzled but nevertheless pleased because her husband was happy; and here and there, staring at the viewer with variations of smile and squint, and expressions extending from interest to a sudden recollection that they should have gone to the toilet before posing, were children ranging from tall and gangly to small and smugly sweet.

And sitting on a chair in the middle, the focus of it all, was Sergeant-major Jackrum, shining like the sun.

Polly stared, and then turned the picture over. On the back was written, in big black letters: SM Jackrums Last Stand! and, underneath, Dont need these.

She smiled, and pulled aside the straw. In the middle of the box, wrapped in cloth, were a couple of cutlasses.

Is that old Jackrum? said Shufti, picking up the picture.

Yes. Hes found his son, said Polly, unwinding a blade. Shufti shuddered when she saw it.

Evil things, she said.

Things, anyway, said Polly. She laid both the cutlasses on the table, and was about to lift the box out of the way when she saw something small in the straw at the bottom. It was oblong, and wrapped in thin leather.

It was a notebook, with a cheap binding and musty yellowing pages.

Whats that? said Shufti.

I think . . . yes, its his address book, said Polly, flicking through the pages.

This is it, she thought. Its all here. Generals and majors and captains, oh my. There must be . . . hundreds. Maybe a thousand! Names, real names, promotions, dates . . . everything . . .

She pulled out a white pasteboard oblong that had been inserted like a bookmark. It showed a rather florid coat of arms and bore the printed legend:

William De Worde

EDITOR, THE TIMES OF ANKH-MORPORK

The Truth Shall Make Ye Frep

Gleam Street, Ankh-Morpork e-mail: WDW@Times.AM

Someone had crossed out the p in frep and pencilled in an e above it.

It was a sudden strange fancy . . .

How many ways can you fight a war? Polly wondered. We have the clacks now. I know a man who writes things down. The world turns. Plucky little countries seeking self-determination . . . could be useful to big countries with plans of their own.

Time to grab the cheese.

Pollys expression as she stared at the wall would have frightened a number of important people. They would have been even more concerned at the fact that she spent the next several hours writing things down, because it occurred to Polly that General Froc had not got where she was today by being stupid and therefore she could profit from following her example. She copied out the entire notebook, and sealed it in an old jam jar which she hid in the roof of the stables. She wrote a few letters. And she got her uniform out of the wardrobe and inspected it critically.

The uniforms that had been made for them had a special, additional quality that could only be called . . . girlie. They had more braid, they were better tailored, and they had a long skirt with a bum roll rather than trousers. The shakos had plumes, too. Her tunic had a sergeants stripes. It had been a joke. A sergeant of women. The world had been turned upside down, after all.

Theyd been mascots, good-luck charms . . . And, perhaps, on the march to PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg a joke was what everyone needed. But, maybe, when the world turns upside down, you can turn a joke upside down too. Thank you, Gummy, even though you didnt know what it was you were teaching me. When theyre laughing at you, their guard is down. When their guard is down, you can kick them in the fracas.

She examined herself in the mirror. Her hair, now, was just long enough to be a nuisance without being long enough to be attractive, so she brushed it and left it at that. She put the uniform on, but with the skirt over her trousers, and tried to put aside the nagging feeling that she was dressing up as a woman.

There. She looked completely harmless. She looked slightly less harmless with both cutlasses and one of the horsebows on her back, especially if you knew that the inns dartboards now had deep holes in the bullseyes from all the practising.

She crept along the hall to the window that overlooked the inn yard. Paul was up a ladder, repainting the sign. Her father was steadying the ladder and calling out instructions in his normal way, which was to call out the instruction just a second or two after youd already started doing it. And Shufti, although Polly was the only one in The Duchess who still called her that and knew why, was watching them, holding Jack. It made a lovely picture. For a moment, she wished she had a locket.

The Duchess was smaller than shed thought. But if you had to protect it by standing in the doorway with a sword, you were too late. Caring for small things had to start with caring for big things, and maybe the world wasnt big enough.

The note she left on her dressing table read: Shufti, I hope you and Jack are happy here. Paul, you look after her. Dad, Ive never taken any wages, but I need a horse. Ill try to have it sent back. I love you all. If I dont come back, burn this letter and look in the roof of the stables.

She dropped out of the window, saddled up a horse in the stables, and let herself out of the back gate. She didnt mount up until she was out of earshot, and then rode down to the river.

Spring was pouring through the country. Sap was rising. In the woods, a ton of timber was growing every minute. Everywhere, birds were singing.

There was a guard on the ferry. He eyed her nervously as she led the horse aboard, and then grinned.  Morning, miss! he said cheerfully.

Oh, well . . . time to start. Polly marched in front of the puzzled man.

Are you trying to be smart? she demanded, inches from his face.

No, miss

Thats sergeant, mister! said Polly. Lets try again, shall we? I said, are you trying to be smart?

No, sergeant!

Polly leaned until her nose was an inch from his. Why not?

The grin faded. This was not a soldier on the fast track to promotion. Huh? he managed.

If you are not trying to be smart, mister, youre happy to be stupid! shouted Polly. And Im up to here with stupid, understand?

Yeah, but

But what, soldier?

Yeah, but . . . well . . . but . . . nothing, sergeant, said the soldier.

Thats good. Polly nodded at the ferrymen. Time to go? she suggested, but in the tones of an order.

Couple of people just coming down the road, sergeant, said one of them, a faster man with an uptake.

They waited. There were, in fact, three people. One of them was Maladicta, in full uniform.

Polly said nothing until the ferry was out in mid-stream. The vampire gave her the kind of smile only a vampire can give. It would have been sheepish, if sheep had different teeth.

Thought Id try again, she said.

Well find Blouse, said Polly.

Hes a major now, said Maladicta. And happy as a flea because theyve named a kind of fingerless glove after him, I heard. What do we want him for?

He knows about the clacks. He knows about other ways war can be fought. And I know . . . people, said Polly.

Ah. Do you mean the Upon my oath, I am not a lying man, but I know people kind of people?

Those were the kind of people I had in mind, yes. The river slapped against the side of the ferry.

Good, said Maladicta.

I dont know where its going to lead, though, said Polly.

Ah. Even better.

At which point, Polly decided that she knew enough of the truth to be going on with. The enemy wasnt men, or women, or the old, or even the dead. It was just bleedin stupid people, who came in all varieties. And no one had the right to be stupid.

She looked at the other two passengers whod sidled aboard. They were country lads in ragged, ill-fitting clothes, keeping away from her and staring intently at the deck. But one glance was enough. The world turned upside down, and history repeated. For some reason, that suddenly made her feel very happy.

Going to join up, lads? she said, cheerily.

There was some mumbling on the theme of yes.

Good. Then stand up straight, said Polly. Lets have a look at you. Chins up. Ah. Well done. Shame you didnt practise walking in trousers, and I notice you didnt bring an extra pair of socks.

They stared, mouths open.

What are your names? said Polly. Your real names, please?

Er . . . Rosemary, one of them began.

Im Mary, said the other. I heard girls were joining, but everyone laughed, so I thought Id better pretend to

Oh, you can join as men if you want, said Polly. We need a few good men.

The girls looked at one another.

You get better swear words, said Polly. And the trousers are useful. But its your choice.

A choice? said Rosemary.

Certainly, said Polly. She put a hand on a shoulder of each girl, winked at Maladicta and added: You are my little lads  or not, as the case may be  and I will look after . . . you.

And the new day was a great big fish.

v1.1 converted from rtf and proofed by billbo196
v1.2  2005-08, reb: very minor corrections, mostly quotation marks and paragraphs; NOT checked against hard copy  remaining obvious errors and uncertain passages marked with [?]