"I was just wondering why it's so crowded, corp," said Tonker. "If it's so bad, I mean."
"That's because they are a degraded people, private! And they've 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-Morpork's 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 can't get to be a great country like Borogravia without making enemies! Which leads me on to Point Three, Parts, who's sitting there thinking he's 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 it's ours. You might think we don't have the best laws, but they're ours. The mountains might not be the prettiest ones or the tallest ones, but they're ours. We're fighting for what's 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 wasn't singing at all. He was praying. That was a good wheeze, said one of the more treacherous areas at the back of Polly's mind.
To the bewilderment of all, Strappi continued - alone - all through the second verse, which nobody ever remembered, and then gave them a smug, I'm-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 I've worked it out. If people are groophar stupid, then we'll fight for groophar stupidity, 'cos it's our stupidity. And dat's 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 I've got it, thank you," said Maladict. "And what you've 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, that's where they've got you," sighed Polly.
"Well, I'm not buying into it. It's all trickery. They keep you down and when they piss off some other country, you have to fight for them! It's 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 don't want to?"
That was Shufti.
"I think it's 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 wasn't looking and kissed it on the back!"
"They'll 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 wasn't her real backside. Huh, wouldn't 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, what's the difference? Front or back, we're all here together and I don't see any steak and bacon!"
Something rumbled overhead. "I joined t' see exciting forrin places and meet erotic people," said Carborundum.
That caused a moment's 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 Strappi's yap, "but they're our liars!"
"Now, now, children," said Maladict. "Let's try to get some sleep, shall we? But here's a happy little dream from your Uncle Maladict. Dream that when we go into battle, Corporal Strappi is leading us. Wouldn't that be fun?"
After a while, Tonker said: "In front of us, you mean?"
"Oh, yes. I can see you're with me, Tonk. Right in front of you. On the noisy, frantic, confusing battlefield, where oh so much can go wrong."
"And we'll have weapons?" said Shufti wistfully.
"Of course you'll have weapons. You're soldiers. And there's the enemy, right in front of you..."
"That's a good dream, Mai."
"Sleep on it, kid."
Polly turned over, and tried to make herself comfortable. It's all lies, she thought muzzily. Some of them are just prettier than others, that's all. People see what they think is there. Even I'm a lie. But I'm 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 hadn't 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 she'd died slowly amidst pictures of the Duchess and amongst the echoes of unanswered prayers, but that was the memory that crawled treacherously into Polly's 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 night's rain, hoping to save what they could. There weren't 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 won't 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?"
"You'll get your chance soon enough, lad," said the sergeant.
"Tharge?" said Igor, looking hurt.
"Oh, all right. If you must. D'you 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. "I've butchered pigs for me mam, sarge," he said.
"Capital! Better than an army surgeon, upon my oath. Off you go. Twenty minutes, remember!"
"And don't 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 wasn't careful.
She froze at a rustling behind her, and then relaxed. She'd been careful. No one would have seen anything. So what if someone else was taking a leak? She'd 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 couldn't help herself. Maybe it was the socks. Maybe it was the pleading expression on Lofty's face. When someone's broadcasting "Don't look!" the eyes have a mind of their own, and go where they're not wanted. Lofty jumped up, dragging at her clothes.
"No, look, it's all right - " Polly began, but it was too late. The girl had gone.
Polly stared at the bushes, and thought: Blast! There's two of us! But what would I have said next? "It's okay, I'm a girl too. You can trust me. We could be friends. Oh, and here's 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 Tonker's 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. She's 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 hadn't 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 can't tell her, she thought. She would tell him. I can't afford to let them know. I've put too much into this. I didn't 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, she'd 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. She'd even worn a pair of her brother's 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 didn't look for a woman in trousers. To the casual observer, men's 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 hadn't given her away. She'd suspected it was Eyebrow, but doubted it; he'd 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, he'd been out cold, and in any case... no, not the troll. And Igor lisped. Tonker? After all, he'd 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 didn't 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 I'd darn a tear! You should've seen it! You couldn't see his fingers move! And he has all these ointments that just..." Tonker's 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 c'd make it look like a accident."
"Better not," said Polly, but she did entertain the thought for a moment.
They'd 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 Tonker's hands, and said, "You poor boys!" before being swept away in the throng.
"What's this all about, sarge?" said Maladict. "These look like refugees!"
"Talk like that spreads Alarm and Despondency!" shouted Corporal Strappi.
"Oh, you mean they're 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."
"D'you 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 don't 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 don't make way, y'hear?"
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. They're 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 they'd 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 don't have to tell 'em, sarge!" said Strappi.
"About five miles," said Sergeant Jackrum. "You'll get your uniforms and weapons at the depot there."
"That's a milit'ry secret, sarge," Strappi whined.
"We could shut our eyes so's we don't see what we're 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 Strappi's face.
He screamed.
Lofty grabbed at the fluttering thing, which was damp. It tore in his - her¨Chands, and most of it dropped away from the struggling corporal.
"It's 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 muddy, although she recognized the words "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 can't just read anything you see, Parts!" he shouted. "You don't know who wrote it!"
He dropped the damp scrap onto the mud and stamped on it.
"Now let's 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 it, 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
¨Cspread fami
across t
No altern
invas
They were winning, weren't 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 Jackrum's nerves as well, and he had a struttiness about him, a certain¨C 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, aren't we?" said Polly. She'd given up correcting him.
Suddenly, every ear in the squad was listening.
"Don't you bother yourself about that, Parts!" snapped the corporal. "Your job is to fight!"
"Right, corp. So... I'll be fighting on the winning side, will I?"
"Oho, we've got someone who asks too many questions here, sarge!" said Strappi.
"Yeah, don't ask questions, Perks," said Jackrum, absent-mindedly.
"So we're losing, then?" said Tonker. Strappi turned on him.
"That's spreading Alarm and Despondency again, that is!" he shrieked. "That's aiding the enemy!"
"Yeah, knock it off, Private Halter," said Jackrum. "Okay? Now get a - "
"Halter, I'm 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."
"They're having an argument," said Maladict. "Which is odd, don't you think? A sergeant is supposed to give orders to a corporal."
"We are winning, aren't we?" said Shufti. "I mean, I know there's a war, but... I mean, we get weapons, don't we, and we'll... well, they've got to train us, right? It'll probably be all over by then, right? Everyone says we're 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 we're winning, except maybe Strappi," said Polly. "They just say that everyone says we're winning."
"The men Igor... repaired didn't even say that," said Tonker. "They said 'you poor bastards, you'll leg it if you've any sense.'"
"Thank you for sharing," said Maladict.
"It looks as though everyone's 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 onto 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 doesn't like being called a lady, eh?" he said. "Dear me, Private Halter, you've got a lot to learn, haven't you? You're a sissy little lady until we make a man of you, right? And I dread to think how long that's 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 Pl¨¹n, 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 onto 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 won't come as a shock! You'll be bivvying in that barracks over there, what is milit'ry 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 it's 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!"
"That's 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 it'll be over his eyes.
Sergeant Jackrum snapped off a salute as the officer approached. "Jackrum, sir. You'll 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 horse's neck, causing rain to pour off his helmet.
"This is all, sergeant?"
"Yessir."
"Most of them look very young," said the lieutenant, who didn't look very old.
"Yessir."
"And isn't that one a troll?"
"Yessir. Well spotted, sir."
"And the one with stitches all round his head?"
"He's 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, I'm sure they're 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 hasn't. "You were probably expecting a week or two in the training camp in Crotz, yes? But I'm 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 I'm - well, you know about the special duties - "
"My orders said all able-bodied men, corporal," said Blouse. "I expect that you'll 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, I've no doubt."
Jackrum took the packet gingerly. "Thank you, sir, I'll 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 it's 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 Jackrum's pudgy finger slowly ripping open the package.
"Oh," he said, like a man in shock. "Good. A picture of the Duchess. That's eighteen I have now. Oh, and, oo, a piece of paper saying it's a medal, so it's looks like we've even run out of pot metal now. Oh, and my discharge with a printing of the Duchess's 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 Duchess's 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 I'm 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 we're 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 lieutenant's batman step forward! Not you, Private Maladict!" snapped the sergeant.
No one moved.
"Oh, come now," said the lieutenant.
Polly slowly raised a hand. "What's 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 he's smartly turned out, that style of thing. So's 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. "Don't just stand there trying to look pretty! There's 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 hadn't 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 corporal's 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 quartermaster's 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.
"What's this? One Size, Doesn't Fit Anyone?"
"This tunic's got blood on it! Blood!"
"Well, it ith one of the thtubborn thtainth, it's alwayth very hard to get it out without - "