Monstrous Regiment

“No fresh vegetables, no fruit,” said Shufti. “That’s a very binding diet, corp.”

“Yeah, well, once battle commences I reckon you’ll find constipation’s the last thing on your mind,” said Scallot. He reached up, pushed some rags aside, and pulled down a dusty bottle from a shelf.

“Rupert’s not having none o’ this, neither,” he said. “Got it off’f the baggage of the last officer that went through, but I’ll share it with you, ’cos you’s good lads.” He casually knocked the top of the bottle off against the edge of the chimney. “’s only sherry, but it’ll make you drunk.”

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

“Hey, that’s good drink you’re wastin’!” said Scallot, making a grab for it.

“No, it’ll spice up the meat a fair treat,” said Shufti, trying to hang on to the bottle. “It’ll—sugar!”

Half the liquid had gone on the fire as the two hands fought for it, but that wasn’t what had felt like a small steel rod shooting through Polly’s head. She looked round at the rest of the squad, who didn’t 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 haven’t. 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 Maladict’s 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 I’m pretty sure about Lofty, too,” said Maladict.

“What’re you going to do about… them?” she said.

“Do? Why should I do anything about anyone?” said Maladict. “I’m a vampire officially pretending not to be one, right? I’m the last person who’ll 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? “I’d better go and take the lieutenant his scubbo,” she said. “And… blast it, I forgot about his laundry.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, old chap,” said Maladict, and flashed a little smile. “The way things are going around here, Igor’s probably a washerwoman in disguise.”

Polly did the laundry, in the end. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to dodge Molly a second time, and there wasn’t 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 Blouse’s 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.

“Dun’t know much about him,” said Scallot, upon questioning. “He’s 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 he’s not really a soldier at all, just some wonk from headquarters that’s good at sums.”

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

“I don’t think he can see very well without his glasses,” said Polly. “But he’s very, er, polite.”

“Not been a rupert for long, then,” said Scallot. “They’re 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 di

“Let’s just say I heard he didn’t come down much thi

“And Corporal Strappi?” said Polly.

“Never seen him before, either,” said Scallot. “Cross-grained little bugger. Political, I’d say. Why’s he gone and left you here? Got a nice cushy bed in the i

“I hope he’s 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.

“They’re trying to get rid of the old bugger again, are they?” he said. “That’s a laugh! Bless you, it’ll take more’n a bunch of gawains and rodneys to lever Jackrum out of his own army. Why, he’s been court-martialled twice. He got off both times. And d’you know he once saved General Froc’s life? He’s 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 ski

“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, cleverdick,” 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 Jackrum’d 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.

“Don’t 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. Where’s Corporal Strappi?”

“Haven’t seen him all evening, sarge,” said Maladict.

“Didn’t he come in here with you?”

“No, sarge. We thought he was with you.”

Not a muscle moved on Jackrum’s face. “I see,” he said. “Well, you heard the lieutenant. The boat leaves at midnight. We should be well down the Kneck by Wednesday’s dawn. Get a few hours’ sleep if you can. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, if you’re lucky.”

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

“Missing a corporal?” said Scallot. “Now there’s a thing. Usually it’s 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. She’d 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, wasn’t 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 don’t 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’.”