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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. You’d die anyway, and at least you wouldn’t have a headache. The shako’s badge showed the regimental symbol of a flaming cheese. Maybe one day she’d 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 she’d crossed the square; the rain was coming horizontally.
She shoved open the i
“Oh, it’s you, Perks,” he said. “They’ve cleaned the place out and buggered off. Even Molly. I heard ’em go. Pushing a cart, by the sound of it. What’re you doing here?”
“Batman, sarge,” said Polly, shaking water off her hat.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Go and wake him up, then. He’s snoring like a sawmill. I hope to hell the boat’s still there.”
“Why’d they bug—scarper, sarge?” said Polly and thought: Sugar! If it comes to it, I don’t swear, either! But the sergeant didn’t 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 don’t doubt,” he said. “Of course, we’re wi
“Ah. Oh. And we’re not going to be invaded at all, I expect,” said Polly, with equally exaggerated care.
“Quite right. I detest those treacherous devils who’d 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 haven’t 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 door’s bolt across. He turned and headed towards the rear of the i
“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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 you’re in here somewhere. Make it easy on yourself. We don’t want to have to come and find you.”
I don’t want you to either, Polly thought. I’m not a soldier! Go away! And then the next thought was: What do you mean, you’re not a soldier? You took the shilling and kissed the picture, didn’t you? And suddenly an arm had reached under the bar and grabbed her. At least she didn’t have to act.
“No! Please, sir! Don’t 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 Begi
“Yes, sir,” she squeaked.
“Barmaid, eh? Three pints of what you’d probably call your finest ale, then.”
That at least could happen on automatic. She’d seen the mugs under the bar, and the barrels were behind her. The beer was thin and sharp but probably wouldn’t dissolve a pe
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. You’re 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 sergeant’s stripes and an expression of deep suspicion. The one who’d grabbed her was a captain.
“This is terrible beer, girl,” he said, sniffing the mug.
“Yes, sir, I know, sir,” Polly gabbled. “They wouldn’t 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 town’s empty, you know that?”
“They all scarpered, sir,” said Polly earnestly. “Go
“Except you, eh?” said the sergeant.
“What’s 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 barman’s 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… what’s that glass for, sir?”
“It’s a monocle,” said the captain. “It helps me see you, for which I am eternally grateful. I always say that if I had two I’d 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 won’t 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 officer’s. “Well, I like a girl who’ll 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 hadn’t 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 co