Monstrous Regiment

“That’s because we’re 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. They’re all go

“Private Goom, as you were! That is an order! As you were, I said! Private Maladict, take that sword off’f 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. Carborundum’s raised club began to lower itself gently. Little Wazzer was held off the ground by Maladict, who’d wrenched a sword from her hand; possibly only a vampire could have moved faster than Wazzer as she’d charged the prisoners.

“Custody,” said Jackrum, in a quiet voice. “That’s a fu

“Can thomeone pleathe come and put their finger on thith knot?” said Igor, from his makeshift operating table. “I’ve jutht about done.”

“Harmless?” said the sergeant, staring at the struggling Wazzer. “They’re 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, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ve 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 onto 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, gri

“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 didn’t 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 she’d felt embarrassed about being caught in a petticoat, even though she had her breeches on underneath. She’d 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.”

“That’s the Prince’s personal regiment! They’ve 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. Can’t 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.

“Can’t, sir. Everyone’s fled, sir.”

“Perhaps I should leave them a note, do you think? I wouldn’t like them to think that I had ‘done a ru

“They’ve 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, she’d 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 Blouse’s 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. I’m in shock, she thought, and so’s he. So you cling to what you know. And you can’t 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, there’s 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 I’m an old soldier in good standing, you are allowed to conscript me as an auxiliary under Duchess’s 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.