Monstrous Regiment

“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.”

“What’s fu

The vampire chuckled. “Oh, sorry, sir. They say to spies ‘If you’re caught, eat the documents’, don’t they? A good way of making sure they don’t give away any secrets.”

“But you’ve got the… soggy book in your hands, corporal!”

“Vampires can’t be poisoned that easily, sir,” said Maladict calmly.

“It wath probably only fatal by mouth in any case, thur,” said Igorina. “Terrible stuff. Thtuff. He’th 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, there’s 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. “That’s 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 week’s 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.

Wazzer’s 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 didn’t. But Polly felt she should make the effort.

“How old are you, Wazz?” she said, shovelling dirt.

“N-n-nineteen, Polly,” said Wazzer.

“Why’d you join?”

“The Duchess told me to,” said Wazzer.

That was why people didn’t talk to Wazzer much.

“Wazz, you do know that wearing men’s clothes is an Abomination, don’t 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 Polly’s 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?”

She’s got a sword, thought Polly. And a shovel. This needs careful handling. “That’s 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. Don’t you?” The moonlight revealed the tracks of tears in the grime on Wazzer’s 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… I’m 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 wasn’t honest.

“I’m 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, you’re standing in another man’s grave,” said Polly. “There’s a time and place, you know? Let’s get back to the others, eh?”

The happiest days of the girl’s 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 didn’t 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.”

Don’t, don’t ask another question, said part of Polly’s 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 they’d have called it “sweet milky tea”, but even if they couldn’t walk the walk yet they were determined to talk the talk as soon as possible.

“What’s happening?” said Polly.

“Du

“It’s ‘grunts’, I think,” said Wazzer, taking the tea.

“I’ve 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… dishabille. It meant untidy, but with bags and bags of style. In this case Maladict’s jacket was open and he’d 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 ru

“You worked out all that in a couple of seconds? That was smart.”

“Yeah, right. Now please forget it, okay? I don’t want to be noticed. I don’t particularly want to be here. I just want to find my brother. Okay?”

“Fine. I just thought that you’d like to know someone saw you. And you’d better get that tea to ’em before they try to kill one another.”