Monstrous Regiment

They hadn’t gone more than thirty yards before they saw the soldier. Someone in the Zlobenian army was dangerously clever. He’d realized that the way to spot interlopers was not to march noisily along the beaten paths, but to sneak quietly between the trees.

The soldier had a crossbow; it was sheer luck… probably sheer luck that he was looking the other way when Polly came round a holly bush.

She flung herself behind a tree and gestured madly at Maladict further down the path, who had the sense to take cover.

Polly drew her sword and held it clutched to her chest in both hands. She could hear the man. He was some way away, but he was moving towards her. Probably the little lookout they had just found was a regular point on the patrol route. After all, she thought bitterly, it was just the sort of thing some untrained idiots might come across, maybe a quiet patrol could even surprise them there…

She shut her eyes and tried to breathe normally. This was it this was it this was it! This was where she found out.

What to remember what to remember what to remember… when the metal meets the meat… be holding the metal.

She could taste metal in her mouth.

The man would walk right past her. He’d be alert, but not that alert. A slash would be better than a stab. Yes, a good swipe at head height would kill…

…some mother’s son, some sister’s brother, some lad who’d followed the drum for a shilling and his first new suit. If only she’d been trained, if only she’d had a few weeks stabbing straw men until she could believe that all men were made of straw…

She froze. Down the angle of the path, still as a tree, head bowed, stood Wazzer. As soon as the scout reached Polly’s tree, she’d be seen.

She’d have to do it now. Perhaps that’s why men did it. You didn’t do it to save duchesses, or countries. You killed the enemy to stop him killing your mates, that they in turn might save you…

She could hear the cautious tread close to the tree. She raised the sabre, saw the light flash along its edge—

A wild turkey rose from the scrub on the other side of the path in one rocketing tower of wings and feathers and echoing noise. Half flying, half ru

“Oh, good shot, Woody,” said a voice near by. “Looks like a big ’un!”

“Did you see that?” said another voice. “Another step and I’d have tripped over it!”

Behind her tree, Polly breathed out.

A third voice, some way off, called out: “Let’s head back, eh, corp? The way that went off, the Tiger’s probably run a mile!”

“Yeah, and I’m so scared,” said the closest voice. “The Tiger’s behind every tree, right?”

“Okay, let’s call it a day. My wife’ll cook him a treat—”

Gradually, the voices of the soldiers got lost amongst the trees. Polly lowered the sword. She saw Maladict peer out of his bush and stare at her. She raised a finger to her lips. He nodded. She waited until the birdsong had settled down a little before stepping out. Wazzer seemed to be lost in thought; Polly took her very carefully by the hand. Quietly, dodging from tree to tree, they headed back to the hollow. Most particularly, Polly and Maladict didn’t talk. But they looked one another in the eye once or twice.

Of course a turkey would lie low until a hunter almbst trod on it. Of course that one must’ve been there all the time, and only lost its bird nerve when the scout crept up. It had been an unusually large bird, one that no hungry soldier could resist, but… well?

Because the brain treacherously does not stop thinking just because you want it to, Polly’s added: she said the Duchess could move small things. How small is a thought in the mind of a bird?

Only Jade and Igorina were waiting for them in the hollow. The others had found a better base a mile away, they said.

“We found the secret entrance,” said Polly quietly, as they headed away.

“Can we get in?” said Igorina.

“It’s the washerwomen’s entrance,” said Maladict. “It’s right down by the river. But there’s a path.”

“Washerwomen?” said Igorina. “But this is a war!”

“Clothes still get dirty, I suppose,” said Polly.

“Dirtier, I should think,” said Maladict.

“But… our countrywomen? Washing clothes for the enemy?” said Igorina, looking shocked.

“If it’s that or starve, yes,” said Polly. “I saw a woman come out carrying a basket of loaves. They say the Keep is full of granaries. Anyway, you sewed up an enemy officer, didn’t you?”

“That’s different,” said Igorina. “We are duty bound to thave our fellow ma—person. Nothing has ever been said about his—their underwear.”

“We could get in,” said Polly, “if we disguised ourselves as women.”

Silence greeted this. Then: “Disguised?” said Igorina.

“You know what I mean!” said Polly.

“As washerwomen?” said Igorina. “These are thurgeon’s hands!”

“Really? Where did you get them?” said Maladict. Igorina stuck out her tongue at him.

“Anyway, I don’t intend that we should do any washing,” said Polly.

“Then what do you intend?” said Igorina.

Polly hesitated. “I want to get my brother out if he’s in there,” she said. “And if we could stop the invasion that would be a good idea.”

“That might take extra starch,” said Maladict. “I don’t want to, you know, spoil the spirit of the moment, but that is a really awful idea. The el-tee won’t agree to something as wild as that.”

“No, he won’t,” said Polly. “But he’ll suggest it.”

“Hmm,” said Blouse, a little later. “Washerwomen? Is that usual, Sergeant Jackrum?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I expect the women in the villages round here do it, just like they did when we held the Keep,” said Jackrum.

“You mean they give aid and comfort to the enemy? Why?”

“Better than starving, sir. Fact of life. It doesn’t always stop at washing, neither.”

“Sergeant, there are young men here!” snapped Blouse, blushing.

“They’ll have to find out about ironing and darning sooner or later, sir,” said Jackrum, gri

Blouse opened his mouth. Blouse shut his mouth.

“Tea’s up, sir,” said Polly. Tea was an amazingly useful thing. It gave you an excuse to talk to anyone.

They were in what remained of a half-ruined farmhouse. By the look of it, not even patrols bothered to come here—there were no signs of former fires or even the most temporary occupation. It stank of decay and half the roof was gone.

“Do the women just come and go, Perks?” said the lieutenant.

“Yes, sir,” said Polly. “And I had an idea, sir. Permission to tell you my idea, sir?” She saw Jackrum raise an eyebrow. She was laying it on thick, she had to admit, but time was pressing.

“Please do. Perks,” said Blouse. “Else I fear you may explode.”

“They could be spies for us, sir! We could even get them to open the gates for us!”

“Well done, private!” said Blouse. “I do like a soldier to think.”

“Yeah, right,” growled Jackrum. “Any sharper’n he’ll cut hisself. Sir, they’re washerwomen, sir, basically. No offence to young Perks, keen lad that he is, but your average guard pays attention when Old Mother Riley tries to open the gates. There’s not just a pair of gates, neither. There’s six pairs, and nice little courtyards between ’em for the guards to have a squint at you to see if you’s a wrong ’un, and drawbridges, and spiky ceilings that drop down if someone doesn’t like the look of you. Try opening that lot with soapy hands!”

“I’m afraid the sergeant has a point, Perks,” said Blouse sadly.

“Well, supposing a couple of women managed to knock out a few guards, sir, they could let us in through their little door,” said Polly. “We might even be able to capture the commander of the fort, sir! I bet there’s plenty of women in the Keep, sir. In the kitchens and so on. They could… open doors for us!”