Monstrous Regiment

Blouse closed the book with a leathery flwap. "Absolutely correct, sergeant!" he said brightly. "I commend you on your encyclopaedic knowledge of the regulations!"



Jackrum looked thunderous. "What?"



"You were practically word perfect, sergeant!" said Blouse. And there was a gleam in his eye. Polly remembered Blouse looking at the captured cavalry captain. This was that same look, the look which said: now I have the upper hand.



Jackrum's chins wobbled.



"You had something to add, sergeant?" said Blouse.



"Er, no... sir," said Jackrum, his face an open declaration of war.



"We'll leave at moonrise," said Blouse. "I suggest we all get some rest until then. And then... may we prevail." He nodded to the group, and walked over to where Polly had spread his blanket in the lee of the bushes. After a few moments there were some snores, which Polly refused to believe. Jackrum certainly didn't. He got up and strode out of the firelight. Polly hurried after him.



"Did you hear that?" snarled the sergeant, staring out at the darkening hills. "The little yoyo! What right has he got, checking up in the book o' words?"



"Well, you did quote chapter and verse, sarge," said Polly.



"So? Officers are s'posed believe what they're told. And then he smiled! Did you see? Caught me out and smiled at me! Thinks he's got one over on me, just because he caught me out!"



"You did lie, sarge."



"I did not Perks! It's not lying when you do it to officers! It's presentin' them with the world the way they think it ought to be! You can't let 'em start checkin' up for themselves. They get the wrong ideas. I told you, he'll be the death of all of us! Invading the bloody Keep? The man's wrong in the head!"



"Sarge!" said Polly urgently.



"Yes, what?"



"We're being signalled, sarge!"



On a distant hilltop, twinkling like an early evening star, a white light was flashing.



Blouse lowered his telescope. "They're repeating 'CQ'," he said. "And I believe those longer pauses are when they're aiming their tube in different directions. They're looking for their spies. 'Seek You', see? Private Igor?"



"Thur?"



"You know how that tube works, don't you?"



"Oh, yeth, thur. You jutht light a flare in the box, and then it'th just point and click."



"You're not going to answer it, are you, sir?" said Jackrum, horrified.



"I am indeed, sergeant," said Blouse briskly. "Private Carborundum, please assemble the tube. Manickle, please bring the lantern. I shall need to read the code book."



"But that'll give away our position!" said Jackrum.



"No, sergeant, because although this term may be unfamiliar to you I intend to what we call 'lie'," said Blouse. "Igor, I'm sure you have some scissors, although I'd rather you didn't attempt to repeat the word."



"I have thome of the applianthetheth you mention, thur," said Igorina stiffly.



"Good." Blouse looked round. "It's almost pitch dark now. Ideal. Take my blanket and cut, oh, a three-inch circle out of it, then tie the blanket over the front of the tube."



"That will cut off motht of the light, thur!"



"Indeed it will. My plan depends upon it," said Blouse proudly.



"Sir, they will see the light, they'll know we're here," said Jackrum, as though repeating things to a child.



"I explained, sergeant. I will lie," said Blouse.



"You can't lie when - "



"Thank you for your input, sergeant, that will be all for now," said Blouse. "Are we ready, Igor?"



"Jutht about, thur," said Igorina, tying the blanket across the end of the tube. "Okay, thur. I'll light the flare when you thay."



Blouse unfolded the little book. "Ready, private?" he said.



"Yup," said Jade.



"On the word 'long' you will hold the trigger for the count of two, and then let go. On the word 'short' you will hold it down for the count of one, and likewise let go. Got that?"



"Yup, el-tee. Could hold it down for lots, if you like," said Jade. "One, two, many, lots. I'm good at countin'. High as you like. Jus' say der word."



"Two will suffice," said Blouse. "And you, Private Goom, I want you to take my telescope and look for long and short flashes from that light over there, understand?"



Polly saw Wazzer's face and said quickly: "I'll do that, sir!"



A small white hand was laid on her arm. In the miserly glimmer of the dark lantern, Wazzer's eyes glowed with the light of certainty. "The Duchess guides our footsteps now," she said, and took the telescope from the lieutenant. "What we are doing is her work, sir."



"Is it? Oh. Well... that's good," said Blouse.



"She will bless this instrument of far seeing that I may use it," said Wazzer.



"Indeed?" said Blouse nervously. "Well done. Now... are we ready? Send as follows... long... long... short..."



The shutter in the tube clicked and rattled as the message flashed out across the sky. When the troll lowered the tube, there was half a minute of darkness. And then: "Short... long..." Wazzer began.



Blouse held the code book up to his face, his lips moving as he read by the pinpoints of light escaping from the loins of the box. "W... R... U," he said. "And M...S...G...P...R..."



"That's not a message!" said Jackrum.



"On the contrary, they want to know where we are, because they're having trouble seeing our light," said Blouse. "Send as follows... short..."



"I protest, sir!"



Blouse lowered the book. "Sergeant, I am about to tell our spy that we are seven miles further away than we really are, do you understand? And I am certain they will believe us because I have artificially reduced the light output from our device, do you understand? And I will tell them that their spies have encountered a very large party of recruits and deserters heading for the mountains and are in pursuit, do you understand? I am making us invisible, do you understand? Do you understand, Sergeant Jackrum?"



The squad held their breath.



Jackrum drew himself stiffly to attention. "Fully understood, sir!" he said.



"Very well!"



Jackrum continued at attention as the messages were exchanged, like a naughty pupil forced to stand by the teacher's desk.



Messages flashed across the sky, from hilltop to hilltop. Lights flickered. The clacks tube rattled. Wazzer called out the longs and shorts. Blouse scribbled in the book. "S... P... P... 2," he said aloud. "Hah. That's an order to remain where we are."



"More flashes, sir," said Wazzer.



"T... Y... E... 3..." said Blouse, still making notes. "That's 'be ready to give aid'. N...V...A...S...N... That's..."



"That's not a code, sir!" said Polly.



"Private, send as follows right now!" Blouse croaked. "Long... long..."



The message went. They watched, while the dew fell and, overhead, the stars came out and twinkled messages no one ever tried to read.



The clacks went silent.



"Now we leave as soon as possible," said Blouse. He gave a little cough. "I believe the phrase is 'Let us get the heck out of here'."



"Close, sir," said Polly. "Quite... close."



There was an old, very old Borogravian song with more Zs and Vs in it than any lowlander could pronounce. It was called "Plogviehze!" It meant "The Sun Has Risen! Let's Make War!" You needed a special kind of history to get all that in one word.



Sam Vimes sighed. The little countries here fought because of the river, because of idiot treaties, because of royal rows, but mostly they fought because they had always fought. They made war, in fact, because the sun came up.



This war had tied itself in a knot.



Downriver, the valley narrowed to a canyon before the Kneck plunged over a waterfall a quarter of a mile high. Anyone trying to get up through the jagged mountains there would find themselves in a world of gorges, knife-edged ridges, permanent ice and even more permanent death. Anyone trying to cross the Kneck into Zlobenia now would be butchered on the shore. The only way out of the valley was back along the Kneck, which would put an army under the shadow of the Keep. That had been fine when the Keep was in Borogravian hands. Now that it had been captured, they'd be passing in range of their own weapons.



...And such weapons! Vimes had seen catapults that would throw a stone ball three miles. When it landed it would crack into needle-sharp shards. Or there was the other machine that sent six-foot steel discs skimming through the air. Once they'd hit the ground and leapt up again they were unreliable as hell, but that only made them more terrifying. Vimes had been told that the edged disc would probably keep going for several hundred yards, no matter how many men or horses it encountered on the way. And they were only the latest ideas. There were plenty of conventional weapons, if by that you meant giant bows, catapults and mangonels that hurled balls of Ephebian fire, which clung while it burned.



From up here, in his draughty tower, he could see the fires of the dug-in army all across the plain. They couldn't retreat, and the Alliance, if that's what you could call the petulant hubbub, didn't dare head up the valley into the heart of the country with that army at their back, yet didn't have enough men to hold the Keep and corral the enemy.



And in a few weeks it would start to snow. The passes would fill up. Nothing would be able to get through. And every day, thousands of men and horses would need feeding. Of course, the men could, eventually, eat the horses, thus settling two feeding problems at a stroke. After that there would have to be the good ol' leg rota, which Vimes understood from one of the friendlier Zlobenians was a common feature of winter warfare up here. Since he was Captain "Hopalong" Splatzer, Vimes believed him.



And then it would rain, and then the rain and the snowmelt together would turn the damn river into a flood. But before that the Alliance would have bickered itself apart and gone home. All the Borogravians had to do, in fact, was hold their ground to score a draw.



He swore under his breath. Prince Heinrich had inherited the throne in a country where the chief export was a kind of hand-painted wooden clog, but in ten years, he vowed, his capital city of Rigour would be "the Ankh-Morpork of the mountains"! For some reason, he thought Ankh-Morpork would be pleased about this.



He was anxious, he said, to learn the Ankh-Morpork way of doing things, the kind of innocent ambition that could well lead an aspiring ruler to... well, find out the Ankh-Morpork way of doing things. Heinrich had a reputation locally for cunning, but Ankh-Morpork had overtaken cunning a thousand years ago, had sped past devious, had left artful far behind and had now, by a roundabout route, arrived at straightforward.



Vimes leafed through the papers on his desk, and looked up when he heard a shrill, harsh cry outside. A buzzard came in a long, shallow swoop through the open window and alighted on a makeshift perch at the far end of the room. Vimes strolled over as the little figure on the bird's back raised his flying goggles.



"How's it going, Buggy?" he said.



"They're getting suspicious, Mister Vimes. And Sergeant Angua says it's getting a bit risky now they're so close."



"Tell her to come on in, then."



"Right, sir. And they still need coffee."



"Oh, damn! Haven't they found any?"



"No, sir, and it's getting tricky with the vampire."



"Well, if they're suspicious now then they'll be certain if we drop a flask of coffee on them!"



"Sergeant Angua says we'll probably get away with it, sir. She didn't say why." The gnome looked expectantly at Vimes. So did his buzzard. "They've come a long way, sir. For a bunch of girls. Well... mostly girls."



Vimes reached out absent-mindedly to pet the bird.



"Don't, sir! She'll have your thumb off!" Buggy yelled.



There was a knock on the door, and Reg came in with a tray of raw meat. "Saw Buggy overhead, so I thought I'd nip down to the kitchens, sir."



"Well done, Reg. Don't they ask why you want raw meat?"



"Yes, sir. I tell them you eat it, sir."



Vimes paused before answering. Reg meant well, after all.



"Well, it probably can't do my reputation any harm," he said. "By the way, what was going down in the crypt?"



"Oh, they're not what I'd call proper zombies, sir," said Reg, selecting a piece of meat and dangling it in front of Morag. "More like dead men walking."



"Er... yes?" said Vimes.



"I mean there's no real thinking going on," the zombie went on, picking up another lump of raw rabbit. "No embracing the opportunities of a life beyond the grave, sir. They're just a lot of old memories on legs. That sort of thing gives zombies a bad name, Mister Vimes. It makes me so angry!" Morag tried to snap at another lump of bloody rabbit fur that Reg, oblivious for the moment, was waving aimlessly.



"Er... Reg?" said Buggy.



"How hard can it be, sir, to move with the times? Now take me, for example. One day I woke up dead. Did I - "



"Reg!" Vimes warned as Morag's head bobbed back and forth.



" - take it lying down? No! And I didn't - "



"Reg, be careful! She's just had two of your fingers off!"



"What? Oh." Reg held up a denuded hand and stared at it. "Oh, now, will you look at that?" He peered down at the floor, with a hope that was quickly dashed. "Blast. Any chance we can make her throw up?"



"Only by sticking your remaining fingers down her throat, Reg. Sorry. Buggy, do the best you can, please. And you, Reg, go back downstairs and see if they've got any coffee, will you?"



"Oh dear," murmured Shufti.



"It's big," said Tonker.



Blouse said nothing.



"Not seen it before, sir?" said Jackrum cheerfully, as they stared at the distant keep.



If there is a fairy-tale scale for castles, where the top end is occupied by those white, spire-encrusted castles with the blue pointy roofs, then Kneck Keep was low, black and clung to its outcrop like a storm cloud. A bed of the Kneck ran round it; along the peninsula on which it was built, the approach road was wide, and bereft of cover, and an ideal stroll for those who were tired of life. Blouse took all this in.



"Er, no, sergeant," he said. "I've seen pictures, of course, but... they don't do it justice."



"Any of them books you read tell you what to do, sir?" said Jackrum. They were lying in some bushes half a mile away from the keep.



"Possibly, sergeant. In The Craft of War, Song Sung Lo said: to win without fighting is the greatest victory. The enemy wishes us to attack where he is strongest. Therefore, we will disappoint him. A way will present itself, sergeant."



"Well, it's never presented itself to me, and I've been here dozens of times," said Jackrum, still grinning. "Hah, even the rats'd have to disguise themselves as washerwomen to get in that place! Even if you get up that road, you've got narrow entrances, holes in the ceiling to pour hot oil through, gates everywhere that a troll couldn't smash through, coupla mazes, a hundred little ways you can be shot at. Oh, it's a wonderful place to attack."



"I wonder how the Alliance got in?" said Blouse.



"Treachery, probably, sir. The world's full of traitors. Or perhaps they discovered the secret entrance, sir. You know, sir? The one you're sure is there. Or p'raps you've forgotten? It's the sort of thing that can slip your mind when you're busy, I expect."



"We shall reconnoitre, sergeant," said Blouse coldly, as they crawled out of the bushes. He brushed leaves off his uniform. Thalacephalos or, as Blouse referred to her, "the faithful steed" had been turned loose miles back. You couldn't sneak on horseback and, as Jackrum had pointed out, the creature was too skinny for anyone to want to eat and too vicious for anyone to want to ride.



"Right, sir, yes, we might as well do that, sir," said Jackrum now, all gloating helpfulness. "Where would you like us to reconnoitre, sir?"



"There must be a secret entrance, sergeant. No one would build a place like that with only one entrance. Agreed?"



"Yessir. Only, perhaps they kept it a secret, sir. Only trying to help, sir."



They turned at the sound of urgent praying. Wazzer had fallen to her knees, hands clasped together. The rest of the squad edged away slowly. Piety is a wonderful thing.



"What is he doing, sergeant?" said Blouse.



"Praying, sir," said Jackrum.



"I've noticed he does it a lot. Is that, er, within regulations, sergeant?" the lieutenant whispered.



"Always a difficult one, sir, that one," said Jackrum. "I have, myself, prayed many times on the field of battle. Many times have I said the Soldier's Prayer, sir, and I don't mind admitting it."



"Er... I don't think I know that one," said Blouse.



"Oh, I reckon the words'll come to you soon enough, sir, once you're up against the foe. Gen'rally, though, they're on the lines of 'O god, let me kill this bastard before he kills me'." Jackrum grinned at Blouse's expression. "That's what I call the Authorized Version, sir."



"Yes, sergeant, but where would we be if we all prayed all the time?" said the lieutenant.



"In heaven, sir, sitting at Nuggan's right hand," said Jackrum promptly. "That's what I was taught as a little nipper, sir. Of course, it'd be a bit crowded, so it's just as well we don't."



At which point, Wazzer stopped praying and stood up, brushing dust off her knees. She gave the squad her bright, worrying smile. "The Duchess will guide our steps," she said.



"Oh. Good," said Blouse weakly.



"She will show us the way."



"Wonderful. Er... did she mention a map reference at all?" said the lieutenant.



"She will give us eyes that we might see."



"Ah? Good. Well, jolly good," said Blouse. "I definitely feel a lot better for knowing that. Don't you, sergeant?"



"Yessir," said Jackrum. "'cos before this, sir, we didn't have a prayer."



They scouted in threes, while the rest of the squad lay up in a deep hollow among the bushes. There were enemy patrols, but it's not hard to avoid half a dozen men who stick to the tracks and aren't being careful not to make a noise. The troops were Zlobenian, and acted as though they owned the place.



For some reason Polly ended up patrolling with Maladict and Wazzer or, to put it another way, a vampire on the edge and a girl who was possibly so far over it that she'd found a new edge out beyond the horizon. She was changing every day, that was a fact. On the day they'd all joined up, a lifetime ago, she'd been this shivering little waif who flinched at shadows. Now, sometimes, she seemed taller, full of some ethereal certainty, and shadows fled before her. Well, not in actual fact, Polly would admit. But she walked as if they should.



And then there had been the Miracle of the Turkey. That was hard to explain.



The three of them had been moving along the cliffs. They'd circled a couple of Zlobenian lookout posts, forewarned by the smell of cooking-fires but, alas, not by the smell of any coffee. Maladict seemed to be mostly in control, except for a tendency to mutter to himself in letters and numbers, but Polly had stopped that by threatening to hit him with a stick the very next time he did it.



They'd reached a cliff edge that gave yet another view of the Keep, and once again Polly raised the telescope and scanned the sheer walls and jumbled rocks for any sign of another entrance.



"Look down at the river," said Wazzer.



The circle of view blurred upwards as Polly shifted the scope; when it stopped moving she saw whiteness. She had to lower the instrument to see what she'd been looking at.



"Oh my," she said.



"Makes sense, though," said Maladict. "And there's a path all along the river, see? There's a couple more women on it."



"Tiny gateway, though," said Polly. "And it'd be so easy to search people for weapons."



"Soldiers couldn't get through, them," said the vampire.



"We could," said Polly. "And we're soldiers. Aren't we?"



There was a pause before Maladict said: "Soldiers need weapons. Swords and crossbows get noticed."



"There will be weapons inside," said Wazzer. "the Duchess has told me. The castle is full of weapons."



"Did she tell you how to make the enemy let go of them?" said Maladict.



"All right, all right," said Polly quickly. "We ought to tell the rupert as soon as possible, okay? Let's get back!"



"Hold on, I'm the corporal," said Maladict.



"Well?" said Polly. "And?"



"Let's get back?" said Maladict.



"Good idea."



She should have listened to the birdsong, she realized later. The shrill calls in the distance would have told her the news, if only she'd been calm enough to listen.



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 running, it bounded off into the woods. There was the thud of a bow and a last squawk.



"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, grinning.



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!"



"Oh, come on, Perks - " Jackrum began.



"No, sergeant. Wait," said Blouse. "Astonishingly enough, Perks, in your boyish enthusiasm you have, although you haven't realized it, given me a very interesting idea..."



"Have I, sir?" said Polly, who in her boyish enthusiasm had considered trying to tattoo the idea on Blouse's head. For someone so clever, he really was slow.



"Indeed you have, Perks," said Blouse. "Because, of course, we only need one 'washerwoman' to get us inside, do we not?"



The inverted commas sounded promising. "Well, yes, sir," said Polly.



"And, if one as it were thinks 'outside the box', the 'woman' does not in fact need to be a woman!"



Blouse beamed. Polly allowed her brow to wrinkle in honest puzzlement.



"Doesn't she, sir?" she said. "I don't think I quite understand, sir. I am perplexed, sir."



"'She' could be a man, Perks!" said Blouse, almost exploding with delight. "One of us! In disguise!"



Polly breathed a sigh of relief. Sergeant Jackrum laughed.



"Lord bless you, sir, dressing up as washerwomen is for gettin' out of places! Milit'ry rules!"



"If a man gets inside, he could disable any guards near the door, spy out the situation from a military perspective, and let the rest of the troops in!" said Blouse. "If this was done at night, men, we could be holding key positions by the morning!"



"But these aren't men, sir," said Jackrum. Polly turned. The sergeant was looking right at her, right through her. Oh darn, I mean damn... he knows...



"I beg your pardon?"



"They are... my little lads, sir," Jackrum went on, winking at Polly. "Keen lads, full of mustard, but they ain't ones for cuttin' throats and stabbin' hearts. They signed up to be pikemen in the press, sir, in a proper army. You are my little lads, I says to 'em when I signed 'em up, and I will look after you. I can't stand by and let you take 'em to certain death!"



"It's my decision to make, sergeant," said Blouse. "We are at 'the hinge of destiny'. Who, in the pinch, is not ready to lay down his life for his country?"



"In a proper stand-up fight, sir, not getting beaten over the head by a bunch of nasty men for creeping around their fort. You know I've never been one for spies an' hidin' your colours, sir, never."



"Sergeant, we have no choice. We must take advantage of the 'tide of fortune'."



"I know about tides, sir. They leave little fish gaspin'." The sergeant stood up, fists clenching.



"Your concern for your men does you credit, sergeant, but it falls to us - "



"A famous last stand, sir?" said Jackrum. He spat expertly into the fire in the tumbledown hearth. "To hell with them, sir. That's just a way of dyin' famous!"



"Sergeant, your insubordination is getting - "



"I'll go," said Polly quietly.



Both men stopped, turned and stared.



"I'll go," Polly repeated, louder. "Someone ought to."



"Don't be daft, Perks!" snapped Jackrum. "You don't know what's in there, you don't know what guards are waitin' just inside the door, you don't know - "



"I'll find out, then, sarge, won't I," said Polly, smiling desperately. "Maybe I can get to somewhere where you can see and send signals, or..."



"On this issue, at least, the sergeant and I are of one mind, Perks," said Blouse. "Really, private, it would simply not work. Oh, you're brave, certainly, but what makes you think you stand a chance of passing yourself off as a woman?"



"Well, sir... what?"



"Your keenness will not go unrecorded, Perks," said Blouse, smiling. "But, y'know, a good officer keeps an eye on his men and I have to say that I've noticed in you, in all of you, little... habits, perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, like the occasional deep exploration of a nostril maybe, and a tendency to grin after passing wind, a natural boyish inclination to, ahem, scratch your... selves in public... that sort of thing. These are the kind of little details that'd give you away in a trice and tell any observer that you were a man in women's clothing, believe me."



"I'm sure I could pull it off, sir," said Polly weakly. She could sense Jackrum's eyes on her. You bloomi - you bloody well know, don't you. How long have you known?



Blouse shook his head. "No, they would see through you in a flash. You are a fine bunch of lads, but there is only one man here who'd stand a chance of getting away with it. Manickle?"



"Yessir?" said Shufti, rigid with instant panic.



"Can you find me a dress, do you think?"



Maladict was the first to break the silence. "Sir, are you telling us... you're going to try to get in dressed as a woman?"



"Well, I'm clearly the only one who's had any practice," said Blouse, rubbing his hands together. "At my old school, we were in and out of skirts all the time." He looked around at the circle of absolutely expressionless faces. "Theatricals, you see?" he said brightly. "No gels at our boarding school, of course. But we didn't let that stop us. Why, my Lady Spritely in A Comedy of Cuckolds is still talked about, I understand, and as for my Yumyum¨C Is Sergeant Jackrum all right?"



The sergeant had folded up, but with his face level with his knees he managed to croak: "Old war wound, sir. Come upon me sudden, like."



"Please help him, Private Igor. Where was I... I can see you all look puzzled, but there's nothing strange about this. Fine old tradition, men dressing up as gels. In the sixth form, the chaps used to do it for a jape all the time." He paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully, "Especially Wrigglesworth, for some reason..." He shook his head as if dislodging a thought and went on: "Anyway, I have some experience in this field, d'ye see?"



"And... what would you do if - I mean when you got in, sir?" said Polly. "You won't just have to fool the guards. There'll be other women in there."



"That will not present a problem, Perks," said Blouse. "I shall act in a feminine way and I have this stage trick, d'ye see, where I make my voice sound quite high-pitched, like this." The falsetto could have scratched glass. "See?" he said. "No, if we need a woman, I'm your man."