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 runner” without—’
‘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.
‘Indeed I am, captain,’ said Blouse.
Horentz looked him up and down. ‘You?’ he said, disdain oozing from the word.
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Blouse, his eyes narrowing.
‘Oh well, we shall have to do what we can. That fat bastard,’ said Horentz, pointing a threatening finger at Jackrum, ‘that bastard offered me violence! As a prisoner! In chains! And that . . . boy,’ the captain added, spitting the word towards Polly, ‘kicked me in the privates and almost clubbed me to death! I demand that you let us go!’
Blouse turned to Polly. ‘Did you kick Captain Horentz in the “privates”, Parts?’
‘Er . . . yessir. Kneed, actually. And it’s Perks actually, sir, although I can see why you made the mistake.’
‘What was he doing at the time?’
‘Er . . . embracing me, sir.’ Polly saw Blouse’s eyebrows rise, and plunged on. ‘I was temporarily disguised as a girl, sir, in order to allay suspicion.’
‘And then you . . . clubbed him?’
‘Yessir. Once, sir.’
‘What in the world possessed you to stop at once?’ said Blouse.
‘Sir?’ said Polly, as Horentz gasped. Blouse turned with an almost seraphic look of pleasure on his face.
‘And you, sergeant,’ he went on, ‘did you in fact lay a hand on the captain?’
Jackrum took a step forward and saluted smartly. ‘Not as in fact per se and such, sir, no,’ he said, keeping his eyes fixed on a point some twelve feet high on the far wall. ‘I just considered, since he had invaded our country to capture our lads, sir, that it wouldn’t hurt if he experienced temporary feelings of shock and awe, sir. On my oath, sir, I am not a violent man.’
‘Of course not, sergeant,’ said Blouse. And now, while he still smiled, it was edged with a kind of malevolent glee.
‘For heaven’s sake, you fool, you can’t believe these ignorant yokels, they’re the dregs of—’ Horentz began.
‘I do believe them, indeed I do,’ said Blouse, shaking with nervous defiance. ‘I would believe their testimony against yours, sir, if they told me the sky was green. And it would appear that untrained as they are, they have bested some of Zlobenia’s finest soldiers by wit and daring. I have every confidence that they have further surprises in store for us—’
‘Dropping your drawers would do it,’ whispered Maladict.
‘Shutup!’ hissed Polly, and then had to cram a fist into her mouth again.
‘I know you, Captain Horentz,’ said Blouse, and just for a moment the captain looked worried. ‘I mean I know your sort. I’ve had to put up with them all my life. Big jovial bullies, with their brains in their breeches. You dare to come riding into our country and think we’re going to be frightened of you? You think you can appeal to me over the heads of my men? You demand? On the soil of my country?’
‘Captain?’ murmured the cavalry sergeant, as Horentz stared open-mouthed at the lieutenant, ‘they’ll be here soon . . .’
‘Ah,’ said Horentz uncertainly. Then he seemed, with some effort, to regain his composure. ‘Reinforcements are coming,’ he snapped. ‘Free us now, you idiot, and I might just put this down to native stupidity. Otherwise I shall see to it that things go very, very badly for you and your . . . ha . . . men.’
‘Seven cavalrymen were considered not enough to deal with farm boys?’ said Blouse. ‘You’re sweating, captain. You are worried. And yet you have reinforcements coming?’
‘Permission to speak, sir!’ barked Jackrum, and went straight on to: ‘Cheesemongers! Get bleedin’ armed again right now! Maladict, you give Private Goom his sword back an’ wish him luck! Carborundum, you grab a handful of them twelve-foot pikes! The rest of—’
‘There’s these as well, sarge,’ said Maladict. ‘Lots of them. I got them off our friends’ saddles.’ He held up what looked to Polly like a couple of large pistol crossbows, steely and sleek.
‘Horsebows?’ said Jackrum, like a child opening a wonderful Hogswatch present. ‘That’s what you gets for leading an honest and sober life, my lads. Dreadful little engines they are. Let’s have two each!’
‘I don’t want unnecessary violence, sergeant,’ said Blouse.
‘Right you are, sir!’ said the sergeant. ‘Carborundum! First man comes through that door runnin’, I want him nailed to the wall!’ He caught the lieutenant’s eye, and added: ‘But not too hard!’
. . . and someone did knock at the door.
Maladict levelled two bows at it. Carborundum lifted a couple of pikes in either hand. Polly raised her cudgel, a weapon she at least knew how to use. The other boys, and girls, raised whatever weapon Threeparts Scallot had been able to procure. There was silence. Polly looked around.
‘Come in?’ she suggested.
‘Yeah, right, that should do it,’ said Jackrum, rolling his eyes.
The door was pushed open and a small, dapper man stepped through carefully. In build, colouring and hairstyle he looked rather like Mala—
‘A vampire?’ said Polly softly.
‘Oh, damn,’ said Maladict.
The newcomer’s clothing, however, was unusual. It was an old-fashioned evening dress coat with the sleeves removed and many, many pockets sewn all over it. In front of him, slung around his neck, was a large black box. Against all common sense, he beamed at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.