‘Ins-and-Outs,’ said Polly.
‘And you—’ the man began.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said Maladict, and marched away from the tree and into the clearing. The two cavalry men looked up from their fire, and there was a moment of immobility before one reached for his sword.
Maladict swung the bow quickly from one to the other, its point hypnotizing them like a swinging watch. ‘I’ve got only one shot but there’s two of you,’ he said. ‘Who shall I shoot? You choose. Now, listen very carefully: where’s your coffee? You’ve got coffee, haven’t you? C’mon, everyone’s got coffee! Spill the beans!’
They stared at the crossbow and slowly shook their heads.
‘What about you, writer man?’ snarled Maladict. ‘Where’re you hiding the coffee?’
‘We only have cocoa,’ said the writer, raising his hands quickly as Maladict turned on him. ‘You’re welcome to—’
Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air*, and sat down with his head in his hands. ‘We’re all gonna die,’ he said. The troopers shifted as though to stand up, and Jade raised her sapling.
* And failed to hit anything, especially a duck. This is so unusual in situations like this that it should be reported under new humour regulations. If it had hit a duck, which quacked and then landed on somebody’s head, this would of course have been very droll and would certainly have been reported. Instead, it drifted in the breeze a little and landed in an oak tree some thirty feet away, where it missed a squirrel.
‘Don’t even fink about it,’ she said.
Polly turned to the writer man. ‘You want us to talk to you, sir? Then you talk to us. Is this about . . . Prince Heinrich’s . . . socks?’
Maladict stood up in one mad movement. ‘I say we grease the lot of them and go home!’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘One, Two, Three! What We Are Fighting For!’
‘Socks?’ said the writer, looking nervously at the vampire. ‘What’ve socks got to do with it?’
‘I just gave you an order, Polly,’ said Maladict.
‘What is it you think we don’t know?’ Polly insisted, glaring at de Worde.
‘Well, to start with you’re just about all that’s left of the Ins-and-Outs—’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Oh, there’s prisoners and wounded, I think. But why should I lie to you? Why did he call you Polly?’
‘Because I know a lot about birds,’ said Polly, mentally cursing. ‘How do you know what’s been happening to the regiment?’
‘Because it’s my job to know things,’ said the man. ‘What’s that bird up there?’
Polly glanced up. ‘I don’t have time for stupid games,’ she said. ‘And that’s a—’ She stopped. Something was wheeling high above, in the forbidden blue.
‘You don’t know?’ said de Worde.
‘Yes, of course I know,’ said Polly irritably. ‘It’s a white-necked buzzard. But I thought they never came this far into the mountains. I only ever saw one in a book—’ She raised her bow again, and tried to take control. ‘Am I right, Mr It’s-my-job-to-know-things?’
De Worde raised his hands again and gave her a sickly smile. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘I live in a city. I know sparrows from starlings. After that everything’s a duck as far as I’m concerned.’
Polly glared at him.
‘Look, please,’ said the man. ‘You need to listen to me. You need to know things. Before it’s too late.’
Polly lowered the bow. ‘If you want to talk to us, wait here,’ she said. ‘Corporal, we are leaving. Carborundum, pick up those troopers!’
‘Hold it,’ said Maladict. ‘Who’s the corporal in this squad?’
‘You are,’ said Polly. ‘And you’re drooling, and swaying, and your eyes look weird. So what was your point, please?’
Maladict considered this. Polly was tired and frightened and somewhere inside this was all being transmuted into anger. Hers was not an expression you wanted to see at the far end of a crossbow. An arrow couldn’t kill a vampire, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
‘Right, yeah,’ he said. ‘Carborundum, pick up those troopers! We are leaving!’
There was a bird whistle as Polly neared the hiding place. She identified this one as the sound of the Very Bad Bird Impersonator, and made a note to teach the girls some bird calls that at least sounded real. They were harder to do than most people thought.
The squad were in the gully, armed and at least looking dangerous. There was a certain amount of relaxation when they saw Jade carrying the two bound troopers. Two more were sitting disconsolately against the cliff, hands tied behind them.
Maladict walked smartly up to Blouse and saluted. ‘Two prisoners, el-tee, and Perks thinks there’s someone down there you ought to talk to.’ He leaned forward. ‘The newspaper man, sir.’
‘Then we’ll jolly well keep well away from him,’ said Blouse. ‘Eh, sergeant?’
‘Right, sir!’ said Jackrum. ‘Nothing but trouble, sir!’
Polly saluted madly. ‘Please, sir! Permission to speak, sir!’
‘Yes, Perks?’ said Blouse.
Polly saw there was one chance, and one only. She had to find out about Paul. Now her mind worked as fast as it had on the hill last night, when she’d gone for the man with the code book.
‘Sir, I don’t know if he’s worth talking to, sir, but he may be worth listening to. Even if you think he’ll only tell us lies. Because sometimes, sir, the way people tell you lies, if they tell you enough lies, well, they sort of . . . show you what shape the truth is, sir. And we don’t have to tell him the truth, sir. We could lie to him, too.’
‘I am not by nature an untruthful man, Perks,’ said Blouse coldly.
‘Glad to hear it, sir. Are we winning the war, sir?’
‘You stop that right now, Perks!’ Jackrum roared.
‘It was only a question, sarge,’ said Polly reproachfully.
Around the clearing the squad waited, ears sucking up every sound. Everyone knew the answer. They waited for it to be said aloud.
‘Perks, this kind of talk spreads despondency,’ Blouse began, but he said it as if he didn’t believe it and didn’t care who knew.
‘No, sir. It doesn’t really. It’s better than being lied to,’ said Polly. She changed her voice, gave it that edge her mother used to use on her when she was being scolded. ‘It’s evil to lie. No one likes a liar. Tell me the truth, please.’
Some harmonic of that tone must have found a home in an old part of Blouse’s brain. As Jackrum opened his mouth to roar, the lieutenant held up a hand.
‘We are not winning, Perks. But we have not lost yet.’
‘I think we all know that, sir, but it’s good to hear you say it,’ said Polly, giving him an encouraging smile.
That seemed to work, too. ‘I suppose there is no harm in at least being civil to the wretched fellow,’ said Blouse, as if thinking aloud. ‘He may give away valuable information under cunning questioning.’
Polly looked at Sergeant Jackrum, who was staring upwards like a man in prayer.
‘Permission to be the man to interrogate the gentleman, sir,’ said the sergeant.
‘Permission denied, sergeant,’ said Blouse. ‘I’d like him to live and don’t want to lose another lobe. However, you may take Perks back to the cart and drive it up here.’
Jackrum gave him the smart salute. Polly had already learned to recognize it; it meant that Jackrum had already made plans.
‘Very good, sir,’ he said. ‘Come on, Perks.’
Jackrum was quiet as they walked back down over the needle-carpeted slope. Then, after a while, he said: ‘D’you know why them troopers found our little nook, Perks?’
‘No, sarge.’
‘The lieutenant ordered Shufti to put the fire out immediately. It wasn’t as if there was even any smoke. So Shufti goes and pours the kettle on it.’
Polly gave this a few seconds’ thought. ‘Steam, sarge?’
‘Right! In a bloody great rising cloud. Not Shufti’s fault. The gallopers weren’t any trouble, though. Bright enough not to try to outrun half a dozen crossbows, at least. That’s clever for a cavalryman.’
‘Well done, sarge.’
‘Don’t talk to me as if I was a rupert, lad,’ said Jackrum easily.
‘Sorry, sarge.’
‘I see you’re learnin’ how to steer an officer, though. You gotta make sure they gives you the right orders, see? You’ll make a good sergeant, Perks.’
‘Don’t want to, sarge.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Jackrum. It could have meant anything.
After watching the track for a minute or two they stepped out and headed towards the cart. De Worde was sitting on a stool beside it, writing in a notebook, but he stood up hurriedly when he saw them.
‘It’d be a good idea to get off the track,’ he said, as soon as they approached. ‘There are a lot of patrols, I understand.’
‘Zlobenian patrols, sir?’ said Jackrum.