‘Yes. In theory this’ – he pointed to the flag that hung limply from the cart – ‘should keep us safe, but everyone’s a bit jumpy at the moment. Aren’t you Sergeant Jack Ram?’
‘Jackrum, sir. And I’ll thank you for not writing my name down in your little book, sir.’
‘Sorry, sergeant, but that’s my job,’ said de Worde breezily. ‘I have to write things down.’
‘Well, sir, soldierin’ is my job,’ said Jackrum, climbing on to the cart and gathering up the reins. ‘But you’ll note how at this moment in time I am not killin’ you. Let’s go, eh?’
Polly climbed into the back of the cart as it lumbered off. It was full of boxes and equipment, and while it might once have been neatly organized, that organization was now but a distant memory, a clear indication that this cart was the property of a man. Next to her, half a dozen of the largest pigeons she had ever seen dozed on a perch in their wire cage, and she wondered if they were a living larder. One of them opened one eye and lazily went ‘Lollollop?’ which is pigeon for ‘Duh?’
Most of the rest of the boxes had labels like – she leaned closer – ‘Capt Horace Calumney’s Patent Field Biscuits’, and ‘Dried Stew’. As she was musing that Shufti would have very much liked to get her hands on one or two of those boxes, a bundle of clothes hanging from the ceiling of the rocking cart moved slightly and a face appeared.
‘Good mornink,’ it said, upside down.
William de Worde turned round on the seat in front. ‘It’s only Otto, private,’ he said. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
‘Yes, I vill not bite,’ said the face cheerfully. It smiled. A vampire’s face does not look any better upside down, and a smile in these circumstances does nothing to improve matters. ‘That is guaranteed.’
Polly lowered the crossbow. Jackrum would have been impressed by how quickly she had raised it. So was she, and embarrassed too. The socks were doing the thinking again.
Otto very elegantly lowered himself to the bed of the cart. ‘Vhere are ve goink?’ he said, steadying himself as they bounced over a rut.
‘A little place I know, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘Nice and quiet.’
‘Good. I need to exercise the imps. Zey get fretful if zey are cooped up for too long.’ Otto pushed aside a stack of paper and revealed his large picture-making box. He lifted a small hatch.
‘Rise und shine, lads,’ he said. There was a chorus of high-pitched voices from inside.
‘I’d better just mark your card re Tiger, Mr de Worde,’ said Jackrum, as the cart rolled up an old logging track.
‘Tiger? Who’s Tiger?’
‘Oops,’ said Jackrum. ‘Sorry, that’s what we call the lieutenant, sir, on account of him being so brave. Forget I said that, will you?’
‘Brave, is he?’ said de Worde.
‘And clever, sir. Don’t let him fool you, sir. He is one of the great milit’ry minds of his generation, sir.’
Polly’s mouth dropped open. She had suggested they lied to the man, but . . . this?
‘Really? Then why is he just a lieutenant?’ said the writer.
‘Ah, I can see there’s no fooling you, sir,’ said Jackrum, oozing knowingness. ‘Yes, it’s a puzzler, sir, why he calls himself a lieutenant. Still, I dare say he has his reasons, eh? Just like Heinrich calling himself a captain, right?’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I see everything, sir, and I don’t say a word!’
‘All I could find out was that he did some kind of desk job at your HQ, sergeant,’ said de Worde. Polly saw him taking his notebook out, slowly and carefully.
‘Yes, I expect that’s what you would find out, sir,’ said Jackrum, with a huge conspiratorial wink. ‘And then, when things are at their worst, they let him out, sir. They unleash him, sir. Me, I don’t know a thing, sir.’
‘What does he do, explode?’ said de Worde.
‘Haha, nice one, sir!’ said Jackrum. ‘No, sir. What he does, sir, is assess situations, sir. I don’t understand it myself, sir, not being a big thinker, but the proof of the pudding, sir, is in the eating of same, and last night we were jumped by eight— twenty Zlobenian troopers, sir, and the lieutenant just assessed the situation in a flash and skewered five of the buggers, sir. Like a kebab, sir. Mild as milk to look at, but rouse him and he’s a whirlwind of death. Of course, you did not hear it from me, sir.’
‘And he’s in charge of a bunch of recruits, sergeant?’ said de Worde. ‘That doesn’t sound very likely to me.’
‘Recruits who captured some crack cavalrymen, sir,’ said Jackrum, looking pained. ‘That’s leadership for you. Comes the hour, comes the man, sir. I’m just a simple old soldier, sir, seen ‘em come and seen ‘em go. Upon my oath I am not a lying man, sir, but I look at Lieutenant Blouse in wonderment.’
‘He just seemed confused, to me,’ said de Worde, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
‘That was a bit of concussion, sir. He took a wallop that would have felled a lesser man, and still got back on to his feet. Amazing, sir!’
‘Hmm,’ said de Worde, making a note.
The cart splashed across the shallow little stream and rocked into the gully. Lieutenant Blouse was sitting on a rock. He’d made an effort, but his tunic was grubby, his boots were muddy, his hand was swollen and one ear, despite Igorina’s ministrations, was still inflamed. He had his sword on his knees. Jackrum carefully brought the cart to a halt by a thicket of birch trees. All four of the enemy troopers were tied up against the cliff. Apart from them, the camp appeared to be deserted.
‘Where are the rest of the men, sergeant?’ whispered de Worde, as he slid down off the cart.
‘Oh, they’re around, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘Watching you. Probably not a good idea to make any sudden move, sir.’
No one else was visible . . . and then Maladict faded into view.
People never really looked at things, Polly knew. They glanced. And what had been a patch of scrub was now Corporal Maladict. Polly stared. He’d cut a hole in the centre of his old blanket, and the mud and grass stains on the mildewed greyness had turned him into part of the landscape until he’d saluted. He’d also stuck leafy twigs all over his hat.
Sergeant Jackrum goggled. Polly had never really seen proper goggling before, but the sergeant had the face to do it at championship level. She could feel him drawing breath while at the same time assembling cusswords for a right royal thundering – and then he remembered he was playing Sergeant Big Jolly Fat Man, and this was not the time to segue into Sergeant Incandescent.
‘Lads, eh?’ he chuckled to de Worde. ‘What will they think of next?’
De Worde nodded nervously, pulled a wad of newspapers from under his seat, and advanced on the lieutenant.
‘Mr de Worde, isn’t it?’ said Blouse, standing up. ‘Perks, can we manage a cup of, er, “saloop” for Mr de Worde? There’s a good chap. Do take a rock, sir.’
‘Good of you to see me, lieutenant,’ said de Worde. ‘It looks as though you’ve been in the wars!’ he added, with an attempt at joviality.
‘No, only this one,’ said Blouse, looking puzzled.
‘I meant that you have been wounded, sir,’ said de Worde.
‘These? Oh, they’re nothing, sir. I’m afraid the one on my hand was self-inflicted. Sword drill, you know.’
‘You’re left-handed then, sir?’
‘Oh, no.’
Polly, washing out a mug, heard Jackrum say out of the corner of his mouth: ‘Should’ve seen the other two fellows, sir!’
‘Are you aware of the progress of the war, lieutenant?’ said de Worde.
‘You tell me, sir,’ said Blouse.
‘All your army is bottled up in the Kneck valley. Dug in, mostly, just beyond the reach of the keep’s weaponry. Your forts elsewhere along the border have been captured. The garrisons at Drerp and Glitz and Arblatt have been overwhelmed. As far as I can tell, lieutenant, your squad are the only soldiers still at large. At least,’ he added, ‘the only ones still fighting.’
‘And my regiment?’ said Blouse quietly.
‘The remnant of the Tenth took part in a brave but, frankly, suicidal attempt to retake Kneck Keep a few days ago, sir. Most of the survivors are prisoners of war, and I have to tell you that almost all your high command have been captured. They were in the keep when it was taken. There are big dungeons in that fort, sir, and they’re pretty full.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
I do, thought Polly. So Paul is either dead, wounded or captured. And it doesn’t help much by thinking of it as two chances in three that he is alive.