‘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.