‘None taken,’ rumbled Jade. She caught Polly’s eye and shrugged.
‘Not so good at reading the signs, not knowing many trolls,’ said the sergeant. ‘I had you down pat in the first minute, Ozz. Something in the eyes, I reckon. Like . . . you were watching to see how good you were.’
Oh hell, Polly thought. ‘Er . . . do I have a pair of socks belonging to you?’
‘Yep. Well washed, I might add.’
‘You’ll have them back right now!’ said Polly, grabbing for her belt.
‘In your own time, Perks, in your own time, no rush,’ said Jackrum, raising a hand. ‘Well washed, please.’
‘Why, sarge?’ said Tonker. ‘Why didn’t you give us away? You could’ve given us away any time!’
Jackrum slewed his wad from cheek to cheek and sat chewing for a while, staring at nothing.
‘No, you ain’t the first,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen a few. Mostly by themselves, always frightened . . . and mostly they didn’t last long. But one or two of them were bonny soldiers, very bonny soldiers indeed. So I looked at you lot and I thought to myself, well now, I thought, I wonder how they’ll do when they find out they’re not alone? You know about lions?’ They nodded. ‘Well, the lion is a big ol’ coward, mostly. If you want trouble, you want to tangle with the lioness. They’re killers, and they hunt together. It’s the same everywhere. If you want big grief, look to the ladies. Even with insects, right? There’s a kind of beetle where she bites his head off right while he’s exercisin’ his conjugals, and that’s what I call serious grief. On the other hand, from what I heard he carries on regardless, so maybe it’s not the same for beetles.’
He looked around at their blank expressions. ‘No?’ he said. ‘Well, maybe I thought, a whole bunch of girls all at once, that’s . . . strange. Maybe there’s a reason.’ Polly saw him glance briefly at Wazzer. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t goin’ to shame you all in front of a little toad like Strappi, and then there was all that business in Plotz, and then, well, we was gallopin’, as it were, caught up in things with no time to get off. You did well, lads. Very well. Shaped up like good ‘uns.’
‘I’m going into the keep,’ said Polly.
‘Oh, don’t worry about the rupert,’ said Jackrum. ‘Probably he’s enjoying a nice bowl of scubbo right now. He went to a school for young gentlemen, so prison will be just like old times.’
‘We’re still going, sarge. Sorry,’ said Polly.
‘Oh, don’t say sorry, Perks, you were doing well up ‘til then,’ said Jackrum bitterly.
Shufti stood up. ‘I’m going too,’ she said. ‘I think my . . . fiance is in there.’
‘I have to go,’ said Wazzer. ‘The Duchess guides my steps.’
‘I’ll go, then,’ said Igorina. ‘I’m probably going to be needed.’
‘I shouldn’t fink I could get by as a washerwoman,’ rumbled Jade. ‘I’ll stay here and watch over Mal. Hah, if he’s still after blood when he wakes up he’s gonna have blunt teeth!’
They looked at one another in silence, embarrassed but defiant. Then there was the sound of someone clapping, slowly.
‘Oh, very nice,’ said Jackrum. ‘A band of brothers, eh? Sorry . . . sisters. Oh dear, oh dear. Look, Blouse was a fool. It was prob’ly all them books. He read all that stuff about it being a noble thing to die for your country, I expect. I was never that keen on readin’, but I know the job is making some other poor devil die for his.’
He slewed his black tobacco from side to side. ‘I wanted you to be safe, lads. Down in the press of men, I reckoned I could get you through this, no matter how many friends the Prince has sent after you. I look at you lads, and I think: you poor boys, you don’t know nothin’ about war. What you goin’ to do? Tonker, you are a crack shot, but after one shot who’s backing you up while you reload? Perks, you know a trick or two, but the blokes in the castle will maybe know a trick or five. You’re a good cook, Shufti; too bad it’s going to be too hot in there. Will the Duchess turn aside arrows, Wazzer?’
‘Yes. She will’
‘I hope you are right, my lad,’ said Jackrum, giving the girl a long slow look. ‘Pers’nally, I’ve found religion in battle is as much use as a chocolate helmet. You’ll need more than a prayer if Prince Heinrich catches you, I might add.’
‘We’re going to try it, sarge,’ said Polly. ‘There’s nothing for us in the army.’
‘Will you come with us, sarge?’ said Shufti.
‘No, lad. Me as a washerwoman? I doubt it. Don’t seem to have a skirt anywhere about me, for a start. Er . . . just one thing, lads. How are you going to get in?’
‘In the morning. When we see the women going in again,’ said Polly.
‘Got it all planned, general? And you’ll be dressed as women?’
‘Er . . . we are women, sarge,’ said Polly.
‘Yes, lad. Technical detail. But you kitted out the rupert with all your little knick-knacks, didn’t you? What’re you going to do, tell the guards you opened the wrong cupboard in the dark?’
Another embarrassed silence descended. Jackrum sighed. ‘This ain’t proper war,’ he said. ‘Still, I said I’d look after you. You are my little lads, I said.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘And you still are, even if the world’s turned upside down. I’ll just have to hope, Miss Perks, that you picked up a few tricks from ol’ sarge, although I reckon you can think of a few of your own. And now I’d better get you kitted up, right?’
‘Perhaps we could sneak in and steal something from the villages where the servants come from?’ said Tonker.
‘From a bunch of poor women?’ said Polly, her heart sinking. ‘Anyway, there’d be soldiers everywhere.’
‘Well, how do we get women’s clothes on a battlefield?’ said Lofty.
Jackrum laughed, stood up, stuck his thumbs in his belt and grinned. ‘I told you, lads, you don’t know nuffin’ about war!’ he said.
. . and one of the things they hadn’t known was that it has edges.
Polly wasn’t certain what she’d expected. Men and horses, obviously. In her mind’s eye they were engaged in mortal combat, but you couldn’t go on doing that all day. So there would be tents. And that was about as far as the mind’s eye had seen. It hadn’t seen that an army on campaign is a sort of large, portable city. It has only one employer, and it manufactures dead people, but like all cities it attracts . . . citizens. What was unnerving was the sound of babies crying, off in the rows of tents. She hadn’t expected that. Or the mud. Or the crowds. Everywhere there were fires, and the smell of cooking. This was a siege, after all. People had settled in.
Getting down on to the plain in the dark had been easy. There was only Polly and Shufti trailing after the sergeant, who’d said that more would be too many and in any case would show up. There were patrols, but their edge had been dulled by sheer repetitiveness. Besides, the allies weren’t expecting anyone to make much effort to get into the valley, at least in small groups. And men in the dark make a noise, far more noise than a woman. They’d located a Borogravian sentry in the gloom by the noise of him trying to suck a morsel of dinner out of his teeth. But another one had located them when they were a stone’s throw from the tents. He was young, so he was still keen.
‘Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe!’ The light from a cooking-fire glinted off a crossbow.
‘See?’ whispered Jackrum. ‘This is where your uniform is your friend. Aren’t you glad you kept it?’
He swaggered forward, and spat tobacco between the young sentry’s boots. ‘My name’s Jackrum,’ he said. ‘That’s Sergeant Jackrum. As for the other bit . . . you choose.’
‘Sergeant Jackrum?’ said the boy, his mouth staying open.
‘Yes, lad.’
‘What, the one who killed sixteen men at the Battle of Zop?’
‘There was only ten of ‘em, but good lad for knowin’ it.’
‘The Jackrum who carried General Froc through fourteen miles of enemy territory?’
‘That’s right.’
Polly saw teeth in the gloom as the sentry grinned. ‘My dad told me he fought with you at Blunderberg!’
‘Ah, that was a hot battle, that was!’ said Jackrum.
‘No, he meant in the pub afterwards. He pinched your drink and you smacked him in the mouth and he kicked you in the nadgers and you hit him in the guts and he blacked your eye and then you hit him with a table and when he came round his mates stood him beer for the evening for managing to lay nearly three punches on Sergeant Jackrum. He tells the story every year, when it’s the anniversary and he’s pis— reminiscing.’