There was a crash of, as it might be, a heavy slab falling off an ornate tomb. It could have been half a dozen other things but, somehow, that was the image that sprang to mind. The dead air moved a little.

“I don’t want to worry anyone,” said Shufti, “but I can hear the sound of sort of feet, sort of dragging.”

Polly remembered the man lighting the candles. He’s dropped the bundle of matches into the brass saucer of the candlestick, hadn’t he? Moving her hand slowly, she groped for them.

“If you didn’t want to worry anyone,” came the voice of Tonker from the dry, thick darkness, “why the hell did you just tell us that?”

Polly’s fingers found a sliver of wood. She raised it to her nose, and sniffed the sulfurous smell.

“I’ve got one match,” she said. “I’m going to strike a light. Everyone try to see a way out. Ready?”

She sidled to the invisible wall. Then she scratched the match down the stone, and yellow light filled the crypt.

Someone whimpered.

Polly stared, hypnotized.

The match went out.

“O-kay,” said the subdued voice of Tonker. “Walking dead people. So?”

“The one near the archway was the late General Puhloaver!” said Blouse. “I have his book on the art of defense!”

“Best not to ask him to autograph it, sir,” said Polly as the squad bunched together.

There was the whimpering again. It seemed to come from where Polly remembered Wazzer standing. She heard her praying. There were no words that she could make out, just a fierce and urgent whispering.

“Maybe these washing sticks can slow them down a bit?” Shufti quavered.

“More than being dead already?” said Igorina.

No, a voice whispered, and light filled the crypt.

It was barely brighter than a glowworm, but a single photon can do a lot of work in chthonic darkness. It rose above the kneeling Wazzer until it was woman height, because it was a woman.

Or, at least, it was the shadow of a woman. No, Polly saw, it was the light of a woman, a moving web of lines and highlights in which there came and went, like pictures in a fire, a female shape.

“Soldiers of Borogravia…attention!” said Wazzer. And underneath her reedy little tone was a shadow voice, a whisper that filled and refilled the long rooms.

The lurching figures stopped. They hesitated. They shuffled backwards. With a certain amount of clattering and tongueless bickering, they formed two lines.

Wazzer stood up.

“Follow me…” she said.

“Sir?” said Polly to Blouse.

“I think we go, don’t you?” said the lieutenant, who seemed oblivious of Wazzer’s activities now that he was in the presence of the miliary might of the centuries. “Oh, god…there’s Major Galosh! And Major General the Lord Kanapay! General Annorac! I’ve read everything he wrote! I never thought I’d see him in the flesh!”

“Partly flesh, sir,” said Polly, dragging him forward.

“Every great commander of the last five hundred years was buried here, Perks!”

“I’m very pleased for you, sir. If we could just move a little faster…”

“It is my fondest hope that I’ll spent the rest of eternity here, you know.”

“Wonderful, sir, but not starting today. Can we catch up with the rest of them, sir?”

As they passed, hand after ragged hand was raised in jerky salute. Staring eyes gleamed in hollow faces. The strange light glistened on dusty braid and stained, faded cloth. And there was a noise, harsher than the whispering, deep and guttural. It sounded like the creaking of distant doors, but individual voices rose and fell as the squad passed the dead figures…

Death to Zlobenia…get them…remember…give them hell…vengeance…remember…they’re not human…avenge us…revenge…

Up ahead, Wazzer had reached some high wooden doors. They swung open at her touch. Polly hurried after her. The light traveled with her, and the squad were on her heels. To be too far behind was to be in the dark.

“Couldn’t I just ask Major General—” Blouse began, dragging on Polly’s hand.

“No! You can’t! Don’t dawdle! Come on!” Polly commanded.

They reached the doors, which Tonker and Igorina slammed behind them.

Polly leaned against the wall.

“I think that was the most…most amazing moment of my life,” said Blouse, as the boom died away.

“I think this is mine,” said Polly, fighting for breath.

Light still glowed around Wazzer, who turned to face the squad with an expression of beatific pleasure.

“You must speak to the High Command,” she said.

You must speak to the High Command, whispered the walls.

“Be kind to this child.”

Polly caught Wazzer before she hit the ground.

“What is happening with her?” said Tonker.

“I think the Duchess really is speaking through her,” said Polly. Wazzer was unconscious, only the white of her eyes showing. Polly laid the girl down gently.

“Oh, come on! The Duchess is just a painting! She’s dead!”

Sometimes you give in. For Polly, that time had been the length of time it took to walk through the crypt. If you don’t believe, or want to believe, or if you don’t simply hope that there’s something worth believing in, why turn round? And if you don’t believe, who are you trusting to lead you out of the grip of dead men?

“Dead?” she said. “So what? What about the old soldiers back there, who haven’t faded away? What about the light? And you heard how Wazzer’s voice sounded!”

“Yeah, but…well, that sort of thing doesn’t happen to people you know,” said Tonker.

“It happens to…well, strange religious people. I mean, a few days ago she was learning how to fart loudly!”

“She?” whispered Blouse to Polly. “She? Why is—”

Once again a part of Polly’s mind overtook the sudden panic.

“Sorry, Daphne?” she said.

“Oh…yes…of course…can’t be too…yes…” the lieutenant murmured.

Igorina knelt down by the girl and put a hand on her forehead.

“She’s on fire,” she said.

“She used to pray all the time back at the Gray House,” said Lofty, kneeling down.

“Yeah, well, there was a lot to pray about, if you weren’t strong,” growled Tonker. “And every bloody day we had to pray to the Duchess to thank Nuggan for slops you wouldn’t give to a pig! And that damn picture everywhere, that fishy stare…I hate it! It could drive you mad. That’s what happened to Wazz, right? And now you want me to believe the old fat biddy is here and treating our friend there like some…puppet or something? I don’t believe that! And if it’s true, it shouldn’t be!

“She’s burning up, Magda,” said Lofty quietly.

“D’you know why we joined up?” said Tonker, red in the face. “To get away! Anything was better than what we had! I’ve got Lofty and Lofty’s got me, and we’re sticking with you because there’s nothing else for us. Everyone says the Zlobenians are terrible, right? But they’ve never done anything to us, they’ve never hurt us. If they want to come over here and hang a few bastards, I could give ’em a list! Everywhere there’s something bad happening, everywhere the small-minded bullies are inventing new cruelties, new ways of keeping us down, that bloody face is watching! And you say it’s here?”

“We’re here,” said Polly. “And you are here. And we’re going to do what we came to do and get out, understand? You kissed the picture, you took the shilling!”

“I damn well didn’t kiss her face! And a shilling’s the least they owe me!”

“Then go!” shouted Polly. “Desert! We won’t stop you, because I’m sick of your…your bullshit! But you make up your mind right now, right now, understand? Because when we meet the enemy I don’t want to think you’re there to stab me in the back!”

The words flew out before she could stop them, and there was no power in the world that could snatch them back.

Tonker went pale, and a certain life drained out of her face like water from a funnel.

“What was that you said?”

The words “You heard me!” lined up to spring from Polly’s tongue, but she hesitated. She told herself: it doesn’t have to go this way. You don’t have to let a pair of socks do the talking.

“Words that were stupid,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Tonker settled slightly.

“Well…all right then,” she said grudgingly. “Just so long as you know we’re in this for the squad, okay? Not for the army and not for the bloody Duchess.”

“That was a treasonable speech, Private Halter!” said Lieutenant Blouse.

Everyone but Polly had forgotten about him, and he stood there like an easy man to forget.

“However,” he went on, “I realize we’re all somewhat…” he looked down at his dress, “…confused and, er, bewildered by the pace of events…”

Tonker tried to avoid Polly’s eye.

“Sorry, sir,” she muttered, glowering.

“I must make it clear that I will not stand to hear such things repeated,” said Blouse.

“No, sir.”

“Good,” said Polly quickly. “So let’s—”

“But I will overlook it this time,” Blouse went on.

Polly could see Tonker snap. The head raised slowly.

“You’ll overlook it?” said Tonker. “You will overlook it?”

“Careful,” said Polly, just loud enough for Tonker to hear.

“Let me tell you something about us, lieutenant,” said Tonker, grinning horribly.

“We are here, Private, whoever we are,” snapped Polly. “Now let’s find the cells!”

“Um…” said Igorina, “we’re quite close, I think. I can see a sign. Um…it’s at the end of this passage. Um…just behind those rather puzzled armed men with the, um …efficient-looking crossbows. Um. I think what you’ve just been saying was important and needed to be said. Only, um…not just now, perhaps? And not so loudly?”

Only two guards were watching them now, raising their bows cautiously. The other was running way down the passage, shouting.

The squad, as one man, or woman, shared the thoughts. They’ve got bows. We haven’t. They’ve got a lot more swords. They got reinforcement behind them. All we’ve got is a darkness full of the restless dead. We haven’t even got a prayer anymore.

Nevertheless, Blouse made an effort.

In the tones of Daphne, he shrilled: “Oh, officers…we seem to have got lost on the way to the ladies room…”

 

They were not put into a dungeon, although they were marched past plenty. There were lots of bleak stone corridors, lots of heavy doors with bars and lots and lots of bolts, and lots of armed men whose job, presumably, only became interesting if all the bolts disappeared. They were put into a kitchen. It was huge, and clearly not the kind of place where people chopped herbs and stuffed mushrooms. In a gloomy, grimy, soot-encrusted hall like this, cooks had probably catered for hundreds of hungry men.

Occasionally the door was opened and shadowy figures stared in at them. No one had said anything, at any time.

“They were expecting us,” muttered Shufti. The members of the squad were sitting on the floor with their backs to a huge, ancient chopping block, except for Igorina, who was tending to the still-unconscious Wazzer.

“They couldn’t have got that elevator up by now,” said Polly. “I wedged that stone in good and hard.”

“Then maybe the washerwomen gave us away,” said Tonker. “I didn’t like the look of Mrs. Enid.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” said Polly. “Is that the only door?”

“There’s a storeroom at the other end,” said Tonker. “No exit, except a grill in the floor.”

“Could we get out that way?”

“Only diced.”

They stared glumly at the distant door. It had opened again, and there was some muffled conversation among the silhouettes beyond. Tonker had tried advancing on the open doorway, and found men with swords suddenly occupying it.

Polly turned to look at Blouse, who was slumped against the wall, staring blankly upwards.

“I’d better go and tell him,” she said. Tonker shrugged.

Blouse opened his eyes and smiled wanly when Polly approached.

“Ah, Perks,” he said. “Well, we almost made it, eh?”

“Sorry we let you down, sir,” said Polly. “Permission to sit, sir?”

“Treat the rather chilly flagstones as if they were your own,” said Blouse. “And it was I who let you down, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, no, sir—” Polly protested.

“You were my first command,” said Blouse. “Well, apart from Corporal Drebb and he was seventy and only had one arm, poor chap.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “All I had to do was get you to the valley. That was all. But, no, I foolishly dreamed of a world were everyone would one day wear a Blouse. Or eat one, possibly. I should have listened to Sergeant Jackrum! Oh, will ever I look my dear Emmeline in the face again?”

“I don’t know, sir,” said Polly.

“That was meant to be more of a rhetorical cry of despair rather than an actual question, Perks,” said Blouse.

“Sorry, sir,” said Polly. She took a deep breath, ready for the plunge into the icy depths of the truth. “Sir, you ought to know that—”

“And I’m afraid once they realize we aren’t women we’ll be put in the big dungeons,” he said. “Very big, and very dirty, I’m told. And very crowded.”

“Sir, we are women, sir,” said Polly.

“Yes, well done, Perks, but we don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“You don’t understand, sir. We really are women. All of us.”

Blouse grinned nervously. “I think you’ve got a little…confused, Perks. I seem to recall that the same thing happened to Wrigglesworth—”

“Sir—”

“—although I have to say he was very good at choosing curtains—”

“No, sir. I was a—I am a girl, and I cut my hair and pretended I was a boy and took the Duchess’s shilling, sir. Take my word for it, sir, because I really don’t want to have to draw you a picture. We played a trick on you, sir. Well, not a trick, really, but we, all of us, had reasons for being somewhere else, sir, or at least not being where we were. We lied.”

Blouse stared at her.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir. I am of the female persuasion. I check every day, sir,” Polly added.

“And Private Halter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Lofty?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Both of them, sir. Don’t go there, sir.”

“What about Shufti?”

“Expecting a baby, sir.”

Suddenly, Blouse looked terrified. “Oh, no! Here?”

“Not for several months, sir, I believe.”

“And poor little Private Goom?”

“A girl, sir. And Igor is really an Igorina. And wherever she is, Carborundum is really Jade. We’re not sure about Corporal Maladict. But the rest of us definitely have pink blankets, sir.”

“But you didn’t act like women!”

“No, sir. We acted like men, sir. Sorry, sir. We just wanted to find our men or get away or prove a point or something. Sorry it had to happen to you, sir.”

“You’re sure about all this, are you?”

What are you expecting me to say? Polly thought. “Whoops, now I come to think about it, yes, we’re really men after all?”

She settled for saying: “Yes, sir.”

“So…you’re not called Oliver, then?” It seemed to Polly that the lieutenant was having a lot of difficulty with all this; he kept asking the same basic question in different ways, in the hope of getting something other than the answers he didn’t want to hear.

“No, sir. I’m Polly, sir—”

“Oh? Do you know there was a song about—”

“Yes, sir,” said Polly firmly. “Believe me, I’d rather you didn’t even hum it.”

Blouse stared at the far wall, eyes slightly unfocused. Oh dear, Polly thought.

“You took a terrible risk,” he said distantly. “A battlefield is no place for women.”

“This war isn’t staying on battlefields. At a time like this, a pair of trousers is a girl’s best friend, sir.”

Blouse fell silent again. Suddenly, Polly felt very sorry for him. He was a bit of a fool, in that special way very clever people have of being foolish, but he wasn’t a bad man. He’d been decent to the squad and he’d cared about them. He didn’t deserve this.

“Sorry you have to be involved, sir,” she said.

Blouse looked up. “Sorry?” he said, and to her amazement he was looking more cheerful than he had all day. “Good heavens, you don’t have to be sorry. Do you know anything about history, Polly?”

“Can we stick with Perks, sir? I’m still a soldier. No, I don’t know much history, sir. At least, much that I trust.”

“Then you’ve never heard of the Amazon warriors of Samothrip? The most fearsome fighting force for hundreds of years. All women! Absolutely merciless in battle! They were deadly with the longbow, although in order to get maximum draw they had to cut off one of their, um…er…I say, you ladies haven’t been cutting off your, um, er…”

“No, we haven’t cut off any um ers, sir. Only hair.”

Blouse looked incredibly relieved.

“Well, and then there’s the female bodyguards of King Samuel in Howandaland. All seven feet tall, I understand, and deadly with the spear. Throughout Klatch, of course, there are many stories of female warriors, often fighting alongside their men. Fearsome and fearless, I believe. Men would desert rather than face females, Perks. Couldn’t deal with ’em.”

Once again, Polly felt the slight unbalanced feeling of having tried to jump a hurdle that turned out not to be there. She took refuge in:

“What do you think’s going to happen now, sir?”

“I haven’t a clue, Perks. Um…what’s wrong with young Goom? Some kind of religious mania?”

“Could be, sir,” said Polly guardedly. “The Duchess talks to her.”

“Oh dear,” said Blouse. “She—”

The door opened. A dozen soldiers filed in and spread out on either side. They wore a variety of uniforms—mostly Zlobenian, but Polly recognized several as Ankh-Morporkic or whatever they called it. They were all armed, and held their weapons like men who expected to use them.

When they had lined up and were glaring at the squad, a smaller group of men stepped in. Again, there was a variety of uniforms, but they were a lot more expensive. These were worn by officers—high-ranking ones, to judge by the expressions of disdain.

The tallest of them, made taller by his high, plumed cavalry helmet, stared along his nose at the women. He had pale-blue eyes, and his face suggested that he did not really want to see anything at all in this room unless it had been thoroughly cleaned first.

“Who is the officer here?” he said. He sounded like a lawyer.

Blouse stood up and saluted.

“Lieutenant Blouse, sir, Tenth Infantry.”

“I see.” The man looked at his fellow officers. “I believe we can dispense with the guard now, don’t you? This matter should be handled quietly. And, for heavens’ sake, can’t we find this man a pair of pants?”

There were a few murmurs. The man nodded to the sergeant of the guard. The armed men filed out, and the door shut behind them.

“My name is Lord Rust,” said the man. “I head the Ankh-Morpork detachment here. At least,” and he sniffed, “the military detachment. You have been treated well? You have not been manhandled? I see there is a…young lady on the floor.”

“She’s in a swoon, sir,” said Polly. The blue eyes lighted upon her.

“You would be—?” he said.

“Corporal Perks, sir,” said Polly. There were some barely suppressed smiles from the officers.

“Ah. I believe you are the one seeking her brother?” said Lord Rust.

“How do you know that?” said Polly.

“We are an, mm, efficient army,” said Rust and treated himself to a little smile of his own. “Your brother’s name is Paul?”

“Yes!”

“We shall locate him, eventually. And I understand another lady was seeking her young man?”

Shufti curtsied nervously.

“Me, sir.”

“Again, we shall locate him, if you give us his name. Now, please listen to me carefully. You, Miss Perks, and the rest of you, will be taken from here, tonight, entirely unharmed, and escorted back into your country as far as our patrols can take you, which, I suspect, will be quite a long way. Is that understood? You will have what you came for. Won’t that be nice? And you will not return here. The troll and the vampire have been captured. The same offer applies to them.”

Polly was watching the officers. They looked nervous……except for one at the back. She’d thought all the guards had gone, and, while this man was dressed like a guard—dressed, that is, like a badly dressed guard—he wasn’t acting like one.

He was leaning against the wall by the door, smoking half a cigar and grinning. He looked like a man enjoying a show.

“Very generously,” Rust went on, “this offer applies to you too, Lieutenant…Blouse, wasn’t it? But in your case, you would be on parole in a house in Zlobenia, very pleasant I understand, healthy walks in the countryside and all that sort of thing. This offer has not been extended to your superior officers here, I may add.”

So why make it to us? Polly thought. Are you frightened? Of a bunch of girls? And that makes no sense…

Behind the officers, the man with the cigar winked at Polly. His uniform was very old-fashioned—an ancient helmet, a breastplate, some slightly rusted chain mail, and big boots. He wore it like a workman wears his overalls. Unlike the braid and brilliance in front of her, the only statement his clothes made was that he didn’t intend to get hurt. It had no insignia that Polly could see, apart from a small shield hooked onto the breastplate.

“If you will excuse me a moment,” said Blouse, “I will consult with my men.”

“Men?” said Rust. “They’re a bunch of women, man!”

“But at this moment, sir,” said Blouse coolly, “I would not exchange them for any six men you could offer me. If you gentlemen would care to wait outside?”

Behind the group, the badly dressed man burst into silent laughter. His sense of humor was not shared by the rest of the group, however.

“You cannot possibly consider refusing this offer!” said Lord Rust.

“Nevertheless, sir,” said Blouse. “We will take a few minutes. I think the ladies would prefer some privacy. One of them is expecting a child.”

“What, here?” As one man, the group drew back.

“Not yet, I believe. But if you would just step outside—”

When the officers had retreated to the masculine safety of the corridor, the lieutenant turned to his squad.

“Well, men? For you, it is a very attractive offer, I have to say.”

“Not for us!” said Tonker. Lofty nodded.

“Nor me,” said Shufti.

“Why not?” said Blouse. “You would get your husband.”

“That might be a bit difficult,” mumbled Shufti. “Anyway, what about the invasion?”

“I’m not going to be sent home like a package,” said Igorina. “Anyway, that man has an objectionable bone structure.”

“Well, Private Goom can’t join us right now,” sighed Blouse. “So that leaves you, Polly.”

“Why are they doing this?” said Polly. “Why do they want us out of the way? Why aren’t they just leaving us locked up? This place must be full of cells.”

“Ah, perhaps they are sensible to the frailties of your sex,” said Blouse, and then fried in their stares. “I didn’t say I was,” he added quickly.

“They could just kill us,” said Tonker. “Well, they could,” she added. “Why not? Who’d care? I don’t think we count as prisoners of war.”

“But they haven’t,” said Polly. “And they’re not even threatening us. They’re being very careful. I think they’re frightened of us.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” said Tonker. “Maybe they think we’re going to chase them and give them a big wet sloppy kiss?”

“Good, then we’re agreed that we’re not going to accept,” said Blouse. “Damn right…oh, I do apologize…”

“We all know the words, sir,” said Polly. “I suggest we see how much we frighten them, sir.”

 

The officers were waiting with unconcealed impatience, but Rust managed a brief smile when he stepped back into the kitchen.

“Well, lieutenant?” he said.

“We have given your offer due consideration, sir,” said Blouse, “and our reply is: Stick it up your…” he leaned down to Polly, who whispered urgently. “Who? Oh, yes, right. Your jumper, sir. Stick it, in fact, up your jumper. Named after Colonel Henri Jumper, I believe. A useful woolen garment akin to a lightweight sweater, sir, which, if I recall correctly, was named after Regimental Sergeant Major Sweat. That, sir, is where you may stick it.”

Rust received this calmly, and Polly wondered if it was because he hadn’t understood it. The scruffy man once more leaning against the wall had understood it, though, since he was grinning.

“I see,” said Rust. “And that is the answer from all of you? Then you leave us no choice. Good evening to you.”

His attempt to stride out was hindered by the other officers, who had less sense of the dramatic moment. The door slammed behind them, but not before the last man out turned very briefly and made a hand gesture. You would have missed it if you weren’t watching him—but Polly was watching.

“That seemed to go well,” said Blouse, turning away.

“I hope we’re not going to get into trouble for that,” said Shufti.

“Compared to what?” said Tonker.

“The last man out stuck his thumb up and winked,” said Polly. “Did you notice him? He wasn’t even wearing an officer’s uniform.”

“Probably wanted a date,” said Tonker.

“In Ankh-Morpork that means ‘jolly good,’” said Blouse. “In Klatch, I think, it means ‘I hope your donkey explodes.’ I spotted the man. Looked like a guard sergeant to me.”

“Didn’t have stripes,” said Polly. “Why’d he want to say jolly good to us?”

“Or hate our donkey so much?” said Shufti. “How’s Wazzer?”

“Sleeping,” said Igorina. “I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s dead.”

“You don’t think she is?” said Polly.

“Yes,” said Igorina. “It’s like that. I wish I could keep her warmer.”

“I thought you said she was burning up?”

“She was. Now she’s freezing cold.”

Lieutenant Blouse strode over to the door, grabbed its handle and, to the surprise of all, pulled it open. Four swords were leveled at him.

“We have a sick man here!” he snapped to the astonished guards. “We need blankets and firewood! Get them now!”

He slammed the door.

“It might work,” he said.

“That door doesn’t have a lock,” said Tonker. “Useful fact, Polly.”

Polly sighed. “Right now, I just want something to eat. This is a kitchen, after all. There could be food here.”

“This is a kitchen,” said Tonker. “There could be cleavers!”

But it is always upsetting to find that the enemy is as bright as you. There was a well, but a web of bars across the top allowed for the passage of nothing bigger than a bucket. And someone with no sense of the narrative of adventure had removed from the room anything with an edge and, for some reason, anything that could be eaten.

“Unless we want to dine on candles,” said Shufti, pulling a bundle of them out of a creaking cupboard. “’S tallow, after all. I bet old Scallot’d make candle scubbo.”

Polly checked the chimney, which smelled as though there had not been a fire in it for a long time. It was big and wide, but six feet up a heavy grill was hung with sooty cobwebs. It looked rusted and ancient, and could probably be shifted by twenty minutes work with a crowbar, but there’s never a crowbar when you want one.

There were a couple of sacks of ancient, dry, and dusty flour in the storeroom. It smelled bad. There was a thing with a funnel and a handle and some mysterious screws.* There were a couple of rolling pins, a lettuce strainer, some ladles…and there were forks. Lots of small forks. Polly felt let down. It was ridiculous to expect that someone imprisoning people in some ad hoc cell would leave in all the ingredients to effect an escape but, nevertheless, she felt that some universal rule had been broken. They had nothing better than a club, really. The toasting forks might prick, the lettuce strainer might pack a punch, and the rolling pins were at least a traditional female weapon, but all you could do with the thing with a funnel and a handle and mysterious screws was baffle people.

The door opened. Armed men came in to act as protection for a couple of women, carrying blankets and firewood. They scurried in with their eyes cast down, deposited their burdens, and almost ran out.

Polly strode over to the guard who seemed to be in charge, and he backed away. A huge keyring jingled on his belt.

“You knock next time, all right?” she said.

He grinned nervously. “Yeah, right,” he said. “They said we weren’t to talk to you…”

“Really?”

The jailer glanced around. “But we reckon you’re doing bloody well, for girls,” he said conspiratorially.

“So that means you won’t shoot at us when we break out?” said Polly sweetly.

The grin faded. “Don’t try it,” said the jailer.

“What a big bunch of keys you have there, sir,” said Tonker, and the man’s hand flew to his belt.

“You just stay in here,” he said. “Things are bad enough already. You stay here!”

He slammed the door. A moment later they heard something heavy being pushed up against it.

“Well, now we have a fire, at least,” said Blouse.

“Er…”

This was from Lofty. She volunteered a word so seldom that the rest turned to look at her, and she stopped in embarrassment.

“Yes, Lofty?” said Polly.

“Er…I know how to get the door open,” muttered Lofty. “So it stays open, I mean.”

Had it been anyone else, someone would have laughed. But words from Lofty had obviously been turned over for some time before utterance.

“Er…good,” said Blouse. “Well done.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” said Lofty.

“Good.”

“It will work.”

“Just what we need, then!” said Blouse, like a man trying against all the odds to keep cheerful.

Lofty looked up at the big sooty beams that ran across the room.

“Yes,” she said.

“But there’ll still be guards outside,” said Polly.

“No,” said Lofty. “There won’t.”

“There won’t?”

“They’ll have gone away.”

Lofty stopped, with the air of one who’d said everything that needed to be said.

Tonker walked over and took her arm.

“We’ll just have a little chat, shall we?” she said and led the girl to the other side of the room. There was some whispered conversation. Lofty spent most of it staring at the floor, and then Tonker came back.

“We will need the bags of flour from the storeroom, and the rope from the well,” she said. “And one of those ... what are those big round things that cover dishes? With a knob on?”

“Dish covers?” said Shufti.

“And a candle,” Tonker went on. “And a lot of barrels. And a lot of water.”

“And what will all this do?” said Blouse.

“Make a big bang,” said Tonker. “Tilda knows about fire, believe me. And flour dust explodes!”

“When you say she knows…” Polly began uncertainly.

“I mean every place she worked at burned down,” said Tonker.

 

They rolled the empty barrels to the middle of the room and filled them with water from the pump. Under Lofty’s monosyllabic direction, using the rope from the well, they hauled three leaking, dusty flour sacks up as high as possible, so that they twisted gently over the space between the barrels and the door.

“Ah,” said Polly, standing back. “I think I understand. A flour mill on the other side of town blew up two years ago.”

“Yes,” said Tonker. “That was Tilda.”

“What?”

“They’d been beating her. And worse. And the thing about Tilda is, she just watches and thinks and somewhere in there it all comes together. Then it goes bang.”

“But two people died!”

“The man and his wife. Yes. But I heard that other girls sent there never came back at all. Shall I tell you that Tilda was pregnant when they brought her back to the Gray House after the fire? She had it, and they took it away, and we don’t know what happened to it. And then she got beaten again because she was an Abomination Unto Nuggan. Does that make you feel better?” said Tonker, tying the rope to a table leg. “There’s just us, Polly. Just her and me. No inheritance, no nice home to go back to, no relatives that we know of. The Gray House breaks us all, somehow. Wazzer talks to the Duchess, I don’t have…middle gears, and Tilda frightens me when she gets her hands on the box of matches. You should see her face then, though. It lights up. Of course,” Tonker smiled in her dangerous way, “so do other things. Better get everyone into the storeroom while we light the candle.”

“Shouldn’t Tilda do that?”

“She will. But we’ll have to be ready to drag her away, otherwise she’ll stay and watch.”

This had started like a game. She hadn’t thought of it like a game, but it was a game called “Let Polly Keep The Duchess.” And now…it didn’t matter. She’d made all kinds of plans, but she was beyond plans now.

They’d done bloody well, for girls…

A last barrel of water had been placed, after some discussion, in front of the storeroom door. Polly looked over the top at Blouse and the rest of the squad.

“Okay, everybody, we’re…er…about to do it,” she said. “Are we sure about this, Tonker?”

“Yep.”

“And we won’t get hurt?”

Tonker sighed. “The dusty flour will explode. That’s simple. The blast coming this way will hit the barrels full of water, which’ll probably last just long enough to see it rebound. The worst that should happen to us is that we get wet. That’s what Tilda thinks. Would you argue? And in the other direction, there’s only the door.”

“How does she work this out?”

“She doesn’t. She just sees how it should go.” Tonker handed Blouse the end of a rope. “This goes over the beam and down to the dish lid. Can you hold it, Lieutenant? But don’t pull it until we say. I really mean that. C’mon, Polly.”

In the space between the barrels and the door, Lofty was lighting a candle. She did it slowly, as if it was a sacrament or some ancient ceremony every part of which held enormous and complex meaning.

She lit a match, and held it carefully until the flame caught. She waved it back and forth on the base of the candle, which she thrust firmly onto the flagstones so that the hot wax stuck it into position. Then she applied the match to the candlewick.

Polly and Tonker watched her kneel there, staring at the dancing flame.

“Okay,” said Tonker. “I’m just going to pick her up, and you just carefully lower the lid over the candle, right? C’mon, Tilda.”

She raised the girl carefully to her feet, whispering to her all the time, and then nodded to Polly, who lowered the lid with a carefulness that amounted to reverence.

Lofty walked as though asleep.

Tonker stopped by the leg of a heavy kitchen table, to which she’d attached the other end of the rope holding the flour bags.

“Okay so far,” she said. “Now, when I pull the knot we each grab an arm and we run, Polly, understand? We run. Ready? Got her?” She hauled on the rope. “Run!”

The flour sacks dropped, streaming white dust as they fell, and exploded in front of the door. Flour rose like a fog.

They raced for the storeroom and fell in a heap past the barrel as Tonker screamed, “Okay, Lieutenant!”

Blouse pulled the rope that raised the lid and let the candle flame reach—

The word was not whoomph. The experience was whoomph. It had a quality that overwhelmed every sense. It shook the world like a sheet, painted it white, and then, surprisingly, filled it with the smell of toast. And then it was over, in a second, leaving nothing but distant screams and the rumble of collapsing masonry.

Polly uncurled and looked up into Blouse’s face.

“I think we grab things and run now, sir,” she said. “And screaming would help.”

“I think I can manage the screaming,” muttered Shufti. “This is not a very nurturing experience.”

Blouse gripped his ladle.

“I hope this isn’t going to be our famous last stand,” he said.

“In fact, sir,” said Polly. “I think it’s going to be our first. Permission to yell in a bloodcurdling way, sir?”

“Permission granted, Perks!”

 

The floor was awash with water and bits—quite small bits—of barrel. Half the chimney had collapsed into the fireplace and the soot was blazing fiercely. Polly wondered if, down in the valley, it’d look like a signal…

The door was gone. So was a lot of wall around it. Beyond—

Smoke and dust filled the air. In it, men lay groaning, or picked their way aimlessly across the rubble. When the squad arrived, they did not simply fail to put up a fight, they failed to understand. Or hear.

The women lowered their weapons. Polly spotted the sergeant, who was sitting and hitting the side of his head with the flat of his hand.

“Give me the keys!” she demanded.

He tried to focus.

“What?”

“The keys!”

“I’ll have a brown one, please.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

Polly reached down and snatched the keyring from the unresisting man’s belt, fighting down an instinct to apologize. She threw them to Blouse.

“Will you do the honors, sir? I think we’ll be having a lot of visitors really soon.” She turned to the squad. “The rest of you, get their weapons off them!”

“Some of these men are badly hurt, Polly,” said Igorina, kneeling down. “There’s one here with multiple.”

“Multiple what?” said Polly, watching the steps.

“Just…multiple. Multiple everything. But I know I can save his arm, because I’ve just found it over there. I think he must’ve been holding his sword and—”

“Just do what you can, okay?” said Polly.

“Hey, they’re enemies,” said Tonker, picking up a sword.

“Thith ith an Igor thing,” said Igorina, taking off her pack. “I’m thorry, you wouldn’t underthand.”

“I’m beginning not to.” Tonker joined Polly in her watch on the stairs. Around them, men groaned and stone creaked.

“I wonder how much damage we did? There’s a lot of dust up there…”

“There’ll be a lot of people here soon,” said Polly more calmly than she felt. Because this is going to be it, she thought. This time there’s going to be no turkey to save us. This is where I find out if I’m the meat or the metal…

She could hear Blouse unlocking doors, and the shouts from those within.

“Lieutenant Blouse, Tenth Infantry!” he was saying. “This is a rescue, broadly speaking! Sorry about the mess!”

Probably his inner Daphne had added that last bit, Polly thought. And then the corridor was full of released men, and someone said, “What are these women doing here! For god’s sake, give me that sword, girl!”

And, right now, she wasn’t inclined to argue.

 

Men take over. It is probably because of socks.

The squad retired to the kitchen, where Igorina was at work. She worked fast, efficiently, and, on the whole, with very little blood. Her large pack was open beside her. The jars inside were blue, green, and red; some of them smoked when she opened them, or gave off strange lights.

Igorina’s fingers moved in a blur. It was fascinating to watch her work. At least, it was if you hadn’t just eaten.

“Squad, this is Major Erick von Moldvitz! He asked to meet you!” They turned at the sound of Blouse’s voice. He’d brought a newcomer.

The major was young, but much heavier built than the lieutenant. He had a scar across his face.

“Stand easy, lads,” he said. “Blouse here has been telling me what crackin’ work you’ve been doing. Well done! Dressin’ up as women, eh? Lucky you weren’t found out!”

“Yessir,” said Polly. From outside, there came the sound of cries and fighting.

“Didn’t bring your uniforms with you?” said the major.

“Could’ve been tricky if they were found on us,” said Polly, staring at Blouse.

“Could’ve been tricky anyway, eh, if you were searched?” said the major, winking.

“Yessir,” said Polly obediently. “Lieutenant Blouse told you all about us, did he, sir?”

Just behind the major, Blouse was making a universal gesture. It consisted of both hands held palms up and outwards and waggled furiously with all fingers extended.

“Hah, yes. Stole some clothes from a knockin’ shop, eh? Young lads like you shouldn’t have gone in a place like that, eh? Those places are an Abomination, if they’re run right!” said the major, wagging a finger theatrically. “Anyway, we’re doing well! Hardly any guards this deep in the Keep, y’see. The whole place was built on the basis that the enemy would be on the outside! I say, what’s that man doin’ to the man on the slab?”

“Patching him up, thur,” said Igorina. “Thewing hith arm back on.”

“He’s a enemy, ain’t he?”

“Code of the Igorth, thur,” said Igorina reproachfully. “A thpare hand where needed, thur.”

The major sniffed. “Oh well, can’t argue with you fellows, eh? But when you’re finished, we’ve got plenty of chaps out there who could do with your help.”

“Certainly, thur,” said Igorina.

“Any news of my brother, sir?” said Polly. “Paul Perks?”

“Yes, Blouse here mentioned him, Perks, but there’s men locked up everywhere and it’s a little tricky right now, eh?” said the major brusquely. “As for the rest of you, we’ll get you into a pair of trousers as soon as possible and you can join in the fun, eh?”

“The fun,” said Tonker in a hollow voice.

“The fun being…?” said Polly.

“We’ve got as far as the fourth floor already,” said von Moldvitz. “We might not have the whole Keep back, but we hold the outer courtyards and some of the towers. By morning, we’ll control who comes in and goes out. We’re back in the war! They won’t invade now! Most of their top brass are in the Inner Keep!”

“Back in the war,” murmured Polly.

“And we will win!” said the major.

“Oh, sugar,” said Shufti.

Something was going to give, Polly knew. Tonker had that look she got before she exploded, and even Shufti was fidgeting. It would only be a matter of time before Lofty found her box of matches, which Polly had hidden in a cupboard.

Igorina packed up her bag and smiled brightly at the major.

“Ready to go, thur,” she said.

“At least remove the wig, eh?”

“It’th my own hair, thur,” said Igorina.

“Looks a bit…sissy, then,” said the major. “It would be better if—”

“I am, in fact, female, sir,” said Igorina, dropping most of the lisp. “Trust me, I’m an Igor. We know about this sort of thing. And my needlework ith second to none.”

“A woman?” said the major.

Polly sighed. “We all are, sir. Really women. Not just dressed up as women. And right now I don’t want to put any trousers on because then I’d be a woman dressed up as a man dressed up as a woman dressed up as a man, and then I’d be so confused I won’t know how to swear. And I want to swear right now, sir, very much.”

The major turned stiffly to Blouse.

“Did you know about this, Lieutenant?” he barked.

“Well…yes, sir. Eventually. But even so, sir, I would—”

 

This cell was an old guard room. It was damp, and had two creaking bunks.

“On the whole,” said Tonker, “I think it was better when we were locked up by the enemy.”

“There’s a grill in the ceiling,” said Shufti.

“Not big enough to climb through,” said Polly.

“No, but we can hang ourselves before they do.”

“I’m told it’s a very painful way to die,” said Polly.

“Who by?” said Tonker.

Occasionally the sounds of battle filtered through the narrow window. Mostly it was yells; often it was screams. Fun was being had.

Igorina sat staring at her hands.

“What wrong with these?” she said. “Didn’t I do a good job on that arm? But no, they’re afraid I might touch their privates.”

“Perhaps you could have promised to operate only on officers,” said Tonker. No one laughed, and probably no one would have bothered to run for it if the door had swung open. It was a proud and noble thing to escape from the enemy, but if you were escaping from your own side, where would you escape to?

On one of the bunks, Wazzer slept like a hibernating bear. You had to watch her for some time to see her breathe.

“What can they do to us?” said Shufti nervously. “You know…really do to us?”

“We were wearing men’s clothes,” said Polly.

“But that’s only a beating.”

“Oh, they’ll find some other stuff, believe you me,” said Tonker. “Besides, who knows we’re here?”

“But we got them out of prison! Our side!”

Polly sighed. “That’s why, Shufti. No one wants to know that a bunch of girls dressed up as soldiers and broke into a big fort and let out half an army. Everyone knows females can’t do that. Neither side wants us here, understand?”

“On a battlefield like this, who’ll worry about a few more bodies?” said Tonker.

“Don’t say that! Lieutenant Blouse spoke up for us!” said Shufti.

“What, Daphne?” said Tonker. “Hah! Just another body. They’ve probably locked him up somewhere, just like us.”

There was a distant cheering, which went on for some time.

“Sounds like they’ve got the building,” said Polly.

“Hooray for us,” said Tonker and spat.

After a while, a small hatch was opened in the door and a silent man handed through a big can of scubbo and a tray of horse-bread. It wasn’t bad scubbo or, at least, not bad scubbo by the standards of bad scubbo. There was some discussion about whether being fed meant you weren’t going to be executed, until someone pointed out the tradition of the Last Hearty Meal. Igorina gave it as her professional opinion that the stew was not only hearty but lungy and livery, too. But at least it was hot.

A couple of hours later, a can of saloop was handed through, with some mugs. This time, the guard winked.

An hour after that, the door was unlocked.

A young man in a major’s uniform stepped inside.

Oh well, let’s go on as we started, Polly thought. She leaped to her feet.

“Squaddd…. tennn…hut!” With reasonable speed, the squad at least managed to stand up straight and in a line.

The major acknowledged her by tapping the peak of his cap with a stick. It was definitely thinner than an inch.

“Stand easy…Corporal, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yessir.” That sounded promising.

“I am Major Clogston, of the Provost’s Office,” said the major. “And I’d like you to tell me all about it. About everything. I will make notes, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s this about?” said Tonker.

“Ah, you’d be…Private Halter,” said Clogston. “I’ve already spoken at length to Lieutenant Blouse.” He turned, nodded at the guard hovering in the doorway, and shut the door. He also closed the hatch.

“You are going to be tried,” he said, sitting down on the spare bunk. “The politicos want you to be tried by a full Nugganite court, but that would be tricky here, and no one wants this to go on for any longer than it has to. Besides, there have been an…unusual event. Someone has sent a communique to General Froc asking about you all by name. At least,” he added, “by your surnames.”

“Was that Lord Rust, sir?”

“No, it was someone called William de Worde. I don’t know if you’ve run across his newspaper thing? We’re wondering how he knew you were captured.”

“Well, we didn’t tell him!” said Polly.

“It makes things a little…tricky,” said Clogston. “Although, from your point of view, a lot more hopeful. There are those members of the army who are, let us say, considering the future of Borogravia. That is, they would like there to be one. My job is to present your case to the tribunal.”

“Is that a court-martial?” said Polly.

“No, they’re not that stupid. Calling it a court-martial would indicate that they accept that you are soldiers.”

“You did,” said Shufti.

“De facto is not de jure,” said Clogston. “Now, as I said…tell me your story, Miss Perks.”

“That’s ‘Corporal,’ thank you!”

“I apologize for the lapse. Now…go on…”

Clogston opened his bag and produced a pair of half-moon spectacles, which he put on, and took out a pencil and something white and square.

“Whenever you’re ready?” he added.

“Sir, are you really going to write on a jam sandwich?” said Polly.

“What?” The major looked down and laughed. “Oh. No. Excuse me. I really mustn’t miss meals. Blood sugar, you know…”

“Only it’s oozing, sir. Don’t mind us. We’ve eaten.”

It took an hour, with many interruptions and corrections, and two more sandwiches. The major used up quite a lot of notebook, and occasionally had to stop and stare at the ceiling.

“…and then we were thrown in here,” said Polly, sitting back.

“Pushed, really,” said Igorina. “Nudged.”

“Mmm,” said Clogston. “You say Corporal Strappi, as you knew him, was…suddenly very ill at the thought of going into battle?”

“Yessir.”

“And in the tavern in Plotz you really kneed Prince Heinrich in the fracas?”

“In or about the fracas, sir. And I didn’t know it was him at the time, sir.”

“I see you haven’t mentioned the action on the hilltop where, according to Lieutenant Blouse, your prompt work got the enemy code book…”

“Not really worth mentioning, sir. We didn’t do much with it.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because of you and that nice man from the newspaper, the alliance has had two regiments trotting around in the mountains after some guerrilla leader called ‘Tiger.’ Prince Heinrich insisted, and is, in fact, in command. He is, you could say, a sore loser. Very sore, according to rumor.”

“The newspaper writer believed all that stuff?” said Polly, amazed.

“I don’t know, but he certainly wrote it down. You say Lord Rust offered to let you all go home quietly?”

“Yessir.”

“And the consensus of opinion was that he could…”

“Stick it up his jumper, sir.”

“Oh, yes. I couldn’t read my own writing. J…u…m…” Clogston carefully wrote the word in capital letters, and then said: “I am not saying this, I am not here, but some…senior…people on our side are wondering if you would just quietly go…?”

The question hung in the air like a corpse from a beam.

“I’ll put that down as ‘jumper’ too, then, shall I?” said Clogston.

“Some of us have got nowhere to go to,” said Tonker.

“Or with,” said Shufti.

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” said Polly.

“Jumper it is, then,” said the major. He folded up his little spectacles and sighed.

“They won’t even tell me what charges are going to be made.”

“Being Bad Girls,” said Tonker. “Who are we fooling, sir? The enemy wanted just to be quietly rid of us, and the general wants the same thing! That’s the trouble about the good guys and the bad guys! They’re all guys!”

“Would we have got a medal, sir, if we’d been men?” Shufti demanded.

“Yep. Certainly. And Blouse would have been promoted on the spot, I imagine. But right now we’re at war, and this might not be the time—”

“—to thank a bunch of Abominable women?” Polly suggested.

Clogston smiled. “I was going to say ‘to lose concentration.’ It’s the political branch who are pushing for this, of course. They want to stop word getting around. And high command want this over quickly for the same reason.”

“When is all this going to start?” said Polly.

“In about half an hour.”

“This is stupid!” said Tonker. “They’re in the middle of a war and they’re going to take the time to hold a trial for a few women who haven’t even done anything wrong?”

“The general has insisted,” said Clogston. “He wants this cleared out of the way.”

“And what authority has this meeting got?” said Polly coldly.

“Thousands of men under arms,” said Clogston. “Sorry. The trouble is, when you say to a general ‘you and whose army?’ he just has to point out of the window. But I intend to prove that the meeting should be a court-martial. You all kissed the Duchess? You took the shilling? I say that makes it military business.”

“And that’s good, is it?”

“Well, it means there are procedures,” said the major. “The last Abomination from Nuggan was against jigsaw puzzles. They break the world into pieces, he says. That’s making people think, at last. The army may be crazy, but at least it’s crazy by numbers. It’s reliably insane. Er, your sleeping friend…will you leave her here?”

“No,” said the squad, as one woman.

“She needs my constant attention,” said Igorina.

“If we leave her she might have a sudden attack of vanishing without a trace,” said Tonker.

“We stick together,” said Polly. “We don’t leave a man behind.”

 

The room chosen for the tribunal was a ballroom. More than half the Keep had been taken back, Polly learned, but the distribution of ground was erratic. The alliance still held the central buildings, and the armory, but was entirely surrounded by Borogravian forces. The current prize to fight for was the main gate complex, which hadn’t been built to withstand attack from inside. What was happening out there now was a brawl, a midnight bar fight but on a huge scale. And, since there were various war engines atop the towers now occupied by either side, the Keep was shooting at itself, in the finest traditions of the circular firing squad.

The floor in here smelled of polish and chalk. Tables had been pushed together to made a rough semicircle. There must have been more than thirty officers, Polly thought. Then she saw the other tables behind the semicircle, and the maps, and the people scurrying in and out, and realized that this was not just about them. This was a war room.

The squad were marched in, and stood at attention. Igorina had browbeaten a couple of guards to carry Wazzer on a stretcher. That circle of stitches under her eye was worth more that a colonel’s pips. No soldier wanted to be on the wrong side of the Igors.

They waited. Occasionally an officer would glance at them and go back to looking at a map or talking. Then Polly saw some whispering going on, heads turned again, and there was a drift toward the semicircle of seats. There was a definite sense that here was a tiresome chore that, regrettably, had to be done.

General Froc did not look directly at the squad until he had taken his seat in the center of the group and adjusted his papers neatly. Even then, his eye passed over them quickly, as if it was afraid to stop.

Polly had never seen him before. He was a handsome man and still had a fine head of white hair. A scar down one side of his face had just missed an eye and showed up against the wrinkles.

“Things are moving well,” he said to the room in general. “We have just heard that a flying column led by the remnant of Tenth are closing on the Keep and attacking the main gates from outside. Someone must have seen what is happening. The army is on the move!”

There was a certain amount of refined cheering at this, none of it from the squad. The general glanced at them again.

“Is this all of them, Clogston?” he said.

The major, who at least had a small table to himself, stood up and saluted.

“No, sir,” he said. “We are awaiting—”

The doors opened again. Jade was brought in, chained between two much larger trolls. Maladict and Blouse trailed behind her. It seemed that in all the rush and confusion no one had found any trousers for Blouse, and Maladict looked slightly blurred. His chains jingled constantly.

“I object to the chains, sir,” said Clogston.

The general held a whispered consultation with a few of the other officers.

“Yes, we do not want undue formality,” he said, nodding at the guards. “Remove them. You trolls can go. I just want the guards to remain on the door. Now, let us proceed. This really shouldn’t take too long. Now then, you people,” he settled himself in his chair, “this really is very simple. With the exception of Lieutenant Blouse, you will agree to be returned to your homes and placed in the charge of a responsible male, understood? And no more will be said about this matter. You have showed considerable spirit, there is no doubt about that, but it was misplaced. We are not ungrateful, however. We understand that none of you are married, and so we will present you all with suitable, indeed, with handsome dowries—”

Polly saluted. “Permission to speak, sir?”

Froc stared at her, and then looked pointedly at Clogston.

“You’ll have a chance to speak later, Corporal,” said the major.

“But what exactly have we done wrong, sir?” said Polly. “They should tell us!”

Froc looked at the far end of the row of chairs.

“Captain?” he said.

A short officer got to his feet. In Polly’s face, the tide of recognition raced across the mudflats of hatred.

“Captain Strappi, political division, sir—” he began, and stopped at the groan from the squad. When it had died away, he cleared his throat and went on: “Twenty-seven Abominations have been committed under Nugganatic law, sir. I suspect there have been many more. Under military law, sir, we have the simple fact that they posed as men in order to join up. I was there, sir, and saw it all!”

“Captain Strappi, may I congratulate you on your rapid promotion?” said Lieutenant Blouse.

“Yes, indeed, Captain,” said Clogston. “Apparently you were a humble corporal only a few days ago?”

Plaster dust drifted down again as something heavy struck the wall outside. Froc brushed it off his paperwork.

“Not one of ours, I hope,” he said, to a certain amount of laugher. “Do go ahead, Captain.”

Strappi turned to the general. “As you know, sir, it is occasionally necessary for us in the political division to assume a lower rank in order to gain intelligence. Covered under the regulations, sir,” he added.

The look that General Froc gave him stirred a little teacup of hope in Polly’s breast. No one could like something like Strappi, not even a mother. Then the man turned back to Clogston.

“Is this germane, Major?” he said testily. “We know they disguised themselves as—”

“—women, sir,” said Clogston smoothly. “That’s all we know, sir. Apart from Captain Strappi’s assertion, and I intend to suggest later that this is tainted, I haven’t yet heard any evidence that they have dressed in any other way.”

“We have the evidence of our own eyes, man!”

“Yes, sir. They’re wearing dresses, sir,” said Clogston patiently.

“And they’re practically bald!”

“Yes, sir,” said Clogston. He picked up a thick book, dripping with bookmarks. “Book of Nuggan, sir: ‘It is a Beatitude Unto Nuggan that An Woman shall wear her hair short, that the amorous propensities of men be not therefore inflamed.’”

“I don’t see a lot of bald women around!” snapped Froc.

“Yes, sir. It is one of those utterances that people find somewhat tricky, like the one about not sneezing. I should say at this point, sir, that I intend to show that Abominations are routinely committed by all of us. We have got into the habit of ignoring them, in fact, which opens up an interesting debate. In any case, short hair is Nugganatically correct. In short, sir, and in short hair, the ladies appear to have been involved in nothing more than a little laundry, a kitchen accident, and the release of your good self from the cells.”

“I saw them!” snarled Strappi. “They looked like men and they acted like men!”

“Why were you in the recruiting party, Captain?” said Major Clogston. “I would not have thought one of those would have been a hotbed of seditious activity?”

“Is that a relevant question, Major?” said the general.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Clogston. “That’s why I asked. I don’t think we would wish it to be said that these ladies had not been given a fair hearing?”

“Said by whom?” said Froc. “My officers can be relied upon to be discreet.”

“Said by the ladies themselves, sir?”

“Then we must require that they do not speak to anyone!”

“Oh, I say!” said Blouse.

“And how will you enforce this, sir?” said Clogston. “Against these women who, we have agreed, stole you out of the jaws of the enemy?”

There was some muttering among the officers.

“Major Clogston, did you have lunch?” said the general.

“No, sir.”

“Colonel Vester said you become a little…erratic when you miss meals…”

“No, sir. I become tetchy, sir. But I think a little tetchiness is called for right now. I put a question to Captain Strappi, sir.”

“Very well, Captain, perhaps you will tell us why you were with that recruiting party?” said the general wearily.

“I was…investigating a soldier, sir,” said Strappi reluctantly. “A noncommissioned officer. Our attention had been drawn to irregularities in his files, sir, and where there are irregularities we generally find sedition. I hesitate to talk about this, sir, because this sergeant has been of some service to yourself—”

“Hrumph!” said the general loudly. “This is not a matter of discussion here, I think!”

“It was just that according to the files, several officers had helped—” Strappi went on.

“Hrumph! Not matter for this court, Captain! Are we agreed, gentlemen?”

“Yes, sir, it was just that the major asked me and I—” Strappi began, bewildered.

“Captain, I suggest you learn what a hrumph means!” roared Froc.

“So what were you looking for when you rummaged through our stuff?” said Polly as Strappi shrank.

“Mmmmmy cccccoffffee!” said Maladict. “Yyyyyou ssssstole mmmmmy cccccoffffee!”

“And you ran away when you were told you were going into combat, you little dog’s pizzle!” said Tonker. “Polly said you pissed your drawers!”

General Froc slammed his fist on the table, but Polly noticed that one or two officers were trying to conceal a smile.

“These are not matters for this inquiry!” he said.

“Although, sir, one or two of them seem to me to be subject for investigation later on,” said a colonel further along the table. “The personal belongings of enlisted men may only be searched in their presence, General. This may seem a trivial point, but men have mutinied over it in the past. Did you, in fact, believe the…men to be women when you did this, Captain?”

Oh, say yes, please say yes, Polly thought, as Strappi hesitated. Because when we talk about how those cavalrymen found us so quickly, it’ll mean you set them on a bunch of Borogravian girls. Let’s see how that one plays in Plotz! And if you didn’t know, then why were you rummaging?

Strappi preferred the rock to the hard place. Stone clattered down in the courtyard outside, and he had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

“I was, er, generally suspicious of them, sir, because they were so keen—”

“Sir, I protest!” said Clogston. “Keenness is not a military vice!”

“In moderation, certainly,” said Froc. “And you found evidence of some sort, did you?”

“I did find a petticoat, sir,” said Strappi, feeling his way with care.

“They why didn’t you—” Froc began, but Strappi interrupted.

“I did serve for a while with Captain Wrigglesworth, sir,” he said.

“And?” said Froc, but the officer on his left leaned over and whispered something to him.

“Oh, Wrigglesworth. Ha, yes,” said Froc. “Of course. Fine officer, Wrigglesworth. Keen on, er—”

“Amateur dramatics,” a colonel supplied in a noncommittal voice.

“Right! Right! Ver’ good for morale, that sort of thing. Hrumph.”

“With respect, General, I think I can offer a way through?” said another man with a general’s rank.

“Really, Bob?” said Froc. “Oh, well…feel free. The record will show that I am yielding the floor to General Kzupi.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I thought these proceedings were not being recorded?” said Clogston.

“Yes, yes, of course, thank you so much for jogging my memory,” said Froc. “However, if we were to have a record, that is what it would show. Bob?”

“Ladies,” said General Kzupi, flashing the squad a glossy smile. “And you too, of course, Lieutenant Blouse, and you too, er…” he looked quizzically at Maladict, who stared straight back “…sir?” General Kzupi, though, was not to be derailed by an eyeballing vampire, even one that couldn’t stand still. “Firstly, may I offer on behalf of all of us, I think, our thanks for the incredible job you have done? A splendid effort. But, sadly, the world we live in has certain…rules, you understand? To be frank, the problem here is not that you are women. As such, that is. But you persist in maintaining that you are. You see? We can’t have that.”

“You mean if we put on uniforms again and swaggered around belching and saying ‘har har, fooled you all,’ that would be all right?” said Polly.

“Perhaps I could help?” said yet another voice. Froc looked along the table.

“Ah, Brigadier Stoffer. Yes?”

“This is all rather damn silly, General—”

“Hrumph!” said Froc.

“What say?” said Stoffer, looking puzzled.

“There are ladies present, Brigadier. That is, ahah, the problem.”

“Damn right!” said Tonker.

“Understood, General. But the party was led by a man, am I right?”

“Lieutenant Blouse tells me he is a man, sir,” said Clogston. “Since he is an officer and a gentleman, I will take his word for it.”

“Well, then, problem solved. These young ladies helped him. Smuggled him in, and so forth. Assisted him. Fine traditions of Borogravian womanhood and all that. Not soldiers at all. Give the man a big medal and make him a captain, and all this’ll be forgotten.”

Strappi rocketed to his feet.

“General, I protest! It would not be—”

“Protest not accepted!” Froc snapped. “This is real politics, Captain. It is not about prying and peeking. It is not a matter for the Political Department!”

Strappi deflated back into his chair. He caught Polly’s eye for a moment and then hastily looked away.

“Very well,” said Froc, looking up and down the table, and then smoothing his paperwork and squaring off the edges like a man finishing for the day. “This sounds a very sensible and generous proposal to me, Major.”

“Excuse me one moment, General,” said Clogston. “I will consult with what we would call the accused if anyone would enlighten me as to the precise nature of the charges.”

He walked over to the squad and lowered his voice.

“I think this is the best offer you’re going to get,” he said. “I can probably get the money, too. How about it?”

“It’s completely ridiculous!” said Blouse. “They showed tremendous courage and determination. All this would not have been possible without them!”

“Yes, Blouse, and you would be allowed to say that,” said Clogston. “Stoffer has come up with quite a clever idea. Everyone gets what they want, but you just have to avoid any suggestion that you were, in fact, acting as soldiers. Brave Borogravian women going to the aid of a gallant hero, that works. You could take the view that these are changing times, and you are helping them change faster. Well?”

The squad exchanged glances.

“Er…I’d be happy about that,” Shufti ventured. “If everyone else is.”

“So you’d have your baby without a husband?” said Polly.

“He’s probably dead anyway, whoever he was,” sighed Shufti.

“The general has influence,” said Clogston. “He might be able to—”

“No, I’m not buying into this,” said Tonker. “It’s a gooey little lie. To hell with them.”

“Lofty?” said Polly.

Lofty struck a match, and stared at it. She could find matches anywhere.

There was another crump, high above.

“Maladict?” said Polly.

“Llet tthe bball rroll. II ssay nno.”

“And you, Lieutenant?” Clogston asked.

“It’s dishonorable,” said Blouse.

“Could be problems for you if you don’t accept, though. With your career.”

“I suspect I haven’t got one, Major, whatever happens. No, I will not live a lie. I know, now, that I’m not a hero. I’m just someone who wanted to be one.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Polly. “Er…Jade?”

“One of der trolls wot arrested me hit me with his club an’ I frew a table at him,” said Jade, looking at the floor.

“That was mistreatment of a pris—!” Blouse began, but Clogston said: “No, Lieutenant, I know something about trolls. They are very…physical. So…he’s a rather attractive lad, is he, Private?”

“I got a good feelin’ about him,” said Jade, blushing. “So I don’t want to be sent home. Nothin’ for me there, anyway.”

“Private Igor…ina?” said Blouse.

“I think we ought to give in,” said Igorina.

“Why?” said Polly.

“Because Wazzer’s dying.” She raised a hand. “No, please don’t cluster round. Give her air, at least. She hasn’t eaten. I can’t get any water down her at all.” She looked up with redrimmed eyes. “I don’t know what to do!”

“The Duchess talked to her,” said Polly. “You all heard. And you know what we saw down in the crypt.”

“And I said I don’t believe any of that!” said Tonker. “It’s her…mind. They made her crazy enough. And we were all so tired, we’d see anything. All that stuff about wanting to get to the High Command? Well, here they are, and I don’t see any miracles. Do you?”

“I don’t think she would have wanted us to give in,” said Polly.

No

“Did you hear that?” said Polly, although now she wasn’t certain if the word had turned up in her head via her ears. “No, I didn’t!” said Tonker. “I didn’t hear it!”

“I don’t think we can accept this compromise, sir,” said Polly to the major.

“Then I won’t,” said Shufti promptly. “I don’t…this wasn’t…I only came because…but…look, I’m staying with you. Erm…what can they do to us, sir?”

“Put you in a cell for a long time, probably,” said the major. “They’re being kind to you—”

“Kind?” said Polly.

“Well, they think they’re being kind,” said Clogston. “And they could be a lot worse. And there’s a war on. They don’t want to look bad, but Froc didn’t get to be a general by being nice. I have to warn you about that. You’re still turning this down?”

Blouse looked around at his men.

“I believe we are, Major.”

“Good,” said Clogston, winking.

Good.

Clogston went back to his table and shuffled his papers.

“The allegedly accused, sir, regretfully turn down the offer.”

“Yes, I thought they might,” said Froc. “In that case, they are to be returned to the cells. They will be dealt with later.” Plaster showered down as something hit the outer wall again. “This has gone quite far enough!”

“We won’t be sent to the cells!” Tonker shouted.

“Then that is mutiny, sir!” said Froc. “And we know how to deal with that!”

“Excuse me, General, does that then mean the tribunal does agree that these ladies are soldiers?” said Clogston.

General Froc glared at him.

“Don’t you try to tie me up with procedural nonsense, Major!”

“It’s hardly nonsense, sir, if the very basis—”

The word was the faintest, merest suggestion in Polly’s head, but it also seemed to be wired to her central nervous system. And not only hers. The squad ducked, Igorina throwing herself across her patient’s body.

Half the ceiling collapsed. The chandelier fell down and exploded in a kaleidoscope of splintering prisms. Mirrors shattered.

And then there was, by comparison at least, silence, broken only by the thud of a few late bits of plaster and the tinkle of a tardy shard.

Now…

Footsteps approached the big doors at the end of the room, where the guards were just struggling to their feet.

The doors swung open.

Jackrum stood there, shining like the sunset. The light glinted off his shako badge, polished to the point where it would blind the incautious with its terrible gleam. His face was red, but his jacket was redder, and his sergeant’s sash was the pure quill of redness, its very essence, the red of dying stars and dying soldiers.

Blood dripped off the cutlasses thrust into his belt.

The guards, still shaking, tried to lower their pikes to bar his way.

“Do not try it, lads, I beg you,” said Jackrum. “Upon my oath, I am not a violent man, but do you think Sergeant Jackrum is going to be stopped by a set of bleedin’ cutlery?”

The men looked at Jackrum, steaming with barely controlled rage, and then at the astonished generals, and took an immediate decision on their own desperate initiative. Weapons were lowered.

“Good lads,” said Jackrum. “With your permission, General Froc?”

He did not wait for a reply but marched forward with parade-ground smartness. He came to boot-crashing attention in front of the senior generals, who were still brushing plaster dust from their uniforms, and saluted with the precision of a semaphore.

“I beg to report, sir, that we now hold the main gates, sir! Took the liberty of putting together a force of the Ins-and-Outs, the Side-to-Sides and the Backwards-and-Forwards, sir, just in case, saw a big cloud o’ flame and smoke over the place, and arrived at the gates just as your lads did. Got ’em coming and going, sir!”

There was a general cheer, and General Kzupi leaned toward Froc.

“In view of this pleasing development, sir, perhaps we should hurry up and close this—”

Froc waved him into silence.

“Jackrum, you old rogue,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I heard you were dead. How the devil are you?”

“Fightin’ fit, sir!” barked Jackrum. “Not dead at all, despite the hopes of many!”

“Glad to hear it, man. But, while your rosy face is a welcome sight at any time, we are here to—”

“Fourteen miles I carried you, sir!” Jackrum roared, sweat pouring down his face. “Pulled that arrow out of your leg, sir. Sliced that devil of a captain who pushed an axe in your face, sir, and I’m glad to see the scar’s looking well. Killed that poor sentry lad just to steal his water bottle for you, sir. Looked into his dyin’ face, sir, for you. Never asked for nothin’ in return, sir. Right, sir?”

Froc rubbed his chin and smiled.

“Well, I seem to remember there was that little matter of fudging some details, changing a few dates—” he murmured.

“Don’t give me that bleedin’ slop, sir, with respect. That wasn’t for me, that was for the army. For the Duchess, sir. And, yeah, I see a few other gentlemen around this table who had reason to do the same little service for me. For the Duchess, sir. And if you was to leave me one sword I’d stand and fight any man in your army, sir, be he never so young and full of mustard!”

In one movement, he pulled a cutlass from his belt and brought it down on the paperwork between Froc’s hands. It bit through, into the wood of the table, and stayed there.

Froc didn’t flinch. Instead he looked up and said calmly, “Hero though you may be, Sergeant, I fear that you have gone too far.”

“Have I gone the full fourteen miles yet, sir?” said Jackrum.

For a moment, there was no sound but that of the cutlass, vibrating to a halt. Froc breathed out.

“Very well,” he said. “What is your request, Sergeant?”

“I notes you have my little lads before you, sir! I’m hearing that they are in a spot of bother, sir!”

“The girls, Jackrum, are to be restrained in a place of safety. This is no place for them. And that is my order, Sergeant.”

“I said to ’em when they signed up, sir, I said: if anyone drags you away they’ll have to drag me away, too, sir!”

Froc nodded. “Very loyal of you, Sergeant, and very much in your character. Nevertheless—”

“And I have information vital to these here deliberations, sir! There is something I must tell you, sir!”

“Really? Then by all means tell us, man!” said Froc. “You don’t have to take all—”

“It requires that some of you gentlemen quit this room, sir,” said Jackrum desperately. He was still at attention, still holding the salute.

“Now you do ask too much, Jackrum,” said Froc. “These are loyal officers of Her Grace!”

“No doubt of it, sir! Upon my oath, I am not a gossiping man, sir, but I will speak my piece to those I choose, sir, or speak it to the world. There’s ways to do that, sir, nasty newfangled ways. Your choice, sir!”

At last, Froc colored. He stood up abruptly.

“Are you seriously telling me that you’d—”

“This is my famous last stand, sir!” said Jackrum, saluting again. “Do or die, sir!”

All eyes turned to the general. He relaxed. “Oh, very well. It can’t do any harm to listen to you, Sergeant. God knows you’ve earned it. But make it quick.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But try this again and you’ll be on the biggest fizzer you can imagine.”

“No worry there, sir. Never been one for fizzers. I will, by your leave, point to certain men and I’ll include Strappi in this category, ’cos I wouldn’t dream of calling a captain a dog’s todger, sir…”

They were about half of the officers. They rose with greater or lesser protest, but rise they did, under Froc’s sapphire glare, and filed out in the corridor. Strappi was among them, trying to stay inconspicuous.

“General, I protest!” said a departing colonel. “We are being sent out of the room like naughty children, while these…females are—”

“Yes, yes, Rodney, and if our friend the sergeant doesn’t have a damn good explanation I’ll personally turn him over to you for punishment detail,” said Froc. “But he’s entitled to his last wild charge if any man is. Go quietly, there’s a good chap, and keep the war going until we get there. And have you finished this strange charade, Sergeant?” he added, as the last of the officers left.

“All but one last thing, sir,” said Jackrum and stamped over to the guards. They were at attention already, but nevertheless contrived to become more attentive.

“You lads go outside this door,” said the sergeant. “No one is to come close, understand. And I know you boys won’t try to eavesdrop, because of what’ll happen to you if I ever found that you had done so. Off you go, hup, hup, hup!”

He shut the doors behind them and the atmosphere changed. Polly couldn’t quite detect how, but perhaps it was that the click of the doors had said “this is our secret” and everyone present was in on it.

Jackrum removed his shako and laid it gently on the table in front of the general. Then he took off his coat and handed it to Polly, saying, “Hold this, Perks. It’s the property of Her Grace.”

He rolled up his sleeves. He relaxed his enormous red suspenders. And then, to Polly’s horror if not to her surprise, he brought out his paper screw of foul chewing tobacco and his blackened penknife.

“Oh, I say—” a major began, before a colleague nudged him into silence. Never had a man cutting a wad of black tobacco been the subject of such rapt, horrified attention.

“Things are going well outside,” he said. “Shame you aren’t all out there, eh? Still, the truth’s important, too, right? And that’s what this tribunal is for, I’ve no doubt about it. It must be important, the truth, else you wouldn’t be here, am I right? ’Course I am.”

Jackrum finished the cut, palmed the stuff into his mouth and got it comfortable in a cheek, while the sounds of battle filtered through from outside. Then he turned and walked toward the major who had just spoken. The man cringed a little in his chair.

“What’ve you got to say about the truth, Major Derbi?” said Jackrum conversationally. “Nothing? Well, then, what shall I say? What shall I say about a captain who turned and ran sobbing when we came across a column of Zlobenians, deserting his very men? Shall I say that ol’ Jackrum tripped him up and pummelled him a bit and put the fear of…Jackrum into him, and he went back and ’twas a famous victory he had that day, over two enemies, one of them being in his own head. And he came to ol’ Jackrum again, drunk with battle, and said more’n he ought…”

“You bastard,” said the major softly.

“Shall I tell the truth today…Janet?” said Jackrum.

The sounds of battle were suddenly much louder. They poured into the room like the water rushes to fill a hole in the ocean floor, but all the sound in the world could not have filled that sudden, tremendous silence.

Jackrum strolled on toward another man.

“Good to see you here, Colonel Cumabund!” he said cheerfully. “O’course, you were only Lieutenant Cumabund when I was under your command. Plucky lad you were, when you led us against that detachment of Kopelies. And then you took a nasty sword wound in the fracas, or just above, and I got you through with rum and cold water, and found that plucky you might be, but lad you weren’t. Oh, how you gabbled away in your feverish delirium…Yes, you did. That’s the truth …Olga.”

He stepped around the table and started to stroll along behind the officers; those he passed stared woodenly ahead, not daring to turn, not daring to make any movement that would attract attention.

“You could say I know something about all of yez,” he said. “Quite a lot about some of you, just enough about most of you. A few of you, well, I could write a book.” He paused just behind Froc, who stiffened.

“Jackrum, I—” he began.

Jackrum put a hand on each of Froc’s shoulders.

“Fourteen miles, sir. Two nights, ’cos we lay up by day, the patrols were that thick. Cut about pretty dreadful, you were, but you got better nursing from me that any sawbones, I’d bet.”

He leaned forward until his mouth was level with the general’s ear, and continued in a stage whisper:

“What is there left about you that I don’t know? So…are you really looking for the truth…Mildred?”

The room was a museum of waxworks.

Jackrum spat on the floor.

“You cannot prove anything, Sergeant,” said Froc eventually, with the calm of an ice field.

“Well, now, not as such. But they keep telling me this is the modern world, sir. I don’t need proof, exactly. I know a man who’d love such a tale to tell, and it’d be in Ankh-Morpork in a couple of hours.”

“If you leave this room alive,” said a voice.

Jackrum smiled his evilest smile and bore down on the source of the threat like an avalanche. “Ah! I thought one of yez would try that, Chloe, but I note you never made it beyond major, and no wonder, since you always try to bluff with no bleedin’ cards in your hand. Nice try, though. But, first, I could take you to the bleedin’ cleaners before those guards were back in here, upon my oath, and, second, you don’t know what I’ve writ down and who else knows. I trained all you girls at one time or another, and some of the cunning you got, some of the mustard, some of the sense…well, you got it from me. Didn’t you? So don’t any of you go thinking you can be artful about this, because when it comes to cunning I am Mister Fox.”

“Sergeant, Sergeant, Sergeant,” said Froc wearily. “What is it you want?”

Jackrum completed his circuit of the table and finished in front of it, once again like a man before his judges.

“Well, blow me down,” he said quietly, looking along the row of faces. “You didn’t know, did you…you didn’t know. Is there a…a man among you that knew? You thought, every one of you, that you were all alone. All alone. You poor devils. And look at you. More’n a third of the country’s high command. You made it on your own, ladies. What could you have done if you’d acted tog—”

He stopped and took a step toward Froc, who looked down at her cloven paperwork.

“How many did you spot, Mildred?”

“That will be ‘General,’ Sergeant. I’m still a general, Sergeant. Or ‘sir’ will do. And your answer is: one or two. One or two.”

“And you promoted them, did you, if they was as good as men?”

“Indeed not, Sergeant. What do you take me for? I promoted them if they were better than men.”

Jackrum opened his arms wide, like a ringmaster introducing a new act.

“Then what about the lads I brought with me, sir? As cracking a bunch of lads as I’ve ever seen.” He cast a bloodshot eye around the table. “And I’m good at weighing up a lad, as you all know! They’d be a credit to your army, sir!”

Froc looked at his colleagues on either side. An unspoken question harvested unsaid answers.

“Yes, well,” she said. “All seems clear to us, in the light of new developments. When beardless lads dress up as gels, there’s no doubt that people will get confused. And that’s what we’ve got here, Sergeant. Mere confusion. Mistaken identities. Much ado, in fact, about nothing. Clearly they are boys, and may return home right now with an honorable discharge.”

Jackrum chuckled and stuck out a palm, flexing the fingers upwards like a man bargaining.

Once again, there was the communion of spirits.

“Very well. They can, if they wish, continue in the army,” said Froc. “With discretion, of course.”

“No, sir!”

Polly stared at Jackrum, and then realized the words had, in fact, come from her own mouth.

Froc raised her eyebrows.

“What is your name again?” she said.

“Corporal Perks, sir!” said Polly, saluting.

She watched Froc’s face settle into an expression of condescending benevolence. If she uses the words “my dear,” I shall swear, she thought.

“Well, my dear—”

“Not your dear, sir or madam,” said Polly. In the theater of her mind, The Duchess Inn burned to a cinder and her old life peeled away, black as charcoal, and she was flying, ballistic, too fast and too high and unable to stop. “I am a soldier, General. I signed up. I kissed the Duchess. I don’t think generals call their soldiers ‘my dear,’ do they?”

Froc coughed. The smile remained, but had the decency to be a bit more restrained.

“And private soldiers don’t talk like that to generals, young lady, so we’ll let that pass, shall we?” she said.

“Just here, in this room, I don’t know what passes and what stays, sir,” said Polly. “But it seems to me that if you are still a general then I’m still a corporal, sir. I can’t speak for the others, but the reason I’m holding out, General, is that I kissed the Duchess and she knew what I was and she…didn’t turn away, if you understand me.”

“Well said, Perks,” said Jackrum.

Polly plunged on. “Sir, a day or two ago I’d have rescued my brother and gone off home and I’d have thought it a job well done. I just wanted to be safe. But now I see there’s no safety while there’s all this…this stupidity. So I think I’ve got to stay and be a part of it. Er…try to make it less stupid, I mean. And I want to be me, not Oliver. I kissed the Duchess. We all did. You can’t tell us we didn’t and you can’t tell us it doesn’t count, because it’s between us and her—”

“You all kissed the Duchess,” said a voice. It had an…echo.

“Did you think that meant nothing? That it was just a kiss?”

The whispered words washed against the walls like surf, and came back stronger, in harmonies.

Wazzer was standing up.

The squad stood petrified as she walked unsteadily past them.

Her eyes focused on Polly, and then looked down at her own legs.

“So good to have a body again,” she said. “I wonder what all the fuss is about…”

Something was in Wazzer’s face. Her features were all there, all correct, her nose was as pointed and as red, her cheekbones as hollow…but there were subtle changes.

She held up a hand and flexed her fingers.

“Ah,” she said. “So…” There was no echo this time, but the voice was stronger and deeper. No one would ever have said that Wazzer’s voice had been attractive, but this one was.

She turned to Jackrum, who dropped onto his fat knees and whipped off his shako.

“Sergeant Jackrum, I know that you know who I am. You have waded through seas of blood for me. Perhaps we should have done better things with your life, but at least your sins were soldier’s sins, and not the worst of them, at that. You are hereby promoted to sergeant major, and a better candidate for the job I have never met. You are steeped in deviousness, cunning, and casual criminality, Sergeant Jackrum. You should do well.”

Jackrum, eyes cast down, raised a knuckle to his forehead.

“…Not worthy, Your Grace,” he muttered.

“Of course you aren’t.” The Duchess looked around. “Now, where is my army…ah.”

There was no hesitancy now, and none of Wazzer’s cowering and downcast eyes. She positioned herself directly in front of Froc, who was staring with her mouth open.

“General Froc, you must do one final service for me.”

The general glared. “Who the hell are you?”

“You need to ask? As always, Jackrum thinks faster than you. You know me. I am the Duchess Annagovia.”

“But you are—” one of the other officers began, but Froc held up a hand again.

“The voice…is familiar,” she said in a faraway whisper.

“Yes. You remember the ball. I remember it, too. Forty years ago. You were the youngest captain ever. We danced, stiffly in my case. I asked you how long you had been a captain, and you said—”

“—‘Three days,’” breathed Froc with her eyes shut.

“And we ate Brandy Pillows, and drank a cocktail that I believe was called—”

“—Angel’s Tears,” said Froc. “I kept the menu, Your Grace, and the dance card.”

“Yes,” said the Duchess. “You did. And when old General Scaffer led you away, he said, ‘That’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, my boy.’ But you were…so dedicated that you never had children…and what a man you became…my boy…”

“I see heroes!” said the Duchess, staring at the tableau of officers. “All of you gave up…much. But I demand more. Much more. Is there any among you who for the sake of my memory will not die in battle?” Wazzer’s head turned and looked along the row, and smiled.

“No. I see there is not. And now I demand that you do what the ignorant might feel is the easier thing. You must refrain from dying in battle. Revenge is not redress. Revenge is a wheel, and it turns backwards. The dead are not your masters.”

“What is it you want of me, ma’am?” Froc managed.

“Call in your other officers. Make what truces are necessary, for now. This body, this poor child, will lead you. I am weak, but I can move small things. Thoughts, perhaps. I will leave her…something, a light in the eye, a tone in the voice. Follow her. You must invade.”

“Certainly! But how—”

“You must invade Borogravia! In the name of sanity, you must go home! The winter is coming, the trusting animals are not fed, old men die of cold, women mourn, the country corrodes. Fight Nuggan, because he is nothing now, nothing but the poisonous echo of all your ignorance and pettiness and malicious stupidity! Find yourself a worthier god. And let…me…go! All those prayers, all those entreaties…to me! Too many hands clasped that could more gainfully answer your prayers by effort and resolve! And what was I? Just a rather stupid woman when I was alive. But you believed I watched over you, and listened to you…and so I had to, I had to listen, knowing that there was no help…I wish people would not be so careless about what they believe. Go. Invade the one place you’ve never conquered. And these women will help. Be proud of them. And, lest you think to twist my meaning, lest you doubt…let me, as I leave, return to you this gift. Remember. A kiss.”

As one woman, as one man, the crowd in the room reached up hesitantly to their left cheek. And Wazzer folded up, very gently, collapsing like a sigh.

Froc was the first to speak.

“This is…I think we need to…” She faltered into silence.

Jackrum got to his feet, brushed the dust off his shako, placed it on his head and saluted.

“Permission to speak, sir?” he said.

“Oh, good heavens, Jackrum!” said Froc distractedly. “At a time like this? Yes, yes…”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Orders?” Froc blinked and looked around. “Orders, orders…yes. Well, I am the commander, I can request a…yes, I can request a truce, Sergeant—”

“That’s ‘Sergeant Major,’ sir,” said Jackrum. “Right you are, sir, I’ll organize a runner to go to the alliance.”

“I suppose a…white flag would be—”

“Good as done, sir. Leave it to me,” said Jackrum, radiating efficiency.

“Yes, of course…er, before, before we go any further…ladies and gentlemen, I…er…some of the things said here…the whole issue of women joining as…women…obviously…” Froc raised her hand to her cheek again, in a kind of wonderment. “They are welcome. I…salute them. But for those of us that went before, perhaps it is not…not yet the time. You understand?”

“What?” said Polly.

“Lips sealed, sir!” said Jackrum. “You can leave it all to me, sir! Captain Blouse’s squad, attention! You will obtain uniforms! You can’t go around still dressed as washerwomen, oh dear me!”

“We are soldiers?” said Polly.

“O’course you are, otherwise I wouldn’t be shoutin’ at you, you ’orrible little woman! The world’s turned upside down! It’s a bit more important than you right now, eh? You’ve got what you’re after, right? Now get hold of a uniform, find yourself a shako, and wipe your face, at least. You are taking the official truce to the enemy.”

“Me, Sarge?” said Polly.

“Right! Just as soon as the officers have done the official letter.” Jackrum turned. “Tonker, Lofty…see what you can find for Perks to wear. Perks, don’t be cowed, and bull yourself up. The rest of you, hurry up and wait!”

“Sergeant Jac…er, Sergeant Major?” said Blouse.

“Yessir?”

“I’m not a captain, you know.”

“Are you not?” said Jackrum, grinning. “Well, leave it to Jackrum, sir. We shall see what the day brings, eh? Minor point, sir. I should lose the dress if I was you!”

Jackrum marched off, his inflated chest as red as a robin’s and twice as threatening. He shouted at orderlies, harried guards, saluted officers, and, despite everything, hammered the blade of purpose out of the red-hot steel of panic. He was a sergeant major in a roomful of confused ruperts, and he was happier than a terrier in a barrel of rats.

Stopping a battle is much harder that starting it. Starting it only requires you to shout “Attack!,” but when you want to stop it, everyone is busy.

Polly could feel the news spreading. They’re girls! The orderlies scuttling in and out once more kept staring at them, as if they were some kind of strange insects. I wonder how many Jackrum missed, Polly thought. I wonder…

Bits of uniform turned up. Jade found some trousers that fitted by locating a clerk who was Polly’s height, lifting him up and pulling them off him. A jacket was acquired. Lofty even stole a shako of the right size and polished the badge with her sleeve until it gleamed.

Polly was just doing up the belt when she spotted a figure on the far side of the room. She’d completely forgotten about him.

She pulled the belt tight and thrust the leather through the buckle as she walked and then strode through the crowds of figures. Strappi saw her coming, but it was too late. There was no escape short of running, and captains didn’t run from corporals. He stood his ground, like a rabbit hypnotized by the approaching vixen, and raised his hands as she approached.

“Now then, Perks, I’m a captain and I had a job to—” he began.

“And how long do you think you’ll hold that rank now, sir?” hissed Polly. “If I tell the general about our little fight? And how you sicced the prince onto us? And how you bullied Wazzer? And about my hair, you sticky little miserable apology for a man! Shufti’s a better man than you, and she’s pregnant!”

“Oh, we knew there were women getting in,” said Strappi. “We just didn’t know how the rot went—”

“You took my hair because you thought it meant something to me,” hissed Polly. “Well, you can keep it! I’ll grow some more, and no one is going to stop me, understand? Oh, and one other thing. This is how far the rot goes!”

It was a blow rather than a slap, and it knocked him down so hard that he rolled. But he was Strappi, and staggered upright with a finger pointed for vengeance.

“She struck a superior officer!” he screamed.

A few heads turned. They looked at Strappi. They looked at Polly. Then they looked back, grinning, at what they were doing.

“I should run away again, if I was you,” said Polly.

She turned on her heel, feeling the heat of his impotent fury.

As she was about to rejoin Jade and Maladict, someone touched her arm. She spun around.

“What? Oh…sorry, Major Clogston,” she said relaxing. She felt she wouldn’t be able to deal with Strappi again, not without committing murder. That would probably get her into trouble, even now.

“I should like to thank you for a most enjoyable day,” said the major. “I did my best, but I think we were all…outclassed.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Polly.

“This was a pleasure, Corporal Perks,” said Clogston. “I shall watch your future career with interest and envy. Congratulations. And since in here protocol seems to be flapping loose, I will shake you by the hand.”

They did so. “And now, we have duties,” said Major Clogston as Jade arrived with a white sheet on a pole. “Oh, and by the way…my name is Christine. But, you know, I really don’t think I could get used to wearing a dress again…”

 

Maladict and Jade were chosen to see Polly through the castle, a troll because a troll commands respect and a vampire because a vampire demands it.

There were groans and cheers as they elbowed their way along the passages, because news had already got around. That was another reason for taking Jade. Trolls could push.

“Okay,” said Jackrum, bringing up the rear. “At the bottom of these steps there’s a door, and beyond that door is enemy territory. Put the white flag out first. Important safety tip.”

“Can’t you come with us, Sarge?”

“Hah, me? I daresay there’s a few people out there who’d take a potshot at me, white flag or no. Don’t you worry. The word’s gone out.”

“What word’s that, Sarge?”

Jackrum leaned closer.

“They ain’t gonna shoot a girl, Perks!”

“You told them?”

“Let’s just say that news gets around fast,” said Jackrum. “Grab the advantage. And I’ll find your brother while you’re gone, upon my oath. Oh, one other thing…look at me, Perks.”

Polly turned in the crowded, jostling corridor.

Jackrum’s eyes twinkled.

“I know I can trust you, Perks. Make the most of it, lad. Kissin’ don’t last!”

Well, that couldn’t be plainer, Polly thought as the armed men by the door beckoned them forward.

“Stick to the walls, okay, ladies? And be quick with that rag!”

The heavy door swung open. Half a dozen arrows bounced and pinwheeled along the corridor. Another one tore through the flag.

Polly waved it desperately. She heard distant shouting and then cheers.

“Go! Go!” said a guard, pushing her forward.

She stepped out into the sudden daylight and, to make sure, waved the flag overhead a few more times. There were men in the courtyard and lining the battlements around it. There were bodies, too.

A captain, with blood soaking through his jacket, stepped across the fallen and held out his hand.

“You may give that to me, soldier,” he said.

“No, sir. I must deliver it to your commander, and wait for his reply, sir.”

“Then you give it to me, soldier, and I will bring you back the reply. You have surrendered, after all.”

Polly shook her head. “No. This is a truce. That’s not the same thing. I have to hand this over personally and you aren’t big enough.” A thought hit her. “I demand to take this to Commander Vimes!”

The captain stared at her, and then looked closer.

“Aren’t you one of those—” he began.

“Yes,” sighed Polly.

“And you locked them in chains and threw the key away?”

“Yes,” said Polly, seeing her past life start to flash before her eyes.

“And they had to hop miles with shackles on and no clothes?”

“Yes!”

“And you’re just…women?”

“Yes!” said Polly, letting the “just” go for now.

The captain leaned closer and spoke while trying not to move his lips.

“Dan gug show. Ell done. Agout time soes arragunk arsetards ere aken own a eg!”

He leaned back. “Commander Vimes it is, then. Follow me, miss.”

Polly felt hundreds of eyes on her as the squad was let into the Inner Keep. There were one or two wolf whistles, because there were more soldiers in there, including quite a few trolls. Jade bent down, snatched up a rock, and hurled it at one of them, hitting him between the eyes.

“No one move!” shouted Maladict, waving his hands urgently as a hundred men raised their weapons. “That was a troll version of blowing a kiss!”

And, indeed, the troll who had been hit was waving at Jade, a little unsteadily.

“Can we knock it off with the lovey-dovey, please?” said Polly to Jade, as bows were lowered. “The soft people are likely to get the wrong idea.”

“It’s stopped the whistling, though,” Maladict observed.

More people watched them as they climbed flight after flight of stone steps. No one could take this place, Polly could see that. Every flight was seen by another one higher up, every visitor would be sighted on before she’d even glimpsed a face.

A figure stepped out of the shadows as they reached the next floor. It was a young woman, in old-fashioned leather-and-mail armor, with a breastplate. She had long, very fair hair; for the first time in weeks, Polly felt a twinge of envy.

“Thank you, Captain, I’ll take over from here,” she said and nodded to Polly. “Good evening, Corporal Perks…if you would follow me, please?”

“She’s a woman! And a sergeant!” Maladict whispered as Angua led them down a wide corridor.

“Yes, I know,” said Polly.

“But she gave an order to that captain!”

“Maybe she’s a political…”

“And she’s obviously female!”

“I’m not blind, Mal,” said Polly.

“I’m not deaf, either,” said the woman, turning and smiling. “My name is Angua. If you will wait here, I’ll have some coffee sent in. There’s a bit of an argument going on in there at the moment.”

They were in a sort of anteroom, not much more that a widened area of the corridor, with a few benches. There were big double doors at the far end, behind which voices were being raised.

Angua left.

“Just like that?” said Maladict. “What’s to stop us taking over the place?”

“All those men with crossbows we passed on the way up?” said Polly. Why us? she thought, looking blankly at the wall.

“Oh, yes. Those. Yes,” said Maladict. “Er…Poll?”

“Yes?”

“I’m actually Maladicta.” She sat back. “There! I’ve told someone!”

“Dat’s nice,” said Jade.

“Oh, good,” said Polly. I’d be going out to give the latrines their afternoon swill about now, she thought. This has got to be better than that, right?

“I thought I did pretty well,” Maladicta went on. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: vampires have a pretty good time of it whatever sex they are, right? But it’s the same everywhere. Velvet dresses, underwired nightgowns, acting crazy all the time, and don’t let’s even go near the whole ‘bathing in virgin’s blood’ thing. You get taken a lot more seriously if they think you’re male.”

“Right,” said Polly. All in all, it’s been a long day. A bath would be nice.

“I thought I did pretty well right up until the whole coffee thing. A necklace of the roast beans, that’d be the thing. I’ll be better prepared another time.”

“Yeah,” said Polly. “Good idea. With real soap.”

“Soap? How would soap work?”

“What? Oh…sorry,” said Polly.

“Did you hear anything I said?” said Maladicta looking pained.

“Oh, that. Yes. Thank you for telling me.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes,” said Polly. “You’re you. That’s good. I’m me, whoever I am. Tonker’s Tonker. It’s all just…people. Look, a week ago the high spot of my day was reading the new graffiti in the men’s latrines. I think you’d agree that a lot has happened since then. I don’t think I’m going to be surprised at anything anymore. The coffee-bean necklace sounds good, by the way.” She drummed her feet on the floor impatiently. “Right now, I just wish they’d hurry up in there.”

They sat and listened, and then Polly became aware of a little column of smoke coming from behind a bench on the other side of the space. She walked over and peered over the back. A man was lying there, head on one arm, smoking a cigar.

He nodded when he saw Polly’s face.

“They’re going to be ages yet,” he said.

“Aren’t you that sergeant I saw in the old kitchen? Making faces behind Lord Rust from Ankh-Morpork?”

“I was not making faces, Corporal,” said the man, sitting up. “That’s how I always look when Lord Rust is talking. And I was a sergeant once, it’s true, but, look, no stripes.”

“Make der faces once too often?” said Jade.

The man laughed. He hadn’t shaved today, by the look of it.

“Something like that, yes. Come along to my office, it’s warmer. I only came out here because people complain about the smoke. Don’t worry about that lot in there, they can wait. I’m only down the passage.”

They followed him. The door was, indeed, only a few steps away. The man pushed it open, walked across the little room beyond, and sat down in a chair. The table in front of it overflowed with papers.

“I think we can get enough food up here to see you through the winter,” he said, picking up a sheet of paper, apparently at random. “Grain’s a bit short but we’ve got a handy surplus of white drumhead cabbage, keeps wonderfully, full of vitamins and minerals…but you might want to keep your windows open, if you follow me. Don’t stare, I know the country’s a month away from starvation.”

“But I haven’t even shown this letter to anyone!” Polly protested. “You don’t know what we—”

“I don’t have to,” said the man. “This is about food and mouths. Good grief, we don’t have to fight you. Your country is going to fall over anyway. Your fields are overgrown, most of your farmers are old men, the bulk of the grub goes to the army. And armies don’t do much for agriculture except marginally raise the fertility of the battlefield. The honor, the pride, the glory…none of that matters. This war stops, or Borogravia dies. Do you understand?”

Polly remembered the gale-swept fields, the old people salvaging what they could…

“We’re just messengers,” she said. “I can’t negotiate—”

“You know your god’s dead?” said the man. “Nothing left but a voice, according to some of our priests. The last three Abominations were against rocks, ears, and accordion players. Okay, I might be with him on the last one, but…rocks? Hah! We can advise you if you’re going to look for a new one, by the way. Om’s very popular at the moment. Very few abominations, no special clothing, and hymns you can sing in the bath. You won’t get Offler the Crocodile God up here with your winters, and the Unorthodox Potato Church is probably a bit too uncomplicated for—”

Polly started to laugh.

“Look, sir, I’m just a…what is your name, please?”

“Sam Vimes. Special envoy, which is kind of like an ambassador but without the little gold chocolates.”

“Vimes the Butcher?” said Maladicta.

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard that one,” said Vimes, grinning. “Your people haven’t really mastered the fine art of propaganda. And I’m telling you because—well, have you heard of Om?”

They shook their heads.

“No? Well, in the Old Book of Om there’s a story about some city full of wickedness, and Om decided to destroy it with holy fire, this being back in the old smiting days before he’d got religion. But Bishop Horn protested this plan, and Om said he’d spare the city if the bishop could find one good man. Well, the bishop knocked on every door, and turned up empty-handed. It turned out, after the place had been reduced to a big puddle of glass, that there were probably plenty of good people there and, being good, they weren’t the sort to admit it. Death by modesty, a terrible thing. And you, ladies, are the only Borogravians I know much about, apart from the military, who, frankly, aren’t chatty. You don’t appear to be as insane as your country’s foreign policy. You’re the one piece of international goodwill it has. A bunch of young boys outwitting crack cavalrymen? Kicking the prince in the fork? People at home liked that. And now it turns out that you’re girls? They’ll love that. Mr. de Worde is going to have fun with that when he finds out. And I’ll see he does.”

“But we don’t have any power! We can’t negotiate a—”

“What does Borogravia want? Not the country. I mean the people.”

Polly opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again and thought about the answer.

“To be left alone,” she said. “By everybody. For a while, anyway. We can change things.”

“You’ll accept the food?”

“We are a proud country.”

“What are you proud of?”

It came swiftly, like a blow, and Polly realized how wars happened. You took that shock that had run through her, and let it boil.

…it may be corrupt, benighted, and stupid, but it’s ours…

Vimes was watching her face.

“From this desk here,” he said, “the only thing your country has to be proud of right now is you women.”

Polly stayed silent. She was still trying to cope with the anger. It made it worse to know that he was right. We have our pride. And that’s what we’re proud of. We’re proud of being proud…

“Very well, then, will you buy some food?” said Vimes, watching her carefully. “On credit? I suppose you still have someone in your country who knows about the kind of international affairs that don’t involve edged weapons?”

“People would accept that, yes,” said Polly hoarsely.

“Good. I’ll send a clacks back tonight.”

“And why would you be so generous, Mr. Ankh-Morpork?”

“Because I’m from a wonderfully warm-hearted city, Corporal…hah, no, I can’t say that and keep a straight face,” said Vimes. “Do you want to know the truth? Most people in Ankh-Morpork hadn’t even heard of your country until the clacks went down. There’s dozens of little countries around here selling one another hand-painted clogs or beer made from turnips. Then they knew you as the bloody mad idiots who fight everyone. Now they know you as…well, people who’d do just what they’d do. And tomorrow they’ll laugh. And there’re other people, people who sit and think about the future every day, who believe it’s worth a little to be friends with a country like that.”

“Why?” said Maladicta suspiciously.

“Because Ankh-Morpork is a friend to all freedom-loving people everywhere!” said Vimes. “Gods, it must be the way I tell ’em. Ze chzy Brogocia proztfik!” He saw their blank expressions. “Sorry, I’ve been away from home too long. And frankly, I’d rather be back there.”

“But why did you say you were a cherry pancake?” said Polly.

“Didn’t I say I am a citizen of Borogravia?”

“No. Brogocia is the cherry pancake, Borogvia is the country.”

“Well, I made the effort, at least. Look, we’d rather Prince Heinrich wasn’t ruler of two countries. That’d make one quite big country, much bigger than the other ones around here. So it’d probably get bigger still. He wants to be like Ankh-Morpork, you see. But what he means is he wants power and influence. He doesn’t want to earn them, he doesn’t want to grow into them or learn the hard way how to use them. He just wants them.”

“That’s playing politics!” said Maladicta.

“No. It’s just telling the truth. Make peace with him, by all means. Just leave the road and the towers alone. You’ll get the food anyway, at whatever price. Mr. de Worde’s article will see to that.”

“You sent the coffee,” said Polly.

“Oh, yes. That was Corporal Buggy Swires, my eye in the sky. He’s a gnome.”

“And you set a werewolf on us?”

“Well, ‘set’ is a bit strong. Angua followed you, just to be on the safe side. She’s a werewolf, yes.”

“The girl we met? She didn’t look like one!”

“Well, they don’t, usually,” said Vimes. “Right up until the moment when they do, if you see what I mean. And she was following you because I was looking for anything that’d stop thousands of people dying, that’s why. And that’s not politics either,” said Vimes. He stood up. “And now, ladies, I have to go and present your document to the alliance leaders.”

“You came out for a smoke at the right time, didn’t you,” said Polly slowly and carefully. “You knew we were on our way, and you made sure you’d get to us first.”

“Of course. Can’t leave this to a bunch of…oh, yes…ruperts.”

“Where is my brother, Mister Vimes?” said Polly stiffly.

“You seem very sure I know…” said Vimes, not looking her in the face.

“I’m certain you do,” said Polly.

“Why?”

“Because no one else does!”

Vimes stubbed out his cigar. “Angua was right about you,” he said. “Yes, I, er, arranged for him to be put in what I like to call ‘protective custody.’ He’s fine. Angua will take you to him now, if you like. Your brother, possibility of revenge, blackmail, who knows what…I thought he might be safer if I know exactly who holds the keys.”

The end of the journey, Polly thought. But it wasn’t, not anymore.

She got the distinct impression that the man opposite was reading her thoughts.

“That’s what all this was about, wasn’t it?” he said.

“No, sir. It’s just how it started,” said Polly.

“Well, it continues like this,” said Vimes. “This is going to be a busy day. Right now I shall take this offer of a truce in the room down the passage and present it to the very important men,” his voice went flat to say those words, “who are discussing what to do about Borogravia. You’ll get a truce, the food, and probably some other help.”

“How do you know that?” said Polly. “They haven’t discussed it!”

“Not yet. But, as I told you…I used to be a sergeant. Angua!”

The door opened. Angua came in. As Vimes had said, you couldn’t tell who was a werewolf until you found out…

“And now I’d better have a shave before I go to see the very important men,” said Vimes. “People set a lot of store by shaving.”

 

Polly felt embarrassed walking down the steps with Sergeant Angua. How did you start a conversation? “So you’re a werewolf, then?” would be sort of idiotic. She was glad that Jade and Maladicta had been left in the waiting room.

“Yes, I am,” said Angua.

“But I didn’t say it!” Polly burst out.

“No, but I’m used to situations like this. I’ve learned to recognize the way people don’t say things. Don’t worry.”

“You followed us,” said Polly.

“Yes.”

“So you must’ve known we weren’t men.”

“Oh, yes,” said Angua. “My sense of smell is much better than my eyesight, and I’ve got sharp eyes. Humans are smelly creatures. For what it’s worth, though, I wouldn’t have told Mister Vimes if I hadn’t heard you talking to one another. Anyone could have heard you, you don’t need to be a werewolf for that. Everyone’s got secrets they don’t want known. Werewolves are a bit like vampires in that way. We’re tolerated…if we’re careful.”

“That I can understand,” said Polly. So are we, she thought.

Angua stopped by a heavy, studded door. “He’s in here,” she said, producing a key and turning it in the lock. “I’ll go back and chat with the others. Come and find me when you’re ready…”

Polly stepped inside, heart pounding, and there was Paul. And there was a buzzard, on a perch by the open window.

And on the wall, where Paul was working so intensely that his tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth and he hadn’t even noticed the door opening, was another buzzard, flying in the heart of the sunrise.

Right now, Polly could forgive Ankh-Morpork anything. Someone had found Paul a box of colored chalks.

 

What was a long day began to get longer…

She had a kind of power. They all did. People gave them space, watched them. The fighting had stopped and they were the cause and no one knew exactly why.

There were lighter moments. They might have power, but General Froc gave the orders. And General Froc might give the orders, but it was permissible to suppose that it was Sergeant Major Jackrum who anticipated them.

And perhaps that was why Shufti asked Polly and Tonker to go with her, and they were ushered into a room where a couple of guards stood on either side of a sheepish young man called Johnny who had fair hair and blue eyes and a gold earring and his trousers round his knees in case Shufti wanted to check his other distinguishing feature.

He also had a black eye.

“This the one?” said Major Clogston, who was leaning against the wall eating an apple. “The general has asked me to tell you that there will be a dowry of five hundred crowns, with the army’s compliments.”

Johnny brightened up slightly when he heard that.

Shufti gave him a long and careful look.

“No,” she said at last, turning away. “That’s not him.”

Johnny opened his mouth, and Polly snapped: “No one asked you to speak, Private!” And such was the nature of the day that he shut up.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid he’s the only candidate,” said Clogston. “We’ve got any amount of earrings, heads of fair hair, blue eyes, Johnnies, and, surprisingly, a fair number of carbuncles. But he’s the only one with everything. Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Shufti, still staring at the boy. “My Johnny must have been killed.”

Clogston walked over and lowered her voice.

“In that case, uh, the general did say, informally, that a marriage certificate, a ring, and a widow’s pension could be arranged,” she said.

“Can she do that?” whispered Polly.

“For one of you? Today? You’ll be amazed what can be done,” said Clogston. “Don’t think too badly of her. She means well. She’s a very practical man.”

“No,” said Shufti. “I…it’s…well, no. Thank you, but no.”

“Are you sure?” said Polly.

“Positive,” said Shufti, looking defiant. Since she was not naturally a defying kind of person, it was not quite the look that she thought it was and ought to have been, having overtones of hemorrhoid sufferer, but the effort was there.

Clogston stepped back. “Well, if you’re certain, Private? Fair enough, then. Take that man away, Sergeant.”

“Just a moment,” said Shufti. She walked over to the bewildered Johnny, stood in front of him, held out her hand and said: “Before they take you away again I want my sixpence back, you son of a bitch!”

Polly held out her hand to Clogston, who shook it and smiled. There had been another little victory, of sorts. If the landslide is big enough, even square pebbles will roll.

 

Polly headed back to the rather larger cell that had been made available as the women’s barracks, or at least the barracks for the official women. Men, grown men, had fallen over themselves to put cushions in there, and bring in wood for the fire. It was all very strange. Polly felt they were being treated as something dangerous and fragile, like, say, a huge and wonderful jar full of poison.

She turned the corner into the big courtyard and there was de Worde, with Mr. Chriek. There was no escaping them. They were definitely people looking for someone. The man was dragging out his notebook even as he came toward her, and gave her a look in which reproach was mingled with hope.

“Er…so you’re women, then?” he said.

“Er, yes,” said Polly. That seemed to cover it.

“But you didn’t tell me when we met before,” said de Worde, as if this was some dereliction of manners.

“Sorry. But we didn’t tell you we were men, either.”

De Worde, a man who wrote things down, found a nice new page in his book.

“This is an amazing story,” he said. “You really fought your way here and got in disguised as washerwomen?”

“Well, we were women, and we did do some washing,” said Polly. “I suppose it was quite a cunning disguise, really. We got in by not being disguised, you could say.”

“General Froc and Captain Blouse say they’re very proud of you,” de Worde went on, scribbling.

“Oh, he has got promoted, then?” said Polly.

“Yes, and Froc said you did wonderfully well, for women.”

“Yes, I suppose we did,” said Polly. “Yes. Very well, for women.”

“The general went on to say…” de Worde consulted his notebook, “that you are a credit to the women of your country. I wonder if you’d care to comment?”

He looked innocent, so possibly he didn’t understand the raging argument that had just broken out in Polly’s head. A credit to the women of your country. We’re proud of you. Somehow those words locked you away, put you in your place, patted you on the head and dismissed you with a sweetie. On the other hand, you had to start somewhere…

“That’s very nice of them,” said Polly. “But we just want to get the job done and go home. That’s what soldiers want.” She thought for a moment, and then added: “And hot sweet tea.”

To her amazement, he wrote this down, too.

“Just one last question, miss: do you think the world would be a different place if more women were soldiers?” de Worde asked. He was smiling again, she noted, so this was probably a jokey kind of question.

“Oh, I think you’d have to ask General Froc that,” said Polly. And I’d like to watch her expression if you do…

“Yes, but what do you think, miss?”

“That’s ‘Corporal,’ please.”

“Sorry, Corporal…and?”

The pencil was hovering. Around it, the world turned. It wrote things down, and then they got everywhere. The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press was heavier that the siege weapon. Just a few words can change everything…

“Well,” said Polly, “I—”

There was a sudden bustling around the gates at the other end of the courtyard, and some cavalry officers arrived. They must have been expected, because Zlobenian officers were converging in a great hurry.

“Ah, I see the prince is back,” said de Worde. “He’s probably not going to be happy about the truce. They sent some gallopers out to meet him.”

“Can he do anything about it?”

De Worde shrugged. “He left some very senior officers here. It would be rather shocking if he did.”

The tall figure had dismounted, and was striding toward Polly, or rather, she realized, the big doorway next to her. Frantic clerks and officers trailed after him, and were brushed off. But when a white oblong was waved in front of his face by one man, he grabbed it and stopped so quickly that several other officers bumped into him.

“Um,” said de Worde. “The edition with the cartoon, I expect. Um.”

The paper was thrown down.

“Yes, probably that was it,” de Worde went on.

Heinrich advanced. Now Polly could make out his expression. It was thunderous.

Beside her, de Worde turned over to a fresh page in his notebook and cleared his throat.

“You’re going to talk to him?” said Polly. “In that mood? He’ll cut you down!”

“I have to,” said de Worde. And, as the prince and his retinue reached the doorway, he took a step forward and said, in a voice that cracked slightly, “Your Highness? I wonder if I could have a word?”

Heinrich turned to scowl at him and saw Polly. For a moment, their gazes locked.

The prince’s adjutants knew their master. As the man’s hand flew to his sword, they closed on him in a mob, completely surrounding him, and there was some frantic whispering, in which some rather louder injections from Heinrich on the broad theme of “What?” could be heard, followed by a toccata on “The hell you say!” and a riff in the key of “What, seriously?”

The crowd parted again. The prince slowly and carefully brushed some dust off his spotless jacket, glanced only briefly at Otto and de Worde, and, to Polly’s horror, strolled toward her, suddenly all shiny smiles…

…and with one white-gloved hand extended.

Oh no, she thought. But he’s cleverer than Vimes thinks he is, and he can control his temper. And, suddenly, I’m everyone’s mascot.

“For the good of our great countries,” said Heirich, “it is suggested that we publicly shake the hand of friendship.” He smiled again, or at least allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up.

Because she could think of no other way out, Polly took the huge hand and obediently shook it.

“Oh, ver’ good,” said Otto, grasping his picture box. “I can only take zer vun, of course, because unfortunately I shall haf to use flash. Just vun moment…”

Polly was learning that an art form that happens in a fraction of a second nevertheless needs a long time to take place, allowing a smile to freeze into a mad grimace or, in the worst cases, a death rictus. Otto muttered to himself as he adjusted the equipment.

Heinrich and Polly maintained the grip and stared at the picture box.

“So,” muttered the prince out of the corner of his mouth, “the soldier boy isn’t a soldier boy. That is your good luck!”

Polly kept her fixed grin.

“Do you often menace frightened women?” she said.

“Oh, that was nothing! You are only a peasant girl, after all! What do you know of life? And you showed spirit!”

“Everyvun say chiz!” Otto commanded. “Vun, two, three…oh, bug—”

By the time the after-images had died away, Otto was back on his feet again. “Vun day I really hope to find a filter zat works,” he muttered. “Thank you, everyvun, neverzerless.”

“That was for peace and goodwill between nations,” said Polly, smiling sweetly and letting go of the prince’s hand. She took a step back. “And this, Your Highness, is for me…”

Actually, she didn’t kick. Life was a process of finding out how far you could go too far, and you could probably go too far in finding out how far you could go. But a mere twitch of a leg was enough, just to see the idiot collapse in the ridiculous, knock-kneed, protective crouch that is as instinctive to a man as saving half an onion is to a woman.

She marched away, singing inside. This was not a fairy-tale castle and there was no such thing as a fairy-tale ending, but sometimes you could threaten to kick the handsome prince in the ham-and-eggs.

And now, there was one other little thing.

 

The sun was setting before Polly found Jackrum again, and blood-red light shone through the high windows of the Keep’s biggest kitchen.

He was sitting alone at a long table by the fire, in full uniform. And he was eating a thick slab of bread plastered with pork dripping. A mug of beer was not far from his other hand.

Jackrum looked up as she approached, and nodded companionably toward another chair. Around them, women ran to and fro.

“Pork drippin’ with salt and pepper, and a mug of beer,” he said. “That’s the ticket. You can keep your cuisine. Want a slice?” He waved a hand at one of the kitchen girls who was dancing attendance on him.

“Not right now, Sarge.”

“Sure?” said Jackrum. “There’s an old sayin’: ‘Kissing don’t last, cooking do.’ I hope that it’s one you don’t have cause to reflect upon.”

Polly sat down.

“Kissing is lasting so far,” she said.

“Shufti get sorted out?” said Jackrum. He finished the beer, snapped his fingers at the serving girl, and pointed to the empty mug.

“To her own satisfaction, Sarge,” said Polly.

“Fair enough. You can’t get fairer. So what next, Perks?”

“Dunno, Sarge. I’ll go with Wa—with Alice and the army and see what happens.”

“Best of luck. Look after ’em, Perks, ’cos I ain’t coming,” said Jackrum.

“Sarge?” said Polly, shocked.

“Well, looks like we’re going to be short by one war at present, eh? Anyway, this is it. The end of the road. I’ve done my bit. Can’t go on now. Shot me quiver with the general, and I daresay he, ahem, will be glad to see the back of me. Besides, old age is creepin’ on. I killed five poor devils when we attacked today, and afterwards I found meself wonderin’ why. Not good, that. Time to get out before I blunt me own edge.”

“You’re sure, Sarge?”

“Yeah. Seems to me the ol’ ‘my country right or wrong’ thing has had its day. Time to put my feet up and find out what it is we’ve been fighting for. Sure you won’t have any dripping? It’s got crunchy bits. That’s what I call style, in dripping.”

Polly waved away the proffered slab of grease-smeared bread, and sat in silence while Jackrum engulfed it.

“Funny thing, really,” she said, at last.

“What’s that, Perks?”

“Finding out that it’s not about you. You think you’re the hero, and it turns out you’re really part of someone else’s story. Wazz—Alice will be the one they remember. We just had to get her here.”

Jackrum said nothing but, as Polly would have predicted, pulled his crumpled bag of chewing tobacco out of his pocket.

She slipped a hand in her own pocket and pulled out a small packet. Pockets, she thought. We’ve got to hang on to pockets. A soldier needs pockets.

“Try this, Sarge,” she said. “Go on, open it.”

It was a small, soft leather pouch, with a drawstring. Jackrum held it up so that it twisted this way and that.

“Well, Perks, upon my oath, I am not a swearing man—” he began.

“No, you’re not. I’ve noticed,” said Polly. “But that grubby old paper was getting on my nerves. Why didn’t you ever get a proper pouch made for yourself? One of the saddlers here sewed that up for me in half an hour.”

“Well, that’s life, isn’t it?” said Jackrum. “Every day you think, ‘Ye gods, it’s about time I had a new bag,’ but then it all gets so busy you end up using the old one. Thank you, Perks.”

“Oh, I thought, ‘What can I give the man who has everything?’ and that was all I could afford,” said Polly. “But you don’t have everything, Sarge. Sarge? You don’t, do you…”

She sensed him freeze over. The noises of the kitchen went away, beyond a dome of frigid silence.

“You stop right there, Perks,” he said, lowering his voice.

“I just thought you might like to show someone that locket of yours, Sarge,” said Polly cheerfully. “The one round your neck. And don’t glare at me, Sarge. Oh, yeah, I could walk away and I’d never be sure, really sure, and maybe you’d never show it to anyone else, ever, or tell them the story, and one day we’ll both be dead and…well, what a waste, eh?”

Jackrum glared.

“Upon your oath, you are not a dishonest man,” said Polly. “Good one, Sarge. You told people every day.”

Around them, beyond the dome, the kitchen buzzed with the busyness of women. Women always seemed to be doing things with their hands—holding babies, or pans, or plates, or wool, or a brush, or a needle. Even when they were talking, busyness was happening.

“No one would believe yer,” said Jackrum, at last.

“Who would I want to tell?” said Polly. “And you’re right. No one would believe me. I’d believe you, though.”

Jackrum stared into his fresh mug of beer, as if trying to see the future in the foam. He seemed to reach a decision, pulled the chain out of his noisome undershirt, unfastened the locket, and gently snapped it open.

“There you go,” he said, passing it across. “Much good may it do you.”

There was a miniature painting in each side of the locket: a dark-haired girl, and a blond young man in the uniform of the Ins-and-Outs.

“Good one of you,” said Polly.

“Pull the other one, it has got bells on,” said Jackrum.

“No, honestly,” said Polly. “I look at the picture, and look at you…I can see that face in her face. Paler, of course. Not so…full. And who was the boy?”

“William, his name was,” said Jackrum.

“Your sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“And you followed him into the army…”

“Oh, yeah. Same old story. I was a big strong girl, and…well, you can see the picture. The artist did his best, but I was never an oil painting. Barely a watercolor, really. Where I came from, what a man looked for in a future wife was someone who could lift a pig under each arm. And a couple of days later I was lifting a pig under each arm, helping my dad, and one of my clogs came off in the muck and the ol’ man was yelling at me and I thought: The hell with this, Willie never yelled. Got hold of some men’s clothes, never you mind how, cut my hair right off, kissed the Duchess, and was a Chosen Man within three months.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what we used to call a corporal,” said Jackrum. “Chosen Man. Yeah, I smiled about that, too. And I was on my way. The army’s a piece of piss compared to running a pig farm and looking after three lazy brothers.”

“How long ago was that, Sarge?”

“Couldn’t say, really. I swear I don’t know how old I am, and that’s the truth,” said Jackrum. “Lied about my age so often I ended up believing me.” She began, very carefully, to transfer the chewing tobacco into the new bag.

“And your young man?” said Polly quietly.

“Oh, we had great times, great times,” said Jackrum, stopping for a moment to stare at nothing. “He never got promoted on account of his stutter, but I had a good shouty voice, and officers like that. But Willie never minded, not even when I made it to sergeant. And then he got killed at Sepple, right next to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be, you didn’t kill him,” said Jackrum evenly. “But I stepped over his body and skewered the bugger that did. Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t my fault. We were soldiers. And then a few months later I had a bit of a surprise, and he was called William, too, just like his father. Good job I had a bit of leave, eh? Me gran raised him for me, put him to a trade as an armorer over in Scritz. Good trade, that. No one kills a good armorer. They tell me he looks just like his dad. A captain I met once had bought a bloody good sword off him. Showed it to me, not knowin’ the his’try, o’course. Damn good sword. It had scroll work on the hilt and everything, very classy. He’s married with four kids now, I heard. Got a carriage and pair, servants, big house…yeah, I see you’re paying attention…”

“Wazzer—well, Wazzer and the Duchess said—”

“Yeah, yeah, they talked about Scritz, and a sword,” said Jackrum. “That’s when I knew it wasn’t just me watchin’ over you lads. I knew you’d survive. The old girl needed you.”

“So you’ve got to go there, Sarge,” said Polly.

“Got to? Who says? I’ve served the old girl the whole of my life, and she’s got no call on me now. I’m my own man, always have been.”

“Are you, Sarge?” said Polly.

“Are you crying, Perks?”

“Well…it’s a bit sad, Sarge.”

“Oh, I daresay I sobbed a bit too, once in a while,” said Jackrum, still tucking the tobacco into the new pouch. “But when all’s said and done, I’ve had a good life. Saw the cavalry break at the Battle of Slomp. I was part of the Thin Red Line that turned aside the Heavy Brigade at Sheep’s Drift, I saved the imperial flag from four real bastards at Raladan, and I’ve been to a lot of foreign countries and met some very interesting people, who I mostly subsequently killed before they could do me over good and proper. Lost a lover, still got a son…there’s many a woman who’s faced worse, believe me.”

“And…you spotted other girls…”

“Hah! Became a kind of hobby, really. Most of ’em were frightened little things, running away from god knows what. They got found out soon enough. And there were plenty like Shufti, chasin’ their lad. But there were a few who had what I call the twinkle. A bit of fire, maybe. They just needed pointing in the right direction. I gave them a leg up, you might say. A sergeant’s a powerful man, sometimes. A word here, a nod there, sometimes even doctorin’ some paperwork, a whisper in the dark—”

“—a pair of socks,” said Polly.

“Yeah, that sort of thing,” said Jackrum, grinning. “Always a big concern to them, the whole latrine business. Least of your worries, I used to say. In peace no one cares, in battle everyone takes a piss the same way, and damn quickly, too. Oh, I helped ’em. I was their whatsit, their eminence grease, and grease it was, too, slidin’ them to the top. Jackrum’s Little Lads, I called ’em.”

“And they never suspected?”

“What, suspect Jolly Jack Jackrum, so full of rum and vinegar?” said Jackrum, the old evil grin coming back. “Jack Jackrum, who could stop a bar fight by belchin’? No, sir! I daresay some of ’em suspected something, maybe, I daresay they worked out that there was something going on somewhere, but I was just the big fat sergeant who knew everyone and everything and drank everything, too.”

Polly dabbed at her eyes.

“What are you going to do now, then, if you don’t go to Scritz?”

“Oh, I’ve got a bit put by,” said Jackrum. “More than a bit, in point of actual fact. Pillage, plunder, loot…it all adds up, whatever you call it. I didn’t piss it all up against a wall like the other lads, right? I expect I can remember most of the bleedin’ places I buried it. Always thought I might open an inn, or maybe a knocking shop…oh, a proper high-class place, you don’t have to look at me like that, nothin’ like that stinking tent. No, I’m talkin’ about one with a chef and chandeliers and a lot of red velvet, very exclusive. I’d get some nobby lady to front it and I’d be the bouncer and run the bar. Here’s a tip, lad, for your future career, and it’s one some of the other Little Lads learned for ’emselves: sometimes it’ll help if you visits one of them naughty places, otherwise the men’ll wonder about you. I always used to take a book to read and advise the young lady to get some sleep, ’cos they does a tough job.”

Polly let that pass, but said: “You don’t want to go back and see your grandchildren?”

“Wouldn’t wish meself on him, lad,” said Jackrum firmly. “Wouldn’t dare. My boy’s a well-respected man in the town! What’ve I got to offer? He’ll not want some fat ol’ biddy banging on his back door and gobbing baccy juice all over the place and telling him she’s his mother!”

Polly looked at the fire for a moment, and felt the idea creep into her mind.

“What about a distinguished-looking sergeant major, shiny with braid, loaded with medals, arriving at the front door in a grand coach and telling him he’s his father?” she said.

Jackrum stared.

“Tides of war, and all that,” Polly went on, mind suddenly racing. “Young love. Duty calls. Families scattered. Hopeless searching. Decades pass. Fond memories. Then…oh, an overheard conversation in a bar, yeah, that’d work. Hope springs. A new search. Greasing palms. The recollections of old women. At last, an address—”

“What’re you saying, Perks?”

“You’re a liar, Sarge,” said Polly, leaning forward. “Best I’ve ever heard. One last lie pays for all! Why not? You could show him the locket. You could tell him about the girl you left behind you…”

Jackrum looked away, but said: “You’re a shining bastard of a thinker, Perks. And where would I get a grand coach, anyway?”

“Oh, Sarge! Today? There are…men in high places who’ll give you anything you ask for, right now. You know that. Especially if it meant they’d see the back of you. You never put the bite on them for anything much. If I was you, Sarge, I’d cash in a few favors while you can. That’s the Ins-and-Outs, Sarge. Take the cheese while it’s there, ’cos kissin’ don’t last.”

Jackrum took a deep, long breath.

“I’ll think about it, Perks. Now you push off, all right?”

Polly stood up. “Think hard, Sarge, eh? Like you said, anyone who’s got anyone left is ahead of the game right now. Four grandchildren? I’d be a proud kid if I had a grandad who could spit tobacco juice far enough to hit a fly on the opposite wall.”

“I’m warning you, Perks.”

“It was just a thought, Sarge.”

“Yeah…right,” Jackrum growled.

“Thanks for getting us through it, Sarge.”

Jackrum didn’t turn around.

“I’ll be going then, Sarge.”

“Perks!” said Jackrum, as she reached the door. Polly stepped back into the room.

“Yes, Sarge?”

“I…expected better of ’em, really. I thought they’d be better at it than men. Trouble was, they were better than men at being like men. Hah, they do say the army can make a man of you, eh? So…whatever it is you are going to do next, do it as you. Good or bad, do it as you. Too many lies and there’s no truth to go back to.”

“Will do, Sarge.”

“That’s an order, Perks. Oh…and Perks?”

“Yes, Sarge?”

“Thanks, Perks.”

Polly paused when she got to the door. Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.

 

Six months passed. The world wasn’t perfect, but it was still turning.

Polly had kept the newspaper articles. They weren’t accurate, not in the detail, because the writer told…stories, not what was actually happening. They were like paintings, when you had been there and had seen the real thing.

But it was true about the march on the castle, with Wazzer on a white horse in front, carrying the flag. And it was true about people coming out of their houses and joining the march, so that what arrived at the gates was not an army but a sort of disciplined mob, shouting and cheering. And it was true that the guards had taken one look at it and had seriously reconsidered their future, and that gates had swung open even before the horse had clattered onto the drawbridge. There was no fighting, no fighting at all. The shoe had dropped. The country had breathed out.

Polly didn’t think it was true that the painting of the Duchess, alone on its easel in the big, empty throne room, had smiled when Wazzer walked toward it. Polly had been there and didn’t see, but lots of people swore it had, and you might end up wondering what the truth really was, or whether there was the truth, and then again, if there was also the truth and, of course, THE TRUTH. Anyway, it was the stuff of legends, where accuracy is not required as a major ingredient.

Anyway, it had worked. And then……they went home. A lot of soldiers did, under the fragile truce. The first snows were already falling and, if people had wanted a war, then the winter had given them one. It came with lances of ice and arrows of hunger, it filled the passes with snow, it made the world as distant as the moon…

That was when the old dwarf mines had opened up, and pony after pony emerged. It had always been said there were dwarf tunnels everywhere, and not just tunnels; there were secret canals under the mountains, docks, flights of locks that could lift a barge a mile high in busy darkness, far below the gales on the mountain tops.

They brought, indeed, cabbage and potatoes and roots and apples and barrels of fat, things that kept.

And winter was defeated, and the snowmelt roared down the valleys, and the Kneck scrawled its random wiggles across the flat silt of the valley.

They’d gone home and Polly wondered if they’ve ever really been away. Were we soldiers? she wondered. They’d been cheered on the road to Prince Marmaduke Piotre Albert Hans Joseph Bernhardt Wilhelmsberg, and had been much better treated than their rank deserved, and even had a special uniform designed for them. But the vision of Gummy Abbens kept arising in her mind…

We weren’t soldiers, she decided. We were girls in uniform. We were like a lucky charm. We were mascots. We weren’t real, we were always a symbol of something. We’d done very well, for women. And we were temporary.

Tonker and Lofty were never going to be dragged back to the School now, and they’d gone their own way. Wazzer had joined the general’s household, and had a room of her own and quietness, and made herself useful, and was never beaten. She’d written Polly a letter, in tiny spiky handwriting. She seemed happy; a world without beatings was heaven. Jade and her beau had wandered off to do something more interesting, as trolls very sensibly did. Shufti…had been on a timetable of her own. Maladicta had disappeared. And Igorina, at least, had set up by herself in the capital, dealing with women’s problems, or at least those women’s problems that weren’t men.

And senior officers had given them medals, and watched them go with fixed, faint smiles. Kisses don’t last.

And now it wasn’t that good things were happening, it was just that bad things had stopped. The old women still grumbled, but they were left to grumble. No one had any directions, no one had a map, no one was quite certain who was in charge. There were arguments and debates on every street corner. It was frightening and exhilarating. Every day was an exploration. Polly had worn a pair of Paul’s old trousers to clean the floor of the big bar, and had got barely a “hurrumph” from anyone.

Oh, and the Girls’ Working School had burned down, and on the same day two slim masked figures had robbed a bank. Polly had grinned when she heard that, and hoped that Tonker and Lofty would one day find a way to eat chocolates in a great big room where the world was a different place.

Shufti, who’d somehow always be Shufti to Polly even if the rest of the world now called her Betty again, had moved into The Duchess. Her baby was called Jack. Paul doted on it.

And now…

Someone had been drawing in the gents’ privy again. Polly couldn’t wash it off, so she contented herself with correcting the anatomy. Then she swooshed the place clean—at least, clean by pub urinal standards—with a couple of buckets, and ticked off the chore, just as she did every morning.

When she arrived back in the bar, there were a group of worried men there, talking to her father. They looked mildly frightened when she strode in.

“What’s happening?” she said.

Her father nodded to Gummy Abbens, and everyone stepped back a little. What with the spittle and the bad breath, you never wanted a conversation with Gummy to be particularly intimate.

“The swede-eatersh is at it again!” he said. “They’re gonna invade ’cos of the prince saysh we belong to him now!”

“It’s all down to him being the Duchess’s distant cousin,” said Polly’s father.

“But I heard it still wasn’t settled!” said Polly. “Anyway, there’s still a truce!”

“Sheems like he’sh shettling it,” said Gummy.

The rest of the day passed at an accelerated pace. There were groups of people talking urgently in the streets, and a crowd around the gates to the town hall. Every so often a clerk would come out and nail another communiqué on the gates; the crowd would close over it like a hand, open again like a flower.

Polly elbowed her way to the front, ignoring the mutterings around her, and scanned the sheets.

The same old stuff. They were recruiting again. The same old words. The same old croakings of long-dead soldiers, inviting the living to join them. General Froc might be female, but he was also, as Blouse would have said, “a bit of an old woman.” Either that or the heaviness of those epaulettes had weighed her down.

Kissing don’t last. Oh, the Duchess had come alive before them and turned the world upside down for a spell and maybe they had all decided to be better people, and out of certain oblivion had come a space to breathe.

And then…had it really happened? Even Polly sometimes wondered, and she had been there. Was it just a voice in their heads, some kind of hallucination? Weren’t soldiers in desperate straits famous for seeing visions of gods and angels? And somewhere in the course of the long winter the miracle had faded, and people had said, “Yes, but we’ve got to be practical.”

All we were given was a chance, thought Polly. No miracle, no rescue, no magic. Just a chance.

She walked back to the inn, her mind buzzing. When she got there, a package was waiting. It was quite long and heavy.

“It came all the way from Scritz on the cart,” said Shufti excitedly. She’d been working in the kitchen. It had become, now, her kitchen. “I wonder what it can be?” she said pointedly.

Polly levered the lid off the rough wooden crate, and found that it was full of straw with an envelope lying on top of it. She opened it.

Inside was an iconograph. It looked expensively done, a stiff family group with curtains and a potted palm in the background to give everything a bit of style. On the left, was a middle-aged man looking proud; on the right, was a woman of about the same age, looking rather puzzled but nevertheless pleased because her husband was happy; and here and there, staring at the viewer with variations of smile and squint and expressions that ran from interest to a sudden recollection that they should have gone to the toilet before posing, were children ranging from tall and gangly to small and smugly sweet.

And sitting on a chair in the middle, the focus of it all, was Sergeant Jackrum, shining like the sun.

Polly stared and then turned the picture over. On the back was written, in big black letters: “SM Jackrum’s Last Stand!” and, underneath, “Don’t need these.”

She smiled and pulled aside the straw. In the middle of the box, wrapped in cloth, were a couple of cutlasses.

“Is that old Jackrum?” said Shufti, picking up the picture.

“Yes. He’s found his son,” said Polly, unwinding a blade. Shufti shuddered when she saw it.

“Evil things,” she said.

“Things, anyway,” said Polly. She laid both the cutlasses on the table, and was about to lift the box out of the way when she saw something small in the straw at the bottom. It was oblong and wrapped in thin leather.

It was a notebook with a cheap binding and musty yellowing pages.

“What’s that?” said Shufti.

“I think it’s his address book,” said Polly, flicking through the pages.

This is it, she thought. It’s all here. Generals and majors and captains, oh my. There must be…hundreds. Maybe a thousand! Names, real names, promotions, dates…everything…

She pulled out a white pasteboard rectangle that had been inserted like a bookmark. It showed a rather florid coat of arms and bore the printed legend:

---

---

Someone had crossed out the “p” in “frep” and penciled in an “e” above it.

It was a sudden strange fancy…

How many ways can you fight a war? Polly wondered. We have the clacks now. I know a man who writes things down. The world turns. Plucky little countries seeking self-determination…could be useful to big countries with plans of their own.

Time to grab the cheese.

Polly’s expression as she stared at the wall would have frightened a number of important people.

They would have been even more concerned about the fact that she spent the next several hours writing things down, because it occurred to Polly that General Froc had not got where she was today by being stupid, and therefore she could profit from following her example. She copied out the entire notebook, and sealed it in an old jam jar, which she hid in the roof of the stables. She wrote a few letters. And she got her uniform out of the wardrobe and inspected it critically.

The uniforms that had been made for them had a special, additional quality that could only be called…girly. They had more braid, they were better tailored, and they had a long skirt with a bustle rather than trousers. The shakos had plumes, too.

Her tunic had a sergeant’s stripes. It had been a joke. A sergeant of women. The world had been turned upside down, after all.

They’d been mascots, good-luck charms…And, perhaps, on the march to Prince Marmaduke Piotre Albert Hans Joseph Bernhardt Wilhelmsberg a joke was what everyone needed. But, maybe, when the world turns upside down, you can turn a joke upside down, too. Thank you, Gummy, even though you didn’t know what it was you were teaching me. When they’re laughing at you, their guard is down. When their guard is down, you can kick them in the fracas.

She examined herself in the mirror. Her hair, now, was just long enough to be a nuisance without being long enough to be attractive, so she brushed it and left it at that. She put the uniform on, but with the skirt over her trousers, and tried to put aside the nagging feeling that she was dressing up as a woman.

There. She looked completely harmless. She looked slightly less harmless with both cutlasses and one of the horse-bows on her back, especially if you knew that the inn’s dartboards now all had deep holes in the bull’s-eyes from all the practicing.

She crept along the hall to the window that overlooked the inn yard. Paul was up a ladder, repainting the sign. Her father was steadying the ladder and calling out instructions in his normal way, which was to call out the instruction just a second or two after you’d already started doing something. And Shufti was watching them, holding Jack.

It made a lovely picture. For a moment, she wished she had a locket.

The Duchess was smaller than she’d thought. But if you had to protect it by standing in the doorway with a sword, you were too late. Caring for small things had to start with caring for big things, and maybe the world wasn’t big enough.

The note she left on her dressing table read:

“Shufti, I hope you and Jack are happy here. Paul, you look after her. Dad, I’ve never taken any wages, but I need a horse. I’ll try to have it sent back. I love you all. If I don’t come back, burn this letter and look in the roof of the stables.”

She dropped out of the window, saddled up a horse in the stables, and let herself out of the back gate. She didn’t mount up until she was out of earshot, and then rode down to the river.

Spring was pouring through the country. Sap was rising. In the woods, a ton of timber was growing every minute. Everywhere, birds were singing.

There was a guard on the ferry. He eyed her nervously as she led the horse aboard, and then grinned when he saw what he thought were stripes that didn’t really mean much.

“’Morning, miss!” he said cheerfully.

Oh, well…time to start. Polly marched in front of the puzzled man.

“Are you trying to be smart?” she demanded, inches from his face.

“No, miss—”

“That’s ‘Sergeant,’ mister!” said Polly. “Let’s try again, shall we? I said, are you trying to be smart?”

“No, Sergeant!”

Polly leaned until her nose was an inch from his.

“Why not?”

The grin faded. This was not a soldier on the fast track to promotion.

“Huh?” he managed.

“If you are not trying to be smart, mister, you’re happy to be stupid!” shouted Polly. “And I’m up to here with stupid, understand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what, soldier?”

“Yeah, but…well…but…nothing, Sergeant,” said the soldier.

“That’s good.” Polly nodded at the ferry men. “Time to go?” she suggested, but in the tones of an order.

“Couple of people just coming down the road, Sergeant,” said one of them, a faster man with an uptake.

They waited. There were, in fact, three people. One of them was Maladicta, in full female uniform.

Polly said nothing until the ferry was out in midstream. The vampire gave her the kind of smile only a vampire can give. It would have been sheepish, if sheep had different teeth.

“Thought I’d try again,” she said.

“We’ll find Blouse,” said Polly.

“He’s a major now,” said Maladicta. “And happy as a flea because they’ve named a kind of fingerless glove after him, I heard. What do we want him for?”

“He knows about the clacks. He knows about other ways war can be fought. With intelligence, for one thing. And I know…people,” said Polly.

“Ah. Do you mean the ‘Upon my oath, I am not a lying man, but I know people’ kind of people?”

“Those were the kind of people I had in mind, yes.” The river slapped against the side of the ferry.

“Good,” said Maladicta.

“I don’t know where it’s going to lead, though,” said Polly.

“Ah. Even better.”

At which point, Polly decided that she knew enough of the truth to be going on with. The enemy wasn’t men, or women, or the old, or even the dead. It was just bleedin’ stupid people, who came in all varieties. And no one had the right to be stupid.

She looked at the other two passengers who’d sidled aboard. They were country lads in ragged, ill-fitting clothes, keeping away from her and staring intently at the deck. But one glance was enough. The world turned upside down, and history repeated itself. For some reason, that suddenly made her feel very happy.

“Going to join up, lads?” she said cheerily.

There was some mumbling on the theme of “yes.”

“Good. Then stand up straight,” said Polly. “Let’s have a look at you. Chins up. Ah. Well done. Shame you didn’t practice walking in trousers, and I notice you didn’t bring an extra pair of socks.”

They stared, mouths open.

“What are your names?” said Polly. “Your real names, please? Don’t look so worried. You can tell me the truth. And don’t try cunning on me, because I was trained by Mister Fox.”

“Er…Rosemary,” one of them began.

“I’m Mary,” said the other. “I heard girls were joining, but everyone laughed, so I thought I’d better pretend to—”

“Oh, you can join as men if you want,” said Polly.

The girls looked at one another.

“You get better swearwords,” said Polly. “And the trousers are useful. But it’s your choice.”

“A choice?” said Rosemary.

“Certainly,” said Polly. She put a hand on a shoulder of each girl, winked at Maladicta, and added: “You are my little lads—or not, as the case may be—and I will look after…you.”

And the new day was a great big fish.