MR 9

[KingSize]

sarge I could do something better but he said the lieutenant said how
good it was last
night—’
A small wild turkey, a brace of pheasants and a couple of rabbits, all
tied together,
landed in front of Shufti.
‘Good job we were guarding you, eh?’ said Tonker, grinning and
whirring an
empty sling around in one hand. ‘One rock, one lunch. Maladict’s
staying on guard.
He said he’ll smell anyone before they see him and he’s too edgy to
eat. What can you
do with that lot?’
‘Casserole of game,’ said Shufti firmly. ‘We’ve got the veg and I’ve
still got half
an onion.* I’m sure I can make an oven out of one of those—’
* A woman always has half an onion left over, no matter what the size
of the
onion, the dish or the woman.
‘On your feet! Attention!’ snapped the silently moving Jackrum, behind
them. He
stood back with a faint smile on his face as they scrambled to their
feet. ‘Private
Halter, I must have bleedin’ amazin’ eyesight,’ he said, when they
were
approximately upright.
‘Yes, sarge,’ said Tonker, staring straight ahead.
‘Can you guess why, Private Halter?’
‘No, sarge.’
‘It’s because I knows you are on perimeter guard, Halter, but I can
see you as clear
as if you was standing right here in front of me, Halter! Can’t I,
Halter?’
‘Yes, sarge!’
‘It’s just as well you are still on perimeter duty, Halter, because
the penalty for
absenting yourself from your post in time of war is death, Halter!’
‘I only—’
‘No onlys! I don’t want to hear no onlys! I don’t want you to think
that I am a
shouty man, Halter! Corporal Strappi was a shouty man, but he was a
damn political!
Upon my oath I am not a shouty man but if you ain’t back at your post
inside of thirty
seconds I’ll rip yer tongue out!’
Tonker fled. Sergeant Jackrum cleared his throat and continued, in a
level voice:
‘This, my lads, is what we call a real orientation lectchoor, not one
of the fancy
political ones like Strappi gave yer.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The
purpose of this
lectchoor is to let you know where we are. We are in the deep cack. It
couldn’t be
worse if it was raining arseholes. Any questions?’
Since there were none from the bemused recruits, he continued, while
beginning a
slow stroll around the squad, ‘We know enemy forces are in the area.
Currently they
have no boots. But there will be others with boots aplenty. Also,
there may be
deserters in the area. They will not be nice people! They will be
impolite! Therefore
Lieutenant Blouse has decreed that we will travel off the roads and by
night. Yes, we
have met the enemy, and we have prevailed. That was a fluke. They
weren’t
expecting you to be rough, tough soldiers. Nor were you, so I don’t
want you to feel
cocky about it.’ He leaned forward until his face was inches from
Polly’s. ‘Are you
feeling cocky, Private Perks?’
‘No, sarge!’
‘Good. Good.’ Jackrum stepped back. ‘We are heading for the front,
lads. The war.
And in a nasty war, where’s the best place to be? Apart from on the
moon, o’ course?
No one?’
Slowly, Jade raised a hand.
‘Go on, then,’ said the sergeant.
‘In the army, sarge,’ said the troll.’ ‘cos . . .’ She began to count
on her fingers.
‘One, you got weapons an’ armour an’ dat. Two, you are surrounded by
other armed
men. Er . . . Many, youse gettin’ paid and gettin’ better grub than
the people in
Civilian Street. Er . . . Lots, if’n you gives up, you getting taken
pris’ner and dere’s
rules about that like Not Kicking Pris’ners Inna Head and stuff, ‘cos
if you kick their
pris’ners inna head they’ll kick your pris’ners inna head so dat’s,
like, you’re kickin’
your own head, but dere’s no rule say you can’t kick enemy civilians
inna head.
There’s other stuff too, but I ran outa numbers.’ She gave them a
diamond grin. ‘We
may be slow but we ain’t stoopid,’ she added.
‘I am impressed, private,’ said Jackrum. ‘And you are right. The only
wasp in the
jam is that you ain’t soldiers! But I can help you there. Bein’ a
soldier is not hard. If it
was, soldiers would not be able to do it. There is only three things
you need to
remember, which are, viz: one obey orders two give it to the enemy
good and hard
three don’t die. Got that? Right! You’re nearly there! Well done! I
propose to assist
you in the execution of all three! You are my little lads and I will
look after you! In
the meantime, you got duties! Shufti, get cooking! Private Perks, see
to the rupert!
And after that, practise your shaving! I will now visit those on guard
and deliver unto
them the holy word! Dismissed!’
They remained at something like attention until he was probably out of
earshot,
and then sagged.
‘Why does he always shout?’ said Shufti. ‘I mean, he only has to
ask . . .’
Polly upended the horrible scubbo into a tin bowl, and almost ran to
the
lieutenant’s shelter. He looked up from a map and smiled at her as if
she was
delivering a feast.
‘Ah, scubbo,’ he said.
‘We are actually having other stuff, sir,’ Polly volunteered. ‘I’m
sure there’s
enough to go round—’
‘Good heavens, no, it’s been years since I’ve had food like this,’
said Blouse,
picking up the spoon. ‘Of course, at school we didn’t appreciate it so
much.’
‘You had food like this at school, sir?’ said Polly.
‘Yes. Most days,’ said Blouse happily.
Polly couldn’t quite fit this in her head. Blouse was a nob. Nobs ate
nobby food,
didn’t they? ‘Had you done something bad, sir?’
‘I can’t imagine what you mean, Perks,’ said Blouse, slurping at the
horrible thin
gruel. ‘Are the men rested?’
‘Yes, sir. The dead people were a bit of a shock—’
‘Yes. Bad business,’ sighed the lieutenant. ‘Such is war, alas. I am
only sorry you
had to learn so fast. Such a terrible waste all the time. I am sure
things can be sorted
out when we reach Kneck, though. No general can expect young men like
yourselves
to be instant soldiers. I shall have something to say about that.’ His
rabbity features
looked unusually determined, as if a hamster had spotted a gap in its
treadmill.
‘Do you require me for anything else, sir?’ said Polly.
‘Er . . . do the men talk about me, Perks?’
‘Not really, sir, no.’
The lieutenant looked disappointed. ‘Oh. Oh, well. Thank you. Perks.’
Polly wondered if Jackrum ever slept. She did a spell of guard duty,
and he stepped
out from behind her with ‘Guess who, Perks! You’re on lookout. You
should see the
dreadful enemy before they see you. What’re the four Ss?’
‘Shape, shadow, silhouette and shine, sarge!’ said Polly, snapping to
attention.
She’d been expecting this.
That caused a moment’s pause from the sergeant before he said: ‘Just
knew that,
did yer?’
‘Nosir! A little bird told me when we changed guard, sir! Said you’d
asked him,
sir!’
‘Oh, so Jackrum’s little lads are gangin’ up on their kindly ol’
sergeant, are they?’
said Jackrum.
‘Nosir. Sharing information important to the squad in a vital survival
situation,
sarge!’
‘You’ve got a quick mouth on you, Perks, I’ll grant you that.’
‘Thank you, sarge!’
‘But I see you’re not standing in a bleedin’ shadow, Perks, nor have
you done
anything to change your bleedin’ shape, you’re silhouetted against the
bleedin’ light
and your sabre’s shining like a diamond in a chimney-sweep’s bleedin’
ear’ole!
Explain!’
‘It’s because of the one C, sarge!’ said Polly, still staring straight
ahead.
‘And that is?’
‘Colour, sarge! I’m wearing bleedin’ red and white in a bleedin’ grey
forest,
sarge!’
She risked a sideways glance. In Jackrum’s little piggy eyes there
gleamed a
gleam. It was the one you got when he was secretly pleased.
‘Ashamed of your lovely, lovely uniform, Perks?’ he said.
‘Don’t want to be seen dead in it, sarge,’ said Polly.
‘Hah. As you were, Perks.’
Polly smiled, straight ahead.
When she came off guard for a bowl of game casserole, Jackrum was
teaching
basic swordcraft to Lofty and Tonker, using hazel sticks as swords. By
the time Polly
had finished he was teaching Wazzer some of the finer points of using
a highperformance
pistol crossbow, especially the one about not turning round with it
cocked and saying ‘W-what is this bit for, sarge?’ Wazzer handled
weapons like a
houseproud woman disposing of a dead mouse - at arm’s length and
trying not to
look. But even she was better with them than Igor, who just didn’t
seem at home with
the idea of what was, to him, d surgery.
Jade was dozing. Maladict was hanging by his knees under the roof of
one of the
sheds, with his arms folded across his chest; he must have been
telling the truth when
he said there were some aspects of being a vampire that were hard to
give up.
Igor and Maladict . . .
She still wasn’t sure about Maladict, but Igor had to be a boy, with
those stitches
around the head, and that face that could only be called homely.* He
was quiet, and
neat, but maybe that’s how Igors behaved . . .
* And even then it was the kind of home that has a burned-out vehicle
on the lawn.
She woke up with Shufti shaking her.
‘We’re moving! Better go and see to the rupert!’
‘What? Huh? Oh . . . right!’ \
There was a bustle all around her. Polly staggered to her feet and
hurried over to
Lieutenant Blouse’s shed, where he was standing in front of his
wretched horse and
holding the bridle with a lost expression.
‘Ah, Perks,’ he said. ‘I’m not at all sure I’m doing this right . . .’
‘No, sir. You’ve got the waffles twisted and the snoffles are upside
down,’ said
Polly, who’d often helped in the inn’s yard.
‘Ah, that would be why he was so difficult last night,’ said Blouse.
‘I suppose I
ought to know this sort of thing, but at home we had a man to do
it . . .’
‘Let me, sir,’ said Polly. She untwisted the bridle with a few careful
movements.
‘What’s his name, sir?’
Thalacephalos,’ said Blouse sheepishly. ‘That was the legendary
stallion of
General Tacticus, you know.’
‘I didn’t know that, sir,’ said Polly. She leaned back and glanced
between the
horse’s rear legs. Wow, Blouse really was short-sighted, wasn’t
he . . .
The mare looked at her partly with its eyes, which were small and
evil, but mostly
with its yellowing teeth, of which it had an enormous amount. She had
the impression
that it was thinking about sniggering.
‘I’ll hold him for you while you mount, sir,’ she said.
‘Thank you. He certainly moves about a bit when I try!’
‘I expect he does, sir,’ said Polly. She knew about difficult horses;
this one had all
the hallmarks of a right bastard, one of those not cowed at all by the
obvious
superiority of the human race.
The mare eyeballed and yellowtoothed her as Blouse mounted, but Polly
had
positioned herself carefully away from the uprights of the shelter.
Thalacephalos
wasn’t the sort to buck and kick. She was the sneaky kind, Polly could
see, the sort
that stepped on your foot—
She moved her foot just as the hoof came down. But Thalacephalos,
angry at being
thwarted, turned, twisted, lowered her head, and bit Polly sharply on
the rolled-up
socks.
‘Bad horse!’ said Blouse severely. ‘Sorry about that, Perks. I think
he’s anxious to
get to the fray! Oh, my word!’ he added, looking down. ‘Are you all
right, Perks?’
‘Well, he’s pulling a bit, sir—’ said Polly, being dragged sideways.
Blouse had
gone white again.
‘But he’s bitten . . . he’s caught you by the . . . right on
the . . .’
The penny dropped. Polly looked down, and hastily remembered what
she’d heard
during numerous rule-free bar fights.
‘Oh . . . ooo . . argh . . . blimey! Right inna fruit! Aargh!’ she
lamented, and then,
since it seemed a good idea at the time, brought both fists down
heavily on the mare’s
nose. The lieutenant fainted.
It took some time to bring Blouse round, but at least it gave Polly
time to think.
He opened his eyes and focused on her.
‘Er, you fell off your horse, sir,’ Polly volunteered.
‘Perks? Are you all right? Dear boy, he had you by the—’
‘Only needs a few stitches, sir!’ said Polly cheerfully.
‘What? From Igor?’
‘Nosir. Just the cloth, sir,’ said Polly. ‘The trousers are a bit big
for me, sir.’
‘Ah, right. Too big, eh? Phew, eh? Near miss there, eh? Well, I
mustn’t lie around
here all day—’
The squad helped him on to Thalacephalos, who was still sniggering
unrepentantly. On the subject of ‘too big’, Polly made a mental note
to do something
about his jacket next time they stopped. She wasn’t much good with a
needle, but if
Igor couldn’t do something to make it look better then he wasn’t the
man she thought
he was. And that was a sentence that begged a question.
Jackrum bellowed them into order. They were better at that now.
Neater, too.
‘All right, Ins-and-Outs! Tonight we—’
A set of huge yellow teeth removed his cap.
‘Oh, I do apologize, sergeant!’ said Blouse behind him, trying to rein
back the
mare.
‘No bother, sir, these things happen!’ said Jackrum, furiously tugging
his hat back.
‘I should like to address my men, sergeant.’
‘Oh? Er . . . yes, sir,’ said Jackrum, looking worried. ‘Of course,
sir. Ins-and-Outs!
Attenwaitforitshun!’
Blouse coughed. ‘Er . . . men,’ he said. ‘As you know, we must make
all speed to
the Kneck valley where, apparently, we are needed. Travelling by night
will prevent .
. . entanglements. Er . . . I. . .’ He stared at them, his face
contorted by some inner
struggle. ‘Er . . . I have to say I don’t think we are . . . that is,
all the evidence is . . . er
. . . it doesn’t seem to me that . . . er . . . I think I should tell
you . . . er . . .’
‘Permission to speak, sir?’ said Polly. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘We just have to hope that those put in power over us are making the
right
decisions,’ mumbled Blouse. ‘But I have every confidence in you and I
am sure you
will do your best. Long live the Duchess! Carry on, Sergeant Jackrum.’
‘Ins-and-Outs! Form up! March!’
And they headed into the dusk and off to war.
The order of march was as last night, with Maladict going on ahead.
The clouds
were holding in some heat, and were thin enough to hint at moonlight
here and there.
Forests by night held no problems for Polly, and this wasn’t true wild
forest in any
case. Nor was it, in truth, a march that they were doing. It was more
like a high-speed
creep, in ones and twos.
She’d acquired two of the horsebows, now stuck awkwardly between the
straps of
her pack. They were horrible things, rather like a cross between a
small crossbow and
a clock. There were mechanisms in the thick shaft, and the bow itself
was barely six
inches across; somehow, if you leaned your weight on it, you could
cock it with
enough stored energy to fire a nasty little metal arrow through an
inch-thick plank.
They were blued metal, sleek and evil. But there is an old milit’ry
saying: better me
firing it at you than you firing it at me, you bastard.
Polly eased her way along the line until she was walking alongside
Igor. He
nodded to her in the gloom, and then turned his attention to walking.
He needed to,
because his pack was twice the size of the rest of them. No one felt
inclined to ask
him what was in it; sometimes, you thought you could hear liquid
sloshing.
Igors sometimes passed through Munz, although technically they were an
Abomination in the eyes of Nuggan. It had seemed to Polly that using
bits of someone
who was dead to help three or four other people stay alive was a
sensible idea, but in
the pulpit Father Jupe had argued that Nuggan didn’t want people to
live, he wanted
them to live properly. There had been general murmurs of agreement
from the
congregation, but Polly knew for a fact that there were a couple of
people sitting there
with a hand or arm or leg that was a little less tanned or a little
more hairy than the
other one. There were lumberjacks everywhere in the mountains.
Accidents happened,
fast, sudden accidents. And, since there were not many jobs for a one-
armed
lumberjack, men went off and found an Igor to do what no amount of
prayer could
manage.
The Igors had a motto: What goes around, comes around. You didn’t have
to pay
them back. You had to pay them forward, and that, frankly, was the bit
where people
got worried. When you were dying, an Igor would mysteriously arrive on
the doorstep
and request that he be allowed to take away any bits urgently needed
by others on his
‘little litht’. He’d be quite happy to wait until the priest had gone
and, it was said,
when the time came he’d do very neat work. However, it happened quite
often that
when an Igor turned up the prospective donor took fright and turned to
Nuggan, who
liked whole people. In which case the Igor would quietly and politely
leave, and never
come back. He’d never come back to the whole village, or the whole
lumber camp.
Nor would other Igors. What goes around comes around - or stops.
As far as Polly could tell, Igors believed that the body was nothing
more than a
more complicated kind of clothing. Oddly enough, that’s what
Nugganites thought,
too.
‘Glad you joined, Igor?’ said Polly, as they jogged along.
‘Yeth, Ozz.’
‘Could you take a look at the rupert’s hand next time we stop, please?
He’s cut it
badly.’
‘Yeth, Ozz.’
‘Can I ask you something, Igor?’
‘Yeth, Ozz.’
‘What’re female Igors called, Igor?’
Igor stumbled and kept moving. He” was silent for a while, and then
said: ‘All
right, what did I do wrong?’
‘Sometimes you forget to lisp,’ said Polly. ‘But mostly . . . it’s
just a feeling. Little
things about the way you move, maybe.’
‘The word you’re looking for is “Igorina”,’ said Igorina. ‘We don’t
lisp as much as
the boys.’
They continued in more silence until Polly said, ‘I thought it was bad
enough
cutting my hair—’
‘The stitches?’ said Igorina. ‘I can have them out in five minuteth.
They’re just for
show.’
Polly hesitated. But, after all, Igors had to be trustworthy, didn’t
they? ‘You didn’t
cut your hair?’
‘Actually, I just removed it,’ said Igorina.
‘I put mine in my pack,’ Polly went on, trying not to look at the
stitches around
Igorina’s head.
‘So did I,’ said Igorina. ‘In a jar. It’s thtill growing.’
Polly swallowed. You needed a lack of graphic imagination to talk
about personal
issues with an Igor. ‘Mine was stolen back at the barracks. I’m sure
it was Strappi,’
she said.
‘Oh dear.’
‘I hate to think of him with it!’
‘Why did you bring it?’
And that was the question. She’d planned, and she’d been good at
planning. She’d
fooled the rest of them, even. She’d been cool and sensible and she
hadn’t felt more
than a faint pang at cutting off her hair—
—and she’d brought it with her. Why? She could have thrown it away. It
wasn’t
magic. It was just hair. She could have thrown it away, just like
that. Easily. But . . .
but . . . ah, right, the maids could have found it. That was it. She
had to get it out of
the house quickly. Right. And then she could bury it somewhere when
she was a long
way away. Right.
But she hadn’t, had she . . .
She’d been very busy. Right, said the little voice in inner treachery.
She had been
very busy fooling everyone but herself, right?
‘What could Strappi do?’ said Igorina. ‘Jackrum’d knock him over the
moment he
thaw him. He’s a deserter, and a thief!’
‘Yes, but he could tell someone,’ said Polly.
‘Okay, then say it’s a lock of hair from the sweetheart you left
behind you. Lots of
soldiers carry a locket or something like that. You know: “Her golden
hair in ringletth
fair”, like the song says.’
‘It was all my hair! A locket? You couldn’t hold it all in your hat!’
‘Ah,’ said Igorina. ‘Then you could thay you loved her very much?’
Despite everything, Polly started to laugh, and couldn’t stop herself.
She bit her
sleeve and tried to keep going, with her shoulders shaking.
Something that felt like a small tree prodded her; in the back. ‘Youse
two oughta
keep der noise down,’ rumbled Jade.
‘Sorry. Sorry,’ hissed Polly.
Igorina started to hum. Polly knew the song.
I’m lonesome since I crossed the hill
And o’er the moor and valley . . .
And she vowed: not that one, too. One song is enough. And I want to
leave the girl
behind me, but it seems I brought her with me . . . At which point
they emerged from
the trees and saw the red glow.
The rest of the squad were already gathered round, watching it. It
covered quite a
lot of the horizon, and brightened and faded in places as they
watched.
‘Is that hell?’ said Wazzer.
‘No, but men have made it so, I fear,’ said the lieutenant. ‘That is
the Kneck
valley.’
‘It’s on fire, sir?’ said Polly.
‘Bless you, that’s just the light of cooking-fires reflected off the
clouds,’ said
Sergeant Jackrum. ‘Always looks bad by night, a battlefield. Not to
worry, lads!’
‘What’re they cooking, elephants?’ said Maladict.
‘And what’s that?’ said Polly, pointing to a nearby hill, darker still
against the
night. On it, a little light was flickering on and off, very fast.
There was a whoosh and a metallic ‘pop’ as Blouse pulled out a small
telescope
and opened it up. ‘It’s a light clacks, the devils!’ he said.
‘Dere’s another one over dere,’ rumbled Jade, pointing to a hill a lot
further away.
‘Twinkle, twinkle.’
Polly stared at the redness in the sky, and then at the cold little
light, winking on
and off. Quiet, soft light. Harmless light. And behind it, a burning
sky . . .
‘It’ll be in code,’ said Blouse. ‘Spies, I’ll be bound.’
‘A light clacks?’ said Tonker. ‘What’s that?’
‘An Abomination in the eyes of Nuggan,’ said Blouse. ‘Unfortunately,
because
they’d be damn useful if we could have ‘em too, eh, sergeant?’
‘Yessir,’ said Jackrum automatically.
‘The only messages passing through the air should be the prayers of
the faithful.
Praise Nuggan, Praise the Duchess and so on and so forth,’ said
Blouse, squinting. He
sighed. ‘Such a shame. How far to that hill, would you say, sergeant?’
‘Two miles, sir,’ said Jackrum. ‘Worth trying to sneak up?’
‘They must know people will see them and come looking, so I expect
they won’t
“hang around” for long’ mused Blouse. ‘In any case, ah, those things
would be highly
directional. You’d lose it once you got down in the valley.’
‘Permission to speak, sir?’ said Polly.
‘Of course,’ said Blouse.
‘How do they get the light so bright, sir? It’s pure white!’
‘Some kind of firework thingy, I believe. Why?’
‘And they send messages with light?’
‘Yes, Perks. And your point is . . . ?’
‘And the people who get those messages send messages back the same
way?’ Polly
persevered.
‘Yes, Perks, that is the whole idea.’
‘Then . . . maybe we don’t have to go all the way to that hill, sir?
The light is being
aimed towards us, sir.’
They all turned. The hill they were skirting loomed above them.
‘Well done, Perks!’ Blouse whispered. ‘Let’s go, sergeant!’ He swung
himself off
the horse, which automatically stepped sideways to make sure that he
fell over when
he landed.
‘Right you are, sir!’ said Jackrum, helping him up. ‘Maladict, you
take Goom and
Halter and circle round to the left, the rest go round to the right -
not you,
Carborundum, no offence, but this has got to be quiet, okay? You stay
here. Perks,
you come with me—’
‘I shall come too, sergeant,’ said Blouse, and only Polly saw Jackrum
grimace.
‘Good idea, sir!’ said the sergeant. ‘I suggest you - I suggest Perks
and I come with
you. Everyone got that? Get to the top neat and quiet and no one, no
one moves until
you hear my signal—’
‘My signal,’ said Blouse firmly.
‘That’s what I meant, sir. Quick and quiet! Hit ‘em hard but I want at
least one left
alive! Go!’
The two teams fanned out to right and left and disappeared. The
sergeant gave
them a minute or two’s start, and then set off with unusual speed for
a man of his
girth, so that for a moment Polly and the lieutenant were left
standing. Behind them, a
dejected Jade watched them go.
The trees thinned out on the steep slope, but not enough for much
underbrush to
get a hold. Polly found it easier to go on all fours, grabbing at
tufts and saplings to
steady herself. After a while she caught a whiff of smoke, chemical
and acrid.
She was sure, too, that she could hear a faint clicking noise.
A tree extended a hand and pulled her into its shadow. ‘Don’t you say
a bleedin’
word,’ hissed Jackrum. ‘Where’s the rupert?’
‘Don’t know, sarge!’
‘Damn! You can’t let a rupert run’ around loose, there’s no tellin’
what he might
take it into his little head to do, now he’s got the idea he’s in
charge! You’re ‘is
minder! Find ‘im!’
Polly slithered back down the slope and found Blouse steadying himself
against a
tree, wheezing gently.
‘Ah . . . Perks,’ he panted. ‘My asthma seems to . . . be . . . coming
back . . .’
‘I’ll help you up, sir,’ said Polly, grabbing his hand and tugging him
forward.
‘Could you wheeze a little more quietly, sir?’
By degrees, dragging and pushing, she bundled the man up to Jackrum’s
tree.
‘Glad you could join us, sir!’ hissed the sergeant, face contorted
into an expression
of maddened affability. ‘If you’d care to wait here, Perks and me will
crawl up the—’
‘I’m coming too, sergeant,’ Blouse insisted.
Jackrum hesitated. ‘Yessir,’ he said. ‘But with respect, sir, I know
about
skirmishing—’
‘Let’s go, sergeant,’ said Blouse, dropping flat and beginning to drag
himself
forward.