MR 22

[KingSize]

‘I don’t think she would have wanted us to give in,’ said Polly.
No.
‘Did you hear that?’ said Polly, although she wasn’t certain that 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 round 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, it’s the very basis—’
Duck.
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.
‘Good lads,’ said Jackrum. ‘With your permission, General Froc?’
He did not wait for a reply but marched forward with parade-ground
precision. He
came to boot-crashing attention in front of the senior generals, 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 Backwardsand-
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 towards 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 nothing 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 round 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!’
‘Well, 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 new-fangled ways. Your choice, sir!’
At last, Froc coloured. 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 Froc. 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 . . .’
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 into the
corridor.
‘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’d 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 braces.
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, 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 towards 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 own 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 rushing 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 towards 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 round 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 than 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
icefield.
‘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 have 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 evillest 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 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 towards 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 bought 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 her 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 honourable 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 theatre 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?’
‘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.
You all kissed the Duchess . . .
‘Did you think that it meant nothing? That it was just a kiss?’
Did you think it meant nothing . . .
. . . just a kiss . . .
The whispered words washed against the walls like surf, and came back
stronger,
in harmonies.
Did you kiss meant nothing meant a kiss just think a kiss meant a
kiss. . .»
Wazzer was standing up. The squad stood petrified as she walked
unsteadily past
them. Her eyes focused on Polly.
‘How good to wear a body again,’ she said. ‘And to breathe. Breathing
is
wonderful . . .’
How good . . .
To breathe wonderful a body again to breathe. . .
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 deep. No one would ever have said that Wazzer’s voice had been
attractive but
this one was. She turned to Jackrum, who dropped on to 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 echo at all in the voice now, and none of Wazzer’s
cowering and
downcast eyes. She positioned herself directly in front of Froc, who
was staring with
his 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 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 . . . my boy . . .’
. . . my boy . . . 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 amongst you
who for the
sake of my memory will not die in battle?’ Wazzer’s head turned and
looked along
the row. ‘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.’
. . . a kiss . . .
. . . a kiss a kiss return to you kiss . . .
. . . remember . . .
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 heaven, 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 . . .’ She 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 shouting 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.
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 than 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 her 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. ‘When I
tell the general about our little fight? And how you sicked the Prince
on to 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 far 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 to what they had been 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
round.
‘What? Oh . . . sorry, Major Clogston,’ she said. 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 shook. ‘And now, we have duties,’ said Major Clogston, as Jade
arrived with