MR 20

[KingSize]

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 slightly 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 had
a variety of uniforms - mostly Zlobenian, but several Polly recognized
now 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
heaven’s sake
can’t we find this man a pair of trousers?’
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 baiely suppressed
smiles from
the officers.
‘Ah. I believe you are the one seeking her brother?’ said Lord Rust.
‘How do you know my name?’ 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?
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. They had no insignia that Polly could see, apart from a
small shield
hooked on to 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 offered me. If you gentlemen would care to wait outside?’
Behind the group, the badly dressed man burst into silent laughter.
His sense of
humour 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 of 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 woollen 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 whether 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. yI 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 levelled 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 grille
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 some 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 toasting 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.
* Every long-established kitchen has one of these, and no one ever
remembers why.
It is generally for something that no one does any more and, even when
it was done, it
wasn’t done with any real enthusiasm, such as celery basting, walnut
shredding or, in
the worst case, edible dormouse stuffing.
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 key ring 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, lik^e 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 a lot about fire, believe
me.’
‘When you say she knows a lot. . .’ 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 and 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 explodes.’
‘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 Grey
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 Grey 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 a 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?’
v ‘She will. But we’ll have 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 final barrel of water had been placed, after some discussion, in
front of the
storeroom’s door. Polly looked over the top of it 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 Polly 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
on to the flagstones so that the hot wax stuck it into position. Then
she applied the
match to the candle wick and knelt there, watching the 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 the 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 had gone. So had 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 key ring from the unresisting
man’s belt,
fighting down an instinct to apologize. She threw it to Blouse. ‘Will
you do the
honours, 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 underthtand.’
‘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. Her fingers moved in a blur. It was
fascinating to
watch her working. 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 more heavily 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 palm 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 v 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 outsidel 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 an 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’ve
finished, we’ve got plenty of chaps out there who could do with your
help.’
‘Thertainly, 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. . . cissy, 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