MR 11

[KingSize]

‘Too late,’ said Jackrum.
Polly never forgot the sound the arrow made.
There was silence, and then a thump as Towering’s body finally
overbalanced and
hit the ground.
Jackrum laid the bow aside carefully. ‘Found out who he was messing
with,’ he
said, as if nothing much had happened. ‘Shame, really. Seemed like a
decent sort.
Any saloop left, Perks?’
Very slowly, Lieutenant Blouse raised his hand to his ear, which the
arrow had
perforated en route to its target, and then looked with strange
detachment at the blood
on his fingers.
‘Oh, sorry about that, sir,’ said Jackrum jovially. ‘Just saw the one
chance and I
thought, well, it’s the fleshy part. Get yourself a gold earring, sir,
and you’ll be the
height of fashion! Quite a large gold earring, maybe.
‘Don’t you all believe that stuff about the Ins-and-Outs,’ Jackrum
went on. ‘That
was just lies. I like it when something’s up. So what we do now
is . . . can anyone tell
me what we do now?’
‘Er . . . bury the body?’ hazarded Igorina.
‘Yeah, but check his boots. He’s got small feet and the Zlobenians
have much
better boots than us.’
‘Steal the boots off a dead man, sarge?’ said Wazzer, still in shock.
‘Easier than getting ‘em off a live one!’ Jackrum softened his voice a
little when he
saw their expressions. ‘Lads, this is war, understand? He was a
soldier, they were
soldiers, you are soldiers . . . more or less. No soldier will see
scran or good boots go
to waste. Bury ‘em decent and say what prayers you can remember, and
hope they’ve
gone where there’s no fighting.’ He raised his voice back to the
normal bellow.
‘Perks, round up the others! Igor, cover the fire, try to make it look
like we were never
here! We are moving out in number ten minutes! Can make a few miles
before full
daylight! That’s right, eh, lieutenant?’
Blouse was still transfixed, but seemed to wake up now. ‘What? Oh.
Yes. Right.
Yes, indeed. Er . . . yes. Carry on, sergeant.’
The fire gleamed off Jackrum’s triumphal face. In the red glow his
little dark eyes
were like holes in space, his grinning mouth the gateway to a hell,
his bulk some
monster from the Abyss.
He let it happen, Polly knew. He obeyed orders. He^didn’t do anything
wrong. But
he could have sent Maladict and Jade to help us, instead of Wazzer and
Igor, who
aren’t quick with weapons. He sent the others away. He had the bow
ready. He played
a game with us as pieces, and won . . .
Poor old soldier, her father and his friends had sung, while frost
formed on the
window panes, poor old soldier! If ever I ‘list for a soldier
again . . . the devil shall be
my sergeant!
In the firelight the grin of Sergeant Jackrum was a crescent of blood,
his coat the
colour of a battlefield sky. ‘You are my little lads,’ he roared. ‘And
I will look after
you.’
They made more than six miles before Jackrum called a halt, and
already the land
was changing. There were more rocks, fewer trees. The Kneck valley was
rich and
fertile and it was from here that the fertility had been washed; it
was a landscape of
ravines and thick scrub woodland, with a few small communities
scratching a living
from the poverty-stricken soil. It was a good place to hide. And, in
here, someone had
already hidden. It was a stream-carved gully, but here at the end of
summer the stream
was just a trickle between the rocks. Jackrum must have found it by
smell, because
you couldn’t see it from the track.
The ashes of the fire in the small gully were still warm. The sergeant
got up,
awkwardly, after inspecting them. ‘Some lads like our pals from last
night,’ he said.
‘Couldn’t it just be a hunter, sarge?’ said Maladict.
‘It could, corporal, but it ain’t,’ said Jackrum. ‘I brought you in
here ‘cos it looks
like a blind gully and there’s water and there’s good vantage points
up there and over
there,’ he pointed, ‘and there’s a decent overhang to keep the weather
off and it’s hard
for anyone to creep up on us. Milit’ry, in other words. And someone
else thought the
same as me last night. So while they’re out there looking for us,
we’ll sit snug where
they’ve already looked. Get a couple of lads up on guard right now.’
Polly drew first watch, atop the small cliff at the edge of the gully.
It was a good
site, no doubt about it. A regiment could hide here. No one could get
near without
being seen, too. And she was pulling her weight like a proper member
of the squad, so
with any luck Blouse would find someone to shave him before she was
off duty.
Through a gap in the treetops below she could see a road of sorts
running through the
woodland. She kept an eye on it.
Eventually, Tonker relieved her with a cup of soup. On the far side of
the gully,
Wazzer was being replaced by Lofty.
‘Where’re you from, Ozz?’ said Tonker, while Polly savoured the soup.
There couldn’t be any harm in telling. ‘Munz,’ said Polly.
‘Really? Someone said you worked in a bar. What was the inn called?’
Ah . . . there was the harm, right there. But she could hardly lie,
now. ‘The
Duchess,’ she said.
‘That big place? Very nobby. Did they treat you okay?’
‘What? Oh . . . yes. Yes. Pretty fair.’
‘Hit you at all?’
‘Eh? No. Never,’ said Polly, nervous of where this was going.
‘Work you hard?’
Polly had to consider this. In truth, she worked harder than both the
maids, and
they at least had an afternoon off every week.
‘I was usually the first one up and the last one to bed, if that’s
what you mean,’ she
said. And to change the subject quickly, she went on: ‘What about you?
You know
Munz?’
‘We both lived there, me and Tilda— I mean Lofty,’ said Tonker.
‘Oh? Where?’
‘The Girls’ Working School,’ said Tonker, and looked away.
And that’s the kind of trap small talk can get you in, Polly thought.
‘Not a nice
place, I think,’ she said, feeling stupid.
‘It was not a nice place, yes. A very nasty place,’ said Tonker.
‘Wazzer was there,
we think. We think it was her. Used to be sent out a lot on work
hire.’ Polly nodded.
Once, a girl from the school came and worked as a maid at The Duchess.
She’d arrive
every morning, scrubbed raw in a clean pinafore, peeling off from a
line of very
similar girls led by a teacher and flanked by a couple of large men
with long sticks.
She was skinny, polite in a dull, trained sort of way, worked very
hard and never
talked to anybody. She was gone in three months, and Polly never found
out why.
Tonker stared into Polly’s eyes, almost mocking her innocence. ‘We
think she was
the one they used to lock up sometimes in the special room. That’s the
thing about the
school. If you don’t toughen up you go funny in the head.’
‘I expect you were glad to leave,’ was all Polly could think of to
say.
‘The basement window was unlocked,’ said Tonker. ‘But I promised Tilda
we’d go
back one day next summer.’
‘Oh, so it wasn’t that bad, then?’ said Polly, grateful for some
relief.
‘No, it’ll burn better,’ said Tonker. ‘Ever run across someone called
Father Jupe?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Polly, and, feeling that something more was expected
of her, added,
‘He used to come to dinner when my mother— he used to come to dinner.
A bit
pompous, but he seemed okay.’
‘Yes,’ said Tonker. ‘He was good at seeming.’
Once again there was a dark chasm in the conversation that not even a
troll could
bridge, and all you could do was draw back from the edge.
‘I’d better go and see to the lieu— to the rupert,’ Polly said,
standing up. ‘Thank
you very much for the soup.’
She worked her way down through the scree and birch thickets until she
emerged
by the little stream that ran through the gully. And there, like some
awful river god,
was Sergeant Jackrum.
His red coat, a tent for lesser men, was draped carefully over a bush.
He himself
was sitting on a rock with his shirt off and his huge braces dangling,
so that only a
yellowing woolly vest saved the world from a sight of the man’s bare
chests. For
some reason, though, he’d kept his shako on. His shaving kit, with a
razor like a small
machete and a shaving brush you could use to hang wallpaper, was on
the rock beside
him.
Jackrum was bathing his feet in the stream. He glanced up when Polly
approached,
and nodded amiably.’ ‘morning, Perks,’ he said. ‘Don’t rush. Never
rush for ruperts.
Sit down for a spell. Get yer boots off. Let yer feet feel the fresh
air. Look after your
feet, and your feet will look after you.’ He pulled out his big clasp-
knife and the rope
of chewing tobacco. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’
‘No thanks, sarge.’ Polly sat down on a rock on the opposite side of
the stream,
which was only a few feet wide, and started to tug at her boots. She
felt as though
she’d been given an order. Besides, right now she felt she needed the
shock of clean,
cold water.
‘Good lad. Filthy habit. Worse’n the smokes,’ said Jackrum, carving
off a lump.
‘Got started on it when I was but a lad. Better’n striking a light at
night, see? Don’t
want to give away your position, ‘course, you gotta gob a bundle every
so often, but
gobbin’ in the dark don’t show up.’
Polly dabbled her feet. The icy water did indeed feel refreshing. It
seemed to jolt
her alive. In the trees around the gully, birds sang.
‘Say it, Perks,’ said Jackrum, after a while.
‘Say what, sarge?’
‘Oh, bleedin’ hell, Perks, it’s a nice day, don’t muck me around. I
seen the way
you’ve been looking at me.’
‘All right, sarge. You murdered that man last night.’
‘Really? Prove it,’ said Jackrum calmly.
‘Well, I can’t, can I? But you set it up. You even sent Igor and
Wazzer to guard
him. They’re not good with weapons.’
‘How good would they have to be, d’you think? Four of you against a
man tied
up?’ said Jackrum. ‘Nah. That sergeant was dead the moment we got ‘im,
and he
knew it. It took a bloody genius like your rupert to make him think
he’d got a chance.
We’re out in the woods, lad. What was Blouse gonna do with him? Who’d
we hand
him over to? Would the lieutenant cart him around with us? Or tie him
to a tree and
leave him to kick wolves away until he gets too tired? Much more
gentlemanly than
giving him a quiet cigarette and a swift chop where you go quick,
which is what he
was expecting and what I’d have given him.’
Jackrum popped the tobacco into his mouth. ‘You know what most of the
milit’ry
training is, Perks?’ he went on. ‘All that yelling from little
spitbubs like Strappi? It’s
to turn you into a man who will, on the word of command, stick his
blade into some
poor sod just like him who happens to be wearing the wrong uniform.
He’s like you,
you’re like him. He doesn’t really want to kill you, you don’t really
want to kill him.
But if you don’t kill him first, he’ll kill you. That’s the start and
finish of it. It don’t
come easy without trainin’. Ruperts don’t get that trainin’, ‘cos they
are gentlemen.
Well, upon my oath I am no gentleman, and I’ll kill when I have to,
and I said I’d
keep you safe and no damn rupert’s going to stop me. He gave me my
discharge
papers!’ Jackrum added, radiating indignance. ‘Me! And expected me to
thank him!
Every other rupert I’ve served under has had the sense to write “Not
posted here” or
“On extended patrol” or something and shove it back in the mail, but
not him!.’
‘What was it you said to Corporal Strappi that made him run away?’
said Polly,
before she could stop herself.
Jackrum looked at her for a while, with no expression in his eyes.
Then he gave a
strange little chuckle. ‘Now why would a little lad like you say a
little thing like that?’
he said.
‘Because he just vanished and suddenly some old rule means you’re back
on the
strength, sarge,’ said Polly. ‘That’s why I said that little thing.’
‘Hah! And there’s no such rule, either, not like that one,’ said
Jackrum, splashing
his feet. ‘But ruperts never read the book of rules unless they’re
trying to find a reason
to hang you, so I was safe there. Strappi was scared shitless, you
know that.’
‘Yes, but he could have slipped away later on,’ said Polly. ‘He wasn’t
stupid.
Rushing off into the night? He must’ve had something real close to run
from, right?’
‘Cor, that’s an evil brain you have there, Perks,’ said Jackrum
happily. Once again
Polly had the definite feeling that the sergeant was enjoying this,
just as he’d seemed
pleased when she’d protested about the uniform. He wasn’t a bully like
Strappi - he
treated Igorina and Wazzer with something approaching fatherly concern
- but with
Polly and Maladict and Tonker he pushed all the time, wanting you to
push back.
‘It does the job, sarge,’ she said.
‘I just had a little tate-ah-tate with him, as it were. Quiet, like.
Explained all the
nasty things that can happen vees-ah-vee the confusion o’ war.’
‘Like being found with his throat cut?’ said Polly.
‘Has been known to happen,’ said Jackrum innocently. ‘You know, lad,
you’re
going to make a damn good sergeant one day. Any fool can use his eyes
and ears, but
you uses that brain to connect ‘em up.’
‘I’m not going to be a sergeant! I’m going to get the job done and go
home!’ said
Polly vehemently.
‘Yes, I said that once, too.’ Jackrum grinned. ‘Perks, I don’t need no
clacky thing. I
don’t need no newsy paper. Sergeant Jackrum knows what’s going on. He
talks to the
men coming back, the ones that won’t talk to anyone else. I know more
than the
rupert, for all that he gets little letters from HQ that worry him so
much. Everyone
talks to Sergeant Jackrum. And in his big fat head, Sergeant Jackrum
puts it all
together. Sergeant Jackrum knows what’s going on.’
‘And what’s that, sarge?’ said Polly innocently.
Jackrum didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he reached down with a
grunt and
rubbed one of his feet. The corroded shilling on a string, which had
lain innocently on
the woollen vest, swung forward. But there was something else. For a
moment
something golden slipped out of the vest’s open neck. Something oval
and golden, on
a golden chain, flashed in the sunlight. Then he straightened up and
it was dragged
back out of sight.
‘This is a bloody odd war, lad,’ he said. ‘It’s true there’s not just
Zlobenian
soldiers out there. Lads say there’s uniforms they’d never seen
before. We’ve kicked
a lot of backsides over the years, so maybe they really have ganged up
and it’s gonna
be our turn. But what I reckon is, they’re stuck. They took the keep.
Oh, yes, I know.
But they’ve got to hold on to it. And winter’s coming and all those
lads from Ankh-
Morpork and everywhere are a long way from home. We might have a
chance yet.
Hah, especially now the Prince is dead set on finding the young
soldier that kneed him
in the wedding tackle. That means he’s angry. He’ll make mistakes.’
‘Well, sarge, I think—’
‘I’m glad you do, Private Perks,’ said Jackrum, suddenly becoming a
sergeant
again. ‘And I think that after you’ve seen to the rupert and had a
nap, you and me is
going to show the lads some swordsmanship. Whatever bleedin’ war this
is, sooner or
later young Wazzer is going to have to use that blade he waggles
about. Get going!’
Polly found Lieutenant Blouse sitting with his back to the cliff,
eating scubbo out
of a bowl. Igorina was packing away her medical kit, and Blouse’s ear
was bandaged.
‘Everything all right, sir?’ she said. ‘Sorry I wasn’t—’
‘I quite understand, Perks, you must stand your turn like the other
“lads”,’ said
Blouse, and Polly heard the inverted commas clank into place. ‘I had a
refreshing nap
and the bleeding and, indeed, the shaking has quite stopped.
However . . . I do still
need a shave.’
‘You want me to shave you,’ said Polly, her heart sinking.
‘I must set an example, Perks, but I have to say you “lads” make such
an effort it
puts me to shame. You all seem to have faces “as smooth as a baby’s
bottom”, I must
say!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Polly pulled out the shaving gear and walked over to the
fire, where the
kettle was permanently boiling. Most of the squad was dozing, but
Maladict was
sitting cross-legged by the fire, doing something to his hat.
‘Heard about the prisoner last night,’ he said, without looking up. ‘I
don’t think the
el-tee is going to last very long, do you?’
‘The who?’
‘The lieutenant. From what I hear, Blouse’s probably going to have a
nasty
accident. Jackrum thinks he’s dangerous.’
‘He’s learning, just like us.’
‘Yes, but the el-tee’s supposed to know what to do. Do you think he
does?’
‘Jackrum’s stuck, too,’ said Polly, topping up the kettle with cold
water. ‘I think
we just keep going.’
‘If there’s anything there to get to,’ said Maladict. He held up the
shako. ‘What do
you think?’
The words ‘Born To Die’ had been chalked on the side of the hat, next
to the
packet of cigarettes.
‘Very . . . individual,’ said Polly. ‘Why do you smoke? It’s not
very . . . vampire,
really.’
‘Well, I’m not supposed to be very vampire,’ said Maladict, lighting
up with a
shaking hand. ‘It’s the sucking. I need it. I’m on edge. I’m getting
the no-coffee
jitters. I’m not good with woods in any case.’
‘But you’re a vam—’
‘Yeah, yeah, if this was crypts, no problem. But I keep thinking I’m
surrounded by
lots of pointy stakes. Truth is . . . I’m beginning to hurt. It’s like
going cold bat all
over again! I’m getting the voices and the sweats . . .’
‘Sssh,’ said Polly, as Shufti grunted in her sleep. ‘You can’t be,’
she hissed. ‘You
said you’d been going straight for two years!’
‘Oh, bl . . . blur . . . blood?’ said Maladict. ‘Who said anything
about blood? I’m
talking about coffee, dammit!’
‘We’ve got plenty of tea—’ Polly began.
‘You don’t understand! This is about . . . craving. You never stop
craving, you just
switch it to something that doesn’t cause people to turn you into a
short kebab! I need
coffee!’
Why me? Polly thought. Do I have this little sign on me saying ‘Tell
me your
troubles’? ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, and hastily filled the
shaving mug.
Polly hurried back with the water, ushered Blouse to a rock, and
stirred up some
foam. She sharpened the razor, taking as long as she dared. When he
coughed
impatiently she took up position, raised the razor, and prayed . . .
. . . but not to Nuggan. Never to Nuggan, since her mother died . . .
And then Lofty was running across the ground, trying to shout a
whisper.
‘Movement!’
Blouse nearly lost another earlobe.
Out from nowhere came Jackrum, boots on but braces dangling. He
grabbed Lofty
by the shoulder and swung her round. ‘Where?’ he demanded.
‘There’s a track down there! Troopers! Carts! What do we do, sarge?’
‘We keep the noise down!’ muttered Jackrum. ‘Are they heading up
here?’
‘No, they went right past, sarge!’
Jackrum turned and gave the rest of the squad a satisfied look. ‘O-
kay. Corporal,
take Carborundum and Perks and go and have a look. The rest of you,
tool up and try
to be brave. Eh, lieutenant?’
Blouse bemusedly dabbed foam off his face. ‘What? Oh. Yes. See to it,
sergeant.’
Twenty seconds later, Polly was running after Maladict, down the
slope. Here and
there the bottom of the valley could be seen through the trees, and as
she glanced
down she saw sunlight flash off something metal. At least the trees
had coated the
woodland floor with a thick layer of needles, and, contrary to
received opinion, most
woods aren’t littered with branches that snap loudly. They reached the
edge of the
wood, where bushes fought one another for their place in the sun, and
found a spot
with a view.
There were only four troopers, in an unfamiliar uniform, riding in
pairs ahead of
and behind a cart. It was small, and had a canvas cover.
‘What’s in a little cart that four men have to protect?’ said
Maladict. ‘It must be
valuable!’
Polly pointed to the huge flag that hung limply from a pole on the
wagon. ‘I think
it’s the newspaper man,’ she said. ‘It’s the same cart. Same flag,
too.’
‘Then it’s a good thing they’ve gone right past,’ hissed Maladict.
‘Let’s just see
them out of sight and creep away like good little mice, okay?’
The party was travelling at the speed of the cart and, at this point,
the two riders in
the lead stopped and turned in their saddles, waiting for it to catch
up. Then one of
them pointed, back past the hidden watchers. There was a shout, too
far away to be
understood. The troopers in the rear trotted up to the cart, met with
their comrades,
and all four turned to look up. There was some discussion, and two
riders trotted back
along the road.
‘Oh, darn,’ said Polly. ‘What have they spotted?’
The horsemen went past their hiding place. A few moments later, they
heard the
horses enter the woods.
‘Do we run an’ get ‘em?’ said Jade.
‘Let Jackrum do that,’ said Maladict.
‘But if he does, and the men don’t come back—’ Polly began.
‘When they don’t come back,’ Maladict corrected her.
‘—then those other two will get suspicious, won’t they? One will
probably stay
here, the other will go to get help.’
‘Then we’ll sneak up and wait,’ said Maladict. ‘Look, they’ve
dismounted. The
cart’s pulled in, too. If they look as though they’re worried, we’ll
move in.’
‘And do what, exactly?’ said Polly.
‘Threaten to shoot them,’ said Maladict firmly.
‘And if they don’t believe us?’
‘Then we’ll threaten to shoot them in a much louder voice,’ said
Maladict.
‘Happy? And I hope to hell they’ve got some coffee!’
There are three things a soldier wants to do when there’s a respite on
the road. One
involves lighting a cigarette, one involves lighting a fire, and the
other one involves
no flames at all but does, generally, require a tree.*
* Actually a tree is not, technically, required, but seems to be
insisted upon for
reasons of style.
The two troopers had a fire going and a billy-can steaming when a
young man
jumped down from the cart, stretched his arms, looked around, yawned,
and sauntered
a little way into the forest. He found a convenient tree and, a moment
lateV, was
apparently examining the bark at eye height with studied enthusiasm.
The tip of a steel crossbow bolt pressed against the back of his neck
and a voice
said: ‘Raise your hands and turn around slowly!’
‘What, right now?’
‘Um . . . all right, no. You can finish what you’re doing.’
‘Actually I think that’s going to be quite impossible. Let me just,
er . . . right.
Okay.’ The man raised his hands again. ‘You realize I just have to
shout?’
‘So?’ said Polly. ‘I just have to pull this trigger. Shall we have a
race?’
The man turned round.
‘See?’ said Polly, stepping back. ‘It’s him again. De Worde. The
writer man.’
‘You’re them!’ he said.
‘Dem who?’ said Jade.
‘Oh dear,’ said Maladict.
‘Look, I’d give anything to talk to you!’ said de Worde. ‘Please?’
‘You’re with the enemy!’ hissed Polly.
‘What? Them? No! They’re from Lord Rust’s regiment. From Ankh-Morpork!
They’ve been sent to protect us!’
‘Troops to protect you in Borogravia?’ said Maladict. ‘Who from?’
‘You mean from whom? Er . . . well . . . you, in theory.’
Jade leaned down. ‘Efficient, aren’t dey . . .’
‘Look, I must talk to you,’ said the man urgently. ‘This is
astounding! Everyone’s
looking for you! Did you kill that old couple in the woods?’
Birds sang. Far off, there was the call of the female blue-capped
woodpecker.
‘A patrol found the fresh graves,’ said de Worde.
High above an ice heron, a winter migrant from the Hub, gave an ugly
honk as it
searched for lakes.
‘I take it you didn’t, then,’ said de Worde.
‘We buried them,’ said Maladict coldly. ‘We don’t know who killed
them.’
‘We did take some vegetables,’ said Polly. She remembered laughing
about it.
Admittedly it was only because it was that or start crying, but even
so . . .
‘You’ve been living off the land?’ He’d tugged a notebook out of his
pocket and
was scribbling in it with a pencil.
‘We don’t have to talk to you,’ said Maladict.
‘No, no, you must! There’s so much you need to know! You’re in
the . . . Ups-and-
Downs, right?’
‘Ins-and-Outs,’ said Polly.
‘And you—’ the man began.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said Maladict, and marched away from the
tree and into
the clearing. The two cavalry men looked up from their fire, and there
was a moment
of immobility before one reached for his sword.
Maladict swung the bow quickly from one to the other, its point
hypnotizing them
like a swinging watch. ‘I’ve got only one shot but there’s two of
you,’ he said. ‘Who
shall I shoot? You choose. Now, listen very carefully: where’s your
coffee? You’ve
got coffee, haven’t you? C’mon, everyone’s got coffee! Spill the
beans!’
They stared at the crossbow and slowly shook their heads.
‘What about you, writer man?’ snarled Maladict. ‘Where’re you hiding
the
coffee?’
‘We only have cocoa,’ said the writer, raising his hands quickly as
Maladict turned
on him. ‘You’re welcome to—’
Maladict dropped his crossbow, which fired straight up into the air*,
and sat down
with his head in his hands. ‘We’re all gonna die,’ he said. The
troopers shifted as
though to stand up, and Jade raised her sapling.
* And failed to hit anything, especially a duck. This is so unusual in
situations
like this that it should be reported under new humour regulations. If
it had hit a
duck, which quacked and then landed on somebody’s head, this would of
course have been very droll and would certainly have been reported.
Instead, it
drifted in the breeze a little and landed in an oak tree some thirty
feet away,
where it missed a squirrel.
‘Don’t even fink about it,’ she said.
Polly turned to the writer man. ‘You want us to talk to you, sir? Then
you talk to
us. Is this about . . . Prince Heinrich’s . . . socks?’
Maladict stood up in one mad movement. ‘I say we grease the lot of
them and go
home!’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘One, Two, Three! What We Are
Fighting
For!’
‘Socks?’ said the writer, looking nervously at the vampire. ‘What’ve
socks got to
do with it?’
‘I just gave you an order, Polly,’ said Maladict.
‘What is it you think we don’t know?’ Polly insisted, glaring at de
Worde.
‘Well, to start with you’re just about all that’s left of the Ins-and-
Outs—’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Oh, there’s prisoners and wounded, I think. But why should I lie to
you? Why did
he call you Polly?’
‘Because I know a lot about birds,’ said Polly, mentally cursing. ‘How
do you
know what’s been happening to the regiment?’
‘Because it’s my job to know things,’ said the man. ‘What’s that bird
up there?’
Polly glanced up. ‘I don’t have time for stupid games,’ she said. ‘And
that’s a—’
She stopped. Something was wheeling high above, in the forbidden blue.
‘You don’t know?’ said de Worde.
‘Yes, of course I know,’ said Polly irritably. ‘It’s a white-necked
buzzard. But I
thought they never came this far into the mountains. I only ever saw
one in a book—’
She raised her bow again, and tried to take control. ‘Am I right, Mr
It’s-my-job-toknow-
things?’
De Worde raised his hands again and gave her a sickly smile.
‘Probably,’ he said.
‘I live in a city. I know sparrows from starlings. After that
everything’s a duck as far
as I’m concerned.’