Monstrous Regiment

out.
    “O-kay,” said the subdued voice of Tonker. “Walking dead people. So?”
    “The one near the archway was the late General Puhloaver!” said Blouse. “I have his book on the art of defense!”
    “Best not to ask him to autograph it, sir,” said Polly as the squad bunched together.
    There was the whimpering again. It seemed to come from where Polly remembered Wazzer standing. She heard her praying. There were no words that she could make out, just a fierce and urgent whispering.
    “Maybe these washing sticks can slow them down a bit?” Shufti quavered.
    “More than being dead already?” said Igorina.
    No , a voice whispered, and light filled the crypt.
    It was barely brighter than a glowworm, but a single photon can do a lot of work in chthonic darkness. It rose above the kneeling Wazzer until it was woman height, because it was a woman.
    Or, at least, it was the shadow of a woman. No, Polly saw, it was the light of a woman, a moving web of lines and highlights in which there came and went, like pictures in a fire, a female shape.
    “Soldiers of Borogravia…attention!” said Wazzer. And underneath her reedy little tone was a shadow voice, a whisper that filled and refilled the long rooms.
Soldiers of Borogravia…attention!
Soldiers…
Soldiers…attention!
Soldiers of Borogravia…
    The lurching figures stopped. They hesitated. They shuffled backwards. With a certain amount of clattering and tongueless bickering, they formed two lines.
    Wazzer stood up.
    “Follow me…” she said.
Follow me…
…me…
    “Sir?” said Polly to Blouse.
    “I think we go, don’t you?” said the lieutenant, who seemed oblivious of Wazzer’s activities now that he was in the presence of the miliary might of the centuries. “Oh, god…there’s Major Galosh! And Major General the Lord Kanapay! General Annorac! I’ve read everything he wrote! I never thought I’d see him in the flesh!”
    “ Partly flesh, sir,” said Polly, dragging him forward.
    “Every great commander of the last five hundred years was buried here, Perks!”
    “I’m very pleased for you, sir. If we could just move a little faster…”
    “It is my fondest hope that I’ll spent the rest of eternity here, you know.”
    “Wonderful, sir, but not starting today. Can we catch up with the rest of them, sir?”
    As they passed, hand after ragged hand was raised in jerky salute. Staring eyes gleamed in hollow faces. The strange light glistened on dusty braid and stained, faded cloth. And there was a noise, harsher than the whispering, deep and guttural. It sounded like the creaking of distant doors, but individual voices rose and fell as the squad passed the dead figures…
    Death to Zlobenia…get them…remember…give them hell…vengeance…remember…they’re not human…avenge us…revenge…
    Up ahead, Wazzer had reached some high wooden doors. They swung open at her touch. Polly hurried after her. The light traveled with her, and the squad were on her heels. To be too far behind was to be in the dark.
    “Couldn’t I just ask Major General—” Blouse began, dragging on Polly’s hand.
    “No! You can’t! Don’t dawdle! Come on!” Polly commanded.
    They reached the doors, which Tonker and Igorina slammed behind them.
    Polly leaned against the wall.
    “I think that was the most…most amazing moment of my life,” said Blouse, as the boom died away.
    “I think this is mine,” said Polly, fighting for breath.
    Light still glowed around Wazzer, who turned to face the squad with an expression of beatific pleasure.
    “You must speak to the High Command,” she said.
    You must speak to the High Command, whispered the walls.
    “Be kind to this child.”
Be kind to this child …
… this child…
    Polly caught Wazzer before she hit the ground.
    “What is happening with her?” said Tonker.
    “I think the Duchess really is speaking through her,” said Polly. Wazzer was unconscious, only the white of her eyes showing. Polly laid the girl down gently.
    “Oh, come on! The Duchess is just a painting! She’s dead!”
    Sometimes you give in. For Polly, that time had been the length of time it took to walk through the crypt. If you don’t believe, or want to believe, or if you don’t simply hope that there’s something worth believing in, why turn round? And if you don’t believe, who are you trusting to lead you out of the grip of dead men?
    “Dead?” she said. “So what? What about the old soldiers back there, who