Monstrous Regiment

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. Weapons were lowered.
    “Good lads,” said Jackrum. “With your permission, General Froc?”
    He did not wait for a reply but marched forward with parade-ground smartness. He came to boot-crashing attention in front of the senior generals, who were 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 Backwards-and-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 toward 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 nothin’ 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 around 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!”
    “Really? Then 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