Monstrous Regiment

talking,” he said, lowering the captain gently but still holding his coat. “Your men speak up for you well, Captain.”
    “That’s because we’re not slaves, you bloody beeteater,” growled one of the troopers.
    “Slaves? All my lads joined up of their own free will, turniphead.”
    “Maybe they thought they did,” said the sergeant. “You just lied to ’em. Lied to ’em for years. They’re all gonna die because of your stupid lies! Lies and your raddled, rotting, lying old whore of a duchess!”
    “Private Goom, as you were! That is an order! As you were, I said! Private Maladict, take that sword off’f Private Goom! That is another order! Sergeant, order your men to ease back slowly! Slowly! Do it now! Upon my oath, I am not a violent man, but any man, any man who disobeys me, bigod, that man is lookin’at a broken rib!”
    Jackrum screamed all that in one long explosion of sound without taking his eyes off the captain.
    Reaction, order, and breathless stillness had taken just a few seconds. Polly stared at the sudden tableau as her muscles untensed.
    The Zlobenian troopers were settling back. Carborundum’s raised club began to lower itself gently. Little Wazzer was held off the ground by Maladict, who’d wrenched a sword from her hand; possibly only a vampire could have moved faster than Wazzer as she’d charged the prisoners.
    “Custody,” said Jackrum in a quiet voice. “That’s a funny word. Look at my little lads, will you? Not a whisker between them yet, save for the troll, and lichen don’t count. Still wet behind the ears, they are. What’s dangerous about a harmless bunch of farm boys that’d concern a fine bunch of horse wallopers like yourselves?”
    “Can thomeone pleathe come and put their finger on thith knot?” said Igor from his makeshift operating table. “I’ve jutht about done.”
    “Harmless?” said the sergeant, staring at the struggling Wazzer. “They’re a bunch of bloody madmen!”
    “I want to speak to your officer, damn you,” said the captain, who looked a little less unfocused now. “You do have an officer, don’t you?”
    “Yeah, we’ve got one somewhere, as I recall,” said Jackrum. “Perks, go and fetch the rupert, will you? Best if you take that dress off first, too. You never know, with ruperts.”
    He carefully lowered the captain onto a bench, and straightened up.
    “Carborundum, Maladict, chop something off any prisoner who moves, and any man who tries to attack a prisoner!” he said. “Now then…oh, yes. Threeparts Scallot, I wish to enlist in your wonderful army, with its many opportunities for a young man willing to apply himself.”
    “Any previous soldierin’?” said Scallot, grinning.
    “Forty years fighting every bleeder within a hundred miles of Borogravia, Corporal.”
    “Special skills?”
    “Stayin’ alive, Corporal, come what may.”
    “Then allow me to present you with one shilling and immediate acceleration to the rank of sergeant,” said Scallot, handing back the coat and the shilling. “Want to Osculate the Doxie?”
    “Not at my time o’ life,” said Jackrum, putting on his jacket again.
    “There,” he said. “All smart, all neat, all legal. Go on, Perks, I gave you an order.”

    Blouse was snoring. His candle had burned down. A book was open on his blanket.
    Polly gently pulled it out from under his fingers. The title, almost invisible on the stained cover, was Tacticus: The Campaigns .
    “Sir?” she whispered.
    Blouse opened his eyes, saw her, and then turned and frantically scrabbled by the bed.
    “Here they are, sir,” said Polly, handing him his spectacles.
    “Ah, Perks, thank you,” said the lieutenant, sitting up. “Midnight, is it?”
    “A bit after, sir.”
    “Oh, dear! Then we must hurry! Quick, pass me my breeches! Have the men had a good night?”
    “We were attacked by Zlobenian troops, sir. First Heavy Dragoons. We took them prisoner, sir. No casualties, sir.”
    …because they didn’t expect us to fight. They wanted to take us alive! And they walked in on Carborundum and Maladict and…me.
    It had been hard, very hard, to force herself to swing that cudgel. But once she had done it, it had felt easy. And then she’d felt embarrassed about being caught in a petticoat, even though she had her breeches on underneath. She’d gone from boy to girl just by thinking it, and it had been so…easy.
    She needed some time to consider this. She needed time to think about a lot of