Monstrous Regiment

said, turning around.
    “D’you think you’re clever, Maladict?”
    “Um…yes, Sarge. Quite clever,” the vampire conceded.
    There wasn’t a lot of humor in Jackrum’s smile.
    “Good. Glad to hear it. Don’t want another stupid corporal. Yeah, I know you ain’t even a proper private yet, but glory be, you’re a corporal now, ’cos I need one and you’re the snappiest dresser. Get some stripes from Threeparts. The rest of you…this isn’t a bleedin’ Mothers’ Meeting, we’re leaving in five minutes. Move!”
    “But the prisoners, Sarge—” Polly began, still trying to digest the revelation.
    “We’re goin’ to drag ’em over to the inn an’ leave ’em in tied up in the nood and shackled together,” said Jackrum. “Vicious little devil when he’s roused, our rupert, eh? And Threeparts is having their boots and horses. They won’t be going too far for a while, not in the nood.”
    “Won’t the writing man let them out?” said Tonker.
    “Don’t care,” said Jackrum. “He could probably cut the ropes, but I’m dropping the shackle key in the privy, and that’ll take a bit of fishing out.”
    “Whose side is he on, Sarge?” said Polly.
    “Dunno. I don’t trust ’em. Ignore ’em. Don’t talk to ’em. Never talk to people who writes things down. Milit’ry rule. Now, I know I just gave you lot an order ’cos I heard the bleedin’ echo! Get on with it! We are leaving! ”
    “Road to perdition, lad, promotion,” said Scallot to Maladict, swinging up with two stripes hanging from his hook. He grinned. “That’s threepence extra a day you’re due now, only you won’t get it ’cos they ain’t payin’ us, but to look on the bright side, you won’t get stoppages, and they’re a devil for stoppages. The way I see it, march backwards and yer pockets’ll overflow!”

    The rain had stopped.
    Most of the squad were parading outside the barracks where there was, now, a small covered wagon belonging to the writer of the paper of news. A large flag hung from a pole attached to it, but Polly couldn’t make out the design by moonlight. Beside the wagon, Maladict was deep in conversation with Otto.
    The center of attention, though, was the line of cavalry horses. One had been offered to Blouse, but he’d waved it away with a look of alarm and muttering something about “being loyal to his steed,” which, to Polly’s eye, looked like a self-propelled toast-rack with a bad attitude. But he’d probably made the right decision, at that, because they were big beasts, broad, battle-hardened and bright-eyed; sitting astride one of them would have strained the crotch in Blouse’s trousers and an attempt at reining one of them in would have pulled his arms off at the shoulder. Now each horse had a pair of boots hanging from its saddle, except for the leading horse, a truly magnificent beast upon which Corporal Scallot sat like an afterthought.
    “I’m no donkey-walloper, as you know, Threeparts,” said Jackrum as he finished lashing the crutches behind the saddle, “but this is a hell of a good horse you’ve got here.”
    “Damn right, Sarge. You could feed a platoon for a week off’f it!” said the corporal.
    “Sure you won’t come with us?” Jackrum added, standing back. “I reckon you still must’ve one or two things left for the bastards to cut off, eh?”
    “Thank you, Sarge, it is a kind offer,” said Threeparts. “But fast horses are going to be at a real premium soon, and I’ll be in on the ground floor, as you might say. This lot’ll be worth three years’ pay.” He turned in the saddle and nodded at the squad.
    “Best of luck, lads,” he added cheerfully. “You’ll walk with Death every day, but I’ve seen ’im and he’s been known to wink. And remember: fill your boots with soup!”
    He urged the horses into a walk, and disappeared with his trophies into the gloom.
    Jackrum watched him go, shook his head, and turned to the recruits.
    “All right, ladies—what’s funny, Private Halter?”
    “Er, nothing, Sarge, I just…thought of something…” said Tonker, almost choking.
    “You ain’t paid to think of things, you’re paid to march. Do it!”
    The squad marched away. The rain slackened to nothing, but the wind rose a little, rattling windows, blowing through the deserted houses, opening and shutting doors like someone looking for something they could have sworn they put down here only a moment ago. That was all that moved in Plotz,