Monstrous Regiment

reason, sir. I’ve had a look around. They’re very religious here, but their god’s let them down. No wonder they mostly pray to their royal family.”
    She watched him stare at the piece of pigeon post for a while. Then he said:
    “How far is it to Plotz?”
    “About fifty miles,” said Angua, adding, “As the wolf runs, maybe six hours. I can leave right away.”
    “Good. Buggy’ll keep an eye on you. Little Henry is going to hop home, or meet one of his patrols, or an enemy patrol…whatever. But the midden is going to hit the windmill when everyone sees that picture. I bet de Worde would have let him out if he’d been nice and polite. That’ll teach him to meddle with the awesome power of a fair and free press, haha.” He sat upright and rubbed his hands together like a man who meant business. “Now, let’s get that pigeon on its way again before it gets missed, eh? Get Reg to lurch along to where the Times people are staying and tell them their pigeon flew in the wrong window. Again.”

    That was a good time, Polly remembered.
    They didn’t go down to the river docks. They could see there was no boat there. They hadn’t turned up and the boatman had left without them.
    Instead, they crossed the bridge and headed up into the forests, with Blouse leading the way on his ancient horse. Maladict went on ahead and…Jade brought up the rear. You didn’t need a light at night when a vampire led the way, and a troll at the rear would certainly discourage hangers-on.
    No one mentioned the boat. No one spoke at all. The thing was…the thing was , Polly realized, that they were no longer marching alone. They shared the Secret.
    That was a huge relief, and right now they didn’t need to talk about it. Nevertheless, it was probably a good idea to keep up a regular output of farts, belches, nosepickings, and groin scratchings, just in case.
    Polly didn’t know whether to be proud that they’d taken her for a boy. I mean, she thought, I’d worked hard to get it right, I mastered the walk, except I suppose what I really did was mistress the walk, haha, I invented the fake shaving routine and the others didn’t even think of that, I haven’t cleaned my fingernails for days and I pride myself on being able to belch with the best of them. So, I mean, I was trying.
    It was just slightly annoying to find that she’d succeeded so well.
    After a few hours of this, when true dawn was breaking, they smelled smoke. There was a faint pall of it among the trees. Lieutenant Blouse raised a hand for them to halt, and Jackrum joined him in whispered conversation.
    Polly stepped forward.
    “Permission to whisper too, Sarge? I think I know what this is.”
    Jackrum and Blouse stared at her. Then the sergeant said: “All right, Perks. Go and find out if you’re right, then.”
    That was an aspect that hadn’t occurred to Polly, but she’d left herself open. Jackrum relented when he saw her expression, nodded to Maladict, and said, “Go with him, Corporal.”
    They left the squad behind and walked forward carefully, over the beds of new-fallen leaves.
    The smoke was heavy and fragrant and, above all, reminiscent. Polly headed to where thicker undergrowth was taking advantage of the extra light of a clearing, and pushed through into an airy thicket of hazel trees. The smoke was denser here, and barely moving.
    The thicket ended. A few yards away, in a wide patch of cleared ground, a mound like a small volcano was spewing flame and smoke into the air.
    “Charcoal oven,” whispered Polly. “Just clay plastered on a stack of hazel. Should sit there smoldering for days. The wind probably caught it last night and the fire’s broken out. Won’t make good charcoal now, it’s burning too fast.”
    They edged around it, keeping to the bushes. Other clay domes were dotted around the clearing, with faint wisps of steam and smoke coming from their tops. There were a couple of ovens in the process of being built, the fresh clay stacked alongside some bundles of hazel sticks.
    There was a hut, and the domes, and nothing else but silence, apart from the crackle of the runaway fire.
    “The charcoal-burner is dead, or nearly dead,” said Polly.
    “He’s dead,” said Maladict. “There’s a smell of death here.”
    “You can smell it above the smoke?”
    “Sure,” said Maladict. “Some things we’re good at smelling. But how did you know?”
    “They watch the burns like hawks,” said Polly, staring at the hut.