Monstrous Regiment

began.
    Polly’s mind worked faster, like a millwheel in a flood. Then everyone took their packs into the back room with all the mattresses, didn’t they? And so they’d still be there when the squad fought the troopers—
    “Oh, Wazz,” said Shufti. “Oh, dear…”
    So who might have sneaked in through the back door? There was no one around except the squad and the cavalrymen. Perhaps someone wanted to watch, and cause a little trouble on the way—
    “Strappi!” she said aloud. “It must have been him! The little weasel ran into the cavalry and then snuck back to watch! He was dar—damn well going through our packs out the back! Oh, come on,” she added as they stared at her. “Can you see Wazzer stealing from anyone? Anyway, when did she have the chance?”
    “Wouldn’t they have taken him prisoner?” said Tonker, staring at the crushed machine in Wazzer’s shaking hands.
    “If he’d whipped off his shako and jacket he’d just be another stupid civilian, wouldn’t he? Or he could just say he was a deserter. He could make up some story,” said Polly. “You know how he was with Wazzer. He went through my pack, too. Stole…something of mine.”
    “What was it?” said Shufti.
    “Just something, okay? He just wanted to…make trouble.”
    She watched them thinking.
    “Sounds convincing,” said Maladict, nodding abruptly. “Little weasel. Okay, Wazz, just fish out the beans and I’ll do the best I can—”
    “T-theres no b-b-b—”
    Maladict put a hand over his eyes.
    “No beans?” he said. “Please, has anyone got the beans?”
    There was a general rummaging, and a general lack of a result.
    “No beans,” moaned Maladict. “He threw away the beans…”
    “Come on, lads, we’ve got to get sentries posted,” said Jackrum, approaching. “Sorted it all out, have you?”
    “Yes, Sarge, Ozz thinks—” Shufti began.
    “It was all a bit of mispacking, Sarge!” said Polly quickly, anxious to keep away from anything connected with missing ringlets. “Nothing to worry about! All sorted, Sarge. No problem. Nothing to worry anyone. Not…a…thing, Sarge.”
    Jackrum looked from the startled squad to Polly, and back, and back again. She felt his gaze bore into her, daring her to change her expression of mad, tense honesty.
    “Ye-es,” he said slowly. “Right. Sorted out, eh? Well done, Perks. Attention! Officer present!”
    “Yes, yes, Sergeant, thank you, but I don’t think we need to be too formal,” said Blouse, who looked rather pale. “A word with you when you have finished, if you please? And I think we should bury the, er, bodies.”
    Jackrum saluted. “Right you are, sir. Two volunteers t’ dig a grave for those poor souls! Goom and Tewt—what’s he doing?”
    Lofty was over by the blazing charcoal oven. She was holding a burning branch a foot or two from her face, and turning it this way and that, watching the flames.
    “I’ll do it, Sarge,” said Tonker, stepping beside Wazzer.
    “What are you, married?” said Jackrum. “ You are on guard, Halter. I doubt whoever did it’ll come back, but if they do, you sing out, right? You and Igor come with me, and I’ll show you your stations.”
    “No coffee,” moaned Maladict.
    “Foul muck, anyway,” said Jackrum, walking away. “A cup of hot sweet tea is the soldier’s friend.”
    Polly grabbed the kettle for Blouse’s shaving water and hurried away. That was another thing you learned in the milit’ry: look busy. Look busy and no one worried too much about what you were busy at.
    Bloody, bloody Strappi! He’d got her hair! He’d try and use it against her if he could, that was certain. That’d be his style. What would he do now? Well, he’d want to keep away from Jackrum, that’d be another certainty. He’d wait, somewhere. She’d have to, too.
    The squad had made camp upwind of the smoke. It was supposed to be a rest stop, since no one had got much sleep last night, but as Jackrum handed out tasks, he reminded them: “There is an old milit’ry saying, which is: ‘Hard Luck For You.’”
    There was no question of using the woven hut, but there were a few tarpaulin-covered frames built to keep the coppiced wood dry. Those not given jobs to do lay down on the stacked piles of twigs, which were yielding and didn’t smell and were in any case better than the inhabited palliasses back at the barracks.
    Blouse, as an officer, had a shelter to himself. Polly had stacked bundles of twigs to make a