Monstrous Regiment

chair that was at least springy. Now she laid out his shaving things and turned to go—
    “Could you shave me, Perks?” said the lieutenant.
    Fortunately, Polly’s back was turned and he didn’t see her expression.
    “This damn hand is quite swollen, I’m afraid,” Blouse went on. “I would not normally ask, but—”
    “Yes, of course, sir,” said Polly, because there was no alternative. Well now, let’s see…she’d got quite good at scraping a blunt razor across a face bare of hair, yes. Oh, and she’d shaved a few dead pigs in the kitchens at The Duchess, but that was only because nobody likes hairy bacon. They didn’t real count, did they? Panic rose, and rose faster at the sight of Jackrum approaching. She was going to cut an officer’s throat in the presence of a sergeant.
    Well, when in doubt, bustle. Milit’ry rule. Bustle, and hope there’s a surprise attack.
    “Are you not being a little strict with the men, Sergeant?” said Blouse, as Polly flapped a towel around his neck.
    “Not, sir. Keep ’em occupied, that’s the bunny. Otherwise they’ll mope,” said Jackrum confidently.
    “Yes, but they have just seen a couple of badly mutilated bodies,” said Blouse and shuddered.
    “Good practice for ’em, sir. They’ll see plenty more.”
    Polly turned to the shaving gear she’d laid out on a towel. Let’s see…cutthroat razor, oh dear, the gray stone for coarse sharpening, the red stone for fine sharpening, the soap, the brush, the bowl…well, at least she knew how to make foam…
    “Deserters, Sergeant. Bad business,” Blouse went on.
    “You always get ’em, sir. That’s why the pay is always late. Walking away from three months back pay makes a man think twice.”
    “Mr. de Worde, the newspaper man, said there had been a great many desertions, Sergeant. It is very strange that so many men would desert from a winning side.”
    Polly whirled the brush vigorously. Jackrum, for the first time since Maladict had joined, looked uncomfortable.
    “But whose side’s he on, sir?” he said.
    “Sergeant, I am sure you are not a stupid man,” said Blouse as, behind him, foam poured over the edge of the bowl and flopped onto the floor. “There are desperate deserters abroad. Our borders appear to be sufficiently unguarded that enemy cavalry operate forty miles inside ‘our fair country.’ And High Command appears to be so desperate, yes, desperate , Sergeant, that even half a dozen untrained and, frankly, very young men must go to the front.”
    The foam had a life of its own now. Polly hesitated.
    “Hot towel first, please, Perks,” said Blouse.
    “Yessir. Sorry, sir. Forgot, sir,” said Polly, panic rising. She had a vague recollection of walking past the barber shop in Munz. Hot towel on face. Right.
    She grabbed a small towel, tipped boiling water onto it, wrung it out, and dropped it on the lieutenant’s face. He did not actually scream, as such.
    “ Aaaaagh something else worries me, Sergeant.”
    “Yessir?”
    “The cavalry must have apprehended Corporal Strappi. I cannot see how else they found out about our men.”
    “Good thinking, sir,” said the sergeant, watching Polly apply the lather across Blouse’s mouth and nose.
    “I do hope they didn’t pff torture the poor man,” said the lieutenant. Jackrum was silent on that issue, but meaningfully so. Polly wished he wouldn’t keep glancing at her.
    “But why would a deserter pff head straight for the pff front?” said Blouse.
    “Makes sense, sir, for an old soldier. Especially a political.”
    “Really?”
    “Trust me on that, sir,” said Jackrum. Behind Blouse, Polly brushed the razor up and down the red stone. It was already as slick as ice.
    “But our boys, Sergeant, are not old ‘soldiers.’ It takes pff two weeks to turn a recruit into a ‘fighting man,’” said the lieutenant.
    “They’re promising material, sir. I could do it in a couple of days, sir,” said Jackrum. “Perks?”
    Polly nearly sliced her thumb off. “Yes, Sarge,” she quavered.
    “Do you think you could kill a man today?”
    Polly glanced at the razor. The edge glowed.
    “I’m sorry to say I think I could, sir!”
    “There you have it, sir,” said Jackrum with a lopsided grin. “There’s something about these lads, sir. They’re quick.” He walked behind Blouse, took the razor from Polly’s grateful hand without a word, and said: “There’s a few matters we ought to discuss, sir, private like. I think