Monstrous Regiment

Perks here ought to get some rest.”
    “Of course, Sergeant. ‘Pas devant les soldat jeune,’ eh?”
    “And them too, sir,” said Jackrum. “You’re dismissed, Perks.”
    Polly walked away, her right hand still trembling. Behind her, she heard Blouse sigh and say: “These are tricky times, Sergeant. Command has never been so burdensome. The great General Tacticus says that in dangerous times the commander must be like the eagle and see the whole, and yet still be like the hawk and see every detail.”
    “Yessir,” said Jackrum, gliding the razor down a cheek. “And if he acts like a common tit, sir, he can hang upside down all day and eat fat bacon.”
    “Er…well said, Sergeant.”

    The charcoal-burner and his wife were buried to the accompaniment of, to Polly’s lack of surprise, a small prayer from Wazzer. It asked the Duchess to intercede with the god Nuggan to give eternal rest and similar items to the departed. Polly had heard it many times before; she’d wondered how the process worked.
    She’d never prayed since the day the bird burned, not even when her mother was dying. A god that burned painted birds would not save a mother. A god like that was not worth a prayer.
    But Wazzer prayed for everyone. Wazzer prayed like a child, eyes screwed up and hands clenched until they were white. The reedy little voice trembled with such belief that Polly felt embarrassed, and then ashamed, and, finally, after the ringing “amen,” amazed that the world appeared no different than before. For a minute or two, it had been a better place…
    There was a cat in the hut. It cowered under the crude bed and spat at anyone who came close.
    “All the food’s been taken but there’s carrots and parsnips in a little garden down the hill a bit,” Shufti said as they walked away.
    “It’d be s-stealing from the dead,” said Wazzer.
    “Well, if they object they can hold on, can’t they?” said Shufti. “They’re underground already!”
    For some reason that was, at this time, funny. They’d have laughed at anything.
    Now there was Jade, Lofty, Shufti, and Polly. Everyone else was on guard duty. They sat by a fire, on which a small pot seethed. Lofty tended the fire. She always seemed more animated near a fire, Polly noticed.
    “I’m doing horse scubbo for the rupert,” said Shufti, easily dropping into a slang learned all of twenty hours ago. “He specifically asked for it. Got lots of dry horse jerky from Threeparts, but Tonker says she can knock over some pheasants while she’s on duty.”
    “I hope she spends some time watching for enemies too,” said Polly.
    “She’ll be careful,” said Lofty, prodding the fire with a stick.
    “You know, if we’re found out, we’ll be beaten and sent back,” said Shufti.
    “Who by?” said Polly so suddenly she surprised herself. “By whom? Who’s going to try, out here? Who cares out here?”
    “Well, er, wearing men’s clothes is an Abomination Unto Nuggan—”
    “Why?”
    “It just is,” said Shufti firmly. But—”
    “—you’re wearing them,” said Polly.
    “Well, it was the only way,” said Shufti. “And I tried them on and they didn’t seem all that abominable to me.”
    “Have you noticed men talk to you differently?” said Lofty shyly.
    “Talk?” said Polly. “They listen to you differently, too.”
    “They don’t keep looking at you all the time,” said Shufti. “You know what I mean. You’re just a…another person. If a girl walked down the street wearing a sword, a man would try to take it off her.”
    “Wi’ trolls, we ain’t allowed to carry clubs,” said Jade. “Only large rocks. An’ it ain’t right for a girl to wear lichen, ’cos der boys say bald is modest. Had to rub bird doin’s inna my head to grow this lot.”
    That was quite a long speech for a troll.
    “We didn’t know that,” said Polly. “Er…trolls all look the same to us, more or less.”
    “I’m nat’rally craggy,” said Jade. “I don’t see why I should polish.”
    “ There is a difference,” said Shufti. “I think it’s the socks. It’s like they pull you forward all the time. It’s like the whole world spins around your socks.”
    She sighed and looked at the horsemeat, which had been boiled almost white.
    “It’s done,” she said. “You’d better go and give it to the rupert, Polly…I mean, Ozzer. I told the sarge I could do something better but he said the lieutenant said how good it was last night—”
    A