Monstrous Regiment

it.”
    Polly gave this a few seconds’ thought.
    “Steam, Sarge?”
    “Right! In a bloody great rising cloud. Not Shufti’s fault. The gallopers weren’t any trouble, though. Bright enough not to try to outrun half a dozen crossbows, at least. That’s clever, for a cavalryman.”
    “Well done, Sarge.”
    “Don’t talk to me as if I was rupert, lad,” said Jackrum easily.
    “Sorry, Sarge.”
    “I see you’re learnin’ how to steer an officer, though. You gotta make sure they gives you the right orders, see? You’ll make a good sergeant, Perks.”
    “Don’t want to, Sarge.”
    “Yeah, right,” said Jackrum. It could have meant anything.
    After watching the track for a minute or two they stepped out and headed toward the cart. De Worde was sitting on a stool beside it, writing in a notebook, but he stood up hurriedly when he saw them.
    “It’d be a good idea to get off the track,” he said as soon as they approached. “There are a lot of patrols, I understand.”
    “Zlobenian patrols, sir?” said Jackrum.
    “Yes. In theory, this—” he pointed to the flag that hung limply from the cart—“should keep us safe, but everyone’s a bit jumpy at the moment. Aren’t you Sergeant Jack Ram?”
    “Jackrum, sir. And I’ll thank you for not writing my name down in your little book, sir.”
    “Sorry, Sergeant, but that’s my job,” said de Worde breezily. “I have to write things down.”
    “Well, sir, soldierin’ is my job,” said Jackrum, climbing onto the cart and gathering up the reins. “But you’ll note how at this moment in time I am not killin’ you. Let’s go, eh?”
    Polly climbed into the back of the cart as it lumbered off. It was full of boxes and equipment, and while it may once have been neatly organized, that organization was now but a distant memory, a clear indication that this cart was the property of a man. Next to her, half a dozen of the largest pigeons she had ever seen dozed on a perch in their wire cage, and she wondered if they were a living larder. One of them opened one eye and lazily went “Lollollop?” which is pigeon for “Duh?”
    Most of the rest of the boxes had labels like—she leaned closer—“Capt. Horace Calumney’s Patent Field Biscuits,” and “Dried Stew.” As she was musing that Shufti would have very much liked to get her hands on one or two of these boxes, a bundle of clothes hanging from the ceiling of the rocking cart moved slightly and a face appeared.
    “Good mornink,” it said, upside down.
    William de Worde turned around on the seat in front.
    “It’s only Otto, Private,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”
    “Yes, I vill not bite,” said the face cheerfully. It smiled. A vampire’s face does not look any better upside down, and a smile in these circumstances does nothing to improve matters. “That is guaranteed. ”
    Polly lowered the crossbow. Jackrum would have been impressed at how quickly she had raised it. So was she, and embarrassed too. The socks were doing the thinking again.
    Otto very elegantly lowered himself to the bed of the cart.
    “Vere are ve goink?” he said, steadying himself as they bounced over a rut.
    “A little place I know, sir,” said Jackrum. “Nice and quiet.”
    “Goot, I need to exercise the imps,” said the vampire. “Zey get fretful if they are cooped up for too long.” Otto pushed aside a stack of paper and revealed his large picture-making box. He lifted a small hatch.
    “Rise und shine, lads,” he said. There was a chorus of high-pitched voices from inside.
    “I’d better just give you the heads up re Tiger, Mr. de Worde,” said Jackrum as the cart rolled up an old logging track.
    “Tiger? Who’s Tiger?”
    “Oops,” said Jackrum. “Sorry, that’s what we call the lieutenant, sir, on account of him being so brave. Forget I said that, will you?”
    “Brave, is he?” said de Worde.
    “And clever, sir. Don’t let him fool you, sir. He is one of the great milit’ry minds of his generation, sir.”
    Polly’s mouth dropped open. She’d suggested they lie to the man, but… this?
    “Really? Then why is he just a lieutenant?” said the writer.
    “Ah, I can see there’s no fooling you, sir,” said Jackrum, oozing knowingness. “Yes, it’s a puzzler, sir, why he calls himself a lieutenant. Still, I daresay he has his reasons, eh? Just like Heinrich calling himself a captain, right?” He tapped the side of his nose. “I see everything, sir, and I don’t say a