Monstrous Regiment

kill…
    …some mother’s son, some sister’s brother, some lad who’d followed the drum for a shilling and his first new suit. If only she’d been trained, if only she’d had a few weeks stabbing straw men until she could believe that all men were made of straw…
    She froze. Down the angle of the path, still as a tree, head bowed, stood Wazzer. As soon as the scout reached Polly’s tree, she’d be seen.
    She’d have to do it now. Perhaps that’s why men did it. You didn’t do it to save duchesses, or countries. You killed the enemy to stop him killing your mates, that they in turn might save you…
    She could hear the cautious tread close to the tree. She raised the saber, saw the light flash along its edge—
    A wild turkey rose from the scrub on the other side of the path in one rocketing tower of wings and feathers and echoing noise. Half flying, half running, it bounded off into the woods.
    There was the thud of a bow and a last squawk.
    “Oh, good shot, Woody,” said a voice nearby. “Looks like a big’n!”
    “Did you see that? ” said another voice. “Another step and I’d have tripped over it!”
    Behind her tree, Polly breathed out.
    A third voice, some way off, called out: “Let’s head back, eh, Corp? The way that went off, the Tiger’s probably run a mile!”
    “Yeah, and I’m so scared,” said the closest voice. “The Tiger’s behind every tree, right?”
    “Okay, let’s call it a day. My wife’ll cook him a treat—”
    Gradually, the voices of the soldiers got lost among the trees.
    Polly lowered the sword. She saw Maladict peer out of his bush and stare at her. She raised a finger to her lips. He nodded.
    She waited until the birdsong had settled down a little before stepping out. Wazzer seemed to be lost in thought; Polly took her very carefully by the hand. Quietly, dodging from tree to tree, they headed back to the hollow. Most particularly, Polly and Maladict didn’t talk. But they looked one another in the eye once or twice.
    Of course a turkey would lie low until a hunter almost trod on it. Of course that one must’ve been there all the time, and only lost its bird nerve when the scout crept up. It had been an unusually large bird, one that no hungry soldier could resist, but…well?
    Since the brain treacherously does not stop thinking just because you want it to, Polly’s added: she said the Duchess could move small things. How small is a thought in the mind of a bird?
    Only Jade and Igorina were waiting for them in the hollow. The others had found a better base a mile away, they said.
    “We found the secret entrance,” said Polly quietly, as they headed away.
    “Can we get in?” said Igorina.
    “It’s the washerwomen’s entrance,” said Maladict. “It’s right down by the river. But there’s a path.”
    “Washerwomen?” said Igor. “But this is a war! ”
    “Clothes still get dirty, I suppose,” said Polly.
    “Dirtier, I should think,” said Maladict.
    “But…our countrywomen? Washing clothes for the enemy?” said Igorina, looking shocked.
    “If it’s that or starve, yes,” said Polly. “I saw a woman come out carrying a basket of loaves. They say the Keep is full of granaries. Anyway, you sewed up an enemy officer, didn’t you?”
    “That’s different,” said Igorina. “We are duty bound to thave our fellow ma—person. Nothing has ever been said about his—their underwear.”
    “We could get in,” said Polly, “if we disguised ourselves as women.”
    Silence greeted this. Then:
    “Disguised?” said Igorina.
    “You know what I mean!” said Polly.
    “As washerwomen?” said Igorina. “These are thurgeon’s hands!”
    “Really? Where did you get them?” said Maladict. Igorina stuck out her tongue at him.
    “Anyway, I don’t intend that we should do any washing,” said Polly.
    “Then what do you intend?” said Igorina.
    Polly hesitated.
    “You know I want to get my brother out if he’s in there,” she said. “And if we could stop the invasion, that would be a good idea.”
    “That might take extra starch,” said Maladict. “I don’t want to, you know, spoil the spirit of the moment, but that is a really awful idea. The El-Tee won’t agree to something as wild as that.”
    “No, he won’t,” said Polly. “But he’ll suggest it.”
    “Hmm,” said Blouse a little later. “Washerwomen? Is that usual , Sergeant Jackrum?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. I expect the women in the villages round here do it, just