Monstrous Regiment

like they did when we held the Keep,” said Jackrum.
    “You mean they provide aid and comfort to the enemy? Why?”
    “Better than starving, sir. Fact of life. It doesn’t always stop at washing, neither.”
    “Sergeant, there are young men here!” snapped Blouse, blushing.
    “They’ll have to find out about ironing and darning sooner or later, sir,” said Jackrum innocently.
    Blouse opened his mouth. Blouse shut his mouth.
    “Tea’s up, sir,” said Polly. Tea was an amazingly useful thing. It gave you an excuse to talk to anyone.
    They settled in what remained of a half-ruined farmhouse. By the look of it, not even patrols bothered to come here—there were no signs of lit fires or even the most temporary occupation. It stank of decay, and half the roof was gone.
    “Do the women just come and go, Perks?” said the lieutenant.
    “Yes, sir,” said Polly. “And I had an idea, sir. Permission to tell you my idea, sir?” She saw Jackrum raise an eyebrow. She was laying it on thick, she had to admit, but time was pressing.
    “Please do, Perks,” said Blouse. “Else I fear you may explode!”
    “They could be spies for us, sir! We could even get them to open the gates for us!”
    “Well done, Private!” said Blouse. “I do like a soldier to think.”
    “Yeah, right,” growled Jackrum. “Any sharper’n he’ll cut hisself. Sir, they’re washerwomen , sir, basically. No offense to young Perks, keen lad that he is, but your average guard pays attention when Old Mother Riley tries to open the gates. There’s not just a pair of gates, neither. There’s six pairs, and nice little courtyards between ’em for the guards to have a squint at you to see if you’s a wrong ’un, and drawbridges, and spiky ceilings that drop down if someone doesn’t like the look of you. Try opening that lot with soapy hands!”
    “I’m afraid the sergeant has a point, Perks,” said Blouse sadly.
    “Well, supposing a couple of women managed to knock out a few guards, sir, they could let us in through their little door!” said Polly. “We might even be able to capture the commander of the fort, sir! I bet there’s plenty of women in the Keep, sir. In the kitchens and so on. They could…open doors for us!”
    “Oh, come on, Perks—” Jackrum began.
    “No, sergeant. Wait!” said Blouse. “Astonishingly enough, Perks, in your boyish enthusiasm you have, although you haven’t realized it, given me a very interesting idea…”
    “Have I, sir?” said Polly, who in her boyish enthusiasm had considered trying to tattoo the idea on Blouse’s head. For someone so clever, he really was slow.
    “Indeed you have, Perks,” said Blouse. “Because, of course, we only need one ‘washerwoman’ to get us inside, do we not?”
    The quotes sounded promising. “Well, yes, sir,” said Polly.
    “And, if one as it were thinks ‘outside of the box,’ the ‘woman’ does not in fact need to be a woman!”
    Blouse beamed. Polly allowed her brow to wrinkle in honest puzzlement.
    “Doesn’t she, sir?” she said. “I don’t think I quite understand, sir. I am perplexed, sir.”
    “‘She’ could be a man, Perks!” said Blouse, almost exploding with delight. “One of us! In disguise!”
    Polly breathed a sigh of relief. Sergeant Jackrum laughed.
    “Bless you, sir, dressing up as washerwomen is for gettin’ out of places! Milit’ry rules!”
    “If a man gets inside, he could disable any guards near the door, spy out the situation from a military perspective, and let the rest of the troops in!” said Blouse. “If this was done at night, men, we could be holding key positions by the morning!”
    “But these aren’t men, sir,” said Jackrum. Polly turned. The sergeant was looking right at her, right through her. Oh darn, I mean damn…he knows…
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “They are…my little lads, sir,” Jackrum went on, winking at Polly. “Keen lads, full of mustard, but they ain’t ones for cuttin’ throats and stabbin’ hearts. They signed up to be pikemen in the press, sir, in a proper army. You are my little lads, I says to ’em when I signed ’em up, and I will look after you. I can’t stand by and let you take ’em to certain death!”
    “It’s my decision to make, Sergeant,” said Blouse. “We are at ‘the hinge of destiny.’ Who, in the pinch, is not ready to lay down his life for his country?”
    “In a proper stand-up fight, sir; not getting beaten over the head by a bunch of