Monstrous Regiment

  ‘Cellars are close to dungeons,’ said Polly. ‘Now, pinch out one candle, because that way we’ll have light for twice as long, and then—’

  ‘Perks, a word please?’ said Blouse. ‘Over here?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  When they were standing a little apart from the rest of the squad, Blouse lowered his voice and said: ‘I don’t wish to discourage initiative, Perks, but what are you doing?’

  ‘Er . . . anticipating your orders, sir.’

  ‘Anticipating them?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  ‘Ah. Right. This is still small-picture stuff, is it?’

  ‘Exactly, sir.’

  ‘Then my orders, Perks, are to proceed with speed and caution to release the prisoners.’

  ‘Well done, sir. We’ll go through this . . . this—’

  ‘Crypt,’ said Igorina, looking round.

  The candle blew out. Somewhere ahead of them, in darkness absolute and velvet thick, stone moved on stone.

  ‘I wonder why this passage was sealed up?’ said the voice of Blouse.

  ‘I think I’ve stopped wondering why it was sealed up in such a hurry,’ said Tonker.

  ‘I wonder who tried to open it?’ said Polly.

  There was a crash of, as it might be, a heavy slab falling off an ornate tomb. It could have been half a dozen other things but, somehow, that was the image that sprang to mind. The dead air moved a little.

  ‘I don’t want to worry anyone,’ said Shufti, ‘but I can hear the sound of sort of feet, sort of dragging.’

  Polly remembered the man lighting the candles. He’d dropped the bundle of matches into the brass saucer of the candlestick, hadn’t he? Moving her hand slowly, she groped for them.

  ‘If you didn’t want to worry anyone,’ came the voice of Tonker from the dry, thick darkness, ‘why the hell did you just tell us that?’

  Polly’s fingers found a sliver of wood. She raised it to her nose, and sniffed the sulphurous smell.

  ‘I’ve got one match,’ she said. ‘I’m going to try to light the candle again. Everyone look for a way out. Ready?’

  She sidled to the invisible wall. Then she scratched the match down the stone, and yellow light filled the crypt.

  Someone whimpered. Polly stared, candle forgotten. The match went out.

  ‘O-kay,’ said the subdued voice of Tonker. ‘Walking dead people. So?’

  ‘The one near the archway was the late General Puhloaver!’ said Blouse. ‘I have his book on The Art of Defence!’

  ‘Best not to ask him to autograph it, sir,’ said Polly, as the squad bunched together.

  There was the whimpering again. It seemed to come from where Polly remembered Wazzer standing. She heard her praying. There were no words that she could make out, just a fierce and urgent whispering.

  ‘Maybe these washing sticks can slow them down a bit?’ Shufti quavered.

  ‘More than being dead already?’ said Igorina.

  No, a voice whispered, and light filled the crypt.

  It was barely brighter than a glow-worm, but a single photon can do a lot of work in chthonic darkness. It rose above the kneeling Wazzer until it was woman height, because it was a woman. Or, at least, it was the shadow of a woman. No, Polly saw, it was the light of a woman, a moving web of lines and highlights in which there came and went, like pictures in a fire, a female shape.

  ‘Soldiers of Borogravia . . . attention!’ said Wazzer. And underneath her reedy little tone was a shadow voice, a whisper that filled and refilled the long room.

  Soldiers of Borogravia . . . attention!

  Soldiers . . .

  Soldiers, attention!

  Soldiers of Borogravia . . .

  The lurching figures stopped. They hesitated. They shuffled backwards. With a certain amount of clattering and tongueless bickering, they formed two lines. Wazzer stood up.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said.

  Follow me . . .

  . . . me . . .

  ‘Sir?’ said Polly to Blouse.

  ‘I think we go, don’t you?’ said the lieutenant, who seemed oblivious of Wazzer’s activities now he was in the presence of the military might of the centuries. ‘Oh, god . . . there’s Brigadier Galosh! And Major-general the Lord Kanapay! General Annorac! I’ve read everything he wrote! I never thought I’d see him in the flesh!’

  ‘Partly flesh, sir,’ said Polly, dragging him forward.

  ‘Every great commander of the last five hundred years was buried here, Perks!’

  ‘I’m very pleased for you, sir. If we could just move a little faster . . .’

  ‘It is my fondest hope that I’ll spend the rest of eternity here, you know.’

  ‘Wonderful, sir, but not starting today. Can we catch up with the rest of them, sir?’

  As they passed, hand after ragged hand was raised in jerky salute. Staring eyes gleamed in hollow faces. The strange light glistened on dusty braid and stained, faded cloth. And there was a noise, harsher than the whispering, deep and guttural. It sounded like the creaking of distant doors, but individual voices rose and fell as the squad passed the dead figures . . .

  Death to Zlobenia . . . get them . . . remember . . . give them hell . . . vengeance . . . remember . . . they’re not human . . . avenge us . . . revenge . . .

  Up ahead, Wazzer had reached some high wooden doors. They swung open at her touch. The light travelled with her, and the squad were on her heels. To be too far behind was to be in the dark.

  ‘Couldn’t I just ask Major-general—’ Blouse began, dragging on Polly’s hand.

  ‘No! You can’t! Don’t dawdle! Come on!’ Polly commanded.

  They reached the doors, which Tonker and Igorina slammed behind them. Polly leaned against the wall.

  ‘I think that was the most . . . most amazing moment of my life,’ said Blouse, as the boom died away.

  ‘I think this is mine,’ said Polly, fighting for breath.

  Light still glowed around Wazzer, who turned to face the squad with an expression of beatific pleasure. ‘You must speak to the High Command,’ she said.

  You must speak to the High Command, whispered the walls.

  ‘Be kind to this child.’

  Be kind to this child . . .

  . . . this child . . .

  Polly caught Wazzer before she hit the ground.

  ‘What is happening with her?’ said Tonker.

  ‘I think the Duchess really is speaking through her,’ said Polly. Wazzer was unconscious, only the whites of her eyes showing. Polly laid her down gently.

  ‘Oh, come on! The Duchess is just a painting! She’s dead!’

  Sometimes you give in. For Polly, that time had been the length of time it took to walk through the crypt. If you don’t believe, or don’t want to believe, or if you don’t simply hope that there’s something worth believing in, why turn round? And if you don’t believe, who are you trusting to lead you out of the grip of dead men?

  ‘Dead?’ she said. ‘So what? What about the old soldiers back there, who haven’t faded away? What about the light? And you heard how Wazzer’s voice sounded.’

  ‘Yeah, but . . . well, that sort of thing doesn’t happen to people you know,’ said Tonker. ‘It happens to . . . well, strange religious people. I mean, a few days ago she was learning how to fart loudly!’

  ‘She?’ whispered Blouse to Polly. ‘She? Why is—’

  Once again a part of Polly’s mind overtook the sudden panic. ‘Sorry, Daphne?’ she said.

  ‘Oh . . . yes . . . of course . . . can’t be too . . . yes . . .’ the lieutenant murmured.

  Igorina knelt down by the girl and put a hand on her forehead. ‘She’s on fire,’ she said.

  ‘She used to pray all the time back at the Grey House,’ said Lofty, kneeling down.

  ‘Yeah, well, there was a lot to pray about, if you weren’t strong,’ growled Tonker. ‘And every bloody day we had to pray to the Duchess to thank Nuggan for slops you wouldn’t give to a pig! And t
hat damn picture everywhere, that fishy stare . . . I hate it! It could drive you mad. That’s what happened to Wazz, right? And now you want me to believe the fat old biddy is alive and treating our friend there like some . . . puppet or something? I don’t believe that. And if it’s true, it shouldn’t be!’

  ‘She’s burning up, Magda,’ said Lofty quietly.

  ‘D’you know why we joined up?’ said Tonker, red in the face. ‘To get away! Anything was better than what we had! I’ve got Lofty and Lofty’s got me, and we’re sticking with you because there’s nothing else for us. Everyone says the Zlobenians are terrible, right? But they’ve never done anything to us, they’ve never hurt us. If they want to come over here and hang a few bastards, I could give ’em a list! Everywhere there’s something bad happening, everywhere the small-minded bullies are inventing new cruelties, new ways of keeping us down, that bloody face is watching! And you say it’s here?’

  ‘We’re here,’ said Polly. ‘And you are here. And we’re going to do what we came to do and get out, understand? You kissed the picture, you took the shilling!’

  ‘I damn well didn’t kiss her face! And a shilling’s the least they owe me!’

  ‘Then go!’ shouted Polly. ‘Desert! We won’t stop you, because I’m sick of your . . . your bullshit! But you make up your mind right now, right now, understand? Because when we meet the enemy I don’t want to think you’re there to stab me in the back!’

  The words flew out before she could stop them, and there was no power in the world that could snatch them back.

  Tonker went pale, and a certain life drained out of her face like water from a funnel. ‘What was that you said?’

  The words ‘You heard me!’ lined up to spring from Polly’s tongue, but she hesitated. She told herself: it doesn’t have to go this way. You don’t have to let a pair of socks do the talking.

  ‘Words that were stupid,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’

  Tonker settled slightly. ‘Well . . . all right, then,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Just so long as you know we’re in this for the squad, okay? Not for the army and not for the bloody Duchess.’

  ‘That was a treasonable speech, Private Halter!’ said Lieutenant Blouse.

  Everyone but Polly had forgotten about him, and he stood there like an easy man to forget.

  ‘However,’ he went on, ‘I realize we’re all what . . .’ he looked down at his dress ‘. . . confused and, er, bewildered by the pace of events . . .’

  Tonker tried to avoid Polly’s eye. ‘Sorry, sir,’ she muttered, glowering.

  ‘I must make it clear that I will not stand to hear such things repeated,’ said Blouse.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ said Polly quickly. ‘So let’ s—’

  ‘But I will overlook it this time,’ Blouse went on.

  Polly could see Tonker snap. The head was raised slowly. ‘You’ll overlook it?’ said Tonker. ‘You will overlook it?’

  ‘Careful,’ said Polly, just loud enough for Tonker to hear.

  ‘Let me tell you something about us, lieutenant,’ said Tonker, grinning horribly.

  ‘We are here, private, whoever we are,’ snapped Polly. ‘Now let’s find the cells!’

  ‘Um . . .’ said Igorina, ‘we’re quite close, I think. I can see a sign. Um. It’s at the end of this passage. Um . . . just behind those three rather puzzled armed men with the, um . . . efficient-looking crossbows. Um. I think what you’ve just been saying was important and needed to be said. Only, um . . . not just now, perhaps? And not so loudly?’

  Only two guards were watching them now, raising their bows cautiously. The other was running away down the passage, shouting.

  The squad, as one man, or woman, shared the thoughts. They’ve got bows. We haven’t. They’ve got forcements behind them. We haven’t. All we’ve got is a darkness full of the restless dead. We haven’t even got a prayer any more.

  Blouse made an effort, nevertheless. In the tones of Daphne he shrilled: ‘Oh, officers . . . we seem to have got lost on the way to the ladies’ room . . .’

  They were not put into a dungeon, although they were marched past plenty. There were lots of bleak stone corridors, lots of heavy doors with bars and lots and lots of bolts, and lots of armed men whose job, presumably, only became interesting if all the bolts disappeared. They were put into a kitchen. It was huge, and clearly not the kind of place where people chopped herbs and stuffed mushrooms. In a gloomy, grimy, soot-encrusted hall like this, cooks had probably catered for hundreds of hungry men. Occasionally the door was opened and shadowy figures stared in at them. No one had said anything, at any time.

  ‘They were expecting us,’ muttered Shufti. The squad were sitting on the floor with their backs to a huge, ancient chopping block, except for Igorina, who was tending to the still-unconscious Wazzer.

  ‘They couldn’t have got that elevator up by now,’ said Polly. ‘I wedged that stone in good and hard.’

  ‘Then maybe the washerwomen gave us away,’ said Tonker. ‘I didn’t like the look of Mrs Enid.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ said Polly. ‘Is that the only door?’

  ‘There’s a storeroom at the other end,’ said Tonker. ‘No exit, except a grille in the floor.’

  ‘Could we get out that way?’

  ‘Only diced.’

  They stared glumly at the distant door. It had opened again, and there was some muffled conversation amongst the silhouettes beyond. Tonker had tried advancing on the open doorway, and found men with swords suddenly occupying it. Polly turned to look at Blouse, who was slumped against the wall, staring blankly upwards.

  ‘I’d better go and tell him,’ she said. Tonker shrugged.

  Blouse opened his eyes and smiled wanly when Polly approached. ‘Ah, Perks,’ he said. ‘We almost made it, eh?’

  ‘Sorry we let you down, sir,’ said Polly. ‘Permission to sit, sir?’

  ‘Treat the rather chilly flagstones as if they were your own,’ said Blouse. ‘And it was I that let you down, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, no, sir—’ Polly protested.

  ‘You were my first command,’ said Blouse. ‘Well, apart from Corporal Drebb and he was seventy and only had one arm, poor chap.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘All I had to do was get you to the valley. That was all. But, no, I foolishly dreamed of a world where everyone would one day wear a Blouse. Or eat one, possibly. I should have listened to Sergeant Jackrum! Oh, will I ever look my dear Emmeline in the face again?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Polly.

  ‘That was meant to be more of a rhetorical cry of despair than an actual question, Perks,’ said Blouse.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Polly. She took a deep breath, ready for the plunge into the icy depths of the truth. ‘Sir, you ought to know that—’

  ‘And I’m afraid once they realize we aren’t women we’ll be put in the big dungeons,’ the lieutenant went on. ‘Very big, and very dirty, I’m told. And very crowded.’

  ‘Sir, we are women, sir,’ said Polly.

  ‘Yes, well done, Perks, but we don’t have to pretend any more.’

  ‘You don’t understand, sir. We really are women. All of us.’

  Blouse grinned nervously. ‘I think you’ve got a little . . . confused, Perks. I seem to recall that the same thing happened to Wrigglesworth—’

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘—although I have to say he was very good at choosing curtains—’

  ‘No, sir. I was a— I am a girl, and I cut my hair and pretended I was a boy and took the Duchess’s shilling, sir. Take my word for it, sir, because I really don’t want to have to draw you a picture. We played a trick on you, sir. Well, not a trick, really, but we, all of us, had reasons for being somewhere else, sir, or at least not being where we were. We lied.’

  Blouse stared at her. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I am of the female persuasion. I check every day, sir.’

  ‘A
nd Private Halter?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Lofty?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Both of them, sir. Don’t go there, sir.’

  ‘What about Shufti?’

  ‘Expecting a baby, sir.’

  Suddenly, Blouse looked terrified. ‘Oh, no. Here?’

  ‘Not for several months, sir, I believe.’

  ‘And poor little Private Goom?’

  ‘A girl, sir. And Igor is really an Igorina. And wherever she is, Carborundum is really Jade. We’re not sure about Corporal Maladict. But the rest of us definitely have pink blankets, sir.’

  ‘But you didn’t act like women!’

  ‘No, sir. We acted like men, sir. Sorry, sir. We just wanted to find our men or get away or prove a point or something. Sorry it had to happen to you, sir.’

  ‘You’re sure about all this, are you?’

  What are you expecting me to say? Polly thought. ‘Whoops, now I come to think about it, yes, we’re really men after all’? She settled for saying: ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So . . . you’re not called Oliver, then?’ It seemed to Polly that the lieutenant was having a lot of difficulty with all this; he kept asking the same basic question in different ways, in the hope of getting something other than the answer he didn’t want to hear.

  ‘No, sir. I’m Polly, sir—’

  ‘Oh? Do you know there is a song about—’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Polly firmly. ‘Believe me, I’d rather you didn’t even hum it.’

  Blouse stared at the far wall, eyes slightly unfocused. Oh dear, Polly thought. ‘You took a terrible risk,’ he said distantly. ‘A battlefield is no place for women.’

  ‘This war isn’t staying on battlefields. At a time like this, a pair of trousers is a girl’s best friend, sir.’

  Blouse fell silent again. Suddenly, Polly felt very sorry for him. He was a bit of a fool, in that special way very clever people have of being foolish, but he wasn’t a bad man. He’d been decent to the squad and he’d cared about them. He didn’t deserve this.

  ‘Sorry you had to be involved, sir,’ she said.

  Blouse looked up. ‘Sorry?’ he said, and to her amazement he was looking more cheerful than he had all day. ‘Good heavens, you don’t have to be sorry. Do you know anything about history, Polly?’