Blouse looked round at his men. ‘I believe we are, major.’
‘Good,’ said Clogston, winking.
Good.
Clogston went back to his table and shuffled his papers. ‘The allegedly accused, sir, regretfully turn down the offer.’
‘Yes, I thought they might,’ said Froc. ‘In that case, they are to be returned to the cells. They will be dealt with later.’ Plaster showered down as something hit the outer wall again. ‘This has gone quite far enough!’
‘We won’t be sent to the cells!’ Tonker shouted.
‘Then that is mutiny, sir!’ said Froc. ‘And we know how to deal with that!’
‘Excuse me, general, does that then mean the tribunal does agree that these ladies are soldiers?’ said Clogston.
General Froc glared at him. ‘Don’t you try to tie me up with procedural nonsense, major!’
‘It’s hardly nonsense, sir, it’s the very basis—’
Duck.
The word was the faintest, merest suggestion in Polly’s head, but it also seemed to be wired to her central nervous system. And not only hers. The squad ducked, Igorina throwing herself across her patient’s body.
Half the ceiling collapsed. The chandelier fell down and exploded in a kaleidoscope of splintering prisms. Mirrors shattered. And then there was, by comparison at least, silence, broken only by the thud of a few late bits of plaster and the tinkle of a tardy shard.
Now . . .
Footsteps approached the big doors at the end of the room, where the guards were just struggling to their feet. The doors swung open.
Jackrum stood there, shining like the sunset. The light glinted off his shako badge, polished to the point where it would blind the incautious with its terrible gleam. His face was red, but his jacket was redder, and his sergeant’s sash was the pure quill of redness, its very essence, the red of dying stars and dying soldiers. Blood dripped off the cutlasses thrust into his belt. The guards, still shaking, tried to lower their pikes to bar his way.
‘Do not try it, lads, I beg you,’ said Jackrum. ‘Upon my oath I am not a violent man, but do you think Sergeant Jackrum is going to be stopped by a set of bleedin’ cutlery?’
The men looked at Jackrum, steaming with barely controlled rage, and then at the astonished generals, and took an immediate decision on their own desperate initiative.
‘Good lads,’ said Jackrum. ‘With your permission, General Froc?’
He did not wait for a reply but marched forward with parade-ground precision. He came to boot-crashing attention in front of the senior generals, still brushing plaster dust from their uniforms, and saluted with the precision of a semaphore.
‘I beg to report, sir, that we now hold the main gates, sir! Took the liberty of putting together a force of the Ins-and-Outs, the Side-to-Sides and the Backwards-and-Forwards, sir, just in case, saw a big cloud o’ flame and smoke over the place, and arrived at the gates just as your lads did. Got ’em coming and going, sir!’
There was a general cheer, and General Kzupi leaned towards Froc. ‘In view of this pleasing development, sir, perhaps we should hurry up and close this—’
Froc waved him into silence. ‘Jackrum, you old rogue,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘I heard you were dead. How the devil are you?’
‘Fightin’ fit, sir!’ barked Jackrum. ‘Not dead at all, despite the hopes of many!’
‘Glad to hear it, man. But, while your rosy face is a welcome sight at any time, we are here to—’
‘Fourteen miles I carried you, sir!’ Jackrum roared, sweat pouring down his face. ‘Pulled that arrow out of your leg, sir. Sliced that devil of a captain who pushed an axe in your face, sir, and I’m glad to see the scar’s looking well. Killed that poor sentry lad just to steal his water bottle for you, sir. Looked into his dyin’ face, sir, for you. Never asked for nothing in return, sir. Right, sir?’
Froc rubbed his chin and smiled. ‘Well, I seem to remember there was that little matter of fudging some details, changing a few dates—’ he murmured.
‘Don’t give me that bleedin’ slop, sir, with respect. That wasn’t for me, that was for the army. For the Duchess, sir. And, yeah, I see a few other gentlemen round this table who had reason to do the same little service for me. For the Duchess, sir. And if you was to leave me one sword I’d stand and fight any man in your army, sir, be he never so young and full of mustard!’
In one movement he pulled a cutlass from his belt and brought it down on the paperwork between Froc’s hands. It bit through into the wood of the table, and stayed there.
Froc didn’t flinch. Instead he looked up and said calmly, ‘Hero though you may be, sergeant, I fear that you have gone too far.’
‘Have I gone the full fourteen miles yet, sir?’ said Jackrum.
For a moment there was no sound but that of the cutlass, vibrating to a halt. Froc breathed out. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘What is your request, sergeant?’
‘I notes you have my little lads before you, sir! I’m hearing that they are in a spot of bother, sir!’
‘The girls, Jackrum, are to be restrained in a place of safety. This is no place for them. And that is my order, sergeant.’
‘I said to ’em when they signed up, sir, I said: if anyone drags you away they’ll have to drag me away, too, sir!’
Froc nodded. ‘Very loyal of you, sergeant, and very much in your character. Nevertheless—’
‘And I have information vital to these here deliberations, sir! There is something I must tell you, sir!’
‘Well, by all means tell us, man!’ said Froc. ‘You don’t have to take all—’
‘It requires that some of you gentlemen quit this room, sir,’ said Jackrum, desperately. He was still at attention, still holding the salute.
‘Now you do ask too much, Jackrum,’ said Froc. ‘These are loyal officers of her grace!’
‘No doubt of it, sir! Upon my oath I am not a gossiping man, sir, but I will speak my piece to those I choose, sir, or speak it to the world. There’s ways to do that, sir, nasty new-fangled ways. Your choice, sir!’
At last, Froc coloured. He stood up abruptly. ‘Are you seriously telling me that you’d—’
‘This is my famous last stand, sir!’ said Jackrum, saluting again. ‘Do or die, sir!’
All eyes turned to Froc. He relaxed. ‘Oh, very well. It can’t do any harm to listen to you, sergeant. God knows you’ve earned it. But make it quick.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘But try this again and you’ll be on the biggest fizzer you can imagine.’
‘No worry there, sir. Never been one for fizzers. I will by your leave point to certain men . . .’
They were about half of the officers. They rose with greater or lesser protest, but rise they did, under Froc’s sapphire glare, and filed out into the corridor.
‘General, I protest!’ said a departing colonel. ‘We are being sent out of the room like naughty children while these . . . females are—’
‘Yes, yes, Rodney, and if our friend the sergeant doesn’t have a damn good explanation I’ll personally turn him over to you for punishment detail,’ said Froc. ‘But he’s entitled to his last wild charge if any man is. Go quietly, there’s a good chap, and keep the war going until we get there. And have you finished this strange charade, sergeant?’ he added, as the last of the officers left.
‘All but one last thing, sir,’ said Jackrum, and stamped over to the guards. They were at attention already, but nevertheless contrived to become more attentive. ‘You lads go outside this door,’ said the sergeant. ‘No one is to come close, understand. And I know you boys won’t try to eavesdrop, because of what’d happen to you if I ever found that you had done so. Off you go, hup, hup, hup!’
He shut the doors behind them and the atmosphere changed. Polly couldn’t quite detect how, but perhaps it was that the click of the doors had said ‘This is our secret’ and everyone present was in on it.
Jackrum removed his s
hako and laid it gently on the table in front of the general. Then he took off his coat and handed it to Polly, saying, ‘Hold this, Perks. It’s the property of her grace.’ He rolled up his sleeves. He relaxed his enormous red braces. And then, to Polly’s horror if not to her surprise, he brought out his paper screw of foul chewing tobacco and his blackened penknife.
‘Oh, I say—’ a major began, before a colleague nudged him into silence. Never had a man cutting a wad of black tobacco been the subject of such rapt, horrified attention.
‘Things are going well outside,’ he said. ‘Shame you aren’t all out there, eh? Still, the truth’s important too, right? And that’s what this tribunal is for, no doubt about it. It must be important, the truth, else you wouldn’t be here, am I right? ’course I am.’
Jackrum finished the cut, palmed the stuff into his mouth and got it comfortable in a cheek, while the sounds of battle filtered through from outside. Then he turned and walked towards the major who had just spoken. The man cringed a little in his chair.
‘What’ve you got to say about the truth, Major Derbi?’ said Jackrum conversationally. ‘Nothing? Well, then, what shall I say? What shall I say about a captain who turned and ran sobbing when we came across a column of Zlobenians, deserting his own men? Shall I say that ol’ Jackrum tripped him up and pummelled him a bit and put the fear of . . . Jackrum into him, and he went back and ’twas a famous victory he had that day, over two enemies, one of them being in his own head. And he came to ol’ Jackrum again, drunk with battle, and said more’n he ought . . .’
‘You bastard,’ said the major softly.
‘Shall I tell the truth today . . . Janet?’ said Jackrum.
The sounds of battle were suddenly much louder. They poured into the room like the water rushing to fill a hole in the ocean floor, but all the sound in the world could not have filled that sudden, tremendous silence.
Jackrum strolled on towards another man. ‘Good to see you here, Colonel Cumabund!’ he said cheerfully. ‘O’ course, you were only Lieutenant Cumabund when I was under your command. Plucky lad you were, when you led us against that detachment of Kopelies. And then you took a nasty sword wound in the fracas, or just above, and I got you through with rum and cold water, and found that plucky you might be, but lad you weren’t. Oh, how you gabbled away in your feverish delirium . . . Yes, you did. That’s the truth . . . Olga.’
He stepped round the table and started to stroll along behind the officers; those he passed stared woodenly ahead, not daring to turn, not daring to make any movement that would attract attention.
‘You could say I know something about all of yez,’ he said. ‘Quite a lot about some of you, just enough about most of you. A few of you, well, I could write a book.’ He paused just behind Froc, who stiffened.
‘Jackrum, I—’ he began.
Jackrum put a hand on each of Froc’s shoulders. ‘Fourteen miles, sir. Two nights, ’cos we lay up by day, the patrols were that thick. Cut about pretty dreadful, you were, but you got better nursing from me than any sawbones, I’d bet.’ He leaned forward until his mouth was level with the general’s ear, and continued in a stage whisper: ‘What is there left about you that I don’t know? So . . . are you really looking for the truth . . . Mildred?’
The room was a museum of waxworks. Jackrum spat on the floor.
‘You cannot prove anything, sergeant,’ said Froc eventually, with the calm of an icefield.
‘Well now, not as such. But they keep telling me this is the modern world, sir. I don’t need proof, exactly. I know a man who’d have such a tale to tell, and it’d be in Ankh-Morpork in a couple of hours.’
‘If you leave this room alive,’ said a voice.
Jackrum smiled his evillest smile, and bore down on the source of the threat like an avalanche. ‘Ah! I thought one of yez would try that, Chloe, but I note you never made it beyond major, and no wonder since you try to bluff with no bleedin’ cards in your hand. Nice try, though. But, first, I could take you to the bleedin’ cleaners before those guards were back in here, upon my oath, and, second, you don’t know what I’ve writ down and who else knows. I trained all you girls at one time or another, and some of the cunning you got, some of the mustard, some of the sense . . . well, you got it from me. Didn’t you? So don’t any of you go thinking you can be artful about this, because when it comes to cunning I am Mister Fox.’
‘Sergeant, sergeant, sergeant,’ said Froc wearily, ‘what is it you want?’
Jackrum completed his circuit of the table and finished in front of it, once again like a man before his judges.
‘Well, blow me down,’ he said quietly, looking along the row of faces. ‘You didn’t know, did you . . . you didn’t know. Is there a . . . a man among you that knew? You thought, every one of you, that you were all alone. All alone. You poor devils. And look at you. More’n a third of the country’s High Command. You made it on your own, ladies. What could you have done if you’d acted tog—’
He stopped, and took a step towards Froc, who looked down at her cloven paperwork. ‘How many did you spot, Mildred?’
‘That will be “general”, sergeant. I’m still a general, sergeant. Or “sir” will do. And your answer is: one or two. One or two.’
‘And you promoted them, did you, if they was as good as men?’
‘Indeed not, sergeant. What do you take me for? I promoted them if they were better than men.’
Jackrum opened his arms wide, like a ringmaster introducing a new act. ‘Then what about the lads I brought with me, sir? As cracking a bunch of lads as I’ve ever seen.’ He cast a bloodshot eye around the table. ‘And I’m good at weighing up a lad, as you all know. They’d be a credit to your army, sir!’
Froc looked at her colleagues on either side. An unspoken question harvested unsaid answers.
‘Yes, well,’ she said. ‘All seems clear to us, in the light of new developments. When beardless lads dress up as gels, there’s no doubt that people will get confused. And that’s what we’ve got here, sergeant. Mere confusion. Mistaken identities. Much ado, in fact, about nothing. Clearly they are boys, and may return home right now with an honourable discharge.’
Jackrum chuckled and stuck out a palm, flexing the fingers upwards like a man bargaining. Once again, there was the communion of spirits.
‘Very well. They can, if they wish, continue in the army,’ said Froc. ‘With discretion, of course.’
‘No, sir!’
Polly stared at Jackrum, and then realized the words had, in fact, come from her own mouth.
Froc raised her eyebrows. ‘What is your name again?’ she said.
‘Corporal Perks, sir!’ said Polly, saluting.
She watched Froc’s face settle into an expression of condescending benevolence. If she uses the words ‘my dear’ I shall swear, she thought.
‘Well, my dear—’
‘Not your dear, sir or madam,’ said Polly. In the theatre of her mind The Duchess Inn burned to a cinder and her old life peeled away, black as charcoal, and she was flying, ballistic, too fast and too high and unable to stop. ‘I am a soldier, general. I signed up. I kissed the Duchess. I don’t think generals call their soldiers “my dear”, do they?’
Froc coughed. The smile remained, but had the decency to be a bit more restrained. ‘And private soldiers don’t talk like that to generals, young lady, so we’ll let that pass, shall we?’
‘Just here, in this room, I don’t know what passes and what stays, sir,’ said Polly. ‘But it seems to me that if you are still a general then I’m still a corporal, sir. I can’t speak for the others, but the reason I’m holding out, general, is that I kissed the Duchess and she knew what I was and she . . . didn’t turn away, if you understand me.’
‘Well said, Perks,’ said Jackrum.
Polly plunged on. ‘Sir, a day or two ago I’d have rescued my brother and gone off home and I’d have thought it a job well done. I just wanted to be safe. But now I see there’s no safety while
there’s all this . . . this stupidity. So I think I’ve got to stay and be a part of it. Er . . . try to make it less stupid, I mean. And I want to be me, not Oliver. I kissed the Duchess. We all did. You can’t tell us we didn’t and you can’t tell us it doesn’t count, because it’s between us and her—’
‘You all kissed the Duchess,’ said a voice. It had an . . . echo.
You all kissed the Duchess . . .
‘Did you think that it meant nothing? That it was just a kiss?’
Did you think it meant nothing . . .
. . . just a kiss . . .
The whispered words washed against the walls like surf, and came back stronger, in harmonies.
Did you kiss meant nothing meant a kiss just think a kiss meant a kiss . . .
Wazzer was standing up. The squad stood petrified as she walked unsteadily past them. Her eyes focused on Polly.
‘How good to wear a body again,’ she said. ‘And to breathe. Breathing is wonderful . . .’
How good . . .
To breathe wonderful a body again to breathe . . .
Something was in Wazzer’s face. Her features were all there, all correct, her nose was as pointed and as red, her cheekbones as hollow . . . but there were subtle changes. She held up a hand and flexed her fingers.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘So . . .’ There was no echo this time, but the voice was stronger and deep. No one would ever have said that Wazzer’s voice had been attractive, but this one was. She turned to Jackrum, who dropped on to his fat knees and whipped off his shako.
‘Sergeant Jackrum, I know that you know who I am. You have waded through seas of blood for me. Perhaps we should have done better things with your life, but at least your sins were soldier’s sins, and not the worst of them, at that. You are hereby promoted to sergeant major, and a better candidate for the job I have never met. You are steeped in deviousness, cunning and casual criminality, Sergeant Jackrum. You should do well.’
Jackrum, eyes cast down, raised a knuckle to his forehead. ‘. . . not worthy, your grace,’ he muttered.