"This is terrible beer, girl," he said, sniffing the mug.

"Yes, sir, I know, sir," Polly gabbled. "They wouldn't listen to me, sir, and said you have to put a damp sheet over the barrels in this thundery weather, sir, and Molly never cleans the spigot and - "

"This town's empty, you know that?"

"They all scarpered, sir," said Polly earnestly. "Gonna be an invasion, sir. Everyone says. They're frightened of you, sir."

"Except you, eh?" said the sergeant.

"What's your name, girl who smiles at Zlobenian troopers?" said the captain, smiling.

"Polly, sir," said Polly. Her questing hand found what it was seeking under the bar. It was the barman's friend. There always was one.

"And are you frightened of me, Polly?" said the captain. There was a snigger from the soldier by the window.

The captain had a well-trimmed moustache which had been waxed to points, and was over six feet tall, Polly reckoned. He had a pretty smile, too, which was somehow improved by the scar on his face. A circle of glass covered one eye. Her hand gripped the hidden cudgel.

"No, sir," she said, looking back into one eye and one glass. "Er... what's that glass for, sir?"

"It's a monocle," said the captain. "It helps me see you, for which I am eternally grateful. I always say that if I had two I'd make a spectacle of myself."

That got a dutiful laugh from the sergeant. Polly looked blank.

"And are you going to tell me where the recruits are?" said the captain.

She forced her expression not to change. "No."

The captain smiled. He had good teeth, but there was, now, no warmth in his eyes.

"You are in no position to be ignorant," he said. "We won't hurt them, I assure you."

There was a scream in the distance.

"Much," said the sergeant, with more satisfaction than was necessary. There was another yell. The captain nodded to the man by the door, who slipped out. Polly pulled the shako out from under the bar and put it on.

"One of them gave you his cap, did he?" said the sergeant, and his teeth were nowhere near as good as the officer's. "Well, I like a girl who'll smile at a soldier - "

The cudgel hit him along the head. It was old blackthorn, and he went down like a tree. The captain backed away as Polly came out from behind the bar with the club readied again. But he hadn't drawn his sword, and he was laughing.

"Now, girl, if you want - " He caught her arm as she swung, dragged her towards him in a tight grip, still laughing, and folded up almost silently as her knee connected with his sock drawer. Thank you, Gummy. As he sagged she stepped back and brought the cudgel down on his helmet, making it ring.

She was shaking. She felt sick. Her stomach was a small, red-hot lump. What else could she have done? Was she supposed to think We have met the enemy and he is nice? Anyway, he wasn't. He was smug.

She tugged a sabre from a scabbard and crept out into the night. It was still raining, and waist-deep mist was drifting up from the river. Half a dozen or so horses were outside, but not tied up. A trooper was waiting with them. Faintly, against the rustle of the rain, she heard him making soothing noises to comfort one of them. She wished she hadn't heard that. Well, she'd taken the shilling. Polly gripped the cudgel.

She'd gone a step when the mist between her and the man fountained up slowly as something rose out of it. The horses shifted uneasily. The man turned, a shadow moved, the man fell...

"Oil" whispered Polly.

The shadow turned. "Ozzer? It's me, Maladict," it said. "Sarge sent me to see if you needed help."

"Bloody Jackrum left me surrounded by armed men!" Polly hissed.

"And?"

"Well, I... knocked two of them out," she said, feeling as she said it that this rather spoilt her case as a victim. "One went over the road, though."

"I think we got that one," said Maladict. "Well, I say 'got'... Tonker nearly gutted him. There's a girl with what I'd call unresolved issues." He turned round. "Let's see... seven horses, seven men. Yep."

"Tonker?" said Polly.

"Oh, yes. Hadn't you spotted her? She went mad when the man charged at Lofty. Now, let's have a look at your gentlemen, shall we?" said Maladict, heading for the inn door.

"But Lofty and Tonker..." Polly began, running to keep up. "I mean, the way they act, they... I thought she was his girl... but I thought Tonker... I mean, I know Lofty is a gi - "

Even in the dark, Maladict's teeth gleamed as he smiled. "The world's certainly unfolding itself for you, eh? Ozzer? Every day, something new. Cross-dressing now, I see."

"What?"

"You are wearing a petticoat, Ozzer," said Maladict, stepping into the bar. Polly looked down guiltily and started to tug it off, and then thought: hang on a moment...

The sergeant had managed to pull himself up against the bar, where he was being sick. The captain was groaning on the floor.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" said the vampire. "Please pay attention. I am a reformed vampire, which is to say, I am a bundle of suppressed instincts held together with spit and coffee. It would be wrong to say that violent, tearing carnage does not come easily to me. It's not tearing your throats out that doesn't come easily to me. Please don't make it any harder."

The sergeant pushed himself away from the bar top and took a muzzy swing at Maladict. Almost absent-mindedly, Maladict leaned away from it and then returned a roundhouse blow that knocked him over.

"The captain looks bad," he said. "What did he try to do to poor little you?"

"Patronize me," said Polly, glaring at Maladict.

"Ah," said the vampire.

Maladict knocked softly on the barracks door. It opened a fraction, and then all the way. Carborundum lowered his club. Wordlessly, Polly and Maladict dragged the two cavalrymen inside. Sergeant Jackrum was sitting on a stool by the fire, drinking a mug of beer.

"Well done, lads," he said. "Put 'em with the others." He waved the mug vaguely towards the far wall, where four of the soldiers were hunched sullenly under the gaze of Tonker. They had been manacled together. The last soldier was lying on a table, with Igor at work on him with a needle and thread.

"How's he coming along, private?" said Jackrum.

"He'll be fine, tharge," said Igor. "It looked worthe than it wath, really. Jutht ath well, because until we get to the battlefield I won't get any thpareth."

"Got a couple of legs for ol' Threeparts?" said Jackrum.

"Now then, sarge, none of that," said Scallot evenly. He was sitting on the other side of the fireplace. "You just leave me their horses and saddles. Your lads could do with their sabres, I've no doubt."

"They were looking for us, sarge," said Polly. "We're just a bunch of untrained recruits and they were looking for us. I could've been killed, sarge!"

"No, I know talent when I sees it," said Jackrum. "Well done, lad. Had to piss off myself, on account of a big man in full enemy uniform isn't easy to miss. Besides, you lads needed to be woke up. That's milit'ry thinking, that is."

"But if I hadn't..." Polly hesitated. "If I hadn't tricked them, they might've killed the lieutenant!"

"See? There's always a positive side, any way you look at it," said Scallot.

The sergeant stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and hitched up his belt. He ambled over to the captain, reached down, and lifted him up by his jacket.

"Why were you looking for these boys, sir?" he enquired.

The captain opened his eye and focused on the fat man.

"I am an officer and a gentleman, sergeant," he muttered. "There are rules."

"Not many gentlemen around here at this moment, sir," said the sergeant.

"Damn right," whispered Maladict. Polly, feeling drunk with relief and released tension, had to put her hand over her mouth to stop giggling.

"Oh, yeah. The rules. Prisoners of war and that," Jackrum went on. "That means you even have to eat the same things as us, you poor devils. So you're not going to talk to me?"

"I am... Captain Horentz of the First Heavy Dragoons. I'll say nothing more." And something about the way he said it elbowed Polly in the brain. He's lying.

Jackrum stared at him blankly for a moment, and then said: "Well, now... it looks like what we have here is an embugger-ance which, my lads of the Cheesemongers, is defined as an obstruction in the way of progress. I propose to deal with it in this wise!" He let go of the man's jacket and the captain fell back.

Sergeant Jackrum removed his hat. Then he removed his jacket, too, revealing a stained shirt and bright red braces. He was still almost spherical; from his neck, folds of skin lapped their way down to the tropical regions. The belt must have been there just to conform to regulations, Polly thought.

He reached up and undid a piece of string from around his neck. It was looped through a hole in a tarnished coin.

"Corporal Scallot!" he said.

"Yes, sarge!" said Scallot, saluting.

"You will note I am divestering myself of my insignia and am handing you my official shilling, which means, since last time I signed up it was for twelve years and that was sixteen years ago, I am now fully and legally a damn civilian!"

"Yes, Mister Jackrum," said Scallot cheerfully. Among the prisoners, heads jerked up at the sound of the name.

"And that being the case, and since you, captain, are invading our country by night under the cover of darkness, and I am a humble civilian, I think there's no rule to stop me beating seven kinds of crap out of you until you tell me why you came here and when the rest of your mates are going to arrive. And that may take me some time, sir, because up until now I've only ever discovered five types of crap." He rolled up his sleeves, hauled up the captain again and drew back a fist -

"We just had to take the recruits into custody," said a voice. "We weren't going to hurt them! Now put him down, Jackrum, damn you! He's still seeing stars!"

It was the sergeant from the inn. Polly looked at the other prisoners. Even with Carborundum and Maladict watching them, and Tonker glowering at them, there was a definite sense that the first blow landed on the captain was going to start a riot. And Polly thought: they are very protective, aren't they...

Jackrum must have picked it up, too. "Ah, now we're talking," he said, lowering the captain gently but still holding his coat. "Your men speak up for you well, captain."

"That's because we're not slaves, you bloody beeteater," growled one of the troopers.

"Slaves? All my lads joined up of their own free will, turniphead."

"Maybe they thought they did," said the sergeant. "You just lied to 'em. Lied to 'em for years. They're all gonna die because of your stupid lies! Lies and your raddled, rotting, lying old whore of a duchess!"

"Private Goom, as you were! That is an order! As you were, I said! Private Maladict, take that sword off'f Private Goom! That is another order! Sergeant, order your men to ease back slowly! Slowly! Do it now! Upon my oath I am not a violent man, but any man, any man who disobeys me, bigod, that man is lookin' at a broken rib!"

Jackrum screamed all that in one long explosion of sound without taking his eyes off the captain.

Reaction, order and breathless stillness had taken just a few seconds. Polly stared at the sudden tableau as her muscles untensed.

The Zlobenian troopers were settling back. Carborundum's raised club began to lower itself gently. Little Wazzer was held off the ground by Maladict, who'd wrenched a sword from her hand; possibly only a vampire could have moved faster than Wazzer as she'd charged the prisoners.

"Custody," said Jackrum, in a quiet voice. "That's a funny word. Look at my little lads, will you? Not a whisker between them yet, save for the troll, and lichen don't count. Still wet behind the ears, they are. What's dangerous about a harmless bunch of farm boys that'd concern a fine bunch of horse-wallopers like yourselves?"

"Can thomeone pleathe come and put their finger on thith knot?" said Igor, from his makeshift operating table. "I've jutht about done."

"Harmless?" said the sergeant, staring at the struggling Wazzer. "They're a bunch of bloody madmen!"

"I want to speak to your officer, damn you," said the captain, who looked a little less unfocused now. "You do have an officer, don't you?"

"Yeah, we've got one somewhere, as I recall," said Jackrum. "Perks, go and fetch the rupert, will you? Best if you take that dress off first, too. You never know, with ruperts." He carefully lowered the captain onto a bench, and straightened up.

"Carborundum, Maladict, chop something off any prisoner who moves, and any man who tries to attack a prisoner!" he said. "Now then... oh, yes. Threeparts Scallot, I wish to enlist in your wonderful army, with its many opportunities for a young man willing to apply himself."

"Any previous soldierin'?" said Scallot, grinning.

"Forty years fighting every bleeder within a hundred miles of Borogravia, corporal."

"Special skills?"

"Stayin' alive, corporal, come what may."

"Then allow me to present you with one shilling and immediate acceleration to the rank of sergeant," said Scallot, handing back the coat and the shilling. "Want to Osculate the Doxie?"

"Not at my time o' life," said Jackrum, putting on his jacket again. "There," he said. "All smart, all neat, all legal. Go on, Perks, I gave you an order."

Blouse was snoring. His candle had burned down. A book was open on his blanket. Polly gently pulled it out from under his fingers. The title, almost invisible on the stained cover, was: Tacticus: The Campaigns.

"Sir?" she whispered.

Blouse opened his eyes, saw her, and then turned and frantically scrabbled by the bed.

"Here they are, sir," said Polly, handing him his spectacles.

"Ah, Perks, thank you," said the lieutenant, sitting up. "Midnight, is it?"

"A bit after, sir."

"Oh, dear! Then we must hurry! Quick, pass me my breeches! Have the men had a good night?"

"We were attacked by Zlobenian troops, sir. First Heavy Dragoons. We took them prisoner, sir. No casualties, sir."

...because they didn't expect us to fight. They wanted to take us alive! And they walked in on Carborundum and Maladict and... me.

It had been hard, very hard, to force herself to swing that cudgel. But once she had done it, it had been easy. And then she'd felt embarrassed about being caught in a petticoat, even though she had her breeches on underneath. She'd gone from boy to girl just by thinking it, and it had been so... easy.

She needed some time to consider this. She needed time to think about a lot of things. She suspected that time was going to be in short supply.

Blouse was still sitting there with his breeches half on, staring at her.

"Run that past me again one more time, will you, Perks?" he said. "You have captured some of the enemy?"

"Not just me, sir, I only got two of 'em," said Polly. "We all, er, piled in, sir."

"Heavy Dragoons?"

"Yessir."

"That's the Prince's personal regiment! They've invaded?"

"I think it was more of a patrol, sir. Seven men."

"And none of you are hurt?"

"Nosir."

"Pass me my shirt! Oh, blast!"

It was then that Polly noticed the bandage around his right hand. It was red with blood. He saw her expression.

"Bit of a self-inflicted wound, Perks," he said nervously. "'Brushing up' on my sword drill after supper. Nothing serious. Just a bit 'rusty', you know. Can't quite manage buttons. If you would be so good..."

Polly helped the lieutenant struggle into the rest of his clothes, and threw his few other possessions in a bag. It took a special kind of man, she reflected, to cut his sword hand with his own sword.

"I should pay my bill..." the lieutenant muttered, as they hurried down the darkened stairs.

"Can't, sir. Everyone's fled, sir."

"Perhaps I should leave them a note, do you think? I wouldn't like them to think that I had 'done a runner' without - "

"They've all gone, sir!" said Polly, pushing him towards the front door. She stopped outside the barracks, straightened his coat and stared at his face. "Did you wash last night, sir?"

"There was no - " Blouse began.

The response was automatic. Even though she was fifteen months younger, she'd been mothering Paul for too long.

"Handkerchief!" she demanded. And, since some things get programmed into the brain at an early age, one was obediently produced.

"Spit!" Polly commanded. Then she used the damp hanky to wipe a mark off Blouse's face and realized, as she was doing it, that she was doing it. There was no going back. The only way out was ahead.

"All right," she said brusquely. "Have you got everything?"

"Yes, Perks."

"Have you been to the privy this morning?" her mouth went on, while her brain cowered in fear of a court martial. I'm in shock, she thought, and so's he. So you cling to what you know. And you can't stop...

"No, Perks," said the lieutenant.

"Then you must go properly before we get on the boat, all right?"

"Yes, Perks."

"In you go, then, there's a good lieutenant."

She leaned against the wall and got her breath back in a few hurried gulps as Blouse stepped into the barracks, then slipped in after him.

"Officer present!" Jackrum barked. The squad, already lined up, stood to varying degrees of attention. The sergeant jerked a salute in front of Blouse, causing the young man to sway backwards.

"Apprehended enemy scouting party, sir! Dangerous business all round, sir! In view of the emergency nature of the emergency sir, and seeing as how you have no NCO what with Corporal Strappi having scarpered, and seeing as how I'm an old soldier in good standing, you are allowed to conscript me as an auxiliary under Duchess's Regulations, Rule 796, Section 3 [a], Paragraph ii, sir, thank you, sir!"

"What?" said Blouse, staring around blearily and becoming aware that in a world of sudden turmoil there was a big red coat that seemed to know what it was doing. "Oh. Yes. Fine. Rule 796, you say? Absolutely. Well done. Carry on, sergeant."

"Are you in command here?" barked Horentz, standing.

"Indeed I am, captain," said Blouse.

Horentz looked him up and down. "You?" he said, disdain oozing from the word.

"Indeed, sir," said Blouse, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh well, we shall have to do what we can. That fat bastard," said Horentz, pointing a threatening finger at Jackrum, "that bastard offered me violence! As a prisoner! In chains! And that... boy," the captain added, spitting the word towards Polly, "kicked me in the privates and almost clubbed me to death! I demand that you let us go!"

Blouse turned to Polly. "Did you kick Captain Horentz in the 'privates', Parts?"

"Er... yessir. Kneed, actually. And it's Perks actually, sir, although I can see why you made the mistake."

"What was he doing at the time?"

"Er... embracing me, sir." Polly saw Blouse's eyebrows rise, and plunged on. "I was temporarily disguised as a girl, sir, in order to allay suspicion."

"And then you... clubbed him?"

"Yessir. Once, sir."

"What in the world possessed you to stop at once?" said Blouse.

"Sir?" said Polly, as Horentz gasped. Blouse turned with an almost seraphic look of pleasure on his face.

"And you, sergeant," he went on, "did you in fact lay a hand on the captain?"

Jackrum took a step forward and saluted smartly. "Not as in fact per se and such, sir, no," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on a point some twelve feet high on the far wall. "I just considered, since he had invaded our country to capture our lads, sir, that it wouldn't hurt if he experienced temporary feelings of shock and awe, sir. On my oath, sir, I am not a violent man."

"Of course not, sergeant," said Blouse. And now, while he still smiled, it was edged with a kind of malevolent glee.

"For heaven's sake, you fool, you can't believe these ignorant yokels, they're the dregs of - " Horentz began.

"I do believe them, indeed I do," said Blouse, shaking with nervous defiance. "I would believe their testimony against yours, sir, if they told me the sky was green. And it would appear that untrained as they are, they have bested some of Zlobenia's finest soldiers by wit and daring. I have every confidence that they have further surprises in store for us - "

"Dropping your drawers would do it," whispered Maladict.

"Shutup!" hissed Polly, and then had to cram a fist into her mouth again.

"I know you, Captain Horentz," said Blouse, and just for a moment the captain looked worried. "I mean I know your sort. I've had to put up with them all my life. Big jovial bullies, with their brains in their breeches. You dare to come riding into our country and think we're going to be frightened of you? You think you can appeal to me over the heads of my men? You demand? On the soil of my country?"

"Captain?" murmured the cavalry sergeant, as Horentz stared open-mouthed at the lieutenant, "they'll be here soon..."

"Ah," said Horentz uncertainly. Then he seemed, with some effort, to regain his composure. "Reinforcements are coming," he snapped. "Free us now, you idiot, and I might just put this down to native stupidity. Otherwise I shall see to it that things go very, very badly for you and your... ha... men."

"Seven cavalrymen were considered not enough to deal with farm boys?" said Blouse. "You're sweating, captain. You are worried. And yet you have reinforcements coming?"

"Permission to speak, sir!" barked Jackrum, and went straight on to: "Cheesemongers! Get bleedin' armed again right now! Maladict, you give Private Goom his sword back an' wish him luck! Carborundum, you grab a handful of them twelve-foot pikes! The rest of - "

"There's these as well, sarge," said Maladict. "Lots of them. I got them off our friends' saddles." He held up what looked to Polly like a couple of large pistol crossbows, steely and sleek.

"Horsebows?" said Jackrum, like a child opening a wonderful Hogswatch present. "That's what you gets for leading an honest and sober life, my lads. Dreadful little engines they are. Let's have two each!"

"I don't want unnecessary violence, sergeant," said Blouse.

"Right you are, sir!" said the sergeant. "Carborundum! First man comes through that door runnin', I want him nailed to the wall!" He caught the lieutenant's eye, and added: "But not too hard!"

...and someone did knock at the door.

Maladict levelled two bows at it. Carborundum lifted a couple of pikes in either hand. Polly raised her cudgel, a weapon she at least knew how to use. The other boys, and girls, raised whatever weapon Threeparts Scallot had been able to procure. There was silence. Polly looked around.

"Come in?" she suggested.

"Yeah, right, that should do it," said Jackrum, rolling his eyes.

The door was pushed open and a small, dapper man stepped through carefully. In build, colouring and hairstyle he looked rather like Mala -

"A vampire?" said Polly softly.

"Oh, damn," said Maladict.

The newcomer's clothing, however, was unusual. It was an old-fashioned evening dress coat with the sleeves removed and many, many pockets sewn all over it. In front of him, slung around his neck, was a large black box. Against all common sense, he beamed at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.

"Vonderful!" he said, lifting up the box and unfolding three legs to form a tripod for it. "But... could zer troll move a little to his left please?"

"Huh?" said Carborundum. The squad looked at one another.

"Yes, and if the sergeant vould be so kind as to move into the centre more, and raise those swords a little bit higher?" the vampire went on. "Great! And you, sir, if you could give me a grrrrh...?"

"Grrrrh?" said Blouse.

"Very good! Really fierce now..."

There was a blinding flash and a brief cry of "Oh, sh - ", followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.

Where the vampire had been standing was a little cone of dust. Blinking, Polly watched it fountain up into a human shape which coalesced once more into the vampire.

"Oh dear, I really thought ze new filter vould do it," he said. "Oh vell, ve live und learn." He gave them a bright smile and added, "Now - vhich vun of you is Captain Horentz, please?"

Half an hour had passed. Polly was still bewildered. The trouble was not that she didn't understand what was going on. The problem was that before she could understand that, she had to understand a lot of other things. One of them was the concept of a "newspaper".

Blouse was looking proud and worried by turns, but nervous all the time. Polly watched him carefully, not least because he was talking to the man who had come in behind the iconographer. He was wearing a big leather coat and jodhpurs, and spent most of the time writing things down in a notebook, with occasional puzzled glances at the squad. Finally, Maladict, who had good hearing, sauntered over to the recruits from his lounging spot by the wall.

"Okay," he said, lowering his voice. "It's all a bit complicated, but... do any of you know about newspapers?"

"Yeth, my thecond couthin Igor in Ankh-Morpork told me about them," said Igor. "They're like a kind of government announthement."

"Um... sort of. Except they're not written by the government. They're written by ordinary people who write things down," said Maladict.

"Like a diary?" said Tonker.

"Um... no..."

Maladict tried to explain. The squad tried to understand. It still made no sense. It sounded to Polly like some kind of Punch and Judy show. Anyway, why would you trust anything written down? She certainly didn't trust "Mothers of Borogravia!" and that was from the government. And if you couldn't trust the government, who could you trust?

Very nearly everyone, come to think of it...

"Mr de Worde works for a newspaper in Ankh-Morpork," said Maladict. "He says we're losing. He says casualties are mounting and troops are deserting and all the civilians are heading for the mountains."

"W-why should we believe him?" Wazzer demanded.

"Well, we've seen a lot of casualties and refugees and Corporal Strappi hasn't been around since he heard he was going to the front," said Maladict. "Sorry, but it's true. We've all seen it."

"Yeah, but he's just some man from a foreign country. Why w-would the Duchess lie to us? I mean, why would she send us out just to die?" said Wazzer. "She w-watches over us!"

"Everyone says we're winning," said Tonker, doubtfully, after that moment of embarrassment. Tears were running down Wazzer's face.

"No, they don't," said Polly. "I don't think we are, either."

"Does anyone think we are?" said Maladict. Polly looked from face to face.

"But saying so... it's like treachery against the Duchess, isn't it?" said Wazzer. "It's spreading Alarm and Despondency, isn't it?"

"Maybe we ought to be alarmed," said Maladict. "Do you know how he came to be here? He travels around writing down things about the war for his paper of news. He met these cavalry just up the road. In our country! And they told him they'd just heard that the very last recruits from Borogravia were here and they were nothing but, er, 'a wet little bunch of squeaking boys'. They said they'd capture us for our own good and he could get a picture of us for his paper. He could show everybody how dreadful things were, they said, because we were scraping the bottom of the barrel."

"Yeah, but we beat 'em so that's foxed him!" said Tonker, grinning nastily. "Nothing for him to write down now, eh?"

"Um... not really. He says that this is even better!"

"Better? Whose side is he on?"

"Bit of a puzzler, really. He comes from Ankh-Morpork, but he's not exactly on their side. Er... Otto Chriek, who makes the pictures for him - "

"The vampire? He crumbled to dust when the light flashed!" said Polly. "Then he... came back!"

"Well, I was standing behind Carborundum at the time," said Maladict, "but I know the technique. He probably had a thin glass vial of b... bl... blur... no, wait, I can say this... blood." He sighed. "There! No problem. A thin vial of... what I said... which smashed on the ground and pulled the dust back together again. It's a great idea." Maladict gave them a wan smile. "I think he really cares a lot about what he does, you know. Anyway, he told me de Worde just tries to find out the truth. And then he writes it down and sells it to anyone who wants it."

"And people let him do that?" said Polly.

"Apparently. Otto says he makes Commander Vimes livid with rage about once a week, but nothing ever happens."

"Vimes? The Butcher?" said Polly.

"He's a duke, Otto says. But not like ours. Otto says he's never seen him butcher anybody. Otto's a Black Ribboner, like me. He wouldn't lie to a fellow Ribboner. And he says that picture he took is going on the clacks from the nearest tower tonight. It will be in the paper of news tomorrow! And they print a copy here!"

"How can you send a picture on the clacks?" said Polly. "I know people who've seen them. It's just a lot of boxes on a tower that go clack-clack!"

"Ah, Otto explained that to me, too," said Maladict. "It's very ingenious."

"How does it work, then?"

"Oh, I didn't understand what he said. It was all about... numbers. But it certainly sounded very clever. Anyway, de Worde just told the lieu - the rupert that news about a bunch of boys beating up experienced soldiers would certainly make people sit up and take notice!"

The squad looked at one another sheepishly.

"It was a bit of a fluke, and anyway we had Carborundum," said Tonker.

"And I used trickery," said Polly. "I mean, I couldn't do it twice."

"So what?" said Maladict. "We did it. The squad did it! Next time we'll do it differently!"

"Yeah!" said Tonker. And there was a shared moment of exhilaration in which they were capable of anything. It lasted all of... a moment.

"But it won't work," said Shufti. "We've just been lucky. You know it won't work, Maladict. You all know it won't work, right?"

"Well, I'm not saying we could, you know, take on a regiment all at once," said Maladict. "And the lieu - rupert might be a bit wet. But we could help make a difference. Old Jackrum knows what he's doing - "

"Upon my oath I am not a violent man... whack!" sniggered Tonker, and there were a few... yes, giggles, they were giggles, Polly knew, from the squad.

"No, you're not," said Shufti flatly. "None of us are, right? Because we're girls."

There was a dead silence.

"Well, not Carborundum and Ozzer, okay," Shufti went on, as if the silence was sucking unwilling words out of her. "And I'm not sure about Maladict and Igor. But I know the rest of us are, right? I've got eyes, I've got ears, I've got a brain. Right?"

In the silence there was the slow rumble that preceded a pronouncement from Carborundum.

"If it any help," she said, in a voice suddenly more sandy than gravelly, "my real name's Jade."

Polly felt questing eyes boring into her. She was embarrassed, of course. But not for the obvious reason. It was for the other one, the little lesson that life sometimes rams home with a stick: you are not the only one watching the world. Other people are people; while you watch them they watch you, and they think about you while you think about them. The world isn't just about you.

There was going to be no possibility of getting out of this. And, in a way, it was a relief.

"Polly," she said, almost in a whisper.

She looked questioningly at Maladict, who smiled in a distinctly non-committal way. "Is this the time?" he said.

"All right, you lot, what're you standing about for?" bawled Jackrum, six inches from the back of Maladict's head. No one saw him arrive there; he moved with an NCO's stealth, which sometimes mystifies even Igors.

Maladict's smile didn't change. "Why, we're awaiting your orders, sergeant," he said, turning round.

"D'you think you're clever, Maladict?"

"Um... yes, sarge. Quite clever," the vampire conceded.

There wasn't a lot of humour in Jackrum's smile. "Good. Glad to hear it. Don't want another stupid corporal. Yeah, I know you ain't even a proper private yet, but glory be, you're a corporal now 'cos I need one and you're the snappiest dresser. Get some stripes from Threeparts. The rest of you... this isn't a bleedin' mothers' meeting, we're leaving in five minutes. Move!"

"But the prisoners, sarge - " Polly began, still trying to digest the revelation.

"We're goin' to drag 'em over to the inn an' leave 'em tied up in the nood, and shackled together," said Jackrum. "Vicious little devil when he's roused, our rupert, eh? And Threeparts is having their boots and horses. They won't be going too far for a while, not in the nood."

"Won't the writing man let them out?" said Tonker.

"Don't care," said Jackrum. "He could probably cut the ropes, but I'm dropping the shackle key in the privy, and that'll take a bit of fishing out."

"Whose side is he on, sarge?" said Polly.

"Dunno. I don't trust 'em. Ignore 'em. Don't talk to 'em. Never talk to people who writes things down. Milit'ry rule. Now, I know I just gave you lot an order 'cos I heard the bleedin' echo! Get on with it! We are leaving!"

"Road to perdition, lad, promotion," said Scallot to Maladict, swinging up with two stripes hanging from his hook. He grinned. "That's three pence extra a day you're due now, only you won't get it 'cos they ain't payin' us, but to look on the bright side, you won't get stoppages, and they're a devil for stoppages. The way I see it, march backwards and yer pockets'll overflow!"

The rain had stopped. Most of the squad were parading outside the barracks where there was, now, a small covered wagon belonging to the writer of the paper of news. A large flag hung from a pole attached to it, but Polly couldn't make out the design by moonlight. Beside the wagon, Maladict was deep in conversation with Otto.

The centre of attention, though, was the line of cavalry horses. One had been offered to Blouse, but he'd waved it away with a look of alarm, muttering something about "being loyal to his steed", which to Polly's eye looked like a self-propelled toast-rack with a bad attitude. But he'd probably made the right decision, at that, because they were big beasts, broad, battle-hardened and bright-eyed; sitting astride one of them would have strained the crotch in Blouse's trousers and an attempt at reining one of them in would have pulled his arms off at the shoulder. Now each horse had a pair of boots hanging from its saddle, except for the leading horse, a truly magnificent beast upon which Corporal Scallot sat like an afterthought.

"I'm no donkey-walloper as you know, Threeparts," said Jackrum, as he finished lashing the crutches behind the saddle, "but this is a hell of a good horse you've got here."

"Damn right, sarge. You could feed a platoon for a week off'f it!" said the corporal.

"Sure you won't come with us?" Jackrum added, standing back. "I reckon you still must've one or two things left for the bastards to cut off, eh?"

"Thank you, sarge, it's a kind offer," said Threeparts. "But fast horses are going to be at a real premium soon, and I'll be in on the ground floor, as you might say. This lot'll be worth three years' pay." He turned in the saddle and nodded at the squad. "Best of luck, lads," he added cheerfully. "You'll walk with Death every day, but I've seen 'im and he's been known to wink. And remember: fill your boots with soup!" He urged the horses into a walk, and disappeared with his trophies into the gloom.

Jackrum watched him go, shook his head, and turned to the recruits. "All right, ladies - What's funny, Private Halter?"

"Er, nothing, sarge, I just... thought of something..." said Tonker, almost choking.

"You ain't paid to think of things, you're paid to march. Do it!"

The squad marched away. The rain slackened to nothing but the wind rose a little, rattling windows, blowing through the deserted houses, opening and shutting doors like someone looking for something they could have sworn they put down here only a moment ago. That was all that moved in Plotz, except for one candle flame, down near the floor in the back room of the deserted barracks.

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