Monstrous Regiment (Discworld #31)

Monstrous Regiment (Discworld #31) Page 15

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 that 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. Polly hurried after her. 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 that 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 here 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 somewhat..." 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¨Clooking 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 reinforcements 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."

"And 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?"

"Can we stick with Perks, sir? I'm still a soldier. No, I don't know much history, sir. At least, much that I trust."

"Then you've never heard of the Amazon warriors of Samothrip? The most fearsome fighting force for hundreds of years. All women! Absolutely merciless in battle! They were deadly with the longbow, although in order to get maximum draw they had to cut off one of their, um... er... I say, you ladies haven't been cutting off your, um, er..."

"No, we haven't cut off any um ers, sir. Only hair."

Blouse looked incredibly relieved. "Well, and then there's the female bodyguards of King Samuel in Howandaland. All seven feet tall, I understand, and deadly with the spear. Throughout Klatch, of course, there are many stories of female warriors, often fighting alongside their men. Fearsome and fearless, I believe. Men would desert rather than face females, Perks. Couldn't deal with 'em."

Once again, Polly felt the slightly unbalanced feeling of having tried to jump a hurdle that turned out not to be there. She took refuge in: "What do you think's going to happen now, sir?"

"I haven't a clue, Perks. Um... what's wrong with young Goom? Some kind of religious mania?"

"Could be, sir," said Polly guardedly. "The Duchess talks to her."

"Oh dear," said Blouse. "She - "

The door opened. A dozen soldiers filed in and spread out on either side. They had a variety of uniforms - mostly Zlobenian, but several Polly recognized now as Ankh-Morporkic or whatever they called it. They were all armed, and held their weapons like men who expected to use them.

When they had lined up and were glaring at the squad, a smaller group of men stepped in. Again, there was a variety of uniforms, but they were a lot more expensive. These were worn by officers - high-ranking ones, to judge by the expressions of disdain. The tallest of them, made taller by his high, plumed cavalry helmet, stared along his nose at the women. He had pale blue eyes, and his face suggested that he did not really want to see anything at all in this room unless it had been thoroughly cleaned first.

"Who is the officer here?" he said. He sounded like a lawyer.

Blouse stood up and saluted. "Lieutenant Blouse, sir, Tenth Infantry."

"I see." The man looked at his fellow officers. "I believe we can dispense with the guard now, don't you? This matter should be handled quietly. And for heaven's sake can't we find this man a pair of trousers?"

There were a few murmurs. The man nodded to the sergeant of the guard. The armed men filed out, and the door shut behind them.

"My name is Lord Rust," said the man. "I head the Ankh-Morpork detachment here. At least," and he sniffed, "the military detachment. You have been treated well? You have not been manhandled? I see there is a... young lady on the floor."

"She's in a swoon, sir," said Polly. The blue eyes lighted upon her.

"You would be - ?" he said.

"Corporal Perks, sir," said Polly. There were some barely suppressed smiles from the officers.

"Ah. I believe you are the one seeking her brother?" said Lord Rust.

"How do you know my name?" said Polly.

"We are an, mm, efficient army," said Rust, and treated himself to a little smile of his own. "Your brother's name is Paul?"

"Yes!"

"We shall locate him, eventually. And I understand another lady was seeking her young man?"

Shufti curtsied nervously. "Me, sir."

"Again, we shall locate him, if you give us his name. Now, please listen to me carefully. You, Miss Perks, and the rest of you, will be taken from here, tonight, entirely unharmed, and escorted back into your country as far as our patrols can take you, which, I suspect, will be quite a long way. Is that understood? You will have what you came for. Won't that be nice? And you will not return here. The troll and the vampire have been captured. The same offer applies to them."

Polly was watching the officers. They looked nervous...

...except for one at the back. She'd thought all the guards had gone and, while this man was dressed like a guard - dressed, that is, like a badly dressed guard - he wasn't acting like one. He was leaning against the wall by the door, smoking half a cigar, and grinning. He looked like a man enjoying a show.

"Very generously," Rust went on, "this offer applies to you too, Lieutenant... Blouse, wasn't it? But in your case you would be on parole in a house in Zlobenia, very pleasant I understand, healthy walks in the countryside and all that sort of thing. This offer has not been extended to your superior officers here, I may add."

So why make it to us? Polly thought. Are you frightened? Of a bunch of girls? That makes no sense...

Behind the officers, the man with the cigar winked at Polly. His uniform was very old-fashioned - an ancient helmet, a breastplate, some slightly rusted chain mail, and big boots. He wore it like a workman wears his overalls. Unlike the braid and brilliance in front of her, the only statement his clothes made was that he didn't intend to get hurt. They had no insignia that Polly could see, apart from a small shield hooked onto the breastplate.

"If you will excuse me a moment," said Blouse, "I will consult with my men."

"Men?" said Rust. "They're a bunch of women, man!"

"But at this moment, sir," said Blouse coolly, "I would not exchange them for any six men you offered me. If you gentlemen would care to wait outside?"

Behind the group, the badly dressed man burst into silent laughter. His sense of humour was not shared by the rest of the group, however.

"You cannot possibly consider refusing this offer!" said Lord Rust.

"Nevertheless, sir," said Blouse. "We will take a few minutes. I think the ladies would prefer some privacy. One of them is expecting a child."

"What, here?" As one man, the group drew back.

"Not yet, I believe. But if you would just step outside - "

When the officers had retreated to the masculine safety of the corridor the lieutenant turned to his squad. "Well, men? For you, it is a very attractive offer, I have to say."

"Not for us," said Tonker. Lofty nodded.

"Nor me," said Shufti.

"Why not?" said Blouse. "You would get your husband."

"That might be a bit difficult," mumbled Shufti. "Anyway, what about the invasion?"

"I'm not going to be sent home like a package," said Igorina. "Anyway, that man has an objectionable bone structure."

"Well, Private Goom can't join us right now," sighed Blouse. "So that leaves you, Polly."

"Why are they doing this?" said Polly. "Why do they want us out of the way? Why aren't they just leaving us locked up? This place must be full of cells."

"Ah, perhaps they are sensible of the frailties of your sex," said Blouse, and then fried in their stares. "I didn't say I was," he added quickly.

"They could just kill us," said Tonker. "Well, they could," she added. "Why not? Who'd care? I don't think we count as prisoners of war."

"But they haven't," said Polly. "And they're not even threatening us. They're being very careful. I think they're frightened of us."

"Oh, yeah, right," said Tonker. "Maybe they think we're going to chase them and give them a big wet sloppy kiss?"

"Good, then we're agreed that we're not going to accept," said Blouse. "Damn right... oh, I do apologize..."

"We all know the words, sir," said Polly. "I suggest we see how much we frighten them, sir."

The officers were waiting with unconcealed impatience, but Rust managed a brief smile when he stepped back into the kitchen. "Well, lieutenant?" he said.

"We have given your offer due consideration, sir," said Blouse, "and our reply is: stick it up your..." He leaned down to Polly, who whispered urgently. "Who? Oh, yes, right. Your jumper, sir. Stick it, in fact, up your jumper. Named after Colonel Henri Jumper, I believe. A useful woollen garment akin to a lightweight sweater, sir, which if I recall correctly was named after Regimental Sergeant-Major Sweat. That, sir, is where you may stick it."

Rust received this calmly, and Polly wondered whether it was because he hadn't understood it. The scruffy man once more leaning against the wall had understood it, though, since he was grinning.

"I see," said Rust. "And that is the answer from all of you? Then you leave us no choice. Good evening to you."

His attempt to stride out was hindered by the other officers, who had less sense of the dramatic moment. The door slammed behind them, but not before the last man out turned very briefly and made a hand gesture. You would have missed it if you weren't watching him - but Polly was watching.

"That seemed to go well," said Blouse, turning away.

"I hope we're not going to get into trouble for that," said Shufti.

"Compared to what?" said Tonker.

"The last man out stuck his thumb up and winked," said Polly. "Did you notice him? He wasn't even wearing an officer's uniform."

"Probably wanted a date," said Tonker.

"In Ankh-Morpork that means 'jolly good'," said Blouse. "In Klatch, I think, it means 'I hope your donkey explodes'. I spotted the man. Looked like a guard sergeant to me."

"Didn't have stripes," said Polly. "Why'd he want to say jolly good to us?"

"Or hate our donkey so much?" said Shufti. "How's Wazzer?"

"Sleeping," said Igorina. "I think."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't think she's dead."

"You don't think she is?" said Polly.

"Yes," said Igorina. "It's like that. I wish I could keep her warmer."

"I thought you said she was burning up?"

"She was. Now she's freezing cold."

Lieutenant Blouse strode over to the door, grabbed its handle and, to the surprise of all, pulled it open. Four swords were levelled at him.

"We have a sick man here!" he snapped to the astonished guards. "We need blankets and firewood! Get them now!" He slammed the door. "It might work," he said.

"That door doesn't have a lock," said Tonker. "Useful fact, Polly."

Polly sighed. "Right now, I just want something to eat. This is a kitchen, after all. There could be food here."

"This is a kitchen," said Tonker. "There could be cleavers!"

But it is always upsetting to find that the enemy is as bright as you. There was a well, but a web of bars across the top allowed for the passage of nothing bigger than a bucket. And someone with no sense of the narrative of adventure had removed from the room anything with an edge and, for some reason, anything that could be eaten.

"Unless we want to dine on candles," said Shufti, pulling a bundle of them out of a creaking cupboard. "'s tallow, after all. I bet old Scallot'd make candle scubbo."

Polly checked the chimney, which smelled as though there had not been a fire in it for a long time. It was big and wide, but six feet up a heavy grille was hung with sooty cobwebs. It looked rusted and ancient, and could probably be shifted by twenty minutes' work with a crowbar, but there's never a crowbar when you want one.

There were some couple of sacks of ancient, dry and dusty flour in the storeroom. It smelled bad. There was a thing with a funnel and a handle and some mysterious screws.10 There were a couple of rolling pins, a lettuce strainer, some ladles... and there were forks. Lots of toasting forks. Polly felt let down. It was ridiculous to expect that someone imprisoning people in some ad hoc cell would leave in all the ingredients to effect an escape but, nevertheless, she felt that some universal rule had been broken. They had nothing better than a club, really. The toasting forks might prick, the lettuce strainer might pack a punch, and the rolling pins were at least a traditional female weapon, but all you could do with the thing with a funnel and a handle and mysterious screws was baffle people.

The door opened. Armed men came in to act as protection for a couple of women, carrying blankets and firewood. They scurried in with their eyes cast down, deposited their burdens, and almost ran out. Polly strode over to the guard who seemed to be in charge, and he backed away. A huge key ring jingled on his belt.

"You knock next time, all right?" she said.

He grinned nervously. "Yeah, right," he said. "They said we weren't to talk to you..."

"Really?"

The jailer glanced around. "But we reckon you're doing bloody well, for girls," he said conspiratorially.

"So that means you won't shoot at us when we break out?" said Polly sweetly.

The grin faded. "Don't try it," said the jailer.

"What a big bunch of keys you have there, sir," said Tonker, and the man's hand flew to his belt.

"You just stay in here," he said. "Things are bad enough already. You stay here!"

He slammed the door. A moment later they heard something heavy being pushed up against it.

"Well, now we have a fire, at least," said Blouse.

"Er..." This was from Lofty. She volunteered a word so seldom that the rest turned to look at her, and she stopped in embarrassment.

"Yes, Lofty?" said Polly.

"Er... I know how to get the door open," muttered Lofty. "So it stays open, I mean."

Had it been anyone else, someone would have laughed. But words from Lofty had obviously been turned over for some time before utterance.

"Er... good," said Blouse. "Well done."

"I've been thinking about it," said Lofty.

"Good."

"It will work."

"Just what we need, then!" said Blouse, like a man trying against all the odds to keep cheerful.

Lofty looked up at the big sooty beams that ran across the room. "Yes," she said.

"But there'll still be guards outside," said Polly.

"No," said Lofty. "There won't."

"There won't?"

"They'll have gone away." Lofty stopped, with the air of one who'd said everything that needed to be said.

Tonker walked over and took her arm. "We'll just have a little chat, shall we?" she said, and led the girl to the other side of the room. There was some whispered conversation. Lofty spent most of it staring at the floor, and then Tonker came back.

"We will need the bags of flour from the storeroom, and the rope from the well," she said. "And one of those... what are those big round things that cover dishes? With a knob on?"

"Dish covers?" said Shufti.

"And a candle," Tonker went on. "And a lot of barrels. And a lot of water."

"And what will all this do?" said Blouse.

"Make a big bang," said Tonker. "Tilda knows a lot about fire, believe me."

"When you say she knows a lot..." Polly began uncertainly.

"I mean every place she worked at burned down," said Tonker.

They rolled the empty barrels to the middle of the room and filled them with water from the pump. Under Lofty's monosyllabic direction and the rope from the well, they hauled three leaking, dusty flour sacks up as high as possible, so that they twisted gently over the space between the barrels and the door.

"Ah," said Polly, standing back. "I think I understand. A flour mill on the other side of town blew up two years ago."

"Yes," said Tonker. "That was Tilda."

"What?"

"They'd been beating her. And worse. And the thing about Tilda is, she just watches and thinks and somewhere in there it all comes together. Then it explodes."

"But two people died!"

"The man and his wife. Yes. But I heard that other girls sent there never came back at all. Shall I tell you that Tilda was pregnant when they brought her back to the Grey House after the fire? She had it, and they took it away, and we don't know what happened to it. And then she got beaten again because she was an Abomination Unto Nuggan. Does that make you feel better?" said Tonker, tying the rope to a table leg. "There's just us, Polly. Just her and me. No inheritance, no nice home to go back to, no relatives that we know of. The Grey House breaks us all, somehow. Wazzer talks to the Duchess, I don't have... middle gears, and Tilda frightens me when she gets her hands on a box of matches. You should see her face then, though. It lights up. Of course," Tonker smiled in her dangerous way, "so do other things. Better get everyone into the storeroom while we light the candle."

"Shouldn't Tilda do that?"

"She will. But we'll have to be ready to drag her away, otherwise she'll stay and watch."

This had started like a game. She hadn't thought of it like a game, but it was a game called Let Polly keep The Duchess. And now... it didn't matter. She'd made all kinds of plans, but she was beyond plans now. They'd done bloody well, for girls...

A final barrel of water had been placed, after some discussion, in front of the storeroom's door. Polly looked over the top of it at Blouse and the rest of the squad.

"Okay, everybody, we're... er... about to do it," she said. "Are we sure about this, Tonker?"