And then there was the problem of Strappi, which had been growing on her. She could see he got on Jackrum’s nerves as well, and he had a struttiness about him, a certain– er… sockiness, as if he was really the one in charge. Perhaps it was just general unpleasantness, but…

“Corporal?” she said.

“Yes, Parts?” said Strappi. His nose was still very red.

“We are winning this war, aren’t we?” said Polly. She’d given up correcting him.

Suddenly, every ear in the squad was listening.

“Don’t you bother yourself about that, Parts!” snapped the corporal. “Your job is to fight!”

“Right, corp. So… I’ll be fighting on the winning side, will I?”

“Oho, we’ve got someone who asks too many questions here, sarge!” said Strappi.

“Yeah, don’t ask questions, Perks,” said Jackrum, absent-mindedly.

“So we’re losing, then?” said Tonker. Strappi turned on him.

“That’s spreading Alarm and Despondency again, that is!” he shrieked. “That’s aiding the enemy!”

“Yeah, knock it off, Private Halter,” said Jackrum. “Okay? Now get a—”

“Halter, I’m placing you under arrest for—”

“Corporal Strappi, a word in your shell-like ear, please? You men, you stop here!” growled the sergeant, clambering down from the cart.

Jackrum walked back down the road about fifty feet. Glaring round at the squad, the corporal strutted after him.

“Are we in trouble?” said Tonker.

“You guess,” said Maladict.

“Bound to be,” said Shufti. “Strappi can always get you for something.”

“They’re having an argument,” said Maladict. “Which is odd, don’t you think? A sergeant is supposed to give orders to a corporal.”

“We are winning, aren’t we?” said Shufti. “I mean, I know there’s a war, but… I mean, we get weapons, don’t we, and we’ll… well, they’ve got to train us, right? It’ll probably be all over by then, right? Everyone says we’re winning.”

“I will ask the Duchess in my prayers tonight,” said Wazzer.

The rest of the squad looked at one another with a shared expression.

“Yeah, right, Wazz,” said Tonker kindly. “You do that.”

The sun was setting fast, half hidden in the mist. Here, on the muddy road between damp fields, it suddenly felt as cold as it could be.

“No one says we’re winning, except maybe Strappi,” said Polly. “They just say that everyone says we’re winning.”

“The men Igor… repaired didn’t even say that,” said Tonker. “They said ‘you poor bastards, you’ll leg it if you’ve any sense.’”

“Thank you for sharing,” said Maladict.

“It looks as though everyone’s feeling sorry for us,” said Polly.

“Yeah, well, so am I, and I am uth,” said Igor. “Thome of thothe men—”

“All right, all right, stop lollygagging, you lot!” shouted Strappi, marching up.

“Corporal?” said the sergeant quietly, hauling himself back onto the cart. Strappi paused, and then in a voice dripping with syrup and sarcasm went on: “Excuse me. The sergeant and myself would be obleejed if you brave heroes to be would join us in a little light marching? Jolly good! And there will be embroidery later on. Best foot forward, ladies!”

Polly heard Tonker gasp. Strappi turned, eyes glinting with sinister anticipation. “Oh, someone doesn’t like being called a lady, eh?” he said. “Dear me, Private Halter, you’ve got a lot to learn, haven’t you? You’re a sissy little lady until we make a man of you, right? And I dread to think how long that’s going to take. Move!”

I know, thought Polly, as they set off. It takes about ten seconds, and a pair of socks. One sock, and you could make Strappi.

Plotz turned out to be like Plün, but it was worse because it was bigger. The rain started again as they marched into the cobbled square. It looked as though it always rained here. The buildings were grey, and mud-spattered near the ground. Roof gutters overflowed, pouring rain onto the cobbles and sending a spray over the recruits. There was no one about. Polly saw open doors banging in the wind, and bits of debris in the streets, and remembered the lines of hurrying people on the road. There was no one here.

Sergeant Jackrum climbed down from the cart as Strappi bawled them into line. Then the sergeant took over, leaving the corporal to glower from the sidelines.

“This is wonderful Plotz!” he said. “Have a look round, so that if you is killed and goes to hell, it won’t come as a shock! You’ll be bivvying in that barracks over there, what is milit’ry property!” He waved a hand towards a crumbling stone building that looked about as military as a barn. “You will be issued with your equipment. And tomorrow it’s a nice long march to Crotz, where you will arrive as boys and leave as men did I just say something funny, Perks? No, I thought so, too! Attention! That means stand up straight!”

“That’s straight!” yelled Strappi.

A young man was riding across the square on a tired, skinny brown horse, which was quite suitable because he was a tired, skinny man. The skinniness was helped by the fact that he wore a tunic which had clearly been made for someone a couple of sizes larger. The same applied to his helmet. He must have padded it, Polly thought. One cough and it’ll be over his eyes.

Sergeant Jackrum snapped off a salute as the officer approached. “Jackrum, sir. You’ll be Lieutenant Blouse, sir?”

“Well done, sergeant.”

“These are the recruits from upriver, sir. Fine body of men, sir.”

The rider peered at the squad. He actually leaned forward over the horse’s neck, causing rain to pour off his helmet.

“This is all, sergeant?”

“Yessir.”

“Most of them look very young,” said the lieutenant, who didn’t look very old.

“Yessir.”

“And isn’t that one a troll?”

“Yessir. Well spotted, sir.”

“And the one with stitches all round his head?”

“He’s an Igor, sir. Sort of like a special clan up in the mountains, sir.”

“Do they fight?”

“Can take a man apart very quickly, sir, as I understand it,” said Jackrum, his expression not changing.

The young lieutenant sighed. “Well, I’m sure they’re all good fellows,” he said. “Now then, er… men, I—”

“Pay attention and listen to what the lieutenant has to say!” bawled Strappi.

The lieutenant shuddered. “—thank you, corporal,” he said. “Men, I have good news,” he added, but in the voice of one who hasn’t. “You were probably expecting a week or two in the training camp in Crotz, yes? But I’m glad to be able to tell you that the… the war is progressing so… so… so well that you are to go directly to the front.”

Polly heard one or two gasps, and a snigger from Corporal Strappi.

“All of you are to go to the lines,” said the lieutenant. “That includes you too, corporal. Your time for action has come at last!”

The snigger stopped. “Sorry, sir?” said Strappi. “The front? But you know that I’m—well, you know about the special duties—”

“My orders said all able-bodied men, corporal,” said Blouse. “I expect that you’ll be itching for the fray after all these years, eh, a young man like you?”

Strappi said nothing.

“However,” said the lieutenant, fumbling under his soaking cloak, “I do have a package here for you, Sergeant Jackrum. A very welcome one, I’ve no doubt.”

Jackrum took the packet gingerly. “Thank you, sir, I’ll look at this later on—” he began.

“On the contrary, Sergeant Jackrum!” said Blouse. “Your last recruits should see this, since you are both a soldier and, as it were, a ‘father of soldiers’! And so it’s only right that they see a fine soldier get his reward: an honourable discharge, sergeant!” Blouse spoke the words as if they had cream and a little cherry on top.

Apart from the rain, the only sound now was Jackrum’s pudgy finger slowly ripping open the package.