“Good,” said Maladicta.

“I don’t know where it’s going to lead, though,” said Polly.

“Ah. Even better.”

At which point, Polly decided that she knew enough of the truth to be going on with. The enemy wasn’t men, or women, or the old, or even the dead. It was just bleedin’ stupid people, who came in all varieties. And no one had the right to be stupid.

She looked at the other two passengers who’d sidled aboard. They were country lads in ragged, ill-fitting clothes, keeping away from her and staring intently at the deck. But one glance was enough. The world turned upside down, and history repeated. For some reason, that suddenly made her feel very happy.

“Going to join up, lads?” she said, cheerily.

There was some mumbling on the theme of “yes”.

“Good. Then stand up straight,” said Polly. “Let’s have a look at you. Chins up. Ah. Well done. Shame you didn’t practise walking in trousers, and I notice you didn’t bring an extra pair of socks.”

They stared, mouths open.

“What are your names?” said Polly. “Your real names, please?”

“Er… Rosemary,” one of them began.

“I’m Mary,” said the other. “I heard girls were joining, but everyone laughed, so I thought I’d better pretend to—”

“Oh, you can join as men if you want,” said Polly. “We need a few good men.”

The girls looked at one another.

“You get better swear words,” said Polly. “And the trousers are useful. But it’s your choice.”

“A choice?” said Rosemary.

“Certainly,” said Polly. She put a hand on a shoulder of each girl, winked at Maladicta and added: “You are my little lads—or not, as the case may be—and I will look after… you.”

And the new day was a great big fish.