"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. ;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...