"The lieutenant. From what I hear, Blouse's probably going to have a nasty accident. Jackrum thinks he's dangerous."
"He's learning, just like us."
"Yes, but the el-tee's supposed to know what to do. Do you think he does?"
"Jackrum's stuck, too," said Polly, topping up the kettle with cold water. "I think we just keep going."
"If there's anything there to get to," said Maladict. He held up the shako. "What do you think?"
The words "Born To Die" had been chalked on the side of the hat, next to the packet of cigarettes.
"Very... individual," said Polly. "Why do you smoke? It's not very... vampire, really."
"Well, I'm not supposed to be very vampire," said Maladict, lighting up with a shaking hand. "It's the sucking. I need it. I'm on edge. I'm getting the no-coffee jitters. I'm not good with woods in any case."
"But you're a vam - "
"Yeah, yeah, if this was crypts, no problem. But I keep thinking I'm surrounded by lots of pointy stakes. Truth is... I'm beginning to hurt. It's like going cold bat all over again! I'm getting the voices and the sweats..."
"Sssh," said Polly, as Shufti grunted in her sleep. "You can't be," she hissed. "You said you'd been going straight for two years!"
"Oh, bl... blur... blood?" said Maladict. "Who said anything about blood? I'm talking about coffee, dammit!"
"We've got plenty of tea - " Polly began.
"You don't understand! This is about... craving. You never stop craving, you just switch it to something that doesn't cause people to turn you into a short kebab! I need coffee!"
Why me? Polly thought. Do I have this little sign on me saying "Tell me your troubles"? "I'll see what I can do," she said, and hastily filled the shaving mug.
Polly hurried back with the water, ushered Blouse to a rock, and stirred up some foam. She sharpened the razor, taking as long as she dared. When he coughed impatiently she took up position, raised the razor, and prayed...
...but not to Nuggan. Never to Nuggan, since her mother died...
And then Lofty was running across the ground, trying to shout a whisper. "Movement!"
Blouse nearly lost another earlobe.
Out from nowhere came Jackrum, boots on but braces dangling. He grabbed Lofty by the shoulder and swung her round. "Where?" he demanded.
"There's a track down there! Troopers! Carts! What do we do, sarge?"
"We keep the noise down!" muttered Jackrum. "Are they heading up here?"
"No, they went right past, sarge!"
Jackrum turned and gave the rest of the squad a satisfied look. "O-kay. Corporal, take Carborundum and Perks and go and have a look. The rest of you, tool up and try to be brave. Eh, lieutenant?"
Blouse bemusedly dabbed foam off his face. "What? Oh. Yes. See to it, sergeant."
Twenty seconds later, Polly was running after Maladict, down the slope. Here and there the bottom of the valley could be seen through the trees, and as she glanced down she saw sunlight flash off something metal. At least the trees had coated the woodland floor with a thick layer of needles, and, contrary to received opinion, most woods aren't littered with branches that snap loudly. They reached the edge of the wood, where bushes fought one another for their place in the sun, and found a spot with a view.
There were only four troopers, in an unfamiliar uniform, riding in pairs ahead of and behind a cart. It was small, and had a canvas cover.
"What's in a little cart that four men have to protect?" said Maladict. "It must be valuable!"
Polly pointed to the huge flag that hung limply from a pole on the wagon. "I think it's the newspaper man," she said. "It's the same cart. Same flag, too."
"Then it's a good thing they've gone right past," hissed Maladict. "Let's just see them out of sight and creep away like good little mice, okay?"