The shadow had vanished. Polly stared into the wood, but the long light was getting crimson, and dusk was unfolding between the trees.
"It's a wolf," said Jackrum.
"A werewolf?" said Polly.
"Now, what makes you think that?"
"Because Sergeant Towering said we'd got a werewolf in the squad. I'm sure we haven't. I mean, we'd have found out by now, wouldn't we? But I wondered if they'd seen one."
"Can't do anything about it, anyway," said Jackrum. "A silver arrow would do the job, but we've got none."
"What about our shilling, sarge?"
"Oh, you think you can kill a werewolf with an IOU?"
"Oh, yeah." Then Polly added: "You've got a real shilling, sarge. Around your neck with that gold medallion."
If you could have twisted steel round Wazzer's conviction, you could have heated it with Jackrum's glare.
"What's round my neck is no business of yours, Perks, and the only thing worse than a werewolf is me if anyone tries to take my shilling off me, understand?"
He softened as he saw Polly's terrified expression. "We'll move on after we've eaten," he said. "Find a better place for a rest. Somewhere easier to defend."
"We're all pretty tired, sarge."
"So I want us all to be upright and armed if our friend comes back with his chums," said Jackrum.
He followed her gaze. The gold locket had slipped out of his jacket, and dangled guiltily on its chain. He deftly tucked it away.
"She was just a... girl I knew," he said. "That's all, right? It was a long time ago."
"I didn't ask you, sarge," said Polly, backing away.
Jackrum's shoulders settled. "That's right, lad, you didn't. And I ain't asking you about anything, neither. But I reckon we'd better find the corporal some coffee, eh?"
"Amen to that, sarge!"
"And our rupert's dreaming of laurel wreaths all round his head, Perks. We've got ourselves a goddamn hero here. Can't think, can't fight, no bloody use at all except for a famous last stand and a medal sent to his ol' mum. And I've been in a few famous last stands, lad, and they're butcher shops. That's what Blouse's leading you into, mark my words. What'll you lot do then, eh? We've had a few scuffles, but that's not war. Think you'll be man enough to stand, when the metal meets the meat?"
"You did, sarge," said Polly. "You said you were in a few last stands."
"Yeah, lad. But I was holding the metal."
Polly walked back up the slope. All this, she thought, and we haven't even got there. Sarge is thinking about the girl he left behind... well, that's normal. And Tonker and Lofty only think about one another, but I suppose after you've been in that school... and as for Wazzer...
Polly wondered how she would have survived the School. Would she have grown hard, like Tonker? Would she have just folded up inside, like the maids who came and went and worked hard and never had a name? Or perhaps she would have become like Wazzer, and found some door in her own head... I may be lowly, but I talk to gods.
...Wazzer had said "not your inn". Had she ever told Wazzer about The Duchess? Surely not. Surely she... but, no, she had told Tonker, hadn't she?
That was it, then. All explained. Tonker must have mentioned it to Wazzer at some point. Nothing weird about it at all, even if practically no one ever had a conversation with Wazz. It was so hard. She was so intense, so coiled up. But that had to be the only explanation. Yes.
She wasn't going to let there be any other.
Polly shivered, and was aware that someone was walking beside her. She looked up and groaned.
"You're a hallucination, right?"
OH, YES. YOU ARE ALL IN A STATE OF HEIGHTENED SENSIBILITY CAUSED BY MENTAL CONTAGION AND LACK OF SLEEP.