There was some more silence. Several of the squad were staring at the ceiling.
"Ye-es," said Polly. "I can see you've thought this out carefully, sir."
Blouse sighed. "If only Wriggles worth were here," he said.
"Why, sir?"
"Amazingly clever chap at layin' his hands on a dress, young Wrigglesworth," said the lieutenant.
Polly caught Maladict's eye. The vampire made face and shrugged.
"Um..." said Shufti.
"Yes, Manickle?"
"I do have a petticoat in my pack, sir."
"Good heavens! Why?"
Shufti went red. She hadn't worked out an answer.
"Bandageth, thur," Igorina cut in smoothly.
"Yes! Yes! That's right!" said Shufti. "I... found it in the inn, back in Pl¨¹n..."
"I athked the lads to acquire any thuitable linen they might find, thur. Jutht in cathe."
"Very sound thinking, that man!" said Blouse. "Anyone else got anything?"
"I wouldn't be at all thurprithed, thur," said Igorina, staring round the room.
Glances were exchanged. Packs were unslung. Everyone except Polly and Maladict had something, produced with downcast eyes. A shift, a petticoat and, in most cases, a dimity scarf, carried out of some sort of residual, unexplainable need.
"You obviously must've thought we'd take serious damage," said Blouse.
"Can't be too careful, thur," said Igorina. She grinned at Polly.
"Of course, I have rather short hair at present..." Blouse mused.
Polly thought of her ringlets, now lost and probably stroked by Strappi. But desperation spooled through her memory.
"They looked like older women, mostly," she said quickly. "They wore headscarves and wimples. I'm sure Igori - sure Igor can make up something, sir."
"We Igorth are very rethortheful, thur," Igorina agreed. She pulled a black leather wallet out of her jacket. "Ten minuteth with a needle, thur, that'th all I need."
"Oh, I can do old women wonderfully well," said Blouse. With a speed that made Lofty jump, he suddenly thrust out both hands twisted like claws, contorted his face into an expression of mad imbecility and screeched, "Oh deary me! My poor old feet! Things today aren't what they used to be! Lawks!"
Behind him, Sergeant Jackrum put his head in his hands.
"Amazing, sir," said Maladict. "I've never seen a transformation like it!"
"Perhaps just a wee bit less old, sir?" Polly suggested, although in truth Blouse had reminded her of her Auntie Hattie two-thirds of the way through a glass of sherry.
"You think so?" said Blouse. "Oh, well, if you're really sure."
"And, er, if you do meet a guard, er, old women don't usually try to, try to - "
" - canoodle - " whispered Maladict, whose mind had clearly been hurtling down the same horrible slope.