" - under age," said Jackrum. "Right, Perks? Only fourteen, aren't you?" He looked at Polly over the top of the lieutenant's head, and winked.
"Er... I told a lie to get enlisted, sir, yes," said Polly.
"I don't think a lad like that ought to be dragged into the Keep, however game he is," said Jackrum. "And I don't think he's the only one. Right, Perks?"
Oh, so that's the game. Blackmail, Polly thought.
"Yes, sarge," she said wearily.
"Can't have a massacre of little lads, sir, now can we?" said Jackrum.
"I see your pff point, sergeant," said the lieutenant, as Jackrum gently drove the blade down his cheek. "That is a tricky one."
"Best to call it a day, then?" said Jackrum.
"On the other hand, sergeant, I do know that you pff yourself joined up as a child," said Blouse. The blade stopped moving.
"Well, it was all different in those - " Jackrum began.
"You were five years old, apparently," the lieutenant went on. "You see, when I heard that I would be meeting you, a legend in the army, of course I had a look at our files so that I could, perhaps, make a few timely jokes in presenting you with your honourable discharge. You know, humorous little reminiscences about times gone by? Imagine how puzzled I was, therefore, to find that you appear to have been drawing actual wages for, well, it was a little hard to be certain, but possibly as much as sixty years."
Polly had put a keen edge on the razor. It rested against the lieutenant's cheek. Polly thought about the murder - oh, all right, the killing of an escaping prisoner - in the wood. It won't be the first officer I've killed...
"Probably one of them clerical errors, sir," said Jackrum coldly. In the gloomy room, with moss now colonizing the walls, the sergeant loomed large.
An owl, perched on the chimney, gave a screech. It echoed down into the room.
"In fact no, sergeant," said Blouse, apparently oblivious of the razor. "Your package, sergeant, had been tampered with. On numerous occasions. Once, even by General Froc. He deducted ten years from your age and signed the change. And he wasn't the only one. Frankly, sergeant, I'm forced to only one conclusion."
"And what's that, sir?" The razor halted again, still pressed against Blouse's neck. The silence seemed to last for some time, sharp and drawn out.
"That there was some other man called Jackrum," said Blouse slowly, "whose records have... got mixed up with yours and... every attempt to sort it out by officers who were, er, not entirely at home with figures only made it more confusing."
The razor started to move again, with silky smoothness. "I think you've put your finger right on it, sir," said Jackrum.
"I am going to write an explanatory note and add it to the packet," Blouse went on. "It seems to me the sensible thing to do would be to ask you here and now how old you are. How old are you, sergeant?"
"Forty-three, sir," said Jackrum instantly. Polly looked up, expecting the generic thunderclap that ought to accompany such a universe-sized untruth.
"Are you sure?" said Blouse.
"Forty-five, sir. The hardships of a soldier's life show up onna face, sir."
"Even so - "
"Ah, I recall a couple of extra birthdays what had slipped my memory, sir. I'm forty-seven, sir." Still no rumble of celestial disapproval, Polly noticed.
"Er... yes. Very well. After all, you should know, eh, sergeant? I shall amend it."
"Thank you, sir."
"Just like General Froc did. And Major Galosh. And Colonel Legin, sergeant."
"Yessir. Clerical error has followed me around all the days of my life, sir. I've been a martyr to it." Jackrum stood back. "There we are, sir. Face as smooth as a baby's bum. Smooth is how things should be, eh, sir? I've always liked things smooth."
They watched Lieutenant Blouse walk down through the trees to the path. They watched him join the erratic, straggling line of women on their way to the door. They listened for screams, and heard none.
"D-does any woman sway that much?" said Wazzer, peering through the bushes.