The sergeant doffed his cap and in a jovial, rotund voice that peed brandy and crapped plum pudding said, "Good evening, madarm! Sergeant Smith's the name, yes indeed! An' me and my bold lads here have been so fortunate as to acquire the spoils of war, if you catch my drift, and nothing would do for it but they were clamouring, clamouring to go to the nearest house of good repute for to have a man made of 'em!"
Little beady eyes skewered Polly again. Shufti, ears glowing like signal beacons, was staring fixedly at the ground.
"Looks like that'd be a job and a half," said the woman shortly.
"You never spoke a truer word, madarm!" beamed Jackrum. "Two of your fair flowers apiece should do it, I reckon." There was a clink as, staggering slightly, Jackrum put several gold coins on the rickety little table.
Something about the gleam of them thawed things no end. The woman's face cracked into a smile as glutinous as slug gravy.
"Well, now, we are always honoured to entertain the Ins-and-Outs, sergeant," she said. "If you... gentlemen would like to step through to the, er, inner sanctum?"
Polly heard a very faint sound behind her, and turned. She hadn't noticed the man sitting on a chair just inside the door. He had to be a man, because trolls weren't pink; he made Eyebrow back in Pl¨¹n look like some kind of weed. He wore leather, which was what she'd heard creaking, and he had his eyes just slightly open. When he saw her looking at him, he winked. It wasn't a friendly wink.
There are times when a plan suddenly isn't going to work. When you're in the middle of it, is not the time to find this out.
"Er, sarge," she said. The sergeant turned, saw her frantic grimace, and appeared to spot the guard for the first time.
"Oh dear, where's my manners?" he said, lurching back and fumbling in his pocket. He came up with a gold coin which he folded in the astonished man's hand. Then he turned round, tapping the side of his nose with an expression of idiot knowingness.
"A word of advice, lads," he said. "Always give the guard a tip. He keeps the riffraff out, very important. Very important man."
He stumbled back to the lady in black, and belched hugely.
"And now, madarm, if we can meet these visions of loveliness you are hiding under this here bushel?" he said.
It depended, Polly thought a few seconds later, on how and when and after drinking how much of what that you had those visions. She knew about these places. Serving behind a bar can really broaden your education. There were a number of ladies back home who were, as her mother put it, "no better than they should be", and at twelve years old Polly had got a smack for asking how good they should have been, then. They were an Abomination Unto Nuggan, but men have always found space in their religion for a little sinning here and there.
The word to describe the four ladies seated in the room beyond, if you wanted to be kind, was "tired". If you didn't want to be kind a whole range of words were just hanging in the air.
They looked up without much interest.
"This is Faith, Prudence, Grace and Comfort," said the lady of the house. "The night shift has not yet come on, I'm afraid."
"I'm sure these beauties will be a great education for my roaring boys," said the sergeant. "But... may I be so bold as to enquire about your name, madarm?"
"I'm Mrs Smother, sergeant."
"And do you have a first name, may I ask?"
"Dolores," said Mrs Smother, "to my... special friends."
"Well now, Dolores," said Jackrum, and there was another jingle of coins in his pocket, "I will come right out with it and be frank, because I can see you are a woman of the world. These frail blossoms are all very well in their way, for I know the fashion these days is for ladies with less meat on 'em than a butcher's pencil, but a gentleman such as me, who has been around the world and seen a thing or two, well, he learns the value of... maturity." He sighed. "Not to mention Hope and Patience." The coins jingled again. "Perhaps you and I might retire to some suitable boodwah, madarm, and discuss the matter over a cordial or two?"
Mrs Smother looked from the sergeant to the "lads", glanced back in the anteroom, and looked back at Jackrum with her head on one side and a thin, calculating smile on her lips.
"Ye-es," she said. "You're a fine figure of a man, Sergeant Smith. Let us take a load off your... pockets, shall we?"
She joined arm-in-arm with the sergeant, who winked roguishly at Polly and Shufti.
"We're well set, then, lads!" he chuckled. "Now, just so's you don't get carried away, when it's time to go I'll blow my whistle and you'd better have finished what you're doin', haha, and meet me sharpish. Duty calls! Remember the fine tradition of the Ins-and Outs!"
Giggling and almost tripping up, he left the room on the arm of the proprietress.
Shufti sidled hurriedly up to Polly and whispered: "Is sarge all right, Ozzer?"
"He's just had a bit too much to drink," said Polly loudly, as all four of the girls stood up.
"But he - " Shufti got a nudge in the ribs before she could say any more. One of the girls carefully laid down her knitting, took Polly's arm, flashed her well-crafted expression of interest, and said, "You're a well set-up young man, aren't you... what's your name, dear? I'm Gracie."