with a broken sword. He turned to Polly. ‘Was there any more stuff in the larder, Ozz? I
can make up some stock for tomorrow if we can—’
‘I’m not going in that kitchen again!’ said Polly.
‘Ah, that’d be Roundheels Molly?’ said Corporal Scallot, looking up and grinning. ‘She’s
sent many a lad on his way rejoicing.’ He dipped a ladle in the boiling scubbo pot next to the
pan. Disintegrated grey meat seethed in a few inches of water.
‘That’ll do for the rupert,’ he said, and picked up a stained bowl.
‘Well, he did say he wanted to eat what the men eat,’ said Polly.
‘Oh, that kind of officer,’ said Scallot uncharitably. ‘Yeah, some young ones try that stuff,
if’n they’ve been readin’ the wrong books. Some of ‘em tries to be friends, the bastards.’ He
spat expertly between the two pans. ‘Wait ‘til he tries what the men eat.’
‘But if we’re having steak and onions—’
‘No thanks to the likes o’ him,’ said the corporal, ladling the slurry into the bowl. ‘The
Zlobenian troops get one pound of beef and a pound of flour a day minimum, plus fat pork or
butter and half a pound of pease. A pint o’ molasses sometimes, too. We get stale horse-bread
and what we scrounge. He’ll have scubbo and like it.’
‘No fresh vegetables, no fruit,’ said Shufti. ‘That’s a very binding diet, corp.’
‘Yeah, well, once battle commences I reckon you’ll find constipation’s the last thing on
your mind,’ said Scallot. He reached up, pushed some rags aside, and pulled down a dusty
bottle from a shelf.
‘Rupert’s not having none o’ this, neither,’ he said. ‘Got it off’f the baggage of the last
officer that went through, but I’ll share it with you, ‘cos you’s good lads.’ He casually
knocked the top of the bottle off against the edge of the chimney.’ ‘s only sherry, but it’ll
make you drunk.’
‘Thanks, corp,’ said Shufti, and took the bottle. He sloshed a lot over the sizzling meat.
‘Hey, that’s good drink you’re wastin’!’ said Scallot, making a grab for it.
‘No, it’ll spice up the meat a fair treat,’ said Shufti, trying to hang on to the bottle. ‘It’ll—
sugar!’
Half the liquid had gone on the fire as the two hands fought for it, but that wasn’t what had
felt like a small steel rod shooting through Polly’s head. She looked round at the rest of the
squad, who didn’t appear to have—
Maladict winked at her and made a tiny gesture with his head towards the other end of the
room, and strolled in that direction. Polly followed.
Maladict always found something to lounge against. He relaxed in the shadows, looked up
at the rafters, and said: ‘Now, I say a man who knows how to cook is no less of a man for
that. But a man who says “sugar” when he swears? Have you ever heard a man say that? You
haven’t. I can tell.’
So it was you who gave me the socks, thought Polly. You know about me, I can tell you
do, but do you know about Lofty? And maybe Shufti was very politely brought up . . . but
one look at Maladict’s knowing smile made her decide not to try that road. Besides, the
moment you looked at Shufti with the idea that maybe he was a girl, you saw that he was. No
man would say ‘Sugar!’ Three girls now . . .
‘And I’m pretty sure about Lofty, too,’ said Maladict.
‘What’re you going to do about . . . them?’ she said.
‘Do? Why should I do anything about anyone?’ said Maladict. ‘I’m a vampire officially
pretending not to be one, right? I’m the last person who’ll say anyone has to play the hand
they were dealt. So good luck to . . . him, say I. But you might like to take him aside later on
and have a word with him. You know . . . man to man.’
Polly nodded. Was there a knowingness to that comment? ‘I’d better go and take the
lieutenant his scubbo,’ she said. ‘And . . . blast it, I forgot about his laundry.’
‘Oh, I
can make up some stock for tomorrow if we can—’
‘I’m not going in that kitchen again!’ said Polly.
‘Ah, that’d be Roundheels Molly?’ said Corporal Scallot, looking up and grinning. ‘She’s
sent many a lad on his way rejoicing.’ He dipped a ladle in the boiling scubbo pot next to the
pan. Disintegrated grey meat seethed in a few inches of water.
‘That’ll do for the rupert,’ he said, and picked up a stained bowl.
‘Well, he did say he wanted to eat what the men eat,’ said Polly.
‘Oh, that kind of officer,’ said Scallot uncharitably. ‘Yeah, some young ones try that stuff,
if’n they’ve been readin’ the wrong books. Some of ‘em tries to be friends, the bastards.’ He
spat expertly between the two pans. ‘Wait ‘til he tries what the men eat.’
‘But if we’re having steak and onions—’
‘No thanks to the likes o’ him,’ said the corporal, ladling the slurry into the bowl. ‘The
Zlobenian troops get one pound of beef and a pound of flour a day minimum, plus fat pork or
butter and half a pound of pease. A pint o’ molasses sometimes, too. We get stale horse-bread
and what we scrounge. He’ll have scubbo and like it.’
‘No fresh vegetables, no fruit,’ said Shufti. ‘That’s a very binding diet, corp.’
‘Yeah, well, once battle commences I reckon you’ll find constipation’s the last thing on
your mind,’ said Scallot. He reached up, pushed some rags aside, and pulled down a dusty
bottle from a shelf.
‘Rupert’s not having none o’ this, neither,’ he said. ‘Got it off’f the baggage of the last
officer that went through, but I’ll share it with you, ‘cos you’s good lads.’ He casually
knocked the top of the bottle off against the edge of the chimney.’ ‘s only sherry, but it’ll
make you drunk.’
‘Thanks, corp,’ said Shufti, and took the bottle. He sloshed a lot over the sizzling meat.
‘Hey, that’s good drink you’re wastin’!’ said Scallot, making a grab for it.
‘No, it’ll spice up the meat a fair treat,’ said Shufti, trying to hang on to the bottle. ‘It’ll—
sugar!’
Half the liquid had gone on the fire as the two hands fought for it, but that wasn’t what had
felt like a small steel rod shooting through Polly’s head. She looked round at the rest of the
squad, who didn’t appear to have—
Maladict winked at her and made a tiny gesture with his head towards the other end of the
room, and strolled in that direction. Polly followed.
Maladict always found something to lounge against. He relaxed in the shadows, looked up
at the rafters, and said: ‘Now, I say a man who knows how to cook is no less of a man for
that. But a man who says “sugar” when he swears? Have you ever heard a man say that? You
haven’t. I can tell.’
So it was you who gave me the socks, thought Polly. You know about me, I can tell you
do, but do you know about Lofty? And maybe Shufti was very politely brought up . . . but
one look at Maladict’s knowing smile made her decide not to try that road. Besides, the
moment you looked at Shufti with the idea that maybe he was a girl, you saw that he was. No
man would say ‘Sugar!’ Three girls now . . .
‘And I’m pretty sure about Lofty, too,’ said Maladict.
‘What’re you going to do about . . . them?’ she said.
‘Do? Why should I do anything about anyone?’ said Maladict. ‘I’m a vampire officially
pretending not to be one, right? I’m the last person who’ll say anyone has to play the hand
they were dealt. So good luck to . . . him, say I. But you might like to take him aside later on
and have a word with him. You know . . . man to man.’
Polly nodded. Was there a knowingness to that comment? ‘I’d better go and take the
lieutenant his scubbo,’ she said. ‘And . . . blast it, I forgot about his laundry.’
‘Oh, I
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