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.
"If you're a hallucination, how do you know that?"
I KNOW IT BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT. I AM SIMPLY BETTER AT ARTICULATING IT.
"I'm not going to die, am I? I mean, right now?"
NO. BUT YOU WERE TOLD THAT YOU WOULD WALK WITH DEATH EVERY DAY.
"Oh... yes. Corporal Scallot said that."
HE IS AN OLD FRIEND. YOU MIGHT SAY HE IS ON THE INSTALMENT PLAN.
"Do you mind walking a bit more... invisibly?"
OF COURSE. HOW'S THIS?
"And quietly, too?"
There was silence, which was presumably the answer. "And polish yourself up a bit," said Polly to the empty air. "And that robe needs a wash."
There was no reply, but she felt better for saying it.
Shufti had cooked beef stew with dumplings and herbs. It was magnificent. It was also a mystery.
"I don't recall us passing a cow, private," said Blouse, as he handed his tin plate along for a second helping.
"Er... no, sir."
"And yet you have acquired beef?"
"Er... yes, sir. Er... when that writer man came up in his cart, well, when you were talking, er, I crept round and took a look inside..."
"There's a name for someone who does that sort of thing, private," said Blouse severely.
"Yeah, it's quartermaster, Shufti. Well done," said Jackrum. "If that writer man gets hungry, he can always eat his words, eh, lieutenant?"
"Er... yes," said Blouse carefully. "Yes. Of course. Good initiative, private."
"Oh, I didn't think it up, sir," said Shufti brightly. "Sarge told me to."
Polly stopped, spoon halfway to her mouth, and swivelled her eyes from sergeant to lieutenant.
"You teach looting, sergeant?" said Blouse. There was a joint gasp from the squad. If this was the bar back at The Duchess, the regulars would have been hurrying out of the doors and Polly would have been helping her father get the bottles off the shelf.