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Everything about the new recruit said 'Uberwald' — 'human from Uberwald' to be exact: pale, thin, too small for his uniform, an overall impression of fear. His straight dark hair had been hacked off inexpertly above the ears.
"What's your name?"
"Petr." Swallowing any coda the name might have had.
"Petr anything in particular?"
The boy — giving him the benefit of the doubt — blushed and shuffled his feet. "No, sir."
"Welcome to the regiment. I see you've got your uniform already. Just have Igorina give your hair a trim. You look a sight."
"Igorina?"
The sergeant shrugged. "It's who we have. Oh, and ask her if you can test her new invention while you're at it. Boiled leather codpiece. Protects against knee-to-the-groin accidents, purposeful attacks on the family jewels, and unwelcome stares. If you don't have enough of the natural wherewithal to fill it with she'll provide you with wool and rags."
Petr's expression was exactly in the middle between apprehension and relief. "Yes, sergeant." His eyes went to the corner where Mal was lounging.
"Oh, never mind the lieutenant. He just dropped in for coffee." The sergeant wrote Petr's name in the book and dismissed him.
"So, that's Petr Nothing-in-particular," Mal said when the boy was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot. "I fancy I know his family. At least, that my family knows his family. Rather too intimately."
Polly nodded. "I thought as much. Good grief, people who join the army voluntarily when there isn't a war on are so desperate. What do they get out of it?"
Mal ticked the reasons off on his fingers. "Enough to eat, a place to sleep, being away from your family, new friends or at least companions. And you might learn something. Reading and writing, for one." It was Mal who ran the reading-and-writing class for new recruits who had never had the opportunity.
"That reminds me that I've got some letters I should read. Why did I agree to having regular office hours, again?"
"Because you were fed up with everybody interrupting you all the time, and see, it's working, they're using the office hours to interrupt you. By the way, this pot is empty. But I've got an aide these days. Perk of my new status." He leant out of the makeshift door. "Sticks!"
That brought a gangly redheaded young man, who acknowledged Polly with a sketchy salute and came sharply to attention in front of Mal. "Sir!"
"Bring another pot of coffee. And any cakes or biscuits you can scrounge."
"Yessir!"
"I remember taking that one on, too," Polly said. "Seems like yesterday, but I think he's about eight inches taller now. No wonder he's called Sticks. A — regular boy, right?"
"Seen him in the bath. Yes."
"More to the point, has he seen you in the bath?"
"Not in all my glory. But I think he knows, regardless. Much smarter than he looks, that's why I picked him. Shall we assign him to show young Petr round?"
"Good idea. Then I can draft answers for any of these letters that need one." She ripped open the first. "Oh damn it. Yes, this needs an answer. The same answer as the three previous times."
Mal said in a singsong voice, "'Dear Sirs, my present duties do not permit me to accept a commission at this moment. Respectfully, P.O. Perks, Sgt.' The fourth in how many months?"
"Two. Why in the world do they want to make me a lieutenant? They've got quite enough lieutenants. What there are not enough of are sergeants who know what the fuck is going on."
"Let me write it, my writing is more impressive." Which was true: Mal's hand tended to default to copperplate.
"No, they need to see my overworked sergeant's paw or they won't believe it."
Sticks brought the coffee, and a modest plate of cake and biscuits. "Have you taken your tithe?" Mal asked.
"No sir."
"Then do it."
The boy took a piece of cake and a biscuit. "Anything else, sir?"
"The sergeant has a job for you."
"Find the new one, little guy called Petr," the sergeant said, "and show him around. The works. Anything you know, you can tell him. And mind he gets a codpiece from Igorina."
Sticks grinned. "Will do, sergeant."
Polly didn't get round to writing anything yet, because one of the lads burst into the room. "Sarge!" he said in a breathless voice. "Stinky got 'is 'ead bashed in. Igorina is sewing 'im up."
"Wait," Sergeant Perks said, "take it from the top. Who bashed Stinky's head in, and why?"
"Garnet," the soldier said. "With a club. 'E dared 'er. Knocked 'is ear right off 'is 'ead."
"Stinky dared Garnet to bash him in the head with her club, and she did, and knocked his ear off. Do I understand that correctly?"
"Yessir."
She sighed and went outside to see the carnage. Several of the troops, Sticks and Petr among them, were standing around Igorina who was reattaching the ear to Stinky's head. "If you do that again I'll have to find another ear for you," she said, "and without any battles the supply is meagre so watch out and don't go baiting any trolls."
Petr looked even paler than he had in the office. Vampires he might have grown up with — or at least with them in the vicinity — but getting used to a zombie was another thing, especially when the zombie in question was being mended.
The troll was standing to the side, looking sheepish, with the club still in her hand. "Wanted to try club," she admitted when the sergeant confronted her. "Is new. Asked who has hardest head. Stinky said was him."
"I'd think a zombie would have the softest head around here," the sergeant grunted. "Ah well. Latrine duty for both of you, the whole week. Next time, only bash the enemy."
"Is no enemy here," Garnet said, reasonably.
"Well, don't bash your mates, anyway. Dismissed. Get to work."
"You're being too easy on them," Mal said when Polly told him her decision. "Neither of them can smell it."
"Someone has to do the unpleasant work. Better have those people do it who think they brought it on themselves."
"Right. This is why you're a sergeant and I'm a lieutenant. Lieutenants exist to look sharp and make an impression. Sergeants exist to keep the army running as it ought to."
"And it's exactly why I'm electing to stay a sergeant this time around as well," Polly said, and finally embarked on writing the letter. "Is there any more coffee in that pot?"