“Yeah, well, I met a sergeant who said an Igor put a man’s legs on backwards,” said Corporal Strappi. “What good’s that to a soldier, eh?”

“Could advance and retreat at the thame time?” said Igor levelly. “Thargent, I know all the thtorieth, and they are nothing but vile calumnieth. I theek only to therve my country. I do not want trouble.”

“Right,” said the sergeant. “Nor do we. Make your mark, and you’ve got to promise not to mess about with Corporal Strappi’s brain, right? Another signature? My word, I can see we’ve got ourselves a bleedin’ college of recruits today. Give him his cardboard shilling, corporal.”

“Thank you,” said Igor. “And I would like to give the picture a wipe, if it’th all the thame to you.” He produced a small cloth.

“Wipe it?” said Strappi. “Is that allowed, sergeant?”

“What do you want to wipe it for, mister?” said Jackrum.

“To remove the invithible demonth,” said Igor.

“I can’t see any invis—” Strappi began, and stopped.

“Just let him, all right?” said Jackrum. “It’s one of their funny little ways.”

“Dun’t seem right,” muttered Strappi. “Practically treason…”

“Can’t see why it’d be wrong just to give the old girl a wash,” said the sergeant shortly. “Next. Oh…”

Igor, after carefully wiping the stained picture and giving it a perfunctory peck, came and stood next to Polly, giving her a sheepish grin. But she was watching the next recruit.

He was short and quite slim, which was fairly usual in a country where it was rare to get enough food to make you fat. But he was dressed in black and expensively, like an aristocrat; he even had a sword. The sergeant was, therefore, looking worried. Clearly a man could get into trouble talking wrong to a nob who might have important friends.

“You sure you’ve come to the right place, sir?” he said.

“Yes, sergeant. I wish to enlist.”

Sergeant Jackrum shifted uneasily. “Yes, sir, but I’m not sure a gentleman like you—”