“Don’t matter anyway,” said the sergeant. “You make your mark on this here document and kiss the Duchess and you’re my little lad, you understand? My name is Sergeant Jackrum. I will be your mother and your father and Corporal Strappi here will be just like your big brother. And life will be steak and bacon every day, and anyone who wants to drag you away’ll have to drag me away too, because I’ll be holding onto your collar. And you might well be thinking there’s no one that can drag that much, Mr Perks.” A thick thumb jabbed at the paper. “Just there, right?”
Polly picked up the pen and signed.
“What’s that?” said the corporal.
“My signature,” said Polly.
She heard the door open behind her, and spun round. Several young men—she corrected herself, several other young men had clattered into the bar, and were looking around warily.
“You can read and write, too?” said the sergeant, glancing up at them and then back to her. “Yeah, I see. A nice round hand, as well. Officer material, you are. Give him the shilling, corporal. And the picture, of course.”
“Right, sergeant,” said Corporal Strappi, holding up a picture frame on a handle, like a looking-glass. “Pucker up, Private Parts.”
“It’s Perks, sir,” said Polly.
“Yeah, right. Now kiss the Duchess.”
It was not a good copy of the famous picture. The painting behind the glass was faded and something, some kind of moss or something, was growing on the inside of the cracked glass itself. Polly let her lips brush it while holding her breath.
“Huh,” said Strappi, and pressed something into her hand.
“What’s this?” said Polly, looking at the small square of paper.
“An IOU. Bit short of shillings right now,” said the sergeant, while Strappi smirked. “But the innkeeper’ll stand you a pint of ale, courtesy of her grace.”
He turned and looked up at the newcomers. “Well, it never rains but it pours. You boys here to join up too? My word, and we didn’t even have to bang the drum. It must be Corporal Strappi’s amazin’ charisma. Step up, don’t be shy. Who’s the next likely lad?”