Sir Thursday(27)

Fred liked to talk. Arthur listened to him as he packed away his equipment, a process that was much more difficult than the illustration indicated. Though Fred had only been at Fort Transformation for a day longer than Arthur, he had already found out a lot about their training, the training staff – or training cadre, as they were supposed to be called – and everything else.

‘The first week is all getting to know how to look right and some marching about and such-like,’ Fred explained. ‘At least, that’s what’s on the schedule. Over there.’

He pointed at the door. It was so far away, and the light from the hurricane lights so dim, that Arthur couldn’t tell what he was pointing at.

‘On the noticeboard, next to the door,’ continued Fred. ‘Let’s go take a look. We’ve got five minutes till dinner’s over and we’ll need to be over there anyway.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Arthur. His watch had disappeared when the recruit uniform had swarmed up his arm.

‘Axeforth just went out the back door. He’ll march around to the front, come in, and shout at us to line up there like he did before. It’s called “falling in”. Don’t ask me why. You need your hat on.’

Arthur picked up his pillbox hat and put it back on, grimacing at the feel of the chinstrap under his mouth rather than on his chin, which he felt was the proper place for something called a chinstrap. But everyone else wore theirs the same way, under the bottom lip, and the strap wasn’t long enough to do anything else.

‘Ready?’ Fred stood at attention next to Arthur. ‘We have to march everywhere, or we’ll get shouted at.’

‘Who by?’ asked Arthur. The other twenty Denizens in the platoon were all lying down on their beds, staring at the ceiling.

‘Sergeants, corporals … noncommissioned officers they’re called,’ said Fred. ‘NCOs. They appear mysteriously. Best not to risk it.’

Arthur shrugged and when Fred marched off, fell into step with him. After the first dozen paces, he felt like he was getting the hang of it and stopped worrying about his feet and concentrated on swinging his arms.

Stopping in the right way – or halting, as Sergeant Helve called it and had explained to him at length – was somewhat more difficult.

‘I’ll give the command, shall I?’ asked Fred as they approached the wall and the noticeboard. ‘Got to give it as the right foot comes down, we take one step with the left, hang on … no … oops. Halt!’

Fred had waited too long and both of them did funny little steps to avoid hitting the wall, which made them halt completely out of time. Arthur turned to laugh at Fred, only to freeze his smile into a grimace as Sergeant Helve loomed up out of the shadows.

‘What misbegotten disgrace of a movement do you call that?’ screamed the sergeant. A brass-tipped wooden pace-stick appeared in his hand and whistled through the air to point back towards the beds. ‘Double-back to your bunks like soldiers, not like some prissy paper-pushing puppets!’

Fred spun around and was off like a shot, still marching, but at a much faster rate. Arthur followed him more slowly, till he was suddenly accelerated by Sergeant Helve’s voice bellowing so close and so loud that it felt like it was inside his ear.

‘Double! When I say double, I mean at the double. Twice as fast as normal marching, Recruit Green!’

Arthur doubled, Sergeant Helve running backwards from him at a rate that Arthur supposed must be triple or quadruple time or some other measure only possible to sergeants.

‘Back straight, chin just so, swing those arms! Not that high!’

When Arthur was halfway back, Helve spun forwards and out of the pool of light from the hurricane lamp overhead. Before Arthur could take more than two steps, the sergeant appeared next to the closest bed, striking his pace-stick on the boot soles of the resting Denizen and yelling something that sounded like a single word:

‘Stand fast for inspection you dopy dozy disgraceful lump of leftover Nothing!’

The Denizen stood extremely fast, spare equipment cascading off the bed. His movement was like the first in a line of dominoes, as every Denizen along the row leaped from his or her bed.

‘Fall in on this line in order of height!’ commanded Sergeant Helve. He gestured with his pace-stick and a glowing white line appeared on the floor. ‘You will not be seen on the parade ground of Fort Transformation until I am sure you will not disgrace me! You will parade inside here instead! Every evening after dinner and every morning at one hour before sunrise, dressed and equipped as per the training schedule that you will find posted by the south door. Atten-hut!’