Terry Pratchett - Monstrous Regiment

Polly waved away the proffered slab of grease-smeared bread, and sat in silence while Jackrum engulfed it.

“Funny thing, really,” she said, at last.

“What’s that, Perks?”

“Finding out that it’s not about you. You think you’re the hero, and it turns out you’re really part of someone else’s story. Wazz—Alice will be the one they remember. We just had to get her here.”

Jackrum said nothing but, as Polly would have predicted, pulled his crumpled bag of chewing tobacco out of his pocket. She slipped a hand in her own pocket and pulled out a small packet. Pockets, she thought. We’ve got to hang on to pockets. A soldier needs pockets.

“Try this, sarge,” she said. “Go on, open it.”

It was a small, soft leather pouch, with a drawstring. Jackrum held it up so that it twisted this way and that.

“Well, Perks, upon my oath I am not a swearing man—” he began.

“No, you’re not. I’ve noticed,” said Polly. “But that grubby old paper was getting on my nerves. Why didn’t you ever get a proper pouch made for yourself? One of the saddlers here sewed that up for me in half an hour.”

“Well, that’s life, isn’t it?” said Jackrum. “Every day you think ‘ye gods, it’s about time I had a new bag’, but then it all gets so busy you end up using the old one. Thank you, Perks.”

“Oh, I thought, ‘What can I give the man who has everything?’ and that was all I could afford,” said Polly. “But you don’t have everything, sarge. Sarge? You don’t, do you?”

She sensed him freeze over.

“You stop right there, Perks,” he said, lowering his voice.

“I just thought you might like to show someone that locket of yours, sarge,” said Polly cheerfully. “The one round your neck. And don’t glare at me, sarge. Oh, yeah, I could walk away and I’d never be sure, really sure , and maybe you’d never show it to anyone else, ever, or tell them the story, and one day we’ll both be dead and… well, what a waste, eh?”

Jackrum glared.

“Upon your oath, you are not a dishonest man,” said Polly. “Good one, sarge. You told people every day.”

Around them, beyond the dome, the kitchen buzzed with the busyness of women. Women always seemed to be doing things with their hands—holding babies, or pans, or plates, or wool, or a brush, or a needle. Even when they were talking, busyness was happening.

“No one would believe yer,” said Jackrum, at last.

“Who would I want to tell?” said Polly. “And you’re right. No one would believe me. I’d believe you, though.”

Jackrum stared into his fresh mug of beer, as if trying to see the future in the foam. He seemed to reach a decision, pulled the gold chain out of his noisome vest, unfastened the locket, and gently snapped it open.

“There you go,” he said, passing it across. “Much good may it do you.”

There was a miniature painting in each side of the locket: a dark-haired girl, and a blond young man in the uniform of the Ins-and-Outs.

“Good one of you,” said Polly.

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” said Jackrum.

“No, honestly,” said Polly. “I look at the picture, and look at you… I can see that face in her face. Paler, of course. Not so… full. And who was the boy?”

“William, his name was,” said Jackrum.

“Your sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“And you followed him into the army…”

“Oh, yeah. Same old story. I was a big strong girl, and… well, you can see the picture. The artist did his best, but I was never an oil painting. Barely a watercolour, really. Where I came from, what a man looked for in a future wife was someone who could lift a pig under each arm. And a couple of days later I was lifting a pig under each arm, helping my dad, and one of my clogs came off in the muck and the ol’ man was yelling at me and I thought: the hell with this, Willie never yelled. Got hold of some men’s clothes, never you mind how, cut my hair right off, kissed the Duchess, and was a Chosen Man within three months.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what we used to call a corporal,” said Jackrum. “Chosen Man. Yeah, I smiled about that, too. And I was on my way. The army’s a piece of piss compared to running a pig farm and looking after three lazy brothers.”

“How long ago was that, sarge?”

“Couldn’t say, really. I swear I don’t know how old I am, and that’s the truth,” said Jackrum. “Lied about my age so often I ended up believing me.” She began, very carefully, to transfer the chewing tobacco into the new bag.

“And your young man?” said Polly quietly.

“Oh, we had great times, great times,” said Jackrum, stopping for a moment to stare at nothing. “He never got promoted on account of his stutter, but I had a good shouty voice and officers like that. But Willie never minded, not even when I made it to sergeant. And then he got killed at Sepple, right next to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be, you didn’t kill him,” said Jackrum evenly. “But I stepped over his body and skewered the bugger that did. Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t my fault. We were soldiers. And then a few months later I had a bit of a surprise, and he was called William, too, just like his father. Good job I had a bit of leave, eh? Me gran raised him for me, put him to a trade as an armourer over in Scritz. Good trade, that. No one kills a good armourer. They tell me he looks just like his dad. A captain I met once had bought a bloody good sword off him. Showed it to me, not knowin’ the hist’ry, o’ course. Damn good sword. It had scrollwork on the hilt and everything, very classy. He’s married with four kids now, I heard. Got a carriage and pair, servants, big house… yeah, I see you’re paying attention…”

“Wazzer—well, Wazzer and the Duchess said—”

“Yeah, yeah, they talked about Scritz, and a sword,” said Jackrum. “That’s when I knew it wasn’t just me watchin’ over you lads. I knew you’d survive. The old girl needed you.”

“So you’ve got to go there, sarge.”

“Got to? Who says? I’ve served the old girl the whole of my life, and she’s got no call on me now. I’m my own man, always have been.”

“Are you, sarge?” said Polly.

“Are you crying, Perks?”

“Well… it’s a bit sad, sarge.”

“Oh, I dare say I sobbed a bit too, once in a while,” said Jackrum, still tucking the tobacco into the new pouch. “But when all’s said and done, I’ve had a good life. Saw the cavalry break at the Battle of Slomp. I was part of the Thin Red Line that turned aside the Heavy Brigade at Sheep’s Drift, I saved the Imperial flag from four real bastards at Raladan, and I’ve been to a lot of foreign countries and met some very interesting people, who I mostly subsequently killed before they could do me over good and proper. Lost a lover, still got a son… there’s many a woman who’s faced worse, believe me.”

“And… you spotted other girls…”

“Hah! Became a kind of hobby, really. Most of ’em were frightened little things, running away from god knows what. They got found out soon enough. And there were plenty like Shufti, chasin’ their lad. But there were a few who had what I call the twinkle. A bit of fire, maybe. They just needed pointing in the right direction. I gave them a leg up, you might say. A sergeant’s a powerful man, sometimes. A word here, a nod there, sometimes even doctorin’ some paperwork, a whisper in the dark—”

“—a pair of socks,” said Polly.

“Yeah, that sort of thing,” said Jackrum, grinning. “Always a big concern to them, the whole latrine business. Least of your worries, I used to say. In peace no one cares, in battle everyone takes a piss the same way, and damn quickly, too. Oh, I helped ’em. I was their whatsit, their eminence grease , and grease it was, too, slidin’ them to the top. Jackrum’s Little Lads, I called ’em.”