Monstrous Regiment

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. The noises of the kitchen went away, beyond a dome of frigid silence.
    “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 chain out of his noisome undershirt, 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 has 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 watercolor, 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