Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett [151]
“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.”
“And they never suspected?”
“What, suspect Jolly Jack Jackrum, so full of rum and vinegar?” said Jackrum, the old evil grin coming back. “Jack Jackrum, who could stop a bar fight by belchin’? No, sir! I daresay some of ’em suspected something, maybe, I daresay they worked out that there was something going on somewhere, but I was just the big fat sergeant who knew everyone and everything and drank everything, too.”
Polly dabbed at her eyes.
“What are you going to do now, then, if you don’t go to Scritz?”
“Oh, I’ve got a bit put by,” said Jackrum. “More than a bit, in point of actual fact. Pillage, plunder, loot…it all adds up, whatever you call it. I didn’t piss it all up against a wall like the other lads, right? I expect I can remember most of the bleedin’ places I buried it. Always thought I might open an inn, or maybe a knocking shop…oh, a proper high-class place, you don’t have to look at me like that, nothin’ like that stinking tent. No, I’m talkin’ about one with a chef and chandeliers and a lot of red velvet, very exclusive. I’d get some nobby lady to front it and I’d be the bouncer and run the bar. Here’s a tip, lad, for your future career, and it’s one some of the other Little Lads learned for ’emselves: sometimes it’ll help if you visits one of them naughty places, otherwise the men’ll wonder about you. I always used to take a book to read and advise the young lady to get some sleep, ’cos they does a tough job.”
Polly let that pass, but said: “You don’t want to go back and see your grandchildren?”
“Wouldn’t wish meself on him, lad,” said Jackrum firmly. “Wouldn’t dare. My boy’s a well-respected man in the town! What’ve I got to offer? He’ll not want some fat ol’ biddy banging on his back door and gobbing baccy juice all over the place and telling him she’s his mother!”
Polly looked at the fire for a moment, and felt the idea creep into her mind.
“What about a distinguished-looking sergeant major, shiny with braid, loaded with medals, arriving at the front door in a grand coach and telling him he’s his father?” she said.
Jackrum stared.
“Tides of war, and all that,” Polly went on, mind suddenly racing. “Young love. Duty calls. Families scattered. Hopeless searching. Decades pass. Fond memories. Then…oh, an overheard conversation in a bar, yeah, that’d work. Hope springs. A new search. Greasing palms. The recollections of old women. At last, an address—”
“What’re you saying, Perks?”
“You’re a liar, Sarge,” said Polly, leaning forward. “Best I’ve ever heard. One last lie pays for all! Why not? You could show him the locket. You could tell him about the girl