"Sure?" said Jackrum. "There's an old sayin': kissing don't last, cooking do. I hope that it's one you don't have cause to reflect upon."
Polly sat down. "Kissing is lasting so far," she said.
"Shufti get sorted out?" said Jackrum. He finished the beer, snapped his fingers at the serving girl, and pointed to the empty mug.
"To her own satisfaction, sarge."
"Fair enough. You can't get fairer. So what next, Perks?"
"Dunno, sarge. I'll go with Wa - with Alice and the army and see what happens."
"Best of luck. Look after 'em, Perks, 'cos I ain't coming," said Jackrum.
"Sarge?" said Polly, shocked.
"Well, looks like we're going to be short by one war at present, eh? Anyway, this is it. The end of the road. I've done my bit. Can't go on now. Shot me quiver with the general, and I dare say he will be glad to see the back of me. Besides, old age is creepin' on. I killed five poor devils when we attacked today, and afterwards I found meself wonderin' why. Not good, that. Time to get out before I blunt me own edge."
"You're sure, sarge?"
"Yeah. Seems to me the ol' 'my country right or wrong' thing has had its day. Time to put my feet up and find out what it is we've been fighting for. Sure you won't have any dripping? It's got crunchy bits. That's what I call style, in dripping."
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."