"Everyone say chiz!" Otto commanded. "Vun, two, three... oh, bug - "
By the time the after-images had died away, Otto was back on his feet again. "Vun day I hope to find a filter zat vorks," he muttered. "Thank you, everyvun."
"That was for peace and goodwill between nations," said Polly, smiling sweetly and letting go of the Prince's hand. She took a step back. "And this, your highness, is for me..."
Actually, she didn't kick. Life was a process of finding out how far you could go, and you could probably go too far in finding out how far you could go. But a mere twitch of a leg was enough, just to see the idiot collapse in the ridiculous, knock-kneed, protective crouch.
She marched away, singing inside. This was not a fairy-tale castle and there was no such thing as a fairy-tale ending, but sometimes you could threaten to kick the handsome prince in the ham-and-eggs.
And now, there was one other little thing.
The sun was setting before Polly found Jackrum again, and blood-red light shone through the high windows of the Keep's biggest kitchen. He was sitting alone at a long table by the fire, in full uniform, and he was eating a slab of thick bread plastered with pork dripping. A mug of beer was not far from his other hand. He looked up as she approached, and nodded companionably towards another chair. Around them, women ran to and fro. "Pork drippin' with salt and pepper, and a mug of beer," he said. "That's the ticket. You can keep your cuisine. Want a slice?" He waved a hand at one of the kitchen girls who was dancing attendance on him.
"Not right now, sarge."
"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?"