“Hm,” says Pal, hiding a smile. Maybe he doesn’t quite say promise? but the sentiment is implied—if you squint. He turns round, ready to explain the reasoning behind his exclamation, only to watch a perfectly preserved rib bone clatter into the tray.

He looks at the rib, and then looks at Clarke, and then looks at the rib, and then adjusts his glasses.

“…That depends.”