The sun was higher by the time they reached the more populated area of town, but it was still at an angle where it hit the windows and made them squint.

“You know where you’re going?” Mal asked.

“Yep. Just along here.” Jayne was striding along, and anyone already about was keeping well out of his way. Suddenly he stopped, and Hank almost walked into him. “Here.”

They faced the building.

Adelaide’s. The sign above the saloon doors appeared freshly painted, but the gold lettering etched on the large windows was scratched and rubbed by countless shoulders and elbows passing by.

“This it?” Mal asked.

“Yeah.” Jayne looked up. “Maybe an extra storey’s been added, but it ain’t changed that much.”

“And Adelaide?”

“Piss poor beer but good company. And she always looked after her girls. Unlike some.”

“You’re talking like you know, Jayne,” Mal pointed out.

“I was around for a long time afore River even got born, Mal. And I was no nun.”

“Saint, Jayne.”

The big man grinned. “Never thought you’d use both them words in the same sentence, Mal.”

“And you won’t again.”

Jayne shrugged the water off a duck’s back, and pushed open the swing doors.

The familiar smell of any saloon anywhere outside the Core assailed their nostrils. Beer, both stale and fresh, with a spirit chaser, body odour, cheap perfume and middling aftershave, along with frying food ...

Jayne took a deep, appreciative breath. “Ah,” he exhaled on a sigh.

“How come it smells like sawdust even though there ain’t any on the floor?” Hank wanted to know, studiously keeping his eyes away from the Tall Card game set up ready in the corner.

“Fresh cut wood,” Mal supplied, memories of days back on the ranch helping the hands saw fence posts as clear and clean in his mind as the scent. “Recent building.”

Indeed, as their eyes adjusted to the slight gloom they could see a grander staircase than the place truly warranted twisting on itself and heading up towards the upper level. Padded couches at