“No,” George said again, his fury cutting his words like glass. “Do you have any idea what I ended up doing last night?”

“I do, as it happens.”

“You—What?” This was unexpected. When the hell had Arbuthnot learned of the farce at The Swan With No Neck?

“It was a test, m’boy.” Arbuthnot slapped him on the shoulder. “You passed with flying colors.”

“A test,” George repeated, and if Arbuthnot knew him better, he’d have realized that the utter lack of inflection in George’s voice was not a good sign.

But Arbuthnot didn’t know him very well, and so he was chuckling as he said, “You don’t think we’d trust just anyone with sensitive information.”

“I think you’d trust me,” George growled.

“No,” Arbuthnot said with an odd, owlish solemnity. “Not even you. Besides,” he added, his mien perking back up, “‘Pease, porridge, and pudding?’ A bit of credit, if you will. We’ve more creativity than that.”

George sucked in his lips as he pondered his next action. Tossing Arbuthnot out on his ear was tempting, but so was a well-thrown punch to the jaw.

“All in the past now,” Arbuthnot said. “Now we need you to deliver a package.”

“I think it’s time you left,” George said.

Arbuthnot drew back in surprise. “It’s essential.”

“So was pease, porridge, and pudding,” George reminded him.

“Yes, yes,” the general said condescendingly, “you have every right to feel abused, but now that we know we can trust you, we need your help.”

George crossed his arms.

“Do it for your brother, Kennard.”

“Don’t you dare bring him into this,” George hissed.

“It’s a little late to be so high and mighty,” Arbuthnot shot back, his friendly demeanor beginning to slip. “Do not forget that you were the one who came to me.”

“And you could have declined my request for help.”

“How do you think we go about defeating the enemy?” Arbuthnot demanded. “Do you think it’s all shiny uniforms and marching in formation? The real war is won behind the scenes, and if you’re too much of a coward—”

In an instant, George had him pinned against the wall. “Do not,” he spat, “make the mistake of thinking you can shame me into becoming your errand boy.” His hand tightened on the older man’s shoulder, and then abruptly, he let go.

“I thought you wished to do your part for your country,” Arbuthnot said, tugging on the hem of his jacket to smooth it out.

George nearly bit his tongue, stopping himself from making an untempered retort. He almost said something about how he had spent three years wishing he was with his brothers, serving with his rifle and sword, prepared to give his life for the good of England.

He almost said that it had made him feel useless, ashamed that he was somehow judged to be more valuable than his brothers by virtue of his birth.

But then he thought of Billie, and of Crake and Aubrey Hall, and all the people there who depended upon them. He thought of the harvest, and of the village, and of his sister, who would soon bring the first of a new generation into this world.