“You’ve changed your tune,” I said, just a little amused. “Only this morning you were calling me every name under the sun because I hadn’t already made the armour available to everyone.”

“That was then,” said Harry. “This is now. And I’m not convinced we can properly train so many people in time anyway. The Sarjeant can be very . . . inspirational, but untrained agents in the field can be a danger to themselves and their companions, never mind the enemy.”

“This family has more trainers and tutors on hand than ever before, thanks to me,” I said. “And we won’t launch another attack until I’m sure we can win it. I won’t lose any more good men and women. Fortunately, I’ve already made certain . . . arrangements, to bring in expert help. Advisors in the art and practice of war.”

“Oh God,” said the Armourer. “I know that look on your face. You think you’ve done something really clever. What have you done, Eddie? And why do I just know I’m not going to like it?”

“Probably because you know me so well, Uncle Jack,” I said. “You all said I didn’t have the relevant experience to lead this family into the war that’s coming; and you were right. But since no one else in the family does either, I was forced to go further abroad to find people who did have the experience and the expertise. I asked the Merlin Glass to find me the two most suitable members of the family, one from the past and one from the future. And it did.”

“You did this without consulting the Inner Circle first?” said Harry. “How dare you . . . ?”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d try and talk me out of it,” I said calmly. “And I didn’t intend to be talked out of it. And anyway, it worked. William, have Rafe bring our visitor here, so everyone can meet him.”

“I’ve got him standing by,” William said dourly. “I knew you’d get to this point eventually.”

The living Jacob stepped into view beside him and smiled cheerfully at the dumbfounded faces before him. He had a glass of wine in one hand, and he must have found some food, because he’d spilled half of it down his front. “Greetings to my noble descendants! I am Jacob Drood: soldier, philosopher, and bon vivant!”

The Armourer and the Sarjeant-at-Arms, both of whom had good reason to know the ghost of Jacob, both looked equally shocked and appalled. Harry and Roger and Callan all recognised the name, and looked at me sharply. The Sarjeant, not surprisingly, put it into words first.

“Have you gone stark staring mad? Does he know about . . . ?”

“No he doesn’t,” I said quickly. “And I really don’t think we should tell him just yet. It’s the kind of thing you need to work up to.”