One anomaly, however, raised a question among the three men who shared his tent. They had discovered Ant’s book torn in half on his bunk. Ant would never destroy his book, which they knew to be precious to him. Had there been a fight of some kind? They decided to report their find to Corporal Rupert Barrett that very morning, and they took the book along to show him the evidence.

‘We never really knew Ant all that well,’ their spokesman, Private Amos Cole, a huge, beefy soldier in his late twenties, said, ‘he kept to himself. But we sure as hell knew that he treasured this book.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ the others agreed, nodding vigorously.

‘We wondered whether there might have been a fight or something,’ Amos went on, the bass baritone of his voice matching the size of his body. ‘Young Ant would never have ripped that up,’ he said, pointing to the book Rupe held in his hands.

‘I know.’ Rupe gazed down at the two halves of Just So Stories, remembering the reading sessions he’d had with Anthony Hill, the introverted young man who always called him sir, even off duty. As they’d shared ‘How the Leopard Got His Spots’, that boy had come to life. He’d been animated, joyful even. That boy would never have destroyed this book.

‘I know,’ he said once again, ‘thank you for bringing this to my attention, Private Cole. I shall look into the matter, I assure you.’

During lunchbreak, Rupe sought out Kasey and took him aside, explaining the situation. The book, its destruction and its background importance.

Kasey was the one who said the words out loud. Or rather just one word to start with.

‘Maxwell.’ Then, ‘It would have been Chuck Maxwell ripped that book up.’

He wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t already occurred to Rupe. In fact, he was echoing Rupe’s very thoughts.

‘Chuck Maxwell bullied that kid to death,’ Kasey said. ‘He fucking killed him, and I’ll bet fucking Stowers was in on it, too.’

Kasey, quick to fire up at the best of times, was seething with anger. And his anger was founded upon something that felt strangely like guilt. If he’d remained Maxwell’s whipping boy this wouldn’t have happened, he was sure of that. He could have withstood whatever Maxwell chose to dish out, but Ant couldn’t. And Ant had ended up paying the ultimate price.

But the guilt Kasey suffered was nothing compared to that of Rupert Barrett. Rupe cursed himself, the sudden rush of guilt that consumed him born of a deep-seated regret. I should never have listened to Ant’s plea not to intervene, he thought. I should have reported Maxwell’s bullying to Samuel Robinson. If I’d done that, and if by any chance Kase and I are right, Anthony Hill would be alive today.