“My point is,” Merton said over him, “one of Waring’s lieutenants has appointed himself general in a fairly ruthless manner, has plans that are putting the wind up his old colleagues, and isn’t wearing kid gloves. We don’t know much more than that yet. Of course, if you’re wrong and Fairfax wasn’t Virgo, none of this is relevant to you. But if he was—well, I felt you should know before Secretan walks you both into a minefield.”

“Thank you,” Will said wholeheartedly. “Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure. Anything else? In that case, since we’ve now concluded business, Jimmy asked me to pass on that he will drop in when he’s next in London, and find out if you’re still wielding your Jerry pig-sticker. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

It was also clearly a question, so Will opened the desk drawer and produced the Messer, his beloved trench knife with its eight-inch blade.

“Good Lord, what a thing,” Merton said. “I see why that would be effective. Did you carve the handle yourself?”

Will shook his head. “Beyond me. The bloke who did this was an artist.”

“May I?” Merton balanced the Messer in his palm. “Lovely piece. Odd how we make tools of death into beautiful things. My sister has strong words on that—she’s a shot, and likes her guns severely plain. She says the gunsmith’s art should be about efficiency, not ornament.”

“I’m with her, mostly. I picked this up for the blade. The German knives were far better than anything we got.”

“I recall Jimmy’s complaints about supplies.”

The British army had never issued a proper trench knife; soldiers had been forced to make or buy their own. Will had held strong views on being expected to pay his own way to Jerry’s trenches. “Captain Yoxall bought us knuckleduster knives with his own money, did you know? Flaming unwieldy things, and not much use really, but it was a nice thought. Or you’d be sent over with a sharpened stake, or a push dagger you’d banged out of a broken bayonet. I felt a lot happier once I had a real knife in my hand.” He took the Messer back: he didn’t much like other people holding it. “But I like the carving too. It makes it personal.”

If he’d been talking to Kim, he might have said more about that. About how every time he used the Messer, the carving reminded him of the artist who’d died at his hands. About why you ought to treat a killing weapon as special and important, because what it did changed the world irreversibly. Kim would listen to that, understand it was complicated, and probably have a quotation at the ready to crystallise Will’s feelings into thoughts. Will wouldn’t fear how he’d sound if he talked about this with Kim.