"I haven't forgotten," Fitzroy said. "It's all I think about. It's all that matters to me."

Eastbrooke nodded. "Your loyalty and dedication to achieving the ministry's goals are not in doubt." He cut a flinty glare at Gillingham.

Gillingham bowed. "You're right, and I didn't mean to imply otherwise. It's just that your methods—"

"Are not up for discussion," Fitzroy told him.

Gillingham cleared his throat. He tapped the carriage steps with his walking stick. "Shall we leave your man to his work, Eastbrooke? It's too hot to stand around out here, and it doesn't seem as if we'll get an invitation to go inside."

His man? What an odd thing to call Fitzroy. He didn't seem like he could be anyone's anything. I would have called him his own man. Yet Fitzroy did call him "sir," while Eastbrooke called him "Lincoln" in turn. I still wasn't sure what that implied about their relationship.

"I look forward to your report, Lincoln," Eastbrooke said. "Let's hope I don't have to wait too long." The general turned to me. "If the queen or her family suffer because of your refusal to help us find the other necromancer, you will be blamed."

"And if I suffer because I helped? Who will be blamed then?"

"Nobody cares about you, boy," Gillingham said from inside the cabin. "Never forget that."

"How can I, with people like you to remind me?"

Eastbrooke sighed heavily. "You ought to instill some manners into him while he's here, Lincoln. You should know how to go about doing that. I seem to recall you lacked quite a few manners when you were young." He gave a wry smile as he turned away to climb the coach steps.

Because he turned away, he didn't see the muscle in Fitzroy's jaw bunch as he ground his back teeth. I wondered what methods the general had used to instill manners in him.

The coach rolled away and we returned inside before it was out of sight. "You've known those men a long time," I said as he closed the front door.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"I'm thirty. I've known Eastbrooke since birth and met Gillingham some years later."

"He was cruel to you as a child? General Eastbrooke?"

He blinked at me, and I could have sworn he was surprised. "He never touched me."

I frowned but didn't question him further. He strode away, and I suspected he wanted the conversation to end. He suddenly stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"I forgot to show you something yesterday, on our tour," he said.

"I would hardly call it a tour. You were the worst guide."

"I showed you every room worth seeing."

"With the blandness of an automaton. There was no vivid description, and no stories about the previous occupants or the rooms themselves."

"You didn't need a description since you could see the room for yourself, and I'm not a storyteller."

"So I see. So what room did you forget to show me?"