It was, of course. But it was also very enlightening. “Japan.” Margot nodded and recalled the look of the board he’d been using. It had been exquisite—lovelier than the one on which Gottlieb had taught her. He’d probably acquired it in Japan and brought it back to England with him. Though the game originated in China, it was so ubiquitous in Japan that most of the terms of play were Japanese rather than Chinese. “That makes sense.” Not a German connection—a Japanese one.

It ought to make the unease settle. But it didn’t, exactly. It just inspired her feet to move away from Dot and Holmes and toward the hunched figure of John Williams. The last time she’d tried to speak to him, he’d barely even looked at her. That was all right.

She slid into the seat opposite his and didn’t look at him either. She looked at the board, at the game he was playing with no one, and took a moment to take in the positions of the pieces. He was even then taking his fingers off one of his black stones after moving it. She rested two of hers onto a white.

It was cool and smooth and familiar, sucking her back three years in time with that single touch. She sat across from Gottlieb instead of Williams, in the warm home of Madame Dumont, who had taken them in as if they were family, though they’d never met her before that long, grueling march from burned-out Louvain to occupied Brussels. The crisp London air disappeared, the babble of voices was French in her ear instead of English.

But in Brussels, she wouldn’t have made the best move she saw, not often. She’d had to pretend she wasn’t as smart as she was, pretend she wasn’t the daughter of her father, pretend she wasn’t the “crypotography machine” he’d apparently bragged to too many people about having created.

Today she was just one more cog in the machine of Room 40. Allowed to be who she was. Able to play however she pleased. Today Maman certainly wouldn’t be hovering behind her, glowering warnings with wide eyes.

Margot blinked away the pain of that and moved the stone under her fingers.

Williams grunted. She darted a glance up at him, expecting protest to be upon his face. But the corners of his lips had turned up. Just a bit. He still didn’t look at her, but he looked at the board in a new way.