He didn’t smile. He rarely did, though his eyes seldom lacked for a twinkle of good humor. “I had a letter from your sister today. Did you?”

“A few of them caught up to me at once. I haven’t yet had a chance to read them.”

“Mm.” Abuelo reached for a glass, probably full of Madeira. “Then we will discuss her news after you have learned it.”

News? It was possible that Abuelo was only just learning of her employment, he supposed. Regardless, he was anxious to get up to his room where he could find Thoroton’s assignment for him in the Hugo. He smiled at his grandfather. “Very good. I’ll join you again shortly.”

Once upstairs, he let himself into the chamber that had been his since the day he was born, though it was another eight years before he ever stepped foot in it. Dot had the next one down—assigned upon her own birth, and only visited once. Still, it was cleaned every week, the linens changed, the styles updated occasionally, so that if ever she came again, it would be ready for her.

That was Abuelo. Perhaps because this house was his world, he made sure there was a place inside always prepared for those he loved.

Drake’s room had, over the years, taken on a bit of the character of a library. In addition to the desk, shelves lined an entire wall. To these he went now, filing most of the books he’d just purchased into their proper places. But he kept the Hugo in his hands and made himself comfortable at his desk. From a drawer he pulled out the dictionary that Thoroton would have used as a key, a fresh sheet of paper, and a pencil.

It took him half an hour to note each line of poetry that was underlined and use the page and line number to find the corresponding entry in the dictionary, but when at last he had the message worked out, he could only stare for a long moment.

Suspect Germans will be trying to use diseases to infect cereal intended for livestock—donkeys and horses. Discover where anthrax and glanders bacilli may be located. Watch for agents.

Drake expelled a long breath and rubbed a hand over his face. How could they justify this? How could a civilized nation really decide it was acceptable to deliberately spread deadly bacteria?

It had been done before, he supposed, recalling the story of blankets of smallpox victims being given to the natives in the colonies. But that hadn’t been on the command of the government; it had been the action of a few men with shadows upon their souls. This, though, would have come from the German High Command.