“For now, at least, we’re protected by a castle,” said Adrian.
“Arewe?” Jacob asked. “Harbrook is very old.”
“Which works to our advantage,” Tommy told him. “With only one visible entrance and all the ground-floor windows angled into embrasure arrow slits, Reddington has limited ways to breach the castle.”
“The upper floors have regular windows,” Graham pointed out.
“Only you could scale a sheer wall to access them,” Tommy said fondly.
Jacob frowned. “Only Graham could climb up with his bare hands. Reddington certainly has access to ladders and ropes.”
“And we have Stephen,” Elizabeth said. “He can turn every wall and window into a death trap.”
Marjorie grinned. “I cannot wait to paint a commemorative portrait of Reddington’s ignominious defeat.”
36
The next morning was bright and sunny, much like the mood inside the castle. The Wynchesters were simply so confident they could resolve the unresolvable that Stephen could not help but be swept along in their buoyant optimism.
Elizabeth and Kuni were fencing in one of the castle’s many rooms. Meanwhile, Stephen threw himself into his press-up exercises between tinkering with telescopes and pulleys.
Jacob had been absent from sight since the night before, introducing his animals to the castle environment and teaching the homing creatures to return to new locations.
Stephen had expected to spend the morning setting up the Wynchester siblings’ new machines wherever so instructed, but Marjorie and Adrian had quickly proved more than capable of dismantling and reassembling them without issue. They were such a well-matched pair that Stephen found himself a fifth wheel, even amongst his own inventions. When he’d stepped out of their way, they hadn’t even noted his absence.
He tried not to mind that they didn’t need him. No one ever did, a sorry fact that never made the not-being-needed any easier to bear. He was useful only whilst inventing. After that, it was his creations which were useful, not Stephen.
Yet he kept trying.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked Philippa.
She looked up from the stack of open books on the dining room table with the thinly concealed annoyance of someone who had been concentrating very hard on something exceedingly important, until she was so rudely interrupted.
She forced a smile.
He could not help but grimace. “I’m sorry.”
“No,I’msorry.” She placed a ribbon between the pages of her book and closed the tome. “Believe me, I know exactly what it’s like to feel like the least Wynchester-y Wynchester of the group.”
“Iamthe least Wynchester-y, by definition. I’m the only non-Wynchester amongst us.”
“Yes, well, one never knows how long that particular condition will last. The others aren’t ignoring you, in case that was your fear. When they have a client, the case often commands their full concentration, to the exclusion of all else. And with less than ninety-five minutes until Reddington’s siege begins in earnest—”
“You’re counting down the minutes?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I don’t have to. I built a machine that will lower an hourglass to mete out the right amount of sand sixty minutes before the battle is to begin. When the glass empties, the machine will sound out a warning.”
“Of course you did.” Philippa chuckled. “Honestly, I mightstillbe the least Wynchester-y Wynchester. Whilst you are all off doing remarkable things, I sit in a chair surrounded by books.”
“What are you reading?”
“Items from Elizabeth’s collection. Military histories… Biographies of war generals… Journals from the front lines… Copies of letters Wellington sent home from the battlefield.” She patted each stack in turn, then held up the volume she’d been studying when he interrupted. “I wish I could make heads or tails of this one.”
He peered closer. “Is that… Chinese?”
She nodded. “The Art of Warby Sun Tzu. I don’t speak the language, but a scholarly friend of Elizabeth’s does. She’s left translations of important points in the margins.”
