''We start training our men, together. We instil them with discipline. We forge them into a unit, a single army. And we gather weapons. As much as we can. Every type that we can.''
That was three years ago. And here we are now.
13. Cache
''Here we are now,'' echoed David, as the jeep they were riding in plunged into and out of a pothole the size of a small crater. Steven crunched gears and cursed. He was driving at least fifteen miles an hour faster than was wise on a road this badly made, but seemed of the opinion that it was the road that should mend its ways, not him.
''So what do you make of it?'' Steven asked, or rather the Lightbringer asked. For the past half an hour David had been listening to this masked man in the seat beside him talking in Steven's voice, using Steven's intonation and turn of phrase, sounding exactly like Steven… Cognitively he knew it was his brother under that mask. He had no doubts on that score. Who else could it be? Nobody but Steven could have told that anecdote about throwing up all over Mrs Plomley, or conjured up the speech-impedimented shade of Mr Perkins quite so accurately.
For all that, David could not shake off the impression that he was sitting next to an impostor, or perhaps a psychic channelling Steven's dead spirit. He longed for a peek beneath the mask, for final irrefutable confirmation of what he knew to be true, but he'd decided to let Steven choose to show him his face in his own time. He would do it when he wanted to, if he wanted to.
''What do I make of it?'' David said. ''Well, it's quite a tale.''
''I know! I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't lived through it. But actually what I meant was, what do you make of us meeting up again like this?''
''Fluke. Happy coincidence.''
''Me, I think it was meant to be. I mean, my own brother pitching up here in Freegypt — what are the odds? Astronomical. But as soon as I heard from Zafirah that she'd picked up this British soldier in the desert and his name was David Westwynter, I felt this click inside. Like, of course Dave's here. Why shouldn't he be? You didn't get the same feeling, though.''
''No.''
''Well, you always were the hard-headed, practical one, weren't you?''
''Perhaps our meeting would have had more significance for me if you hadn't spent all that time arsing around, stringing me along, pretending you didn't know me. Was it really necessary, that whole charade?''
''To start with, yes. I'm the Lightbringer, remember.''
''So?''
''Well, I couldn't just walk up to you and say, 'Hi, Dave, how's it going? Long time no see, big brother.' I'd no idea how you'd react. You might have punched me in the face, and that wouldn't have looked good in front of all those people. Instead, I thought it'd be better if I got you on your own, then did the big reveal.''
''Except you didn't. You made me play senet with you first.''
''Yes, that, I admit, was for a laugh. I was waiting to see how long it'd take for the penny to drop. Your face, Dave!'' Steven chuckled and slapped the steering wheel. ''What a sight. Haven't seen you look so shocked since the time we found that polished mahogany Osiris Special in Mum's bedside cabinet.''
''Glad it amused you.''
''Look, I'm sorry, all right?'' It was one of those apologies that didn't sound very apologetic. ''You know me. If there's temptation, I always give in to it.''
David frowned sternly at him, but couldn't maintain the expression for long. Right now he felt he could forgive his brother almost anything. Besides, it had been a harmless little deception, Steven just being his typical, slippery, prankish self. If the roles had been reversed, David might well have done the same. No, who was he kidding? That was the difference between them. He seldom, if ever, gave in to temptation.
''And I know what you're going to say next,'' Steven said, holding up a warding-off finger.
''Yes?''
''Yes. You're going to ask why didn't I get word home that I wasn't dead, as soon as I could.''
''I wasn't going to-''
''You were. Come on.''
''OK. Maybe I was. Well?''
''It's not that easy to explain. The thing is, by the time I got off that island, I knew you and Mum and Dad would have already given me up for lost and mourned me. Then I sort of fell into a life of crime with Iannis and realised it suited me to be officially an ex-person. And now that I'm the Lightbringer, Steven Westwynter might as well not exist any more. That's just the way my life has gone — my afterlife, my second life, whatever you want to call it. That's how it's had to be.''
''But a letter, a phone call home, even an anonymous one…''
''… might have been the right thing to do but it would have brought complications. Which isn't to say I didn't think about it. I thought about it a lot. But the longer I left it, the more unhelpful it became to me. It was something I kept putting off until, all of a sudden, it was too late. Can you imagine what would have happened anyway? Dad gets wind that I haven't gone down with the Immortal after all. Knowing him, he'd alert the authorities, have them hunt me down and haul me home to face a naval tribunal for desertion or dereliction of duty or whatever. Wouldn't he? Am I right?''
Reluctantly David nodded.
''I know I am. I'd pissed him off by signing up. It'd have pissed him off even more if it turned out I'd publicly screwed up being in the navy. He'd want to see me doing time in a military prison and getting farmed out with a dishonourable discharge. 'Teach the lad a lesson.' Whereas this way, posthumously, Jack Westwynter has got the best son he could hope for: a war hero. The black sheep who came good. Died fighting for his country, and so on. Something to brag about at the country club. Again, am I right?''
David could not deny it. Once their father had got over the shock of bereavement, he'd come to terms with Steven's death by accommodating it into his personal understanding of how the world should be. Jack Westwynter was not a man who accepted failure or disgrace. He'd never had to. So, by listening to his peers when they told him how proud he should be of Steven, and by carefully recalibrating his memories of his wayward disappointment of a son, he was able to present himself as the grieving parent of a young man whose life had not been wasted but rather sacrificed in a good cause. This attitude made him absurdly happy and served him longer than any black armband.
''And Mum…'' Steven began, then shrugged. ''Well, tough on her, but there you go. Same with you too. I'm sorry about it, Dave.'' Unlike the last apology, this one sounded more or less sincere. ''But to be brutally honest, I'm a grown-up and shouldn't have to worry about what anyone else thinks, my parents least of all. More than that, I'm a man with a mission now, and men with missions need to be free from all other responsibilities, all encumbrances.''
''Family isn't an encumbrance.''
''Unless your surname's Westwynter.''
David didn't have an answer to that.
''Anyway,'' Steven went on, ''from what I hear, you've not exactly been in a hurry to return to the bosom of home and country, have you? You've gone rogue yourself.''