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see you, sir!”
    I pulled on my boots, then hurried along the trench to my new commanding officer’s dugout. I reached his door, straightened my collar, and finally knocked.
    “Come!” a voice called in response.
    Swallowing the nervous lump that pressed at my throat, I opened the door. I pushed my way past the gas curtain and entered into a room dimly illuminated by the artificial light of an oil lamp. Curiously, the small window in theroom was covered. Not even a glimmer of sunlight filtered through.
    The shadowy form of Captain Harker was seated at his desk, leaned over a pile of papers. He did not look up.
    As I waited, I stared with unease at his shadow, outlined on the wall beside him.
    The shadow’s profile, distorted by the flickering lamplight, appeared to belong to some stooping, murderous demon, illuminated on a church fresco.
    I stared harder and imagined the demon’s muscles taut—ready to strike.
    Then, without warning, the demon spread its wings and lurched forth.
    For an instant, my heart trembled. Then I realised that the captain was now standing, his movement the thing that had caused the shadow to change form.
    I felt a foolish relief and chided myself for my childish imaginings.
    As the captain stepped forward, I could at last see his face.
    The grotesque form of his shadow had done him a great injustice. His towering height and sharp features would be considered quite handsome, I believe.
    He regarded me closely for a few seconds. I could not distinguish the colour of his eyes in the half-light, but they seemed to burn into me with disconcerting intensity.
    At last, he held out his hand. “Lieutenant Shaw,” he said genially. “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you.”
    His smile was astonishing—so full of warmth and charm that it had the effect of putting me quite at ease. “Thank you, sir,” I responded.
    “We’ve been facing the same enemy division for months now,” the captain told me. “The monotony of trench life seems to sap the men’s bloodlust. It will be good for morale to have a fresh soul around the place, not weary or jaded like the rest. And I trust you’ll also prove good company for me.”
    “I shall do my best,” I replied.
    “I know you will.” Harker’s eyes seemed to glow. He did seem genuinely pleased at my arrival.
    “Sit,” he invited, “and tell me about yourself.”
    “Where should I begin?” I answered, pulling up a rough wooden chair.
    “Begin with explaining how a young man educated at Eton should come to speak Romanian as well as English and German.” He glanced at a file that I assumed must contain my records. “They certainly didn’t teach it when I was there.”
    “You were at Eton too, sir?” I asked, pleased at the thought that we must share similar memories.
    The captain nodded. “I left in 1905. A while before you arrived, I imagine.”
    I quickly calculated that he must be twenty-nine—ten years older than myself. Yet he could easily have been mistaken forone of my contemporaries. I had seen soldiers my own age already emaciated and gaunt from war. Remarkably, Captain Harker’s smooth, fine features betrayed no hardship.
    “We lived in Romania with my parents until I was nine,” I explained. “My father was a diplomat.”
    “We?”
    “Myself and my sister, Lily,” I answered him. “She’s a year younger than I. We returned to England with our Romanian guardian after our parents were killed in an accident.”
    “How terrible,” Captain Harker murmured.
    The tender subject made it hard to sustain his intense gaze. I looked away awkwardly. “It was harder for Lily than it was for me,” I continued. “I was quickly dispatched to board at prep school, while she was left to grieve in a strange old house that our father had purchased in England. At the time I feared the grief might kill her….”
    I glanced back at Harker. The curiosity in his expression compelled me to go on. “Lily has always been such a sensitive