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equal parts, and John was only thankful that she was not his sparring partner today.
    He sat up with no small effort, and pushed himself back to his feet to watch Lillian, just nineteen years old, a head shorter than him and considerably lighter, skipping away on bare feet, looking jolly pleased with herself. He was meant to be teaching her to fight, not the other way around.
    ‘No laughing!’ Mrs. Ito snapped at Lillian, her harsh accent cutting the air of what she called her ‘dojo’. Lillian straightened her face at once. The other agents sitting around the perimeter of the chalk circle fared less well. Agents Smythe and Hanlocke soon stopped their private joke when Mrs. Ito’s bundle of bamboo canes rapped down hard at their feet, causing them to jump back in shock.
    ‘Hurry up. Again!’ Mrs. Ito commanded.
    They said Mrs. Ito was a hundred years old. They said she had been smuggled out of Japan by Lord Elgin after she had saved the diplomat’s life from a government-sanctioned assassination attempt. They said she had killed three samurai that day with nothing more than a walking stick. But then again, John mused, they said many foolish things at the academy.
    He bowed to Lillian, who returned the gesture, never taking her eyes off him. He had got the better of her in all their previous matches, but those defeats had awoken a determination in his little sister that he could barely understand. She trained relentlessly, spending many hours alone. She had no confidant in the academy, so far as John knew, and no one whom she trusted enough to form a sincere partnership with during field tests. However, in just three short months she had gone from timid girl to the best fighter in the class. Smythe had almost had his shoulder dislocated the last time he had sparred with her. She practised the oriental arts of fighting day and night, when she was not improving her marksmanship, that was. But John was no slouch—he had been one of the best before Lillian had become Mrs. Ito’s favourite, and he intended to reclaim his status, beginning today.
    The Japanese woman signalled for the round to begin. Lillian struck quickly, as she always did—she knew no restraint, only attack. John parried three swift punches, and knew she would follow with her favoured front-kick, doubtless expecting him to dodge aside into her feint. He did not.
    He caught her leg as she kicked, twisting her around and over into a submission hold, but released her at once. In his eagerness to win the round and use his strength, he had been clumsy, and Lillian’s face hit the floor with a thud, causing her to cry out in pain. John released her and stooped to check on her at once. She held a hand to her mouth; her hair had come loose and covered her face.
    ‘My God, Lillian, I am sorry,’ he said, softly so that others would not overhear and think him weak. ‘Dear sis, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you are too reckless, and rely too much on aggression. Remember, even if you are the best fighter in England, you’re never alone in the field. The day will come when even you cannot stand alone. But on that day, I shall stand with you. Count on that.’
    He smiled at her warmly, and squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him through strands of tousled hair. He had said that to her many times before; a pet piece of brotherly advice that she had at first loved, but now he thought she sometimes resented.
    ‘Thank you for that, brother, but today is not that day,’ she whispered. ‘And this round is not over.’
    She stood quickly, taking John’s hands away from her and spinning her brother around so fast he did not altogether understand how he came to be upright and looking in the wrong direction. His confusion did not last long.
    Lillian kicked John’s legs from beneath him for a second time that afternoon. The last thing he saw before his head cracked upon the boards once more was Mrs. Ito’s look of utmost disapproval…
    * * *
    John groaned, and