Chapter Summary: Peter doesn't care for Edmund's friends. Sometimes Edmund doesn't, either, but that's one of the things he likes about them.

Damascus Road

Chapter Three: Some Claim As Debt

"That Thou remember them, some claim as debt."

~ John Donne, Divine Meditations IX

England, January 1940

A year ago, Edmund would have scrubbed dishes for a week in exchange for a chance to ride in Mr. Stephens' vegetable truck. Now, squeezed into a corner sheltered from view by a crate of potatoes, he wished they could have gotten to the train station any other way. What had Mother been thinking? She'd claimed to be worried about them getting lost after the incident at the start of the holiday, but that seemed a bit of an overreaction to Edmund. Sending them off in the care of an infamous coward couldn't be any better, but Mother had gratefully accepted Mr. Stephens's offer to take them. Herbert leaned back against a crate of onions, as far from Edmund as possible, casting wary glances at him that Edmund pretended not to notice. Herbert had apparently begged his parents to let him return to school despite his 'accident' before Christmas. In Herbert's shoes, Edmund wouldn't have wanted to show his face, but the boys would have derided him for cowardice if he'd stayed away.

Susan had folded her legs under her primly in a way Edmund was sure must be uncomfortable but which adults tended to praise as ladylike. Meanwhile, Peter perched near the end of the bed of the truck, legs out in front of himself. As soon as the truck stopped at the curb, he jumped down and started to unload his trunk, heedless of who saw him. Edmund glowered to himself. It was as if Peter were trying to make his life harder.

On the heels of the thought, he watched Peter smile encouragingly at Herbert who wore a much more nervous expression. Susan frowned, and then climbed down more carefully.

"All right, son," Mr. Stephens's voice came from the cab. "It's time to go."

He could just stay here, Edmund thought. No one would see him. He could let the train leave without him, never put on that stupid tie again, and forget about school and Germans and-

The truck shifted. "Ed." Peter had climbed back up and scooted over next to him. "Come on, they're waiting for us." His brother frowned at the striped tie crumpled next to him. "You're still not ready? We can't miss the train."

Edmund thought about just refusing to move. Peter must have caught the obstinate look on his face. "I'll pick you up and carry you inside, and how will that look?"

"You wouldn't," said Edmund indignantly.

Peter crossed his arms and simply looked at him.

Edmund stared back, but no stand off with his brother had ever ended in his favor. Besides, Peter was right. There was no way Edmund wanted to draw attention to the fact that he'd arrived at the train station with Herbert Stephens. He shoved away from the side of the truck, making the potatoes in the crate next to him rattle and his own back ache from the impact, and picked up his tie. "All right?" he said, with a glare.

Peter just sighed, taking hold of one end of Edmund's trunk. "Come on."

###

"So, Pevensie, I hear your dad finally got up the stomach to go out and fight." Spencer Elliott found him even before Edmund had finished stowing his trunk in the compartment. It was the sort of thing that Elliott would say.

Dad had always been brave, but Spencer would never see it that way. Edmund looked past the older boy for Brimlow or Wilkes, but didn't see them. Brilliant. Elliott wasn't too bad with Brimlow to rein him in, but on his own… Edmund imagined he could still feel bruises from last fall.

"Do you need something, Elliott?" Peter's voice came from across the aisle. Edmund glared at his brother as Peter entered. Where had he been and why did he have to come back right now, when Spencer was here?

Spencer did not have spots or warts, but the look he gave Peter was downright ugly. Edmund felt a shiver of apprehension. Before a confrontation could begin between the older boys, Edmund said, "We were just going to meet up with the other boys."

Elliott smirked at Peter. "I was just congratulating Ed on your dad turning out not to be a coward, after all," he said.

"Dad's going to join the 5th soon," Edmund said loudly. "He's at the top of his training unit." Edmund didn't actually know anything of the sort, but he'd be hanged if he told Elliott anything else.

"It wouldn't surprise me, at least," Peter said with a patronizing smile at Edmund. He had to correct every detail, didn't he? His expression turned more serious. "We're all proud of Father. Not every man would go behind enemy lines with our soldiers and sailors without even a weapon of his own to report on what's happening over there. He's always said that telling the truth requires a special kind of bravery."

Elliott's face flushed a dark red at that remark. "That sounds like the sort of thing a sneak would say," he said in a low voice.

Peter crossed his arms. "The sort of sneak who corners little kids when he's got a mob at his back?" he asked. "Headmaster Corkell may not do anything about it, but-"

Spencer interrupted Peter with a laugh, for which Edmund was almost grateful. Peter's speech was starting to make him uncomfortable. Defending Dad was all well and good, but did his brother have to start moralizing as well? "Always such a good-goody," Elliott said, with a glance down at Peter's hands which had formed fists against the insides of his arms. "Come on, Ed," Spencer said, at last. He might glare and he might laugh, but he wouldn't pick a fight with Peter Pevensie. "The boys are in the back."

Edmund started to follow. He didn't want to stay to hear Peter's lecture about Elliott being a bad influence. The two older boys had been in the same class last year, but some difficulty with Latin had held Spencer back.

Peter frowned in disapproval. "Su will be here as soon as she says hello to the girls," he said pointedly. "Aren't you going to wait for her?"

Edmund shook his head. "I'll be back," he said. He might be. He'd see his sister before they switched trains, anyway. It wasn't Susan's fault that Peter couldn't keep from butting his nose in where it wasn't wanted.

It wasn't as if Peter's interference had silenced Elliott in the least. Spencer continued to mock him all the way to the last car. "I bet your mum wouldn't give him any peace until he left."

"Shut up, Elliott," said Edmund, finally, sliding open the door to the compartment where Thomas Brimlow lounged next to the window, shuffling a deck of cards. Ethan Wilkes watched his hands critically.

"What's going on?" asked the former. Brimlow observed Edmund's red face and Spencer's sneer and nudged Ethan to look up.

"Nothing," said Edmund, sitting down across from them. "What are we playing?"

"Whist, if you've got anything to wager," said Brimlow. "Otherwise, Scabby Queen." With a bank account and a pedigree both miles deep, not to mention a talent for giving orders, Brimlow was the undisputed leader of the boys.

"Scabby Queen," said Wilkes, immediately. "Pevensie never has anything to wager." Ethan sounded very superior when he said this. The Wilkes family didn't have quite the history that the Brimlows did, but Ethan was very fond of boasting of his parents' London townhouse and how many generations of Wilkeses had lived there.

Edmund hated Scabby Queen. It always left his knuckles raw and stinging when he lost, and Spencer seemed to make a point of trying to draw blood. "We can wager dares," he suggested.

"Not many dares we can do on a train," said Elliott.

This was one of the very reasons Edmund had suggested it. Wagering for dares had been Edmund's contribution to their fellowship, and he was proud of how well the others had taken to it, but when Elliott was in such a foul mood as now, the thirteen-year-old tended to be unpleasantly creative. The confines of the train at least limited the damage Spencer could do.

"You'll think of something," said Brimlow sitting back with a smile on his face. "It's a good idea."

Dares started appropriately small early in the game: a shout out the window at a milkman they passed on the road, standing in the aisle singing radio jingles, knocking on the door to another compartment and demanding to search it for German spies. That last proved so entertaining that cards were set aside for the new game. Their investigations disrupted two old ladies, a pair of evacuees returning home, and a soldier on leave before they stumbled upon Susan with a couple of her friends. Edmund's sister did not seem amused.

"Really, Edmund," Susan said with a long-suffering sigh. "Can't you play your game somewhere else?"

"It's not a game," said Edmund haughtily. She had to talk down to him in front of his friends? "This is a serious security matter."

Susan glanced at one of the other girls whose eyes were rather red. "Not now, Edmund."

"Oh, come on, Lady Su," said Elliott with a grin. Edmund frowned. Susan would patronize, but there was something unpleasant about Spencer's nickname for her. "Don't get all high and mighty about it."

Susan didn't respond to the nickname, but her knuckles whitened on the handle of her bag the way they had when Father announced his enlistment. Edmund shifted from one foot to the other. "We'd like you to let us alone, thank you."

Elliot's grin darkened slightly.

"Oh, come on," said Edmund. "They're not going to be any fun, anyway." Susan turned her gaze from Spencer back to him, and he scowled at the reproach in her eyes. "Just don't blame us if you're murdered in your beds by Germans because you didn't let us check."

The red-eyed girl started sobbing, and Susan's expression turned fierce. "Go away, Edmund!"

###

"Guess nobody in your family's too quick to defend the nation, are they?" said Spencer after they'd left and subsequently been shooed back towards their compartment by a porter. "Your sister, your dad…"

"She's just a girl," said Edmund. "It's too serious for her to think about. And my dad's doing more than you are."

"All right now." Brimlow stopped in front of a half open compartment and turned to face the rest of them. "No fighting," he said. "Spencer's one of us." Edmund held back a scowl, but Thomas turned to Elliott next. "Mr. Pevensie's all right. He's fighting now, isn't he? He's a patriot, and so is Ed. Right?" He slapped Edmund on the back in support. "He doesn't put up with traitors. He proved that with Stephens and Harker. Anyone who wants to argue can find another seat at supper tonight."

Edmund threw Elliott a smug look. Spencer's criticism no longer mattered. Elliott might be the oldest, but Brimlow's word was decisive. Sitting elsewhere for meals would be tantamount to resigning one's place in Brimlow's circle, and none of them were foolish enough to become a voluntary outcast.

Elliott shrugged as if it didn't concern him. "I was just giving him a hard time is all. He knows that." His pat on the back was rather harder than Brimlow's, but he swallowed any further jibes. "Let's get back to cards," he said, continuing down the aisle.

That satisfied Brimlow. "Right then," said Thomas smiling. He slapped Spencer's shoulder as well, walking with him. Wilkes followed, eying Spencer's place at Brimlow's side with a frown.

Edmund started to follow, but as he did so, a hand from the open compartment grabbed his shoulder and held him there. It was Peter's, and from the utter disgust on his face, his brother had heard every bit of the conversation.

Peter opened his mouth, but Edmund was faster. "What do you think you're doing?" he snapped. "Let me sit with my friends."

"Your friends," Peter began hotly.

"You already had to set Spencer off once today!" Edmund accused. "He only lit into Dad because you were hassling him. If you didn't interfere-"

"Dad would be ashamed of you," said Peter, lowering his voice. "No wonder Herbert wouldn't say who attacked him. I knew you could be a little brat, but-"

Red-faced, Edmund pushed his hand away. "It's none of your business. You think you're so much better than everyone else, but you're not."

Peter's face set. "Mum and Dad told me to look after you. That makes it my business. If they knew-"

Edmund's pulse sped up, but he scoffed aloud. "You're going to tell them? After all your talk about upsetting Mum? You don't even know where to write to Dad."

"I'm not the one upsetting her," Peter said. "And that's up to the headmaster."

Spencer was right. Peter was a sneak. "The headmaster doesn't care," said Edmund sulkily. "You said it yourself."

It was true - Edmund could see the frustrated acknowledgment in Peter's face - but it didn't help his case. There was a moment of angry breathing. Finally, Peter said, "He'll have to, if you can tell him who did it."

"Not likely!" Peter might be a sneak, but that didn't make Edmund one.

"I will write Mother, if I have to," said Peter. "It'll break her heart, but I will."

He sounded so superior. "I'm not snitching on anyone else," Edmund said. "And I didn't even do anything but keep watch."

Peter seemed unaffected by his argument. "Standing by is the same as taking part on the wrong side." It was something Dad had said before the war started.

"Shut up!" Edmund turned to follow the way the others had gone. "Tell her what you want!"

###

"Pevensie." Edmund was battling his tie in preparation for supper when Wilkes interrupted him. "Fawcett says the Head wants to see you." Wilkes's eyes were hooded.

Even though Edmund had spent the rest of both train rides wondering if Peter would really follow through on his threat to tattle on him, Edmund's first thought was, Dad. He felt a chill like cold water down his back. The feeling persisted until he reached the Head's office and saw a solemn-faced Peter standing outside the door.

"Is it Dad?" Edmund asked his brother in a whisper. Peter's shook his head, but a pair of lines, reminiscent of their father when he was displeased, appeared between his eyes. Peter reached for Edmund's tie and began straightening it.

Edmund grumbled, "Stop it," but he was unreasonably relieved for a few seconds before he realized why else the headmaster would have called for them. He opened his mouth to snap at his brother, but before he could say anything to Peter, he heard the words "Come in." from beyond the office door.

Peter pushed it open, and they entered.

Headmaster Corkell sat behind a desk of polished wood, his left hand holding a hand-written letter open on its surface. "Welcome, boys," said Corkell. The headmaster wore a genial smile that did not match the sharpness in his eyes. Edmund forced one of his own. "How are you enjoying the new term?"

Hate it. Without bothering to look at Edmund, Peter answered for both of them. "We miss our father, sir, but we know he'd want us to work hard at our studies."

It was the sort of answer that adults liked, and Corkell's smile widened, although his eyes did not change. "Well, said," he replied. "And you like being at Hendon House?"

No, thought Edmund, but Peter did not consult him this time, either. "Yes, sir."

For all his criticisms of Edmund's friends, Peter probably meant it, too. He usually did.

"I was a little concerned about that," said Headmaster Corkell. "I have a letter from your father expressing doubts about discipline here. He seems to think we don't investigate offenses thoroughly."

Edmund looked at Peter. Apparently, his brother hadn't gone to the headmaster yet, although, Edmund still held him responsible for this situation. Peter was the one who had spoken to Dad about Herbert. The headmaster reclaimed his attention. "I understand one of your friends was in a bit of a scuffle last term."

Peter looked as if he wanted to object to the word. "Herbert-" he began. If Edmund did not act quickly, he was going to make the incident sound far worse than it had been.

"Herbert had to defend his dad," he said hastily. "It's not his fault that - you know - but it's family." Edmund could feel Peter's gaze on him, but he continued confidingly. "And the other boys get angry. It wasn't serious."

Headmaster Corkell's voice turned jovial. "Can't fault patriotism. It sounds like everyone just got a little carried away."

Peter's face reddened. "Sir, I don't think-"

To Edmund's delight the headmaster interrupted. "I'm glad we were able to clear that up. Just a misunderstanding."

Lowering his voice, Peter said, "Sir, my brother-"

"Was very helpful," completed Cornell. "Now run along, both of you. I wouldn't want you boys to miss supper."

"Yes, sir," said Edmund, and made good his escape. His face felt as flushed as Peter's, his heart racing in a kind of terrified elation. It was one thing, talking around Brimlow or Wilkes, but he'd never managed the same feat with an adult before. The headmaster had wanted to be satisfied. Corkell had not wanted to pursue the subject, and Edmund had given him an excuse not to. Carried away with the success, Edmund threw his brother a triumphant grin.

Peter's return expression was withering. "I suppose you're proud of yourself." It was the same tone he'd used when speaking with Spencer earlier.

Edmund's grin faded. "Oh, shut up!" he said.

"You're still going to apologize to Herbert," said Peter. "And the other boy Brimlow was talking about. Harker?"

"Harker's not at school anymore," Edmund muttered. "His parents pulled him before the hols."

Peter's face darkened further. "Herbert, at least."

"Fine!" said Edmund, stalking away. His victory did not seem so grand anymore, but it was a victory. He could afford, he told himself, to be magnanimous.

###

A/N: Coming: Chapter Four: To Endless Night.