physical exertion or stout porter. It was enough to drive a person to suicide, if a person were so inclined.
Morgan poked at their dismal excuse for a fire. The din of wireless dance music filled the study. Nathan took possession of the wing chair and began to browse last weekâs paper, tapping his feet in rhythm against the grate. Laurie lounged on the window seat behind a book of sonnets, which Morgan knew contained leaves of Uncle Antonâs magazine. How he was meant to keep his head with Nathanâs senseless racket and Laurieâs blatant pursuit of Lady Pokingham, he had no idea.
âIâm off to the bogs, he announced.
Nathan and Laurie looked up listlessly but did not stir. His arm itched under its wrapping. His legs ached from lack of exercise. His stomach grumbled.
He avoided the lavatory ( was twice a day any different from once?) and made for the cloisters. A din assaulted him even there, and in the lower corridor he discovered a full-on rugby match, attended by the Third and some of the Fourth. He could not remember having seen quite so much bedlam in a corridor, on a rainy half holiday or any day. He shoved his way through it to his own form room, only to find a knot of Third Formers, attending ⦠Alex. Of course.
âWhatâs the idea? Morgan demanded.
Alex looked up, surprised and annoyed:
âWhat are you doing here?
âItâs our form room, Morgan said, not yours.
âDonât see anyone using it.
Morgan evaluated the group. There were eight of them, and while he would not normally have trouble thumping sense into eight fags, circumstances were subpar.
âDo you want something? Alex asked irritably.
Morgan opened his desk and removed a book to justify his presence:
âI was supposed to come and see Grieves.
âGrievous ainât here, Alex said, turning back to his friends.
Morgan seized Alex from behind, shoved him over a desk, and kicked him until he yelped.
âIf you even think about messing the Fifth, Morgan barked, weâll send the lot of you to the Tower. Hear?
âPardon? Alex quipped.
Morgan slammed Alexâs head against the desk. He howled.
âAnyone else have trouble hearing?
The fags backed away. Morgan kicked Alex upright:
âShut up before I give you something to bawl about.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
He left more unnerved than heâd been. His good arm shook, his bad arm twanged, his trousers strained. Heâd overdone it, obviously, but hopefully no one would find out. If word got back to Nathan and Laurie, heâd explain that heâd merely been trying to slam sense into Alexâs skull. There hadnât been any blood, and anyway Alex was a virtuoso of crocodile tears.
Twice a day couldnât be a serious departure from once a day. What was important, surely, was that PE be contained within some bounds and not become a fixation. It was important not to be too rigid! Circumstances had changed since the Spaulding Smashup, so PE routines might change with them, for the time being, without unleashing madness. Twice a day; once per twelve-hour period. Done.
What he needed was privacy, a rare commodity on a rainy half hol. He tramped up to the boxrooms, but found them full of rival parties. What was the point of renegotiating PE if he couldnât get five minutesâ privacy? Stomping down the back staircase, he cursed the Lower School, cursed the rain, and cursed the Academy. Someone was going to commit murder before the day wasâ
Out the rainy window, a figure crossed the playing fields, a figure out of uniform, a figure he knew: Spaulding, alone and clandestine, achieving the south-bounds hedgerow and disappearing through it.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
A bang startled Morgan awake. The study floor was hard, the light fading, his right side hot.
âYou look like someone who let the kettle burn dry, Laurie announced, dumping books on the table and kicking the study door
Morgan poked at their dismal excuse for a fire. The din of wireless dance music filled the study. Nathan took possession of the wing chair and began to browse last weekâs paper, tapping his feet in rhythm against the grate. Laurie lounged on the window seat behind a book of sonnets, which Morgan knew contained leaves of Uncle Antonâs magazine. How he was meant to keep his head with Nathanâs senseless racket and Laurieâs blatant pursuit of Lady Pokingham, he had no idea.
âIâm off to the bogs, he announced.
Nathan and Laurie looked up listlessly but did not stir. His arm itched under its wrapping. His legs ached from lack of exercise. His stomach grumbled.
He avoided the lavatory ( was twice a day any different from once?) and made for the cloisters. A din assaulted him even there, and in the lower corridor he discovered a full-on rugby match, attended by the Third and some of the Fourth. He could not remember having seen quite so much bedlam in a corridor, on a rainy half holiday or any day. He shoved his way through it to his own form room, only to find a knot of Third Formers, attending ⦠Alex. Of course.
âWhatâs the idea? Morgan demanded.
Alex looked up, surprised and annoyed:
âWhat are you doing here?
âItâs our form room, Morgan said, not yours.
âDonât see anyone using it.
Morgan evaluated the group. There were eight of them, and while he would not normally have trouble thumping sense into eight fags, circumstances were subpar.
âDo you want something? Alex asked irritably.
Morgan opened his desk and removed a book to justify his presence:
âI was supposed to come and see Grieves.
âGrievous ainât here, Alex said, turning back to his friends.
Morgan seized Alex from behind, shoved him over a desk, and kicked him until he yelped.
âIf you even think about messing the Fifth, Morgan barked, weâll send the lot of you to the Tower. Hear?
âPardon? Alex quipped.
Morgan slammed Alexâs head against the desk. He howled.
âAnyone else have trouble hearing?
The fags backed away. Morgan kicked Alex upright:
âShut up before I give you something to bawl about.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
He left more unnerved than heâd been. His good arm shook, his bad arm twanged, his trousers strained. Heâd overdone it, obviously, but hopefully no one would find out. If word got back to Nathan and Laurie, heâd explain that heâd merely been trying to slam sense into Alexâs skull. There hadnât been any blood, and anyway Alex was a virtuoso of crocodile tears.
Twice a day couldnât be a serious departure from once a day. What was important, surely, was that PE be contained within some bounds and not become a fixation. It was important not to be too rigid! Circumstances had changed since the Spaulding Smashup, so PE routines might change with them, for the time being, without unleashing madness. Twice a day; once per twelve-hour period. Done.
What he needed was privacy, a rare commodity on a rainy half hol. He tramped up to the boxrooms, but found them full of rival parties. What was the point of renegotiating PE if he couldnât get five minutesâ privacy? Stomping down the back staircase, he cursed the Lower School, cursed the rain, and cursed the Academy. Someone was going to commit murder before the day wasâ
Out the rainy window, a figure crossed the playing fields, a figure out of uniform, a figure he knew: Spaulding, alone and clandestine, achieving the south-bounds hedgerow and disappearing through it.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
A bang startled Morgan awake. The study floor was hard, the light fading, his right side hot.
âYou look like someone who let the kettle burn dry, Laurie announced, dumping books on the table and kicking the study door
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