Chapter Seven

Reginald had all the attributes of a successful school boy, highly respected prefect, and future scion of the intellectual empire of the West. He had almost no inner life, and so no hesitations, no conflicts, no doubts. Everything was unconscious, everything assumed; he had all the fate of defenses disguised as instincts.

Tom, on the other hand, was quite often wracked with doubt. His relationship to rules, for instance – unlike Reginald’s – was complex. One day, at boarding school, Tom vaulted the iron fence over to the sanatorium to retrieve an errant soccer ball, and on return had been met by a grim-faced group of prefects. His brother lurked in the background.

“Attaboy, Tom,” said Edward the Head Prefect, a fresh-faced boy of glassy, soulless perfection. “Not many new boys have the guts for that kind of move.”

“Um – thanks,” said Tom, rolling the ball in his grimy hands.

“Against the rules, of course, so you’ll have to take your licks, but we can all admire a renegade. Cheers.”

Tom took a step backwards. “Well, I shan’t do it again.”

“I am quite convinced of that,” smiled Edward. “That is what we prefects are all about. It’s why we patrol. To ensure that no-one does anything wrong twice.”

“The Empire is built on daring and obedience, Tom,” added Reginald. “You have the first. Now, you must learn the second.”

“Come on then,” said Edward, leaning forward and pinching Tom’s earlobe painfully.

They surrounded Tom and marched him up to the Headmaster’s office, and he had to wait outside while they made their report.

After a few minutes, Tom was called in. The Headmaster was a deity of the Old Empire, with a pale face, jug ears, a high, broad forehead and delicately thinning, colourless hair.

“Sit down, Tom,” said the Headmaster. The prefects left the office; as he passed, Reginald pinched the flesh on Tom’s hip savagely, almost making him cry out. Tom said nothing, though. He knew the rules; it was only honourable to squeal down the chain of command.

“So, Tom, you took it upon yourself to retrieve this football – which I would, actually, appreciate you leaving in the hallway.”

Tom got up, put the football outside, came back, and sat down again.

The Headmaster stared at him blankly for a moment, then said: “This is your first transgression, so we shall have to have a little chat about it. Is it my understanding that you in fact know that it was against school rules to go over the sanatorium fence?”

Tom tried to speak, then swallowed and tried again. “Yes, sir, I did.”

The Headmaster leaned forward. He seemed very tired, which in Tom’s short experience always was the first sign of impending violence from authority.