Lizzie heard no question in Pallister’s pompous monologue, she sat and folded her arms waiting for a direct address that would require answering.
They had butted heads over this issue a number of times, and now that the school year was almost over, she thought he had given up on it. The school rules covered what uniform should be worn, not how it should be worn, and this was the impasse. Lizzie complied only as far as she felt she had to, the result, today for example, was a Sonic Youth T-shirt worn under her open school chequered blouse and cherry coloured Doc Martin boots worn over red and black striped tights under the mandatory black skirt.
Silence. Pallister mirrored Lizzie’s folded arm posture. The tension in the room rose like mercury in a thermometer.
Pallister sat there looking at her over the top of his thin framed glasses. He was largely bald, except for the sides of his head where billowing clouds of white-grey hair valiantly tried to make up for the absence elsewhere. He patiently awaited Lizzie’s response.
She looked into his unflinching face and shifted in her chair, herself waiting.
Silence.
Damn it, he did this, he’d done it before and it had struck Lizzie only later what exactly had happened. He allowed an excruciating pause to settle in the room often at moments where you weren’t quite sure what side of the court the ball was in. She had no idea where he had learned to do this, but it was one of the most uncomfortable things she had ever experienced. There is something about the nature of people, she realised, that they are desperate to fill a silence in a conversation. It is torture to leave it there, like something awful will happen if it is allowed to remain.
‘I understand your concerns Headmaster,’ Lizzie was determined to only give him that much.
Silence.
Lizzie could feel her shoulders begin to ache; she was physically in pain from the awkwardness.
‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she said hating herself a little.
‘That is all I ask Elizabeth,’ Mr Pallister said without even the briefest hesitation. His hand extended towards the door inviting Lizzie to leave. Lizzie closed the door behind her a little too hard, berating herself for once again falling for this hateful tactic of his. Perhaps headmasters attend some special class along with police interrogators and war criminals?
It was odd that Lizzie could hear the noise from her Philosophy class from the corridor. She turned the handle slowly, hoping she might be able to slip into class with the minimum of fuss.
‘Ah Lizzie, so nice of you to join us.’ The tall teacher smiled down at her as she was spotted trying to close the door without a sound.
‘Sorry Doctor Sullivan, lost track.’
‘Elizabeth?’ Sully used her full name, which she hated, to make the point that she had addressed him too formally.
‘Sorry Sully,’ she said and took her seat next to Robe, who was on his feet, his face, Lizzie noted, was severe and his arms were folded across his body. He was a pouted lip away from a decent grumpy toddler impression. The classroom was altered in the usual way. The other three students sat at their places in a small semicircle facing Sully’s chair which sat in front of the teacher’s desk rather than behind it. Sully insisted on a more relaxed atmosphere in his class. It was designed to encourage a free exchange of ideas and to promote conversation.
‘We were just discussing Nietzsche. Robert here had some points he wanted to voice on Nietzsche’s concept of Will to Power.’ Sully’s open hand was extended to Robe inviting him to continue whatever conversation Lizzie had interrupted.
‘As I was saying, why do you insist on bringing society into it? It doesn’t serve as an argument to the contrary. It is, at best, an excuse not to discuss the issue of Will to Power; it’s a coward’s way out.’ Lizzie instantly felt uncomfortable; clearly the conversation had been a heated one. Robe stood face to face with Sully, his hands in fists by his side.
‘Okay Robert,’ said Sully anticipating the debate spilling over, ‘I’m simply trying to explain that the concept, although complete in and of itself, is fundamentally flawed in practice, not in theory, due to the civilised world we live in.’ Sully’s gestures were open and passive, trying to calm the situation.
‘There you go again,’ said Robe throwing his hands in the air and walking away before turning again to face Sully, ‘congesting a perfectly logical and dispassionate debate with moot and redundant factors. I am simply proposing Nietzsche’s idea on the matter as a perfectly plausible concept, and its practical application is one that we all, in your “civilised world” demonstrate on a daily basis,’ he framed Sully’s words with exaggerated finger quotations. ‘Whether we like to admit it or not we all strive for power - over ourselves, over our surroundings and over each other, it’s human nature, and to deny it will inevitably cause internal disharmony.’
‘Actually, what I have a problem with Robert, is not the idea of Will to Power as an explanation of human behaviour, it is true that many of our less flattering qualities as humans fall within this proposed framework, at least in accordance to one interpretation of it, but rather it was your conjecture on submitting to the principle completely. To accept that we, as humans, will always strive for power, and to curb this inherent quality is to deny what it is that makes us human, as you put it, is slightly dangerous territory. There have been some infamous examples of the misinterpretation of Nietzsche’s work and you need to understand that your thoughts on the principle are, in fact, a very slim view on a much larger philosophical idea, it needs to be tempered with the bigger picture, with context.’
‘All I am saying,’ said Robe, his face now turned an unsettling shade of red, ‘is, in theory, the concept is sound as long as someone commits to the principle, that they abandon compassion and sympathy and strive to take control of themselves and their surroundings. Doing so would be to truly accept the overriding human drive and tap into a fuller potential, what the hell is wrong with talking about these things?’
Sully moved away from Robe. ‘I’m bringing this conversation to a close Robert, apart from anything else, this is not covered in the curriculum and you have dominated today’s class, it’s not fair to the other students. If you want to talk about it another time out of class we’ll arrange a session, but that’s it for today.’
Lizzie was impressed how Sully had handled the situation, how he had remained calm but at the same time had allowed Robe to vent his point.
What remained of the class time was devoted to exam preparation, covering topics likely to appear. Robe did not contribute any further to the class and when the bell rang he shot out of his seat hooking one hand around the strap of his backpack sending it into a wide arc before catching up to him as he disappeared round the door.
‘That’s us for today people, thank you for your attention and contribution, I’ll see you all next week when we’ll be talking more about the exam and remember…’ Sully cocked his head waiting for the class to fulfil their part in his weekly repertoire.
‘Knowledge is power,’ the students completed, in a not very synchronised drone.
Philosophy was the one subject Lizzie elected that was not available at her old school. She had been so excited when the information had come through from Queen’s showing her a sample timetable and a list of subjects she could choose from. The list was made up, in the main, of the usual subjects which were transferable from her previous studies, but there was the addition of all sorts of other classes she couldn’t believe were open to her. She understood that by selecting one of these she was effectively starting from scratch, but a gap in her timetable and the temptation of taking something completely different was too much, and the box next to A level philosophy was ticked. The challenging but interesting coursework, and the fact that she was one of only five students in the class contributed to double philosophy being her favourite part of the academic week. However it was her philosophy teacher that took centre stage as the overriding factor in her newly found favourite subject.
> Dr Brian Sullivan, or Sully as he insisted his students call him, was quite unlike any teacher she had come across before. She would admit that it didn’t hurt that he was relatively young, Lizzie guessed at thirty six or thirty seven, witty, and rather handsome, but it was his air of knowledge and confidence, without being patronising or unapproachable, that made him so intriguing.
One of the unique selling points of Queen’s Grove House was that, despite a smaller than most compliment of teachers, they offered completely unrestricted access to the curriculum. There was a startling array of subjects open to study, and since the teachers at Queen’s were unqualified to teach many of the more obscure subjects they relied on stipendiary lecturers to fill gaps. Dr Sullivan was a lecturer of social sciences and at least half of his time was spent teaching at Oxford University with the remainder of his time taken up with other teaching positions and the continuance of his own studies and writing.
Lizzie could scarcely believe she was being taught by an Oxford professor. At every opportunity she would bombard Sully with questions on the University.
The few remaining students left leaving Lizzie with Sully who was busy pushing desks into their previous positions. Lizzie glanced at him, her eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity.
‘What was that about?’ she took the other end of a desk and helped lift it back into place.
‘You mean with Robert? He’s a…,’ Sully paused searching for a tactful word ‘special boy is Robert.’
‘Yeah, I get that, but he’s always so placid, what got him so riled today? I mean you guys can go at it pretty good sometimes but I’ve never seen him like that. And I wish I understood what the hell you guys were going on about, seriously, whoosh.’ Lizzie brushed a flat hand in the air to indicate it had all gone over her head. ‘That’s not going to be in the exam is it?’
‘Nietzsche’s Will to Power? No, don’t worry. Robert gets worked up sometimes when things fall into grey areas, or where there are alternate, equally plausible, arguments on the same point. He was especially vociferous today, I think it’s how his brain works.’ Sully sat on one of the desks his eyes pointing up in thought. ‘Give him a logical problem and he’ll solve it without effort, but give him an abstract concept to consider and you can see instantly how uncomfortable he becomes. He’s so used to having things come so easily to him that when he’s faced with something his mind can’t process his frustration manifests itself as stress, and sometimes, as you saw today, anger.’
‘Why would he have taken philosophy if he was going to struggle with it, I mean why did he not just stick to the subjects he’s comfortable with?’ said Lizzie.
‘Boredom, maybe. Perhaps he’s genuinely interested but I suspect he had just wanted a challenge. I think if he’d taken Art instead and he’d been asked to critique a painting, to express the feeling and emotive nature of it he would struggle in a similar fashion.’
‘So he’s struggling in philosophy?’
‘God no,’ a small laugh escaped Sully’s mouth. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he finds it difficult to wrap his head around certain things, but he’ll still ace this class. It’s a stick on A; he’s just finding that it’s not coming to him as easily as everything else.’
‘Imagine having to work for an A,’ said Lizzie. ‘Poor Robe, I must remember to console him.’ Sully chuckled.
‘How are you getting on? You’re doing well in my class, I think you’re capable of an A too, but how’s everything else?’ Sully stroked his stubbled chin subconsciously.
‘Too soon to tell,’ Lizzie sighed a little as she said it revealing her stress. ‘I guess I’m a tiny bit like Robe myself, some subjects are easy enough, and others make my brain dribble out of my ears.’
‘What do you need for Oxford?’ Sully was well aware of Lizzie’s dream and always had his proverbial fingers crossed for her.
‘Minimum of three As’
‘And how likely is that?’
‘Well if the prelims are anything to go by I’ll be working at McDonalds this time next year.’ Sully smiled at her.
‘Grab the other side,’ he said sliding off the desk and Lizzie took an end. ‘If anyone is capable of pulling it out the bag Miss Dean, it’s you. Keep working hard and I’m certain I’ll be seeing you around campus next year.’
‘I hope so.’
‘So why were you so late today?’ he asked.
‘Pallister pounced on me. He was giving me the usual speech about how I dress.’
‘Ah yes, Hugo Pallister and his dress code. Don’t take it personally, I get it from him too.’
‘Really?’ Lizzie took in what Sully was wearing, jeans and a short sleeved shirt, nothing controversial.
‘He thinks all teachers should be wearing suits and ties. But do me a favour Lizzie, if you ever see me in one of Hugo’s bad seventies numbers just go ahead and blow my brains out will you please.’ Lizzie laughed and confirmed she would.
‘I guess Robe is the only one who gets away with dress code infringements here,’ said Lizzie.
‘Yes, well apart from his dressing gown being a psychological crutch for him, I can’t see old Hugo giving Robert a hard time about it. Small schools like these need star pupils like Robert, he single handedly pulls the school’s grade average up with his straight As, making Queen’s a more appealing prospect for parents looking to send their kids here. I suspect if Robert wandered in wearing high heels and a hockey mask it would be overlooked.’
‘Heading home, Liz?’ Vic sheepishly hung his head around the door.
‘Yeah, just give me two minutes.’ Vic ducked back around the door as Lizzie slid her end of the desk into place.
‘So you’re making friends at last? I see the Adams family have latched on to you.’ Lizzie smiled.
‘It’s a start,’ she said, ‘and they’re nice guys. If I’m honest I’m really grateful to them. I thought I could manage this year without having to make new friends, but it turns out a year’s longer than you think.’ Lizzie took her bag and jacket from the back of her chair.
‘No man is an island Lizzie. See you next time.’ Sully shot her a wink and Lizzie shuffled off to catch up with Vic.
Robe seemed to be in better spirits when Lizzie found the boys at the front door of the school. They exited out onto the main drive which seemed, as always, as if it had been transformed into a catwalk for shiny four wheel drive vehicles. Lines of ridiculously oversized cars flanked the drive where bored looking parents opened doors for their children. Lizzie doubted if any of these off road vehicles had ever had to tackle anything more taxing than the half mile of gravel that constituted their owner’s driveways challenged.
Lizzie, Robe and Vic made their way out of the school grounds. Their friendship had developed from this daily walk, it was the one thing they had in common. Lizzie stayed around half a mile along the Bloxham Road from the school and the boys lived a further half mile in towards the centre of town. The boy’s route didn’t exactly pass by Lizzie’s front door but it was close enough that she didn’t feel guilty that they insisted on walking her home most days. The quickest route was to follow the main road from the school back towards town, but there was only the merest suggestion of a pavement adjacent to, what was, a very busy stretch of road and Lizzie had almost lost an elbow a couple of times. The boys had shown her, what they claimed was, a short cut through a small stretch of wood. Lizzie knew fine well the way was longer, and on a wet day longer still due to the slippery footing that left you spattered in mud. Still it was safer, rather peaceful and, on a day like this, really quite beautiful. Lizzie had considered asking Robe about his attitude in class, but decided not to. Sully’s explanation felt right and she didn’t want to send him back into a petulant sulk. ‘So what are you two love Gods up to this evening? Lizzie asked. Vic’s face lit up.
‘A, D and D,’ he answered enthusiastically.
‘What, what and what?
‘Advanced Dungeons and Dragons,’ said Robe, somehow under the impressio
n this qualified as an explanation.
‘Yeah, you’re gonna have to expand there boys.’
‘It’s a role-playing game, set in a fantasy world, I guess you’ve never played, but you should, you’d love it,’ said Vic.
‘I’m sure I would, I must get round to that sometime.’
‘You should come round tonight, I have a new scenario all made up, it’ll be great,’ said Vic who either didn’t pick up on, or decided to ignore, Lizzie’s sarcasm.
‘Perhaps another night Vic, I’ve got a date with the books.’
‘So you will play some other time?’ said Vic with a face like Christmas morning. Lizzie felt the sting of checkmate but agreed to an undefined future obligation. They reached Lizzie’s door and said their goodbyes, Vic asked, as they walked off:
‘Are you in tomorrow?’
‘No, I only have the one class and it’s personal study now anyway, so I thought I might head into Oxford for the day, stick my nose in the books there.’ The boys departed leaving Lizzie to hope they might just forget about her acceptance to join their geeky game.
Four
The creature entered the dark room and waited. The body of the monk now occupied was stronger than that of the old man it had previously worn, but it was none the less fragile, cumbersome and stifling. It yearned to be free of it, to return to the dark, to his realm.
Time, the creature considered, is a strange concept when all you know is the infinite black, but since it had been ripped and wrenched from its world it could not help but wonder how long it would be required to remain. It stood in the room, in the dark and waited.
The one responsible for its presence in this world entered, lit a solitary candle and sat, placing his feet on the desk in front of him. ‘The third Lockwood scroll, what of it Serf?’
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