by Madoc Fox
"Osc, finally! I've looked everywhere for you. After you didn't show up last night I thought the crazy lady might have nabbed you." Oscar managed a weak smile. "So this isn’t bad, eh? You get the day off and this room all to yourself." Piggy said as he scrambled up and propped himself against the wall at the foot of the bed.
"Hmph. Yeah, I guess you’re right, though the bed itches a lot and I can't move without my head hurting." Oscar replied with a wince.
"Oh right, your head. So, how is it - will you have a scar?"
Oscar rolled his eyes. Though only just recovering from the concussion himself this still seemed like a silly question. His head was clearly bandaged and there were no mirrors around for him to have looked in even if the wound had been exposed.
"I don't know." Oscar said hinting to the bandage. “I guess it's likely, will have to wait and see.”
"Do you remember what happened Osc? Edmund reckons he just found you floating in the pond with blood everywhere. Says he practically saved your life!"
"What?!" Oscar shouted so hard he thought he was about to black out, so severe was the resulting pain. Catching his breathe he continued "That swine, what does he think he's doing? I can't believe he would say he rescued me! I knew he would put some kind of spin on it – wouldn’t want to look bad – but that’s a step too far."
"So he wasn't there then?" Confusion set in on Piggy's face.
"He was there alright; he's the one who knocked me in."
Now it was Piggy’s turn to look aghast. "You need to tell someone." Piggy said eventually. "I should have known the whole story seemed a bit too angelic for Edmund. You need to say something, get that thug sent away."
Oscar sighed.
"What’s the point? The matrons would never believe my word over Edmund’s."
"Well what about the Master?" asked Piggy. “He seems reasonable.”
"I spoke to the Master earlier. Even if he does believe me it won't matter. Clarke had the real power and she won't have Edmund punished either way."
Piggy simply shrugged, his outrage diminishing and his reservoir of ideas all dried up. "Well Osc, if nothing happens we'll find a way to get back at him". Oscar couldn’t help but recognise this rather brave comment from Piggy and, even if it was only intended in reassurance, he at least took it to be a sign of what threatened to become a friendship.
After Piggy had departed -for free time was not a luxury the orphans had- the rest of the morning and afternoon passed with next to no event. Oscar was amused to see one of the matrons bring him lunch in bed, as per the Master's orders. The woman had contempt written all over her face as she handed over the tray and it was clear Oscar would regret his blatant smirk in the future. This minor amusement aside, he racked his swollen brain to recall the bizarre dream he had had, but it was still infuriatingly beyond his grasp. Dropping in and out of sleep his mind kept taunting him with half formed images of dripping slop and twisted creatures, though he couldn’t quite hold the detail and there was no context to place them within.
The pain started to subdue in his head, diminishing until it was no more than a dull throb and Oscar felt that by late afternoon he could finally venture out of bed without any sharp inflictions of pain. He stretched his legs as he made his way slowly towards the single window in the room. The room itself was clearly old and must have been a feature of the building prior to its conversion into an Institute. Oscar was slightly surprised he had never come across it before given his night-time explorations but looking out of the window he realised why. The room itself was on a second storey and was tucked away at the rear end of the building, facing East out onto the brambles and thorns that mounted the rear wall.
Dust around the room indicated its lack of use but as a makeshift infirmary it was sufficient. The new discovery of this place made Oscar question how much of the Institute he knew of. After all, there could be a myriad of undiscovered areas sitting practically on his front door. From what he had heard, the Institute had served many functions throughout history with each epoch incurring changes to the building's structure. He supposed the infirmary represented one such relic of a time before, when the Institute was a military hospital close to the then-front lines of the war. It had been dedicated to injured and traumatised soldiers but as the front lines shifted it became logistically unsuitable. With growing numbers of orphans from the war's collateral it had fallen to the buildings original owner to convert the building to bear his name: ‘Sir Gawain’s Compassionate Institute for War Orphans and Unfortunate Children’.
Returning his gaze to the bramble patch Oscar watched as a small brown rodent darted towards it, flinging itself under cover and scrambling out of sight. Close in pursuit was a stray cat Oscar recognised; he had seen it occasionally snooping around the grounds, presumably in hope of finding leftovers from the Institute kitchen. The cat skirted the edges of the thorny jungle, a little too large or perhaps too wary to venture in after the wily creature that went before. With the cat’s attention on one area of the bramble patch, the creature –a rat- shot out of the side, keeping close to the gutter. Unbeknownst to the stalker it made good its escape, disappearing down a drain at the building’s edge. Oscar smiled. At least somewhere the underdog was getting the better of the situation.
***
The next morning, feeling somewhat more fit and able, Oscar was called to the Master’s study. Approaching the door he couldn’t stifle that sense of familiarity, something at the back of his mind trying to make itself known. Trying to shake the feeling off he seized the door handle and began to push it open, yet he had hardly moved it before being assaulted with a memory from his dream during the accident; a large oak door, stiff and unyielding except to brute force. The sudden recollection of this image threw him off guard and on entering the study he was barely aware of his true surroundings. Disorientated, he became startled as the Master spoke.
“Oscar, I trust you feel better today?” the Master inquired.
“Yes, thank you. Much better.” Oscar said, making a concerted attempt to ignore his revelation and concentrate on the situation in hand. Yet on seeing the room other images from his previous dream threw themselves forward, the large desk and dusty bookcase and the armour, yes the armour! Looking around he almost expected to see the rusty crumpled suit but recoiled in shock as he found himself staring directly at Head Matron Clarke.
“Stop flailing around boy.” she barked, nodding to the Master that he might continue.
“Ah, right yes.” Even the Master was taken back by the rude intervention. “Well Oscar, it’s good to have you back on your feet but before we allow you to join the rest of the children we would like to ask you about what happened?” Oscar bowed his head in acknowledgement.
“When you came round you made some accusations referring to Edmund. Would you care to elaborate on them?” Matron Clarke strolled round to stand in front of Oscar, her beady eyes focused intently as though to scrutinise every word he might say.
“Well...” Oscar started “…I was playing around the edge of the pond…”
“Foolish, dangerous place to be playing.” Matron Clarke immediately interjected, only to be reined back in by a disapproving glance from the Master.
“I was only treading the stones that skirt the edge.” Oscar replied, in an attempt to justify his actions.
“Do continue with the story.” The old man calmly put the matter to bed, though Oscar could see Matron Clarke gritting her teeth, clearly ready to wade in with negative comments at any small opportunity. In reflection Oscar decided it was in his best interests to keep the story short and get to the point.
“I was stepping across the rocks when I heard someone approach from behind. Just as I turned around I saw Edmund throw a stone at me.” Oscar spoke to blank faces. “I managed to turn quick enough to dodge the first stone but compromised my footing. Edmund then let loose with another which knocked me off balance and I ended up falling backwards into the pond.”
The Master n
odded expectantly.
“Well that’s it really, I must have hit my head and then, well, err. I don’t know.” Oscar finished lamely, deflated to the extent that he only half believed the story now himself. Making a concerted effort to cover up his confusion he managed to blurt out a further justification. “It must have knocked me out completely because the next thing I remember is waking up in the infirmary.” He thought it was probably wise not to trouble them with his surreal visions that had occurred in the in-between. After all, they had been nothing more than a vivid dream, surely?
The Master reclined a little to ponder his words. Seizing the silence, Matron Clarke interjected.
“Sheer nonsense young man, I have never heard such twaddle. If it were not for young Edmund you wouldn’t even be around to tell such tales. Why would Edmund try to hurt you only to then help you? After all, it was Edmund who found you and alerted the other matrons.”
“He still knocked me over!” Oscar knew his voice was raised and he was skirting dangerously close to a telling off.
“Oscar…” the Master said sharply, “…be aware to whom you are speaking.” He had interrupted quickly before Matron Clarke could bite Oscar’s head off.
“Sorry, Master.” Oscar said, determined not to apologize to Clarke directly. She glared at him then turned her attention back to the desk.
“Master, this is ridiculous. These accusations have no truth and I refuse to blame Edmund, who if anything deserves praise for his fast actions. It is clear that Oscar is accusing him purely to distract attention from his own recklessness. If he were not playing around the pond in the first place such an accident would not have occurred.” As she spoke her face became redder and redder with the exertion and stray hairs beginning to work their way out of the severe bun which was knotted tightly at the back of her head.
“Please Sir, I’m not lying, I…” Oscar was hushed by the waving hand of the Master.
“The matron is correct in that you should not have been playing around the pond in the first place, but nonetheless I see no reason for you to fabricate a story just to accuse Edmund. It is quite possible Edmund is the liar and only sought to help because he realised that his actions had gone too far.” The Master stated calmly, as Matron Clarke jutted her chin in protest. “However, it is only Oscar’s word against Edmund’s.”
It seemed Matron Clarke could not keep the inevitable outburst contained any longer.
“Surely you are not going to side with this wretch? The boy has a history of causing trouble!” Veins were now clearly showing at the matron’s temples and her back stiffened as though in reaction to the gravity of the point.
The Master looked sharply at her, with a sternness Oscar had never witnessed
“And I hear many things about young Edmund that aren’t too favourable either. Unfortunately they never get brought to light because it seems none of the matrons are ever witness to his crimes.”
The tension in the room was palpable and Oscar felt he was now an observer on something he never had any intention of being.
“I do not know what you mean.” Matron Clarke protested. “Edmund has never shown himself to be anything but obedient”.
Despite the atmosphere Oscar could not help but let loose a slight cough of amusement at the last comment, though this unfortunately caused the matron to turn and focus those black beady eyes onto her victim.
“This boy!” she said, her finger pointing mere fractions of an inch from Oscar’s face “He must be punished!”
“Enough!” the Master said coldly, though a redness in his cheeks had begun to show. “I decide who will or will not be punished, not you. I want Edmund monitored for the next week and any misbehaviour directly reported to myself. I will also be having a private word with Edmund on this incident. Oscar you may go.” The old man was clearly flustered and breathed heavily to calm himself.
Without needing to be told twice Oscar hastily made his way through the door. He avoided any eye contact with Matron Clarke, for fear of being eaten alive. Once through the door he paced quickly down the corridor, his heart fluttering with nerves. Nonetheless, it had been interesting to see the struggle between the two adults, though he could not help but feel that despite the Master’s clearly good intentions he would never make much headway with the matrons. He had heard them talking amongst themselves before and much was clear from their manner – they thought he was too old and too soft on the children. They knew full well that if they pushed hard enough he would not stand up to them, and so they humoured him. Why else had Edmund managed to get away with it all these years, when the Master so obviously suspected him for what he truly was?
Although Oscar respected the Master he knew that he would never be more than a faint comfort to him, as he couldn’t wield the authority over the matrons to do anything more. Sighing, he headed for the lunchroom, knowing full well that the chances of Edmund being remotely punished for what he had done were no better than his own chances of truly escaping his situation at the Institute for once and for all.
Upon entering the food hall Oscar was again greeted by a barrage of stares from the surrounding children and a thinly concealed smirk from Edmund. However this time the admiration seemed somewhat lost and there was a new uncertainty in the eyes of those who considered him. Oscar strode quickly across the room, his bandaged head bowed as he slid into an empty place at the end of a row of benches. A bowl of steaming slop was thrown down before him and like a spark to a fuse, Oscar’s mind detonated as the threads of memory came together. Images of his comatose dream engulfed his mind: rancid slurry pouring down into a gigantic cauldron; the wild and overgrown grounds; the heavy door to the study with the rusty armour; the deserted dormitories and worst of all, the black sickened animal. Oscar shuddered at the recollection of the menacing animal in particular, his heart beating faster and a panic rising in his throat, feeling once more the urge to run. He remembered now, and though the images were seen through the foggy lens of memory, the intensity of emotions that they triggered shocked him all the more.
Eyeing the bowl of slop with greater suspicion than usual Oscar reluctantly begun to eat his food, all the while trying to make sense of what he could now recall. He had to put it down to a bad dream, of course, nothing more. But he couldn’t throw off the feeling that it was something extraordinary, silly as it may seem. The sheer intensity of the experience made his usual dreams seem like pale imitations.
During his meagre lunch Oscar managed a whispered conversation with a couple of the younger children, reluctant though they were to engage. His heart sank as they hesitantly confirmed the rumour passing around. Edmund was a hero for having found Oscar in the pond and saving his life. Despite Oscar’s fiercely hissed protests to the contrary, he received only disdainful looks from the children. They seemed in no way keen to acknowledge his argument and instead chose to side with the more imposing force which Edmund represented. Young as they were, the children were reluctant to whisper in the presence of the matrons at the best of times but on this occasion there seemed to be an unnecessarily rigorous level of avoidance. Indeed, two of the boys in Oscar's presence had upped and left before even finishing their meal. Oscar watched with some concern as they hurried out of the canteen. It was certainly an odd reaction.
Turning to look around the slowly emptying hall, Oscar could see Piggy hurriedly slurping away the remainder of the grey sludge they had been served. Sitting just a few rows behind him and looking totally at ease was Edmund. Oscar stared hard at Edmund trying to convey all the malice he could with one look, but Edmund’s attention was focused elsewhere and he did not see. He was deep in conversation with a tall, dark haired boy who Oscar seemed to remember was called Flynn. As Edmund’s argument peaked, he leaned in further to whisper into Flynn’s ear. In response the boy gave a twisted smile, pushed away his bowl and strode out of the canteen in a less than subtle way, gangly arms swinging by his sides.
Oscar soon decided he too was done with trying to force
his slop down and fed up of having been out of the loop so long. Still puzzling over the odd behaviour of the younger boys he pulled himself up from the bench and stalked out the room, once again fuming over the hero rumours Edmund had been spreading.
Heading towards the bathrooms on the way to his afternoon work session, Oscar rounded a corner only to stumble upon what was rapidly turning into an uncomfortable scene. The tall boy, Flynn, had two of the younger children cornered in the hallway; the same boys Oscar had pressed for information at lunch. But no sooner had the group noticed his arrival than the previously volatile conversation drew to a close. A glare from Flynn coupled with a few guilty glances from the boys indicated it wasn’t going to continue until Oscar’s departure. Resigned to now being out of the loop he merely raised his eyebrows and continued on his way.
The sudden switch of allegiance bothered Oscar, for why would the other children choose to side with the one person whose only contribution to their lives would be to intersperse it with beatings? Together Edmund and the matrons managed to maintain a state of constant anxiety amongst the children, he by doing exactly what he liked and they by turning a blind eye. Oscar supposed it was easier for them to let Edmund beat some semblance of order out of the children, rather than having to do so themselves. After all, if it wasn’t for Edmund’s influence, who knows, maybe the children would be stronger as a group, more able to rally against the neglect they suffered at the hands of the matrons.
Yet, despite the fact that none of the children dared stand up to Edmund, it was clear enough that they didn’t actually like him and up to now they were rooting for any underdog that presented itself. Oscar thought back to the admiration he’d received after his escape from the Institute, short-lived though it was. It was a stark contrast to his current standing within the group. But even mulling the potential reasons for this over, he remained baffled. The incident at the pond did not entirely explain it and the motives for the scene that had unfolded outside the toilets with Flynn were even less clear. The more Oscar dwelt on the unfortunate turn of events the more it needled him, stirring him to a state of anger. Edmund was getting away with this and no one seemed to be able to see it any more; no one believed him.