Hour of the Wolf

by Andrius B Tapinas

  But in the varicoloured picture of spring the man’s black hat and old fashioned black gown stood out like a sore thumb, and there was no chance that he would remain unnoticed for much longer.

  “Hello Sir, you must be on your way to a funeral?” enquired one of the pranksters with an expressive wink to his friends, after he had approached the man.

  “And possibly to your own?” interrupted the other youth. “If so, then there’s no need to hurry.”

  The man with the hat slowly lifted his eyes.

  “You may be right,” replied the man under his breath, taking his hat off. His head was bald and smooth like a snooker ball.

  The man sniffed at one of the jokers, and then at another. Their appetite for fooling around was gone as if with a wave of a hand. A boy who was about to open his mouth snapped it shut with such speed that his teeth clattered. And he suddenly felt dizzy as if falling from a great height. It seemed that the ground was soaring towards him at a terrible speed, and his neck appeared constrained as if wrapped in a thick hemp rope. The second clown grabbed his chest, where his heart was beating as fast as if it were about to leap up through his throat and out of his mouth. Both panic-stricken youths clutched their heads while their friends stared at them in disbelief, unable to comprehend what had happened to the two.

  The man in black clothes took a deep breath, contentedly reclined in the chair and shut his eyes yet again. He did not have a slightest interest in either the group of youths or the scenes flashing by outside his window; generally speaking, he did not care for the spring or the greenery, and would have dearly loved to stay in London, had the opium mirrors not delivered him the news about the disaster in Kraków and the new assignment he had to carry out.

  A person who has found himself in an unpleasant situation tends to go over the same things in his mind over and over again. He keeps asking himself, “what would happen if?”, “what should I do next?”, “have I thought everything through?”. However, the passenger on the train to Reading was not one of those people. He did admit, though, that the assignment was rather bizarre and the permitted means for carrying it out were rather unusual. But he had a purpose and an action plan and that was enough. He was calm.

  After puffing along for nearly forty miles outside London, the train pulled up at a plain-looking station. A smallish red-brick building bore the sign Blackwater.

  The man in black clothes stood up, walked along the carriage without even a glance at the subdued youngsters and got out of the train. A few dozen other people got out at the same time, making the smallish platform very crowded. People dragged boxes filled with tools, large hemp bags stuffed with God knows what and even cages filled with cackling geese.

  The town of Blackwater was unusually lively. Everyone in the area knew that Blackwater was getting ready for its annual fair, although visitors from outside might have not been expecting it. Poles were decorated with ribbons that fluttered in the wind, carpenters hammered away adding the finishing touches to the traders’ pavilions, cattle being led from place to place mooed loudly. Groups of children flocked around the steam merry-go-round gyrating in the central town square, the shooting range owner was checking his guns nearby, and a few steps beyond loitered the multicoloured tents of a travelling gypsy circus.

  The bald man scanned the amusements of the fair, showing no particular curiosity, for he was after something else. He spotted a green wooden two-storey building bearing the sign Pig & Whistle. Pub & Inn, and strolled over to it.

  He entered the pub, removed his hat and approached a long table, at which lazed a young serving girl, whose apron had seen better times.

  “I need a room,” he muttered and looked over his shoulder to inspect the half-empty hall. The great drinking hour had not started yet.

  The girl glanced at him with a clear lack of interest.

  “You jest?” she responded. “It’s the fair, the last room was booked a few weeks ago.”

  She was about to turn her back on him, then suddenly almost screamed as a vice-like grip seized her elbow. The touch was cold and the fingers were like iron.

  “I need a room,” repeated the man in a calm voice.

  His bald head shone in the light of a lantern, his eyes piercing the servant.

  “Eh eh... yes, of course.” The girl rummaged under the table and pulled out a small brass key for a room that had been saved for a well-known cattle buyer, arriving tomorrow. “Here you go,” she said, handing him the key. “Third room on the first floor, Mr...”

  “Fetch[18]“, the bald man snapped, following a moment’s deliberation.

  “Here you are, Mr Fetch,” repeated the servant like a parrot. “Shall I prepare supper?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Don’t bother.”

  Past Blackwater the road became wider and meandered through a sea of heather, which looked somewhat threatening in the evening dusk; it resembled the grim Yorkshire Moors in the North more than the scenery of the South of England. In the distance, behind the fields of heather, loomed black woods. The road wound over the cheerfully babbling Blackwater river, where on a small bridge a surprise awaited travellers – at the first sign of someone approaching, a hefty man clad in military uniform would pounce out of the booth and politely but sternly enquire about the traveller’s destination and the purpose of his travels, as strangers in these parts of the world were not welcome. And then the road plunged into a forest clearing and ended at a large gate where several guards were stationed. Beyond the gate opened a narrow gravel path lined with rhododendrons. It twisted towards a wooden bridge, which served as a link between two small lakes overgrown with trees – the Upper Lake and the Lower Lake – and then, after one or two more twists, finished up at a long and ugly two-storey stone house.

  The place was called Sandhurst. It was home to the Royal Military Academy, the alma mater of the British Empire’s Army officers.

  While a clear spring sky spanned above this unattractive building, the rays of the sun peeked curiously through a window into a smallish classroom, where Edward O’Braitis, a cadet in his last term at the Academy, now stood to attention in front of the Examiners’ Committee.

  He was wearing full dress uniform with a white and blue epaulette – the sign of a cadet – his well-polished uniform buttons shining like diamonds.

  “And I am genuinely convinced that such reforms are of utmost importance to His Majesty’s Army,” Edward O’Braitis said at the conclusion of his speech and, having straightened his shoulders, clicked his heels together.

  The grey-haired chairman of the Examination Committee, General Joseph Joffrey, narrowed his eyes as if blinded by the sun.

  “Mh hmm,” he cleared his throat and turned to the chief curator of studies, Major Stan McDermott, who sat next to him dressed in a perfectly fitting uniform. “Some peculiar trends you have here at Sandhurst,” he said with a wry smile. “Genuinely convinced... reforms are of utmost importance. Where is this leading us? Next thing we’ll see your caretaker lecturing royal engineers on the construction of military dirigibles.”

  The chief curator pressed his lips tightly together and glowered at cadet O’Braitis. General Joffrey was not finished yet.

  “You cram all sorts of rubbish into their heads: geometry, topology, alchemy, the German language – God forbid. And what about respect for authority? What about modesty? Discipline? That’s the way to breed all these reformers.” The General’s ire grew, and the faces of the three Committee members turned more and more gloomy… “In my student days Sandhurst was nothing like this disgraceful muddle.” He turned round to his adjutant, who standing behind him. “Percy,” he addressed the man, who immediately edged forward in expectation of a command. “Do you know what I saw at the canteen today? A poster for a play! And the birdbrain cadets as well as their officers will be gurning and grimacing in the play! A circus at Sandhurst! How is that possible?!”

  By now it had become unclear who was being examined – O’Braitis o
r his teachers, the Committee members. Eventually they were pulled out of this awkward situation by cadet Edward.

  “Do the honourable sirs have any more questions for me?” he enquired with a loud click of his heels.

  McDermott shook his head and waved his hand, as if to say, “Stop bothering us, cadet.”

  O’Braitis saluted, turned on his heel and marched out of the classroom. When he reached a long hallway, he thrust his fingers inside his collar and yanked it roughly, nearly causing the metal buttons to fly out. He then breathed deeply and took his head in his hands. A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows, but Edward felt that he was not getting enough air. He almost ran to the stairs, hurried down and walked out into the Academy’s courtyard.

  From here you could proceed to the red brick Christ Church, surrounded by a leafy green garden, which was not only pleasing to the eye but also helped one to keep one’s composure, as right behind it the stables and the riding field began, and further down – the shooting range, where, accompanied by the yells of their anxious instructors, cadets sharpened their skills in the firing of rifles and revolvers. However, today, on the orders of the Academy’s head, tranquillity drifted over the whole area – it was the day of final examinations and the last day of the academic year, and therefore no one had the right to break the calm.

  The younger cadets were scattered around their rooms, others were revising their notes in Sandhurst Park or, with their heads put together in an isolated corner, speculating as to how to trick the guards and sneak out to the annual Blackwater Fair, which was starting in the evening, while escaping punishment. The cadets were strictly banned from visiting the Fair, particularly following the scandal two years ago, when they had lost a game and accused the Wheel of Fortune’s owner of cheating, thrown him in the river and instigated a brawl.

  Edward O’Braitis was not interested in the Fair. He walked over to the church garden, found himself a lonely bench, sat down and lost himself in thought. On the outside this blue-eyed cadet looked as if he was born to wear army uniform: he was tall, well-built, and looked people in the eye when addressing them. But at Sandhurst O’Braitis was like a black sheep, as he didn’t aspire to – and didn’t really know how to – be a leader. Instead of giving orders, he tried to persuade people, and many of them found such behaviour odd. In three long years of studies instructors had failed to make him give up his stubborn inclination to fight for his opinion, instead of submitting to military discipline and strictly adhering to the hierarchy. Edward did not enjoy popularity among his fellow cadets either – he studied too hard and took part in students’ festivities too rarely. Edward wasn’t a whistleblower – he never told on his fellow students who escaped for a cigarette to the Devil’s Pound Grotto on the outskirts of Sandhurst, or wandered around Blackwater Town at night – but he himself would never get involved in anything like that. He spent his spare time at the stables chatting to the horses or polishing his skills at the shooting range. But Edward’ fundamental fault in the eyes of his schoolmates was the fact that he wasn’t English.

  Edward O’Braitis’ parents were born in Lithuania. His father Petras Abraitis together with his wife Sofia moved to London when their son was barely three. Both parents found employment in an old people’s home – an intermediate stop for humans on their way to the heavens. His mother cared for critical patients and his father, once an engine driver in Lithuania, found a job as a stoker. The boy grew up to be a handsome man, he was talented and fluent in English, but having been witness to the debilitating suffering of aging people, he was reserved and never took up with anyone. In an attempt to mix with strangers, he joined the Royal Military Academy. Prior to 1871, life at the Academy was no bed of roses. Fortunately for O’Braitis, this year was a turning point for the British Army, as a ban was introduced on the purchasing of military ranks and positions. Had it not been banned, the best that O’Braitis could have hoped for was the rank of corporal or sergeant and a job in some insignificant battalion of the ground forces. But being the Academy’s number one student, he dreamt of the Royal Air Force and dirigibles, biplanes, zeppelins, corvettes and raiders. He passed his theory examinations in Military Topography, Military Law, Administration, Foreign Languages and other subjects with flying colours, and his shooting and horse riding skills were superior to those of his fellow cadets. Besides, he was in great physical shape and a brilliant artilleryman.

  Nearly all the instructors were of the opinion that O’Braitis was an obvious candidate for the Queen Victoria Medal, which was awarded to the most academically brilliant student, and could expect an appointment to the top air force position available for a newly graduated cadet of the Academy.

  “I hope I haven’t blown it completely,” Edward thought.

  “I would not be at all surprised,” a voice sounded somewhere very close, and Edward realised he had spoken the last thought aloud.

  Sandhurst cadets were well trained so when O’Braitis was caught unawares, he didn’t flinch and only turned his head to the speaker who, without any more talk, lowered himself on the bench next to him.

  “Yes, William, rejoice, you are right again,” mumbled Edward.

  “Yes I am,” replied William Dalvell, a short chubby cadet with incredibly white skin and an Adam’s apple of imposing proportions. “Of course, I am right because you never listen to me. And you know the difference between the two of us? I am only right when it’s convenient for me. While you always want to be the cleverest of all and impose your opinion as if it were the most valuable one. You may be McDermott’s favourite but you couldn’t have hoped to impress the old fart General Joffrey with your brash speech? I am beginning to think that you, dear fellow, have a serious mental condition and will end your days at St Andrew’s Psychiatric Clinic.”

  William picked a handful of prunes out of his pocket and started munching on them, spitting the stones out on the grass. Edward looked at the youth with no resentment. One could say that Dalvell was his only friend in Sandhurst. Besides, he was telling the truth, however unpleasant it was. Edward turned his eyes toward the church tower and scratched the back of his head.

  “I didn’t expect General Joffrey to be on the Committee,” he said at last.

  William sneered.

  “So maybe he dropped down out of a clear blue sky? Or maybe he appeared in the classroom like HG Wells’ Invisible man in the middle of your speech?” William chewed another prune, then turned his head to Edward and poked him in the chest. “My dear friend, you saw him before the exam. And you were well aware who he was. All you had to do was answer your question and praise King Edward, the British Empire, her invincible army, fearless officers, and be on your way out with a round of applause. But Edward O’Braitis can’t keep things simple. He must voice his opinion. You see, the thing is he will personally reform the British Army and will win the lonely wars in Crimea, Zabulistan, Burma and anywhere else that he is sent to. I am telling you, St Andrew’s loony bin is looking forward to checking you in.”

  Edward went quiet, narrowing his eyes slightly, which made William realise that he had gone overboard, causing his friend pain.

  “Don’t be cross,” he murmured. “Hopefully the old man will just stir the waters for a while and then relax. You have such high marks that you don’t have to worry about your future. However, you would surely fail the ‘keeping-your-mouth-shut’ exam.”

  “And you are an indisputable leader in the subject of comforting your friends,” Edward said and then smiled. “Whatever happens, we will find out about it at the ceremony tomorrow.”

  William gave his buddy a playful punch and winked at him.

  “And tonight Blackwater and Kapner’s plum pie – the most scrumptious pie in England – can’t wait to meet us. The last examination is behind us and theoretically we are no longer cadets.”

  “We might not be in theory but in practice we still are until 11:00 am tomorrow,” Edward remarked and got up. “Of course, you are welcome to risk it, but
I have enough trouble as it is. I will make my way to the shooting range, Captain Parker promised to show me a new three-barrelled Lee-Metford.”

  “Oh dear, Edward O’Braitis is trying to avoid trouble?” William sneered. “You are on the road to improvement, chum.”

  But William was wrong. Trouble was lying in wait for O’Braitis just a few steps away. As soon as he was out of the garden, he was approached by a group of fellow cadets.

  “Look who’s here – the great reformer, England’s hope and blabbermouth himself,” chirped Charles Finley.

  Three of his friends, who were standing behind him, roared with laughter.

  Sandhurst was as leaky as a sieve, and gossip here spread faster than bullets from a triple-barrelled rifle, while snitching had become a trade, as retired officers working at the Academy added to their salary by allowing cadets in dire straits to pay their way out. Hence O’Braitis wasn’t surprised to hear that news about General Joffrey’s disapproval had now reached Finley’s ears.

  Disagreement between the two cadets started in their first days at the Academy. Charles Finley, the offspring of well-off aristocrats, lacked talent but was not bothered about it all. Instead he teamed up with a gang of bullies like himself, and enjoyed his life while ruthlessly destroying the lives of other cadets. The Aces (that’s what the pack called themselves) should have been kicked out of the Academy long time ago, but every time, Finley bought them out with little effort. Besides, his parents did all they could to make him stay and hoped for a very comfortable position in the future.

  Edward could have also formed a group of his followers to carry out a counterattack but it wasn’t for him. And in this case he just scowled at the pranksters and departed without a word.