CHAPTER EIGHT
Carruthers had ordered his third backs to attack the Seventh House's trench. As the onlookers along the northern touch-line of the field cried, "Go, Septenaries!" (the unimaginative name that the Seventh House had chosen for its team), the Dredger third backs raced forward to the eastern end of the field, their rifles in hand, their teeth bared, their fingers on the triggers. The Septenary second backs – no fools – parted with alacrity to make way for the attacking party.
The Dredger third backs entered the western end of the field and passed the maul, where the Dredger second backs were clustered in a linked circle around one of the Septenary forwards, who was desperately trying to break free to reach the western goalposts. Then the Dredger third backs were into the dangerous area where the Septenary third backs in the trenches could easily open shot on them. The crowd on the northern touch-line roared to the Septenaries to defend the trench.
Instead, faced with the unrelenting ferocity of the attackers – and perhaps with their minds full of images of what the Dredgers' fathers were like in battle – the Septenary third backs panicked. Almost to a man, they dropped their rifles and scrambled, in an undignified manner, out the back of the trench. All around Meredith, the crowd groaned, while the Second House spectators on the southern touch-line cheered their team's advance.
With no one shooting at them from the trench now, the Dredger second backs had no trouble holding the Septenary forward in their maul. The maul lurched back and forward, like a drunken terrapin, but the forward could not free himself. The remaining two Septenary forwards hovered near the western goalposts in case the trapped forward should have a chance to pass the ball to them; all three of the Dredger forwards were guarding against this possibility with vigilance. As for the Septenary second backs, they stood helplessly at the halfway line, in case the ball should come back into play in their direction.
The Dredger third backs reached the trenches and dropped in. Three of the Septenaries in the trench had kept their heads and stayed to fight, but their rifles were quickly wrenched from them. Another Septenary third back, shame-faced, returned empty-handed to the trench to try to assist the other three. A short, nasty fist-fight occurred between the third backs of both teams, settled when a Dredgers raised his rifle barrel and swung it at the face of one of his rivals. There followed a crack that sounded suspiciously like a jaw-bone being broken; the injured third back screamed in agony. The other Septenaries in the trench immediately surrendered.
Meredith looked quickly over at the Games Master, who was refereeing, but that august school master had just turned his head to look at the clock. On both sides of the field, spectators were beginning to chant the final seconds: "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! . . ."
A cautious team would have withdrawn its second backs from the maul when seven seconds were left, minimizing the possibility of injury to the second backs. A bolder team would have waited until three seconds were left, risking injury but minimizing the danger that the trapped forward would make a last-minute score.
The Dredgers did neither. They waited until there was one second left on the clock, and then, with well-practiced synchronicity, they flung themselves backwards and rolled out of danger. The Septenary forward was left with the near impossibility of kicking the ball in time.
He tried anyway. His foot touched the ball just as the final second disappeared. The game clock rang.
The grenade-ball exploded.
The forward collapsed, his shout of agony joining with the continued scream of his teammate in the trench. The Septenaries' medic-servants were already trotting onto the field with a stretcher in order to deal with the trench injury; they paused, obviously trying to balance higher rank – the forward's – versus higher degree of injury – most like the third back's, if that crack had indeed been of a bone breaking.
Carruthers, who had remained at the western end of the field, from which he had ordered his third backs to make their attack, showed characteristic generosity and waved his own medics onto the field, directing them toward his opponents' forward. Carruthers was quite good at being generous after his players had been vicious. The Dredgers' medics easily got the forward onto the stretcher; he had ceased to make any noise after the first shout and was now doing his best to stay still amidst the pain. The thick boots and gloves that forwards wore protected them from the worst of ball blasts, but invariably, forwards who held the ball when the timer went off would receive gunpowder burns on their thighs or arms. As the medics carried the Septenary forward to his own team's touch-line, he raised his thumb in the air to show that he was not seriously injured.
There was applause on both sides of the field. "Plucky devil," commented Jeffries, and Meredith nodded, even though he knew that Jeffries was addressing the third back sitting on his right, rather than Meredith, who sat on his left. To stick with a ball that was about to explode, in the face of nearly insuperable odds against making a goal, was a courageous act; for bravery alone, the Septenaries deserved to win.
With one of their forwards out, though, and a demoralized set of third backs, the Septenaries played poorly. As the Septenaries' medics feverishly worked on the injured third back, and the injured forward cracked jokes with other members of his House while his gunpowder burns were dressed, the Septenary players gave up goal after goal.
"The Dredgers will be worn out after this," predicted Pembroke. He was standing just behind where Meredith sat, alongside his chum Davenham. That was one of the things which made Pembroke well-liked among the Tonger players: although his status as a House Captain entitled him to a seat in the bleachers where the first-ranked students watched the matches, Pembroke always remained standing with the second-ranked students.
"They look too bloody fresh on the field to me," replied Davenham grimly. "If the Septenaries could just get Master Arthurs off the field . . . The combination of his forwarding and Master Carruthers's Captaincy is deadly. And it doesn't help that the Dredgers are playing their usual dirty tricks."
Meredith, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists, frowned as he glanced over toward the southern bleacher, where the school masters sat. The Head Master was dressed in his usual manner at matches: in the House cap he had won when he belonged to the Third House's team as a student. He looked cheerful, as he always did during well-played matches, regardless of which team won. Meredith assumed that the Head Master had not noticed the nastiness in the Septenaries' trench, which, while not against game rules, was hardly fair play, since the armed Dredger attackers had well outnumbered the unarmed Septenary defenders.
The clock was wound back for the final minutes of the match, and the timer of the new grenade-ball timer was synchronized with the clock before the hinged halves of the ball were closed. "The Dredgers are sure to lose – they'll play conservatively now," Jeffries predicted confidently as the play began, with all the knowledgeableness of a player who has only recently been added to his team.
The other third backs were kind enough not to roll their eyes. The Dredgers never played conservatively. They used their ferocity to frighten their opponents into tentative play, whether now or at a future match. And on this afternoon, the Dredgers knew that their next opponents were watching.
Meredith shifted uneasily. Thanks to the weeks lost when snow lay on the playing field, the Games Master had been forced to schedule back-to-back matches for the rest of the days of the footer season. As a result, Meredith had been sitting on the slick, winter-cold ground for over an hour now, waiting for the Dredgers to finish their match with the Septenaries, before the Dredgers began their match with the Tongers. Meredith would have liked to have stretched his legs, but he could not stand up and block the view of the second-ranked students behind him; nor could he stretch out his legs as he sat, for the maul that had just formed was coming dangerously close to the northern touch-line of the field, where members of the Third and Seventh Houses watched. Indeed, the nearby Seventh House students were beginning to back up towa
rd the bleachers, but Pembroke didn't move, which meant that none of the Third House players could move from their spots.
It was exciting, Meredith decided, to see a maul so closely. Usually, when he was on the field, his thoughts were on making his shots or on surviving a fist-fight in the trenches. He rarely got to see the tightened muscles of the second backs as they linked their arms around each other, trapping the forward in the middle of their maul. Meredith could hear their grunts as the forward tried to kick his way free, and once it appeared that the second backs would gain control of the ball. But the forward kept the ball close to himself thereafter as the seconds on the clock ticked down.
It was a Dredger forward, Arthurs, who had the ball, so the Septenary second backs scattered at the seventh second, leaving Arthurs with a clear field.
There was little hope that the Dredgers would be able to make this final goal, however; the maul had managed to lurch toward the Septenaries' goalpost, far away from the Dredgers' goalpost. "Not enough time," muttered Jeffries, but Meredith said nothing. He was watching Arthurs bring back his foot for the kick, while beyond him, Carruthers raced toward the scene of the action.
Arthurs missed the kick. He not only missed the kick, but he slipped and fell on the slick ground at the edge of the field. The ball spun slightly, but remained where it was, with two seconds on the clock. "Back!" shouted Pembroke, and immediately the Third House players scrambled away from the danger.
Except Meredith. He had forgotten to move. Arthurs was trying to roll away from the ball; the sound of his curses reached Meredith. There was one second left on the clock. The ball was inches from Meredith. . . .
And then something fell upon the ball, so that its explosion was muffled.
Meredith barely felt the blast. The player who had flung himself upon the ball at the last minute in order to shield his player lay unmoving. It was Carruthers.
A silence had fallen upon the crowd. Pembroke, belatedly realizing that Meredith was missing, had run back to the edge of the field, but after a quick glance at Meredith, he ignored his liegeman, opting instead to be the one to flip Carruthers over. The Second House medics were racing across the field, the cloth of their stretcher flapping.
"He's alive," Pembroke informed them when they arrived. Meredith, who was on his knees now, bent forward to look. Carruthers was breathing, but he had gunpowder burns all over his chest; the cloth of his uniform had burnt away in several places. His eyes remained closed.
"Sanatorium!" It was the Head Master's voice, calling from his seat. Meredith bit his lip. Game injuries – even bad ones, like broken bones – were usually cared for by the medic-servants attached to each House; only in the most serious cases would the school doctor be called forth. The doctor hurried forward now, his bag in hand, as Pembroke helped the medics place Carruthers on the stretcher.
Meredith, seeing that he was blocking the doctor's path, reluctantly scrambled to his feet and withdrew. Almost immediately, he was grabbed by Jeffries. "Good work!" said the other third-ranker.
"What?" Meredith barely glanced at him before turning his attention back to the scene. Carruthers was now surrounded by the doctor, the medics, Pembroke, the referees, and the forwards on both teams, who had come to check how the situation lay; even the previously injured Septenary forward had hobbled over to see how his opponents' Captain faired. As a result, Meredith could no longer catch sight of Carruthers. Surely, if Carruthers was in serious danger, someone would say so? Meredith strained to hear.
"Luring Carruthers onto the ball like that – good thought! He's just the sort to fall for that sort of trick."
Meredith frowned as he switched his attention back to Jeffries. "What are you talking about? He was protecting his player."
"Bollocks!" was Jeffries's response to this.
"Jeffries is right," Davenham interjected; he had come forward to the touch-line. "Master Arthurs had rolled himself well out of the way by the time Master Carruthers reached the ball; the Head could see that. He flung himself onto the ball to prevent you from being injured. . . . Little duffer," the fifth-former added without heat. "Do you mean to say that you weren't trying to lure Master Carruthers? Best not to tell anyone; let them think that you did it for our team's sake, rather than because you were too much of an idiot to get away from an exploding ball."
Appalled, Meredith said, "But that's ridiculous, sir! Master Carruthers wouldn't risk a serious injury for me."
Davenham looked him up and down somewhat quizzically, and then laughed. "You just keep telling yourself that, Meredith. Hey! Buy me a jigger, will you?" This was shouted at Jeffries, who had lost interest in the conversation and wandered over to where the tuck-shop manager was distributing sweets during the interval between matches.
The crowd around Carruthers began to move as he was taken from the field. There was applause on both sides of the field, though Meredith thought the reason for the applause among the Third House players was suspect. Sure enough, as Pembroke returned, the first thing Davenham said was, "That's a bit of luck. Master Carruthers won't be fit to play for at least a week. With an injury like that, I'll wager he even misses the final match of the season."
"Perhaps," Pembroke murmured. "Meredith, why didn't you move back when I ordered everyone to do so?"
"I'm sorry, sir." Meredith swallowed and looked down. "I got caught up in seeing whether Master Carruthers would reach the ball in time."
There was a long silence, during which Meredith replayed in his mind the words Davenham had spoken to him. Then Pembroke said, "Don't let that happen when you're on the playing field."
"No, sir." Meredith quickly looked up. "I wouldn't let anything distract me from my duty to . . . to the team."
"All right, then." Pembroke sounded somehow much wearier than he had a few minutes before. "We'll let the matter go, then; I'm sure you've learned your lesson. Davenham, the Games Master is delaying the second match till this afternoon in order to give the doctor time to finish his work on Master Carruthers. We have an hour to spare before dinner; let's go into town and tell Master Rudd what's happened."
"All right," said Davenham agreeably, and the two second-rankers wandered off, Pembroke pausing on the way to let his other players hear the news. Meredith remained where he was, standing on the cold ground, watching the doctor and medics work over Carruthers on the other side of the field.
o—o—o
The Old Building was not very old. It had been built in the seventeenth tri-century after a series of battles between the Third and Fourth Landsteads had left both landsteads denuded of most of their older buildings. Only the school's fifteenth-tri-century chapel had been spared; around it had grown what would later become known as the Old Building.
The Old Building was built as a spiral. It began at the chapel; then the corridor, winding like the interior of a snail's shell, passed the lesson-rooms before finally reaching the hall that served as both an evening assembly room and a dining room.
The hall, like every other room in the Old Building except the chapel, was a quadrilateral with two curved sides. And like every other room in the Old Building except the chapel, it looked out on green space on two sides, for the clever architect had woven green space into his plan, so that the curving spiral of rooms was flanked on both sides by a spiral thread of lawn, allowing light to shine into all of the rooms. The dining hall was different only because its exterior-most windows looked out upon the Circle.
That was the name for the lawns, gardens, and playing fields that surrounded the Old Building. On the perimeter of them, in a respectful circle surrounding the Old Building, was the New Building, the tuck shop, the masters' bedrooms and studies, the servants' sleeping quarters, and various work buildings. From where Meredith sat, at the furthermost end of the Third House table, he could see the building where the coal and coal-oil were stored; servants were busy trundling wheelbarrows of coal from that building to the New Building. In between the storage building and the Old Building, the fo
oter field lay empty.
Meredith let his gaze drift back to the scene within the dining hall. The hall was too small to hold all of the current students at once, so the students gobbled down their food in haste during four shifts of one-third-and-one-half-of-a-third an hour – two hours for all four shifts. Since the First Landstead no longer sent students to the First House of Narrows School, only the Second and Third Houses attended the initial shift of the dining time.
Meredith could see the attending servants giving wary glances at the students. Food fights were not unknown when the Second and Third Houses dined together.
At the moment, though, all was peaceful. At the front of the room, on a three-tiered dais, the three ranks of school masters chatted quietly with one another as servants removed their second-course plates. The Head Master, seated in the middle of the first-rankers' table, leaned over to hear something being said by Master Morris, a House Master of civil manners and amiable disposition who presided over the Second House – as much as any House Master could be said to preside when his someday liege-master was Head Prefect.
Carruthers was noticeably absent today, as was Rudd and his ever-present liegeman, Pembroke; all of them usually sat at the ends of their respective tables that were closest to the school masters' tables. Fletcher was absent as well; he preferred to take his meals in his bedroom, tended by his faithful fag. Nor was Davenham in his place in the middle of the Third House table, where the second-rankers sat.
This lack of leadership left the third-rankers in perilously high spirits. Meredith knew this, because he sat opposite Fletcher's chum, Jeffries.
"So I asked Master Fletcher whether he would be willing to let a master who wasn't really a master be employed within his House, and he said that he would be glad to have such a man working there – that he would soon teach that man his proper place." Jeffries shot a glance at Meredith as the other third-rankers snickered. "In fact, he said that he was already making plans with that man's liege-master. Something about a position in the House of Mollusc's archive, he said."
The oysters that Meredith had been eating turned suddenly to bile in his stomach. Jeffries would say anything to scare an enemy, but this sounded like just the sort of arrangement that Pembroke would make in order to please Fletcher's closest friend, Rudd. And the archives . . . Nobody should have known that Pembroke had decided, the previous term, that Meredith's high scores in history exams made him best suited, not for work in the army alongside Pembroke, but for work in a historical archive.
Meredith would have much preferred to work alongside Pembroke, or, failing that, in a water-related occupation. But he had known better than to say anything; a liege-master had complete control over what employment his liegeman took. Meredith supposed he was lucky that Pembroke had taken into account one of Meredith's interests – history – when deciding upon Meredith's future.
But to work under Fletcher . . .
Another student objected, "The House of Mollusc belongs to Master Rudd. Or will, once he comes of age."
"In the meantime, who's running it?" enquired someone else.
"Officially, the High Master," Jeffries replied. "In reality, Alec."
Everyone wrinkled their noses at disgust at the idea of a servant – albeit the highest-ranked servant in the Third Landstead – acting as Head of a House.
"The High Master should outlaw that sort of thing," said another boy.
"Master Rudd will, when he becomes High Master," Jeffries replied. "Master Fletcher told me. And when Master Rudd becomes High Master, Master Fletcher will be his heir and will take over the House of Mollusc—"
"Stop it," said the boy who had previously spoken, looking uneasy. "You're talking about rank changes that won't happen till our High Master dies."
Jeffries shrugged. "He's bound to die. Everyone says that. If not this sun-circuit, then soon. Master Fletcher doesn't want him to die, any more than Master Rudd does. But if our High Master has to die, it makes sense to plan for the future."
Meredith, seeing that the conversation had travelled beyond him, let his attention wander away from the young masters to the servants.
During meals, students were served by their House's own servants. (The Head Master had denied rumors that this custom had been started after a Second House servant poisoned a Third House prefect during the previous tri-century.) Meredith knew by heart the names and appearances of all his House's servants, though he rarely spoke to them, nor they to him. To do the servants credit, there was little need for them to speak to any students. First- and second-ranked students received most of their service from any liegemen who might be attending school at the same time as themselves – or, barring that, from any low-ranked students in the first or second form who had no liegeman present at the school and who was willing to serve as fag to a higher-ranked student. As for the third-ranked students, their needs were tended to by the House servants who cared for the third-rankers' dormitory and study. Narrows School was notorious for refusing to allow third-rankers the luxury of valets or other servants who would tend them one-on-one.
So Meredith watched from a distance each day as his House's servants built the coal-fires and filled the lamps with coal-oil and changed the bedding and towels and brought in fresh water pitchers and chamber-pots in exchange for the old, and did all such other menial work as low-ranked servants were required to do.
To give credit to Rudd – Meredith tried to think of it that way – the Head rarely required such work of his fag. For the most part, Meredith undertook the traditional duties of a fag: preparing tea trays, fetching messages, and polishing shoes – any of the types of duties that a high-ranked servant might undertake, or that a liegeman might do for his liege-master if a servant was not present.
The work itself did not bother Meredith. What bothered him was the fact that Rudd saw that the work did not bother him, and jeered him for it.
Turning his thoughts away from this paradox – a fag-master who mocked his fag for doing his work well – Meredith turned his attention to the Second House servants. The man whom Davenham had identified as Carruthers's valet was standing next to the head of the long, curved table where the Second House students sat, presently removing Master Arthurs's plate; Meredith was cheered by that image, for surely, if Carruthers was badly wounded, his valet and his closest friend would be at his side?
The rest of the servants were less familiar to Meredith, seen only at mealtime, though he recognized the stocky, red-haired man serving the third-rankers as the Second House's kicking-servant. Not surprisingly, the kicking-servant was looking glum.
And then there was the Second House's newest servant. She was hard to miss.
Female servants were not entirely unknown at Narrows School, but when present, they tended the wives of any married school masters. Traditionalist school masters usually did not marry; Reformed Traditionalist school masters usually made their homes in the nearby town of Hoopersville, so their family servants were rarely seen on the school grounds.
By contrast, the Third House's pretty young servant – just reaching her journeyman years, though of course only masters could be journeymen – was an unexplained anomaly. There had been talk at the beginning of the previous term that she was Carruthers's personal servant. The talk, having been instigated by Third House students, had gone into great detail as to what sort of service she was supposedly giving to Carruthers. But there had been no sign since then that Carruthers treated her with anything other than the distant courtesy he offered to all his House's servants. Even his valet – Meredith had noted, during his covert spying on the Third House table – appeared to hold no special relationship with the man he served. Carruthers always spoke with him in a distant, polite manner, while the valet offered nothing back, other than cool, professional service.
The servant-girl was far from cool, but her buoyant spirits and friendly demeanor seemed aimed at anyone in her general vicinity; if anything, she seemed a bit shy about approaching the Head of the Se
cond House. Now she was smiling as she offered a cup to a student in the proper manner, with both hands, and then obeyed a snapped order to refill a water pitcher—
"We're out of water," said Jeffries.
"Blasted servants are never around when you need them," observed another of the boys, looking longingly toward the service door, through which the Third House's servants had just departed in order to fetch dessert.
"Well, I'm not going to wait till they get back," said Jeffries. "One of us will have to fetch more water."
Without another word, everyone's head swivelled in the direction of Meredith. There was no need for anyone to speak, though; Meredith had begun to rise, the moment he realized that no servants were present to undertake the task. This in itself caused no little merriment among the third-rankers.
The water-barrel was located at the very back of the hall. Meredith made his way across the flagstones, smooth with age and kept well swept by the Head Master's servants. The windows were shut against the winter cold, but Meredith could hear the faint, raspy cry of a saltmarsh sharp-tailed swallow. Inside, the hall was filled with the chatter of its inhabitants and the smells of terrapin soup, fried oysters, and the "jiggers" made by the tuck-shop master during the winter season: beaten eggs, sugar, cream, snow, and a flavoring.
The hall was very cold, and grew colder as one stepped farther away from the first-rankers' end of the table, for that was where the stoves were located. At the farthest end of the hall, where only the servants went, one nearly had to wear mittens.
The Second House's servant-girl was standing at the water-barrel, filling a pitcher. She smiled at Meredith, forgetting to dip her eyes, and he smiled back, pleased to see a friendly face. Then he and the girl were elbowed out of the way.
"You're too slow," said the younger of the two boys who had pushed past them. "We could eat an entire course in the time it takes you to fill a water pitcher." He held his glass under the spigot of the barrel, paying no attention to the water he had spilled when he had jogged the servant-girl out of the way.
The servant-girl looked around, obviously seeking a place to set the pitcher so that she could go down onto her knees and mop up the mess. The elder boy plucked the pitcher out of her hands and put it on top of the barrel. "Maybe she's hoping somebody will come by and admire the view." He stared down pointedly at her chest. The servant-girl dipped her eyes; a blush ran across her cheek, her neck, and the slight swell of breast underneath her shirtwaist.
Meredith moved to the side, wondering whether he should retreat. He had recognized the two boys: they were the Second House boys he had heard speaking underneath the lamphouse. From the looks of it, they were fourth-formers, and he could see from the younger boy's mark that they were third-ranked, but that didn't mean they wouldn't cause Meredith trouble.
For the moment, though, the boys had another victim in mind. The younger boy, grinning, had moved to block any attempt by the servant-girl to retreat, while the older boy was fingering the buttons of the girl's shirtwaist. "Don't be so quick to return to your duties," he told her. "I know why you sought employment at a school filled with boys. You like boys, don't you? Like them a lot? We've heard all about the baby. Odd how the baby doesn't seem to have a father. Did you even find out his name, before you slept with him?"
As he spoke, the older boy began to hitch up the servant-girl's skirt. She was making pleading sounds now, and tears were sparkling on her lashes, which only seemed to amuse the older boy. The younger boy, standing behind her, took firm hold of her arms to prevent her from escaping.
Remembering his father's advice, Meredith looked quickly around at the boys sitting at the table. Unfortunately, he could see no hope for salvation there. Davenham had not yet returned from Hoopersville with Pembroke, and most of the servants in both Houses had disappeared into the kitchens to retrieve the dessert dishes; the only one within view was the Second House's kicking-servant, who had just entered the hall, heavily laden with dessert cups. The Second House's first-rankers were hidden by the curve of the hall, the second-rankers were absorbed in their meal, and the third-rankers were merely amused by what was taking place at the water-barrel. Even the Third House's third-rankers were grinning, though that might have been due to Meredith's helplessness in the face of this crisis.
He remembered Pembroke's words: I have faith in you.
The older boy nearly had his hand under the servant-girl's skirt now. "If you're looking for someone to keep your bed warm," he told her, "I can help you to— Bloody blades!" This was shouted as Meredith, with all the force he had learned as a footer player, shoved the older boy aside.
The younger boy, startled by this pre-emptive act, let go of the servant-girl; she slipped away, like a fish sliding off the deck of a boat to safe waters.
Which left Meredith facing two angry boys from the Second House.
"Jealous, are you?" said the older boy, obviously trying to discern Meredith's motives for such reckless behavior.
"She's a servant." Meredith kept his voice low. The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of the other boys of the Second House to the fact that two members of their House were currently under attack. "She can't say no. It's up to masters to protect her. Sir, if you think about it, I'm sure that you wouldn't want to—"
But the "sir," which had slipped out of his mouth at the worst possible moment, caused the elder boy to turn away. "I'm not listening to lectures from a servant," he said to the younger boy. "Come on, she hasn't retreated far. We can still—"
Meredith grabbed him and threw him against the water-barrel.
There was a moment of stillness – a moment when the rest of the Second House table noticed what was taking place, a moment when the other members of the Third House quite noticeably did not come forward to aid Meredith. Then the older boy said through gritted teeth, "You'll regret that, bastard-of-a-slave. Hold him!"
This shouted instruction was directed at the younger boy, who did his best to hold Meredith. The older boy was able to get three punches in before Meredith, feeling as battered as a player on the field, slipped free, grabbed the older boy by his tie, swung him around, and flung him toward the Second House table.
Chairs screeched and students shouted as the boy crashed into the table. Fortunately, no food was present – the kicking-servant, still laden with his desserts, had rushed toward the other end of the table, presumably to be out of the path of the fracas. But there was the sound of a dozen glasses crashing to the ground as the boy hit the table.
Every member of the Second House was on his feet now, and so was every member of the Third House. Meredith might count for nothing, but this fight was too spectacular to ignore. Already, the two Houses were shouting insults at one another; it was clear that fists would be next.
But then the authorities arrived, in the form of the Head Master and the eleven House Masters.
The insults died at once. Everyone turned their head to stare, not at the Second House boy, but at Meredith.
The Head Master took in the scene with one sweep of the eyes. "Return to your meals," he ordered the students at both the tables. "Come here," he told the elder boy, who was rising to his feet, somewhat wobbly. "Stand here," he ordered Meredith and the younger boy. "Master Nevins? Master Morris?" He turned his attention to the House Masters whose lads were involved.
House Master Nevins, who was holding a book of poetry in his hand, shook his head wordlessly. Master Morris said, "I'm sorry, sir, if my House's boys were at fault in this matter."
"That is to be determined," the Head Master retorted crisply. "Can either of you tell me the meaning of this?"
His words were directed toward the doorway at the end of the hall, where Rudd and Pembroke stood, their overcoats still on; Davenham was just slipping away from them, having clearly accompanied the two masters back to the hall.
Rudd shrugged. Pembroke said, "Head Master, I regret to say that Master Rudd and I have only just arrived. We missed seeing what happened."
"And the rest of you . . ." The Head Master turned his attention to the third-rankers at the two tables, who all seemed to be taking a special interest in their silverware now. Nearby, the servant-girl, shaken, was crying into her hands, while next to her the kicking-servant talked rapidly and earnestly to Carruthers's valet, who had turned his gaze toward the elder boy.
The Head Master looked their way. He did not invite any of the servants to come forward; the high law forbade the use of servants as witnesses, since they could so easily be manipulated by any master who had power over them. However, it appeared that the Head Master was capable of drawing his own conclusions as to what had happened, for when he looked back at Meredith and the two third-formers, he reserved his first, dark look for the elder boy.
None of the three of them, though, escaped from censure. "This is not a playing field," the Head Master said carefully. "This is not the proper place to make attacks, whether offensive or defensive. I expect good behavior from the boys of this school—" His gaze rested on the two Second House boys, then moved toward Meredith. "And I expect the prefects to take care of any discipline that needs to be dispensed. That is what they are here for. Do the three of you understand?"
All three of them murmured apologies. Meredith had to fight to keep from falling to his knees to apologize for his reckless behavior. The Head Master gave them another swift, assessing glance before saying, "Go to your rooms. Stay there for the remainder of the day."
Meredith bit his lip to keep from speaking. It was Rudd who spoke up, saying, "He's due on the field this afternoon. You're not going to take away one of our players, are you?"
The Head Master sighed and looked over at House Master Nevins, who failed to notice, for he had returned to reading his book. It was House Master Morris who said, "Sir, I'm sure that no member of my House's team would want to win a victory simply because one of the Third House players had a momentary slip in judgment. I'm sure that neither of my boys will make this mistake again—" He paused to give a look at the fourth-formers that said clearly: And my cane shall ensure that. "As for . . . Meredith, is it? I'm certain that he has learned his lesson as well."
The Head Master nodded. "Very well. We will treat this matter as closed, then – but no desserts for any of you," he added, looking toward the younger boy, who was beginning to make longing glances toward the desserts being delivered to the Second House table. "Leave the hall now."
They all murmured acknowledgments of the order. The elder boy waited until the school masters had stepped away before hissing in Meredith's ear, "I'll make you pay for this, servant."
Feeling sick, Meredith said nothing. He was saved, though, from immediate retribution, for Arthurs, who had come down from the head of the table to watch the proceedings, said something sharply which caused the elder boy to hurry over to his side.
Overhearing a bit of what Arthurs said to the elder boy, Meredith felt himself grow even sicker. Of course – the elder boy was not a third-ranker at all, but a second-ranker, liegeman to Carruthers's closest friend. Meredith had attacked a second-ranking master; it was a wonder that he had escaped without a beating from the Head Master.
Though judging from the looks that Rudd was sending his way, Meredith guessed that a beating still awaited him. He walked unsteadily to the hall doorway, which the younger boy had already stepped through.
Fortunately, the younger boy was not waiting in the corridor to take his revenge. The corridor was still except for the faint echo from the chatter of boys inside the hall. Meredith, his head lowered, made his way slowly toward the door leading to the outside—
—and then stopped abruptly. He had forgotten that his path would take him past the sanatorium.
The sanatorium door was open. Carruthers sat in a chair, allowing his bare chest to be bandaged by one of the male nurses employed by the school doctor. Standing next to him, at a respectful distance, was his valet, who had apparently slipped out of the hall during the Head Master's chiding, bringing the servant-girl with him.
The valet had his arm around the servant-girl, who still appeared too shaken to speak; the valet was doing so on her behalf. As the valet offered his report, too quietly for Meredith to hear, Carruthers turned his gaze suddenly away.
His eyes met Meredith's. Meredith felt a jarring sensation, as though a footer ball had exploded upon his body. For a breathless moment, he simply stared back at Carruthers, unable to think what he should do.
Then he heard his name being called.
He turned quickly. Pembroke was standing nearby, his face dark in the flickering light of the corridor lamps. "Meredith," he said, "I never want to see that sort of behavior from you again."
Meredith lowered his eyes, wondering what he should say. Pembroke did not wait to hear whether Meredith had any defense to make. He turned round and strolled back to the hall entrance, where Rudd was awaiting him. Both masters disappeared into the hall.
Meredith turned back. But even as he did so, the nurse closed the sanatorium door, shutting Meredith off from Carruthers.
Master and Servant (Waterman) Page 27