The Viking and the Vendetta

by A. J. Braithwaite

  He moved over to the computer beside Wharton, quite pleased to have something to do which took his mind away from his troubles. They worked their way through their pile of photocopies, coming up with captions for each one. When Luke got to the two stories about Mr Wilmot and the village pond he held them up to show Wharton.

  "Mr Thomas is going to vet our display before we get to show it," he said. "There's no way he'll let us use this."

  Wharton shrugged. "OK, we'll leave it out." He took the copies from Luke and put them to one side. They continued to work for a while until Wharton broke into Luke's thoughts with an observation.

  "I know you didn't do that toothpaste stunt."

  Luke looked across at him in surprise. "So?"

  "So, why did you take the rap for it?"

  "What makes you think I did?"

  "Wilmot told Mr Thomas all about it over lunch," supplied Wharton. "Half the seniors could hear him. He's still hoping to get you kicked out, if you ask me, so why d'you say you did it?"

  "Out of the goodness of my heart," said Luke, sourly. "I know who did do it, though, and you can tell them from me that if they try anything else against the Romans this year, I'll grass them up first and beat them up later."

  The ferocity in his own voice surprised him, but he thought that if he could put a stop to the stupid inter-house vendetta, at least something good might have come out of the Meredith mess.

  "You didn't get detention, then?" Wharton probed. If Luke had, he'd be there now.

  "No. Gated," Luke replied, shortly. "And I've got to write a letter of apology to the woman whose car it was and hand it in to Wilmot tomorrow." It felt weird, telling Wharton all this when he hadn't even told his Roman friends yet.

  Wharton whistled in sympathy. "Harsh. And I thought Kelly liked you."

  "Well, turns out you were wrong," said Luke, succinctly summing up his own misery with that one short sentence.

  When they had finished doing the captions, Luke stayed in the room to compose his letter to Meredith. It is extremely difficult to say sorry to a person that you dislike for something that you haven't done, but he managed to word the letter in a way that seemed to work as an apology, without actually claiming direct responsibility:

  Hawley Lodge

  19 May 2008

  Dear Ms Morgan

  I am writing to apologise for the damage that was done to your car on Saturday night. This was a thoughtless prank and I regret any distress it caused to you.

  Yours sincerely

  Luke Brownlow

  Luke printed the letter off and read it through. Then he deleted the words 'to you' and printed it off again. He didn't care about Meredith's distress at all, but he sincerely regretted hurting Ned's feelings and, as a consequence, his own. The letter seemed very short, but he couldn't think of anything else to write, so he folded it up and went in search of Mr Wilmot to get it off his hands.

  Luke knocked on the door of Mr Wilmot's apartment on the top floor. After keeping him waiting for a full thirty seconds, the housemaster opened it to him. Luke held out his letter without saying a word.

  Mr Wilmot read it through. "Well you won't win any prizes for letter-writing, Brownlow. But I suppose it will do." He folded it back up. "I'll pass it on to the headmaster."

  Luke spun silently on his heel, keen to get away.

  "Hold on!"

  Wilmot wasn't going to let him escape that easily. Luke stopped and turned slowly back to the door, his fingers closing tightly across his thumbs as he tried to keep his temper. It had been a long and stressful day with far too much of Mr Wilmot in it for his taste.

  To his surprise, Mr Wilmot took a step back from him and a look of fear flickered briefly across his features. Luke was now taller than the housemaster and considerably fitter. The scar on his left cheek and his clenched fists added to an overall air of menace of which Luke was totally unaware.

  "You watch it, Brownlow," said Mr Wilmot, stabbing a pointed finger towards Luke. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

  So what's new? thought Luke, confused by the housemaster's reaction. "Yes, sir. Can I go now?"

  In reply, Mr Wilmot waved him away and slammed the door in his face. Luke rolled his eyes in a manner which would undoubtedly have earned him a detention if Mr Wilmot had possessed X-ray vision. Fortunately for Luke, he did not, and the teenager made it to the Forum without attracting any further trouble.

  Jay was outwardly sympathetic when Luke told him that he'd been gated for the week. But as the week went on, Luke got the impression that Jay was quite enjoying having his roommate back to himself. Luke began to feel guilty about not spending as much time with Jay in year ten as he could have and he resolved to divide his free time more evenly between Jay and Pagan in the future.

  It was still a relief when the end of the half term finally came. Luke's family arrived on Saturday morning to take him home for the week. At Julia's suggestion, the Brownlows stopped off for a cup of coffee at the Randalls' house, so that Luke could say goodbye to Pagan.

  Luke was in a good mood after his week of confinement and his twin sisters were in an advanced state of excitement at being reunited with their brother. Pagan had never spent much time with them before but became instantly popular when she braided Molly's hair into a French plait. Elsie insisted on having her hair done, too. Luke's parents had only seen Pagan when she and Luke had been in hospital the previous year and had never had a chance to talk to her properly.

  Luke watched his mum and dad's reactions to Pagan with pleasure. By charming the twins, Pagan had made immediate progress with charming Andrew and Suzanne Brownlow. Few parents can dislike a person who pays positive attention to their child. The adults were getting on well, too, by the looks of things: reminiscing about their shared experience at the hospital the previous year and going on to chat about the twins and about the inconveniences of living in two-hundred-year-old houses. For the first time in a week, Luke felt truly happy.

  *

  On the first Wednesday of the next half term Mr Pettit put the year tens into the cricket nets to practise. Luke was surprised to see that Wharton, usually such a show-off at the game, was having a really bad day. When he was batting he played defensively, blocking the ball, rather than hitting it away and when it was his turn to bowl he seemed to be hardly trying.

  Luke wasn't the only one to notice Wharton's lack of effort. When the lesson was over and they were heading back to the changing rooms, Mr Pettit intercepted the Viking. As Wharton usually performed well in hockey, orienteering and cricket, he was something of a favourite with the sports teacher. Where he would have just shouted at any other student he suspected of slacking, he was more forbearing with Wharton and gave him the opportunity to explain himself.

  "You're not playing at your usual standard today, Wharton. Why's that?"

  Wharton looked sulky and avoided Mr Pettit's eyes. "Didn't feel like it."

  Mr Pettit's tolerance would only stretch so far. "Well then, perhaps two laps of the field will put you into a more co-operative mood. Off you go."

  The Viking groaned and turned away from the rest of the year tens to jog around the sports field. Luke and the others showered, changed back into their school clothes and headed back to the main school building.

  Half-way there, Luke realised he'd left his blazer in the changing rooms. He went back to collect it and found Wharton there, getting dressed. He was standing with his back to the door, pulling on his shirt, as Luke entered. Something about the way he was moving caught Luke's attention. When he looked at the Viking more closely, he saw a collection of blue, purple and yellowing bruises splashed over the ribs underneath his right arm. They looked intensely painful: no wonder he hadn't been able to bat and bowl properly.

  "What happened to you?" Luke asked, forgetting that it was Wharton he was talking to.

  Wharton jumped and then scowled as he hastily covered the bruising with his shirt. He ignored Luke's question.

  "Why didn't you tell Mr
Pettit you were hurt?" persisted Luke. "Who did that to you? Was it your dad?"

  "My brother," muttered Wharton. He rounded on Luke. "Don't you dare tell anyone."

  "You should get Matron to look at it. You might have a broken rib." Luke didn't know why he was bothering, but somehow he felt compelled to interfere. "What happened?"

  Wharton sighed. "If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?"

  "Sure."

  "If you do…" Wharton glared menacingly at Luke, but didn't seem to be able to think of anything threatening enough to complete the sentence.

  "I won't," said Luke. "Of course I won't."

  Wharton lowered himself onto the bench and started to do up his tie. "My brother's got a bit of a temper when he's drunk or high. I broke the screen on his new phone and he went nuts. Knocked me over and started kicking me."

  "Did you tell your parents?"

  "What good would that do? He was alright about it the next day. Gave me fifty quid to keep quiet. Spud's OK when he's not off his head. It hurt like hell at first, but it's getting better all the time." Wharton got back to his feet and swung an imaginary cricket bat, with a grimace of pain. "Just not quite fit enough for cricket, yet." He stopped at the top of his swing, registering that Luke was staring at him with a stunned expression on his face. "What?" he asked, irritably.

  Luke sat down on the bench opposite Wharton. Spud? Could it be the same person? "Does your brother carry a big curved knife?" Luke sketched out the size and shape of Spud's knife with his hands.

  Wharton slowly lowered his arms. "Ye-e-es. How did you know that?"

  Luke raised his fingers to the left side of his face. "He stole my phone and cut my face open."

  "You're having me on."

  "No, I'm not. The bloke who mugged me was called Spud and carried a knife. He had a friend with him – a short bloke with black hair and a straggly beard."

  "Jonesey," supplied Wharton.

  "I'll have to tell the cops," said Luke.

  "Don't you dare!" shouted Wharton. "If he finds out I've got anything to do with this, he'll kill me."

  "He's a criminal!" Luke argued back. "Why should he get away with it?"

  "You don't know what he's like," said Wharton.

  "I think I do," replied Luke. "He's a bully and a thief. Training you up to join the family business, is he?"

  The ugly look on Wharton's face suggested that their temporary truce was at an end. Luke surged to his feet to defend himself, even though he knew Wharton's injuries meant that he was in no condition to fight.

  The same thought seemed to have occurred to the Viking. His belligerent attitude changed. His shoulders slumped and he looked at Luke pleadingly. "Please don't," he said. "Don't shop Spud. I'm begging you, Brownlow."

  Luke pressed home his advantage. "Only if you stop encouraging this stupid feud between the Vikings and the Romans."

  "Alright, it’s a deal," Wharton agreed.

  "Shake on it," Luke insisted, holding out his hand.

  Wharton took Luke's hand, an expression of distaste on his face. Luke felt the bones of his hand grind against each other in the force of Wharton's grip, but he remained unflinching, returning the force of the handshake as well as he could.

  "Think you'll be fit for next week's match?" asked Luke. One of the activities lined up for Speech Day was a cricket match between the staff and students.

  "Yeah, I think so. Remember, you can't tell anyone."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Speech Day was a chance for the Hawley Lodge students to show their families what they had been doing over the course of their year. They put together displays of artwork, demonstrations of various sports, musical performances and the like. This year, to allow more people to come, the event was being held on a Saturday for the first time. Proud parents came to see what their money had been paying for, accompanied by younger family members and sometimes grandparents. People had dressed up for the occasion and Luke felt as though he was taking part in some country house garden party.

  The formal part of the day began at eleven in the morning. Julia had brought Pagan along to see the school and they joined up with the Brownlow family in the school's main hall.

  Here, they listened to a welcoming address from Ned and a speech from one of the year thirteen students who would be leaving the school that year. Prizes were awarded for various sporting and academic achievements, with a few more light-hearted ones for accomplishments such as Student with Most Varied Hairstyles or Student with Most Pairs of Shoes.

  Luke was enjoying the event until he noticed Meredith sitting in one of the front rows. She must have come along as Ned's guest. Luke nudged Pagan and pointed out Meredith to her. She wasn't hard to spot, as she was wearing a red hat and looked as though she was dressed for a day at the Ascot races. Pagan's eyes narrowed as she sized up the woman she had heard so much about.

  After the formal proceedings, a buffet lunch was served in a large marquee in the grounds behind the school. Luke ate his quickly, as he was competing in the cricket match in the afternoon and had to get changed and ready for it. He left his family with Julia and Pagan and went off to the pavilion. They had been lucky with the weather: the day was sunny and warm, with a light breeze.

  Most of the other members of the students' team were from the Upper School, but Luke and Wharton, as the best of the year tens, had been included, too. The staff side had a much smaller pool of potential players to choose from, but Mr Pettit had been training them up in the weeks leading up to Speech Day. Luke had watched them surreptitiously after the previous Friday's gardening club session and knew that some of them were pretty good, particularly Mr Davey, the groundsman, and Miss Richmond, the French teacher, who was a mean spin bowler.

  The staff team was batting first and Luke was positioned on the boundary, near the scoreboard, which was being managed by Taj and Fred.

  "Who normally wins this match?" he asked Taj as they watched Mr Pettit and Mr Davey, the opening batsmen, walk out on to the field.

  "It's usually pretty close," Taj replied. "The staff won last year, but the students beat them the year before."

  The openers put on a good display for the spectators, before losing Mr Pettit to an excellent ball from Wharton which demolished the sports teacher's wicket. Luke surprised himself by cheering and whooping with the rest of the team. Wharton's injuries had clearly healed up.

  The next batsman to take the crease was Ned. He hadn't been one of the team that was practising on Friday night and Luke watched his performance with interest. He was still feeling hurt by the way Ned had treated him in their last meeting, but couldn't help hoping that he would bat well. It wasn't long before Luke recognised his own batting style in the way Ned was playing. Clearly, genetics had a lot to do with the way people wielded a cricket bat.

  Mr Davey's was the next wicket to fall (caught and bowled by Wharton). The remaining staff did not add much to the score before they were all out, too. Mr Wilmot, the last man in, made a complete mess of the first delivery he faced, swinging randomly at the ball and managing to hit it into the stumps himself.

  "What a donkey," Luke heard Taj say, as he recorded the loss of the wicket on the scoreboard. Luke wondered if it was compulsory for the housemasters to take part in the game: he could see no other reason for Mr Wilmot's inclusion in the staff team.

  Ned had scored a respectable 35 runs, but the total for the staff team was only 101. Luke was confident that the students would be able to do better than that.

  They put up a fair fight, but Mr Pettit and Miss Richmond ripped their way steadily through the student batsmen's wickets until the score stood at 98 runs for 8 wickets. Wharton was at the crease with Connor Reid who was widely agreed to be the school's best batsman. Luke was in the pavilion, padded up ready to take his turn as soon as another wicket fell and selfishly hoping that Wharton or Reid would be out before their score ticked over to 102.

  Mr Pettit's next ball bounced up towards Reid's h
ead. Reid stepped back and brought his bat up, hooking the ball toward the boundary. Luke watched the course of the ball, terribly torn as to the outcome of the shot. If it landed the other side of the boundary rope it would score six runs and the game would be over: the students would have won. If it rolled across the rope, it would be four runs and the game would still be over. But if Ned, fielding on the boundary at deep square leg, had a chance of catching the ball, then Luke would be able to bat.

  Ned took the catch cleanly and Luke's heart rejoiced. He headed off towards the centre of the pitch, bumping fists with Reid as they passed each other.

  Luke settled himself at the crease and watched Mr Pettit running up from the opposite side with the last ball of the over. He was used to the teacher's style of delivery and he timed his shot well, watching the ball, stepping towards it and driving it between the fielders at mid-off and cover. He and Wharton took two runs, bringing the score to 100.

  Now Wharton was facing Miss Richmond's bowling. He hit her first ball for a single run, leaving Luke in the firing line, needing only one run to win the match. He tried to clear his mind of anything but the flight of the ball. It bounced and turned sharply towards him; Luke got his bat to it but the ball curved up, heading straight towards Mr Wilmot at mid-on.

  "Run!" yelled Wharton at the other end of the wicket.

  Luke was certain that he was going to be caught, and that running was a waste of time, but his legs obeyed the Viking's shout and he dashed towards him, his eyes fixed on Mr Wilmot. He was half way down the wicket, passing Wharton , when the housemaster got his hand to the ball (I'm done for, thought Luke) but a second later Mr Wilmot cried out in pain, clasping his right hand with his left, and the ball fell to the floor. Miss Richmond went running back to retrieve the ball but it was too late: Luke and Wharton had safely reached the opposite ends of the wicket and the game was won.

  The Roman and Viking ran back down the wicket to each other, raising their gloves in a triumphant high-five. Mr Thomas, who had been keeping wicket, removed his helmet and came to congratulate them ("Excellent sportsmanship boys, well done.") while the other members of the student team came running from the pavilion, cheering. Polite applause echoed from the spectators sitting around the boundary.