As for Devine, I believe he sees himself as Dr. Blakely’s potential successor, once the Crisis Team has completed the salvaging of St. Oswald’s. Like Bob Strange, he still expects the new, streamlined St. Oswald’s to find a special place for him in reward for his years of service. The likelier outcome, I believe, is that he will be encouraged to take premature retirement to make way for a younger, cheaper man, knocked off like the rest of the barnacles while the likes of Markowicz rise to take the helm of the ship. He may speak highly of workshops, but he himself avoids them, preferring to work at the chalk-face (although he would never admit to this), and I suspect that Markowicz’s all-too-frequent absences will soon begin to gall him. Devine believes in departmental self-sufficiency, which means that when a colleague is absent, the other members will cover for him. And Devine has too much pride to ask the League of Nations to fill the shoes of his absent protégé, besides which, as Head of House and Health and Safety Officer, he has by far the most free time of anyone in the department. This means that, in effect, Devine teaches two timetables every time Markowicz goes to a course. As a result, I thought he looked tired as he came into the Common Room for his morning coffee.

“Overdoing things, Devine? You’re looking a little worse for wear.”

He sniffed. “Never better, thank you.”

“How’s young Markowicz?” I asked. “Shaping up, is he?”

Again, that sharp, percussive sniff. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. “Very nicely, thank you,” he said. “Give him a term, he’ll be right at home.”

“Well, he’s certainly got you where he wants you,” I said. “How many days has he been in School? Is he even house-trained yet?”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Devine. “I’ll have you know that Markowicz has been fast-tracked for success. We’re very lucky to have him here.”

I sensed a note of depression, and smiled. “Of course we are. What is it this time? Assertiveness training? Computer skills?”

“Visual aids.”

“Marvelous.”

Gerry Grachvogel, the well-meaning ass whom Markowicz has now replaced, was a firm believer in visual aids—and was even rumoured to use glove puppets with the younger classes, a tactic which had earned him the nickname Kermit from my Brodie Boys. I wonder whether Markowicz will ever earn himself a nickname, or whether he will be one of those staff members—like Thing One and Thing Two—that the boys barely recognize when they meet them in the corridor. I suspect the latter.

“Come on, Devine,” I said. “I can practically hear your teeth gnashing. Glove puppets and flash cards?”