He’s still avoiding me, by the way. He greets me, but he won’t meet my eye. As if that old story could hurt him now, or do any damage to his career. I considered hiding the garden gnome in his classroom, under the desk. That would bring the message home. But, as it happened, there was no chance today to deploy my secret weapon. There are other games in play; games that I do not control.

This morning’s Assembly, led by the Head, was on the subject of bullying. Not an unwelcome topic, of course; although I thought he looked at me rather too often for comfort. Dr. Blakely was at his right hand, Ms. Buckfast at his left. Together, they formed an unholy triptych that made my very entrails writhe.

“Bullying, like so many other kinds of antisocial behavior,” he said, “basically comes from a lack of faith. Faith in God, faith in oneself, faith in other people. That lack of faith creates a void, which we try to fill in all kinds of ways, including addictive behavior. And bullying is an addiction,” he said, earnestly addressing the boys. “It makes you feel good in the short term by giving you a sense of control, but actually, it controls you. It changes who you are inside.”

There was more of this in the same vein (I told you he was an orator), and the boys all listened attentively. Young Harrington is not just a Suit. He is becoming a Snake Charmer—open, articulate, plausible—­projecting, if not actual warmth, then at least the illusion of caring. Don’t the boys realize this is an act?

I looked at the faces of my form. Anderton-Pullitt, nodding his head as if his salvation depended on it; Brasenose (often the victim of bullying himself) looked almost in tears. In the row opposite, I saw Rupert Gunderson, watching with the rapt attention of a recent convert. Only my Brodie Boys seemed immune to his oratory: Sutcliff jiggling his foot; McNair staring blankly into space; Allen-Jones with his arms crossed, mouth set in a wry quirk that was not quite a smile.

The Chaplain took over after that, with a droning passage from St. Luke. The charm was broken; the usual chorus of furtive coughs and rustling ensued. Devine snapped at two of his boys, who had started whispering. Normality had been resumed.

After Assembly, Allen-Jones came to see me, looking grim.

“Sir, it’s Rupert Gunderson. He’s made a countercomplaint to the Head. He says he’s sorry he hit me, but that I made him uncomfortable, which he says is a kind of bullying. And now the Headmaster’s saying that I’m the evil influence, and that challenging Gunderson about his homophobia counts as victimization. He’s asking me to go for counseling. I’m seeing Dr. Blakely today.”

That explains the Assembly, I thought. “Ye gods. He can’t be serious.”