Johnny Harrington, ye gods. My nemesis; my bête noire; the boy who almost cost me my job and cost the School a whole lot more. And now he’s a Headmaster, forsooth—not just a Head but a Super Head—and I could almost find it in me to regret the old New Head, brittle and ineffectual as he was, because a weak Head can easily be carried by a competent deputy or two, but a Super Head allows no one to be his bearer. A Super Head follows through. A Super Head steers his own ship—proudly, yea, even unto the rocks.

And unless young Harrington has changed beyond all recognition over the past twenty years, my guess is that those rocks are precisely where we’re heading.

Chapter 2

2

Michaelmas Term, 1981

Dear Mousey,

So this is St. Oswald’s. Can’t say I’m impressed. Everything’s so old—the desks, the Honours Boards, the gym, even the staff are all ancient. It’s like being in a museum full of dusty old stuffed animals. Mr. Scoones, who shows French films at lunchtimes and probably thinks he’s très cool. Dr. Devine, who never smiles. And Mr. Straitley—the worst of them, with his Latin jokes and his sarcasm. I wish I was back at Netherton Green. I wish I was in a different class.

So many people are animals, under the skin and the uniform. A pig, an elephant, a dog. With his big head and curly hair, Mr. Straitley’s a pantomime lion, playing to the gallery of all his baying sycophants. Mr. Scoones is a bullfrog, full of air and pompousness. Dr. Devine is a mantis, all brittle and righteous. Most of the boys are dogs, of course. Running in packs, begging for scraps, yapping “Yes sir, no sir.” I used to have a dog, you know. Not for long. I hate dogs.

The Head of St. Oswald’s is Dr. Shakeshafte. He looks like a pig. Small eyes, big nose. The other boys call him “SS.” At first I thought that this was because he was a German teacher, but now I think it’s something rude. I don’t like him either. On my first day he yelled at me for going the wrong way down South Stair. South Stair. In the singular. That’s what they call it here. In fact, there are forty-three (plural) stairs, but apparently St. Oswald’s rules override the rules of grammar.

And St. Oswald’s is a maze. There’s the Bell Tower, of course. That’s where my form room is. I’ll be running up and down stairs all day. Then there’s the Upper Corridor that runs across the top floor. Below that, there’s the Middle Corridor that connects it with the ground floor, and finally the Lower Corridor at the far end of the building. On either end, there’s a flight of stairs.