The arrogant, sullen little boy has been reborn as a smiling, smooth-voiced politician, whose lack of essential warmth is now all too ably camouflaged beneath a veneer of surface shine. But people rarely change at heart, except in the growing sophistication of their various disguises, and it doesn’t take much for me now to see beneath the surface.

Still, I have to admit that Harrington had made an impressive entrance. His opening speech to the Common Room was a kind of masterpiece; rousing; funny; articulate; and shot through with that self-deprecating charm that only the most dangerous of politicians can manage. He spoke of his affection for St. Oswald’s; of his sadness to see the dear old place so run-down and neglected; of his hope that together we would raise the phoenix from the ashes.

“We have to think of St. Oswald’s,” he said. “But not through a veil of nostalgia. There’s a joke we used to tell, back when I was still a boy. How many St. Oswald’s Masters does it take to change a lightbulb?”

He gave the Common Room a smile as bright as a toothpaste commercial.

“The answer, of course, was: CHANGE?”

The audience laughed obediently. The New Head laughed with them. I noticed that, as he delivered the punch line, Harrington altered his posture a little, adopted a voice to match the stance, and for a moment, I was convinced that the little rat was mimicking me—

But Harrington had already moved on. Humor had suddenly given way to a politician’s earnestness. The middle section of his speech now had a yearning quality; a dewy, romantic quality, peppered with every cliché in the orator’s manual.

“Change,” he repeated. “Change can be hard. But, like the lightbulb, change can also be illuminating. The Bursar, the Third Master, and I have worked hard with my team and the Governors to put into place a number of necessary changes. Some are financial—the Bursar will explain them in greater detail later, but I’m sure you must know that St. Oswald’s has been living beyond its means for years. Others are domestic, and may prove the greatest challenge. But I have every confidence in the staff of St. Oswald’s. We have a strong tradition of battling against adversity.”

And then he looked right at me and said: “My Latin Master taught me that, along with so many other things. Ad astra per aspera. The rocky road will lead to the stars. The road to recovery may be rough. But I hope we can get there together.”

And in the applause that followed that speech, perfect in its cynicism, I wasn’t sure which I hated more: the fact that, for some reason, the man was trying to woo me, or that he was doing it in the language of Caesar.