There is one notable absence, of course. Colin Knight, whose name I crossed off the register in November of last year, but whose silent presence still endures, sullen as the boy himself. He alone has not thickened or grown: his face is still hairless, his voice unbroken. Not that he ever speaks to me; except sometimes in my darkest dreams. Some of the boys have had counseling following their school friend’s death—not that Knight had many friends, but death is always upsetting to those who consider themselves immortal.

Even now, no one sits in Knight’s place—the left-hand corner desk at the back—though no one is really conscious of this, except for this old war-horse, of course, who remembers far more than is good for him.

I have a new class register now; neatly printed; unblemished. Even so, I find myself leaving a slight pause after Jerome, B—before going on to Knockton, J—a tiny, barely perceptible pause, just long enough, perhaps, for a Master to clear his throat, or for a sullen boy at the back to say—Sir!—in that cold, bland voice.

It occurs to me now that Johnny Harrington was the boy Colin Knight would have wanted to be; cool and self-possessed and bold; unafraid of authority. Was that why I disliked Colin Knight? Because somehow he reminded me of little Johnny Harrington?

“I’ve heard we’re getting girls this year,” said Tayler, whose parents are both Governors, and who hears all the news before I do.

“Is that true?” said Allen-Jones.

“It’s a merger with Mulberry House,” said McNair.

“Well, technically, not a merger,” said Anderton-Pullitt in his ponderous tone. “Dr. Harrington says it’s all about consolidation of resources.”

It seems that Harrington’s Crisis Team has taken a special interest in Anderton-Pullitt. Maybe because of what happened last year, when he was so nearly a casualty of the tragic events that claimed the life of Colin Knight. Or perhaps it is because this year, Anderton-Pullitt has been diagnosed as having “special needs,” which, his mother assures me, explains his eccentricities.

I’d always assumed that this was true of all my boys, but nowadays some are more special than others, it seems. I have already informed Mrs. Anderton-Pullitt that, as long as her son continues to fulfill all my special requirements—such as prompt delivery of homework and full attention given in class—then I shall attempt to cater to his.