‘And, being over a library, it is, as I said, about books!’ Something inside Hutchinson snapped. He pulled back the bolt on his rifle and swung it to cover Smith. ‘Take us back to our post, you’re guilty of mutiny.’

Smith took a step forward, so that the muzzle of the rifle was pressed up against his chest. He held up a hand to stop Benny from making any sudden move on Hutchinson.

The other boys stared at the two of them.

‘If you don’t return to your post, then I’ll be forced⁠ —’

‘Forced?’ Smith’s tone was quite mild. ‘To do what?’

‘To…’ Hutchinson looked desperately around the other boys, looking for any sign of support. But all he saw were tired, frightened, sometimes tear-stained faces.

Even Merryweather was slowly shaking his head, as if advising Hutchinson that this was a bad move. ‘To report you to the Head!’

‘Really? Oh.’ Smith turned away from the gun and started examining the inscription again. ‘Off you go, then.’

Hutchinson looked round his classmates. ‘Well, which of you lads are coming with me?’ There was a general turning away. Not one of the boys responded to Hutchinson’s eager stare. ‘Come on! There’s adventure happening! A scrap! What sort of boys are you?’

‘Living ones,’ Anand told him.

‘All right!’ Hutchinson snarled. ‘If you prefer cowardice over honour!’ And he ran off.

‘Isn’t it odd,’ opined Alexander, ‘how close masculinity is to melodrama?’

‘Only in an Irish dictionary,’ said Joan.

‘Why an Irish one?’ asked Benny.

Joan stared at her. ‘Why⁠ — it’s a joke…’

‘Is it?’

‘Stop, stop, I need you both to think!’ Smith put a hand atop each woman’s head and turned them to face the inscription, flashing Alexander a mixture of grin and shrug. ‘I think that’s a joke. An architectural one. Let’s go inside and see if it’s true.’

He shooed the boys into the library. ‘The walls are marble, too. Very hard. Very sturdy.’

‘Doctor,’ Benny began.

Smith glanced at the look on Joan’s face. ‘Call me John. You know, I think that being covered in all that blood did something strange to me. I saw a dead cat. Is that normal?’

‘You had a cat. Chick. It died in a very bad way.’

‘Chick…’ Smith whispered. ‘The name means something… something far away. And Gallifrey, you’ve mentioned that twice to me. I used it in one of my stories. I thought I’d made it up until I remembered⁠ —’

‘John,’ Joan touched his face with her hand, and wiped another tiny patch of blood away, ‘you’re frightening me. Are you in shock?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s working though. Don’t worry. I love you.’ The last of the boys had been ushered into the library, missing his whisper by a second. Now he shouted to them, ‘I want everybody to start combing the walls. Call if you see anything unusual.’