‘I’ll go with you.’ Constance took Benny’s arm and carefully allowed herself to be led down the hillside. ‘If I cannot provide you with weapons, at least I can manage moral support.’

‘The court martial will come to attention.’ Hutchinson banged the gavel on to the three bedside tables that had been lined up in front of him. Tim stood on a bed facing him, a horrified expression already on his face. The other boys stood in a circle around him. ‘The case is the crown against Timothy Dean. The defendant is charged with being a bug, and allowing his just punishment to be ignobly deferred by a master. How does the defendant plead?’

Tim stared at the circle of boys. ‘I… I don’t.’

They laughed. Hutchinson banged his gavel. ‘Guilty or not guilty?’

‘I’m neither. Or both.’ His voice was a whisper, but it seemed to echo from every corner of the dormitory. ‘If you’re trying me, then you’ll decide, won’t you?’

‘Then another charge is added,’ Hutchinson decided. ‘Contempt of court and of British justice. Let us first hear from the prosecution.’

‘My lord,’ Merryweather stood up, a dish rag on his head, clutching the lapel of his blazer, ‘the prosecution’s case is that Dean, through the extraordinary protection of one Dr Smith, managed to get out of a simple slap with the slipper. This can’t be allowed to pass. The implications for discipline are terrible. I move that Dean suffer the fullest possible punishment, and will prove that this is most deserved. I call no witnesses, since I believe my case is proved by one look at the defendant’s buglike features.’ He sat down.

‘And now the council for the defence,’ said Hutchinson. ‘Let us hear from Dean’s best friend, Darkie Unpronounceable.’

Anand looked up from his uneasy place in the circle.

He’d kept his gaze to the ground previously, embarrassed that he was part of this idiocy.

‘Darkie Unpronounceable!’ Hutchinson repeated, looking searchingly around the circle. ‘If there is no defence, then we shall proceed straight to the sentence.’

Anand heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I’m⁠ —’

‘No!’ Timothy cried. Suddenly, all eyes were upon him. ‘There’s nobody here called that. I’ll defend myself.’

‘Very well!’ Hutchinson beamed, thumping down his gavel. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

Timothy paused, considering. When he spoke, his voice quivered with fear. If only he’d let Anand defend him. Lately, his thoughts seemed to be full of danger like this, leading him into all sorts of awkward corners. ‘I’m sorry that I didn’t hear Dr Smith yesterday. It won’t happen again.’

‘Well, that’s all very well,’ began Merryweather, ‘but there’s the matter of⁠ —’