It’s done in under ten minutes. Julius lowers the lamp and kisses the boy’s head, right on the crown, like they have seen the bishop do with the school chaplain. And when he gets up, there is something more that shows in Hounslow’s face other than relief. A note of triumph. Today, this night, he has become one of the elect. He has abased himself, admitted to all he’s ever hidden in his conscience (and some more besides), and the Smoke has judged him pure. If he gives Watson a bloody nose on the morrow, it will be with the sense of administering justice. Julius looks after him with proud amusement. Then he digs within the sack. And reads a third name, the last one. It won’t be Cooper, Charlie’s last name. Charlie is a future earl, one of the highest in the land. The powerful, Thomas has been given to understand, are rarely chosen for examination.

“Argyle,” Julius reads, slowly and diligently, not without pleasure.

Argyle.

Thomas’s name.

It would be false to say he did not expect it.

As though split by an oar, the sea of boys now parts for him. Charlie’s hand squeezes his arm, then he’s walking. He’ll wonder at it later, this undue haste, the absence of any real will to resist, and will berate himself for cowardice. But it isn’t cowardice that shows on his face but the opposite: he’s itching to do battle. From the way he raises his chin into the light, you would have thought he was climbing into a boxing ring. Julius notices it too.

And smiles.

ф

The light is blinding. Behind it, the room ceases to exist. He cannot look to Charlie for guidance or assurance, for Charlie is lost in the darkness while he, Thomas, is bathed in yellow light. Even Julius, who stands not two steps away, is but a shadow from the world beyond.

There is something else Thomas realises. The light makes him feel naked. Not exposed, or vulnerable, but quite literally parted with his clothing, every stitch so flimsy it has turned into thin air. In itself it might not have meant that much to him. At home, he stripped many times to swim the river with his friends, and when he changes every night into his nightshirt, he does so with little thought to modesty. This is different though. The light singles him out. He is naked in a room full of people who are not. He is not prepared for how angry it makes him.

“Start,” he growls, because Julius doesn’t, he just stands there, waiting, steadying the lamp. “Go on. I submit to the exam. And thank the Smoke. Now: ask me a question.” The chair, Thomas realises, slopes under his bottom. His feet have to push into the ground to keep himself stable.

Julius greets his outburst calmly.