But the chapel was different, and Ben enjoyed trying to figure out why. Rather than ugly, it looked elegant. It was like … like the contrast there would have been had his real mum been standing next to his stepmother. He even liked the slight chill in the air that was always there in the chapel when you first filed in. It was refreshing, like splashing your face with cold water. Cleansing, even. And being inside the chapel made you feel small. Like nothing you did or said even mattered. Some people – the headmaster, for example – would probably insist that it was being in the presence of God that made you feel that way, but Ben didn’t agree. It was the architecture that made you think that: the vast ceiling, the stone columns, the simplicity of the building’s strength.

Today, Mr Harris was lecturing them all about their upcoming exams, even though it was February, and the exams didn’t take place until June. In contrast to the way Father Steiner spoke, in tones as rich and soft as incense, the headmaster’s voice was angry and intrusive. It bounced from the hard stone walls, as though the chapel itself were rejecting it. When Harris got overexcited, it would have been easier to tune out a baby’s wail.

‘And finally,’ the headmaster said, and Ben found himself simultaneously grateful and disappointed. Grateful that Harris would at last stop talking; disappointed that the morning service would soon be over, and the rest of the day would shortly begin. ‘Father Steiner has requested that two strong lads stay behind for half an hour after the service,’ the headmaster went on. ‘The new hymn books have arrived, and he requires assistance carrying the boxes through from the vestry.’

Ben sat up straighter. He was seated at the end of a row, with Lance and Callum to his right. Melissa was on the opposite side of the central aisle. The girls always filed in from their dormitories separately, and ended up sitting apart from the boys.

‘Strong, but not too strong,’ Lance whispered. ‘Not strong enough that they’d be able to fight him off.’

Ben focused on Father Steiner, who was standing beside the headmaster with his hands clasped modestly in front of him. The chaplain was a short man, roughly Ben’s height, with a thin face and narrow shoulders. Beneath his round, frameless glasses, he looked relatively young, at least compared to the rest of the teachers. It was the one thing he appeared to have in common with the headmaster. The headmaster was taller and broader across the shoulders, but from the neck up he looked just as fresh-faced. In a way that had nothing to do with their stature, neither man quite filled his robes.

‘Do I have any volunteers?’ the headmaster called. ‘Or should I volunteer you myself?’