Mr. Ellis sat him down in an armchair near the hearth and set about stoking up the fire. He fetched water and cloths and bathed Stricklend’s wounds with detached care, rather than any prurient interest. He did so in silence, so that the only sounds in the small attic room were Stricklend’s own occasional protestations of pain, and logs crackling in the fire. At last the blood was washed from his face and head, and soothing ointment had been applied to his many cuts and bruises. The Latin master stood back to contemplate the boy before him.

“Well, Stricklend, you are quite a mess, aren’t you? Those cuts shouldn’t scar too badly, but that nose of yours … hmm. Did a good job, whoever hit you. No”—he raised a hand—“I’d really rather you didn’t name him. Though I can understand you wanting to. In fact, I’d wager you’d like to break his nose, too, wouldn’t you?”

Stricklend nodded, painfully.

“Quite so. But you are unlikely to get the chance, I’d say, given the blindly loyal foot soldiers he no doubt surrounds himself with. No, I’m afraid you’re not going to be allowed the satisfaction of using your boxing skills on the boy. Unjust, I know, but there it is.”

Stricklend turned his head to stare into the flames. The truth of what Mr. Ellis was saying was every bit as painful as his injuries.

The Latin master sat down in the winged chair opposite and regarded Stricklend with his head to one side, as if weighing him up.

“You are a bright boy. Consistently top of your year. Should make Cambridge for mathematics, if that’s what you want. Pity to see such intelligence treated so very badly.” He leaned forward, fixing Stricklend with a bright-eyed gaze. “What if there was a way, another way, of getting your own back? Of teaching all those foolish thugs a lesson. Of ensuring that they never put a finger on you, so that your time here at Winthrop will pass smoothly and without fear of any such incident ever occurring again. What would you say, Stricklend? Might that be of interest to you, hmm?”

Stricklend forced himself to sit up a little straighter to show he was listening.

Mr. Ellis smiled. “I have noticed how you strive for perfection, Stricklend. How excellence is both your spur and your goal. I admire that. I know there are some who consider you … aloof. Never mind them. Let those who value popularity and the approval of their peers continue on their merry way. You, Stricklend, my boy, you have it in you to be something quite … different.”