The Betrayals(37)

I grabbed it from him. I don’t remember moving but I was there, in front of him. It felt like blowing the flame out took all the breath I had. ‘For pity’s sake, Carfax!’

‘What?’

‘What do you mean, what? You drop a naked flame in here, it’ll go up like—’

‘Like the London Library?’

I checked that the match was properly out, and dropped it into the ewer on the nightstand. When I turned back to Carfax he had a curious little smile on his face. Something about it made my spine tingle. I took hold of him and dragged him to his feet. ‘Come on,’ I said, and manhandled him to the door.

‘What’re you – let go of me—’

I got him into the corridor. ‘Stop arsing around.’

He pulled away and stared into my face, frowning. Then he rolled his eyes. ‘I’m touched,’ he said. ‘Honestly, Martin. You really think self-immolation is my style? I’m not going to burn myself to death. I wouldn’t give you all the satisfaction.’

‘Then what was that?’

He sat down on the windowsill, folding his arms.

‘I’ll get a servant to clear it up,’ I said. ‘Go back to the library.’

He tipped his head back, examining the ceiling. I waited, but he didn’t give any sign of having heard what I’d said.

‘Look …’ I could have slapped him, one cheek and then the other. I could actually see the marks my hand would leave, two vivid red prints across his face. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Carfax. I couldn’t care less if you burn to death.’ He looked at me then. ‘Stay alive until we’ve finished the joint game. That’s all I ask.’

Silence. I felt sick and off balance, like my heart had dropped into my stomach. I walked away. I didn’t think he was going to answer, so it took me by surprise when he said, quietly, ‘Thank you.’

‘You wanted honesty, didn’t you?’ But I didn’t turn round. I didn’t care if he heard.

I’m not a thug. I’m not a bully. Am I? Who does he think he is, to say that?

It wasn’t even me. It wasn’t even me.

Later

I went to find Felix. He wasn’t in his room. When I finally tracked him down he was in one of the music rooms, bashing out scales. He didn’t notice that I was there until I closed the piano lid and he barely got his fingers out of the way. ‘Hey! What the—’

‘Leave Carfax alone,’ I said.

‘What? It took me ages to get all those matches, even with my cousin sending me two packs a week.’

‘It wasn’t funny.’

He rocked back on the piano stool, screwing up his face. ‘Yes, it was. What’s up with you? I thought you’d—’

‘Leave him alone, all right? I’ve had enough. It’s boring.’

He stared at me. Then he reached for some sheet music and flicked through. Without looking up, he said, ‘You’re going soft. Or are you scared he’ll go running to Magister Holt?’

‘No! I don’t want him to crack up before the end of term, that’s all. Come on, Felix. We’re doing a joint game together, I need him compos mentis.’

‘You said you still hated him. You said—’

‘That’s not the point!’ I pulled the music away from him and slapped it down on the piano. (Am I a thug and a bully?) ‘Once our game’s handed in, you can make his life a misery. Until then, hands off. All right?’

He muttered, ‘All right.’ There was nothing else to say, so I left him to it.

Once, when I was small and Dad took me to the scrapyard, I found a watch on the floor of the office. It turned out it had been dropped by one of his clients. Dad asked me if I’d picked it up. It was beautiful, with a rotating dial for the phases of the moon, and I wanted to keep it more than anything in the world. So I shook my head. Dad got down on his knees and said, ‘Léo, if you tell me the truth you won’t be punished. Did you take the gentleman’s watch?’

I started to cry, I think. I nodded, and got the watch out of my pocket, and held it out to him.

He hissed through his teeth like he was disgusted with me. Then he smacked me across the face, hard.

Why on earth am I thinking about that now?

Chapter 10





11: the Rat


It has begun to snow. For a long time – for days – the clouds empty themselves like old sacks; and then the last rags blow away and the sky clears. The moon slides from one window to the next, and the next, without curiosity. The snow reflects so much light you could almost read by it: if you can read at all, that is, and if you were awake to read. Almost everyone under this roof is asleep. If the Rat were to pause, she could hear the long murmur of their breaths, the tiny thrum of their collective unconsciousness. Someone else might imagine the school as a boat, drifting on that sea-sound; but the Rat has never heard the sea, or of it. And she doesn’t pause, creeping on numbed feet along corridor after corridor. As long as she is invisible, she is safe.

It is cold: a deeper cold than ever, now. There are fires in the scholars’ hearths. Soon the days will be as brief as a blink and she will hardly move from her knot of blankets beside the blank bulk of a chimney, close under the roof, huddling against the stone for the faintest warmth. She will starve a little, and freeze a little, and slowly slip into an aching half-sleep that will linger till the first thaws. She can feel it coming. But she isn’t afraid. Hunger is hunger, and cold is cold, but she is a rat. Rats survive the winter.