The study was lighter now than when William had left. Though the curtains were still drawn tight over the windows, someone had built up the fire until it blazed high in the grate throwing off waves of heat into the room. Lyall crouched before it, a toasting fork extended in front of him and a pile of expectant white slices to one side. Other parts of the room claimed their own occupants. Brutus leaning against the largest of the bookcases reading a newspaper, Brolly at the desk, seemingly immersed in a book as he munched his toast, and Andrew on the floor in the corner, now dressed but with his eyes downcast and demeanour subdued.
Cropper reclined in his customary position on the couch, dressed in the robe he’d worn the night before and sipping decorously from a cup of tea, which he placed carefully on an occasional table when William and Craven entered.
“Craven,” he said, “It’s been a while.”
Craven licked his lips and his gaze scouted around the room, lingering on Brutus for a second longer than the others. Finally he straightened his shoulders and said, “You’ve taken it too far this time, Cropper. The boy told me everything.”
“Did he now.” Cropper stretched his arms languorously over his head and yawned until his jaw cracked. “And what do you propose to do about it,” he said, and then leaned forwards his eyes suddenly sharp and narrow, his gaze boring into Craven as he finished, “Sharkey.”
“Don’t call me that,” Craven spat. “I’m not part of your repulsive club, whatever you say.”
“Is that so,” Brutus commented from the corner. The sound of folding newspaper was sudden and loud over the silence and it dropped with a thump onto the desk as he sauntered over, his gaze sliding down Craven’s body, until mere inches separated them. “I seem to remember an initiation… boy.”
“That was months ago, Brutus,” Craven replied, struggling to retain his calm. “I have no use for you any more.”
“Really?” The distance between their lips could have been closed by a strong breeze as Brutus leant forwards and ran a single finger up the prominent bulge in Craven’s trousers. “Your body’s telling another tale. Mayhap there’s a compromise to be had.”
A shudder ran through Craven and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “What sort of compromise?” he asked eventually.
Brutus backed off, deferring as Cropper rose to his feet to take over negotiations. Craven’s attention immediately swapped from one boy to the other, but not for one second did his hold on William’s neck falter.
“May I suggest you return my property and we discuss this further in the other room?”
William felt sick. This was not what he’d imagined happening. Craven was supposed to be a champion, he was going to ride like D’Artagnan to the rescue of his chums, challenge Cropper, defeat Brutus and send the wicked into retreat. But his hero was a flawed creation and the last vestiges of William’s hope died when Craven spoke again.
“He’s yours, but no discussion. You know what I want, Cropper, and I expect to have it, wherever and whenever I chose.”
Cropper’s gaze flicked to Brutus, who inclined his head slowly.
“Then we have a deal,” he announced. “Brutus, Lyall, you will consider yourselves, within reasonable limits of course, at Sharkey’s disposal, and in the meantime,” he gestured to William, still held tightly in Craven’s grasp, “my hart?”
With no hesitation Craven propelled William into Brutus’ waiting arms which closed around him like a giant fist. Cropper beamed in approval and stuck out his hand, saying, “Why thank you. As always it has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Craven.”
Brutus released William as the door closed behind Craven, leaving him alone
and terrified before Cropper. Those eyes, which had seemed so kindly a few short
hours ago, were chips of glass, all emotion sheeting off them, and William wondered
how he’d ever believed Cropper was his friend.
“I am disappointed, William,” Cropper began. “Waking to find myself abandoned does not please me. However, I am prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, would you care to explain your actions?”
There was nothing to explain, at least not in William’s mind, but he couldn’t allow the opportunity to pass by without saying something.
“What you did was wrong,” he said, speaking the words as they fell into his brain with neither plan nor ulterior motive. “You should have asked, not fed me drugs, and letting Brutus thrash Forster for touching me was unfair. Not to mention what he did to Elijah. Do you even know what he did? Do you care that everyone hates you and is scared of you and wishes you were dead!”
A hint of amusement crept into Cropper’s eyes as he listened to William’s rant, but William was too far-gone to notice.
“I thought you cared about me. I thought you were my friend. But it was all a dastardly lie. You just want to use me and then when you get bored, you’ll pass me on or throw me out. And no one will speak to me anymore. They all think I’m your pet and don’t trust me. But I haven’t done anything. It’s your fault, all your fault! I am not yours, I’ll never be yours and nothing you do can make me yours!”
The words ran out and William ran down, an unwound clock faltering into silence in the face of a funeral party. Despite believing he’d had nothing to say, he’d said it and all that was left was to face his nemesis and take whatever punishment was metered out like a man.
“What a pretty speech,” Cropper said. “I consider myself suitably chastised and, I have to concede, impressed.”
William stared him open-mouthed. Of all the reactions he had expected, this was not one of them. Where was the towering rage? The threats? The blows?
Cropper lounged back onto the couch and continued, “So impressed, in fact, that I am going to explain a little myself and then give you a choice. William, tell me, the picture hanging by the fire, what does it say?”
Now completely confused, William walked over to the fireplace and stood on tiptoe to peer at the picture. It was similar to the one that hung in Craven’s bedroom, a stag lying on the ground with a ram on one side of it and a wolf on the other, and standing guard over them a magnificent dragon painted in reds and golds. The words were the same as well, Judges 5:11, if William remembered correctly.
“So let all thine enemies perish, oh Lord: but let them that love him be as the sun when he goeth forth in his might.”
He turned back to Cropper and asked the same question he’d asked Craven. “Surely the picture is from Isaiah, so why do the words not come from there also.”
Again his question was ignored.
“And do you love the Lord, William?” Cropper asked.
“Yes,” William answered, a little hesitantly and then with more conviction. “Yes, I do.”
Cropper stared at him, “But in what capacity?”
William opened his mouth to speak but Cropper cut in, offering the very explanation William sought.
“It is my belief that there are three kinds of men in this world. Some who are too busy fighting amongst themselves to see the threat until it is too late, others who stand good, solid and biddable against the world, and finally, those who command men, and who see the bigger picture. Tell me, William, which of these are you, for there is potential for all within each of us.”
The discussion seemed completely random to William, for what possible connection could there be between the picture and Cropper’s query, yet he answered as best he could. “I would be a leader, if that is what the Lord wishes of me, though I would not balk at any task allotted in his name.”
Cropper smiled, “As I hoped, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Behind him, Brutus roared with laughter, and the room sprang to life around the sound. The tension William hadn’t even noticed existing dissolved as Lyall handed Cropper a plate of buttered toast, and Brolly starting gathering his books and preparing for class.
“A wolf,” Brutus repeated, still laughing. “He’s a hart if ever I met one.”
“Not so,” Cropper said around a mouthful. “You did not know me before Herr Boehm took me under his wing. There is potential here I tell you, as much as there was in Timothy when he first came to me.”
William’s head turned from one boy to the other as he attempted to follow the conversation. He would have liked to ask more, but it seemed impolite. Finally Brutus appeared to concede defeat and Cropper turned again to William.
“So, my young wolf. Is that your choice? To become my student?”
Choice? Student? William’s mind swam with confusion. Surely he had not made such a choice. “I will not be your student,” he said, “I told you that I despise you and all you stand for. Why would I wish to be like you?”
“Because that is your choice, William. To become a wolf, like myself or Timothy, when he finally outgrows his ridiculous determination to create havoc wherever he goes.” Brolly blew Cropper a kiss, waved to William and slipped out of the room.
“A ram, such as Lyall and Brutus, good and true, but needing a firm hand to guide them.” Brutus grunted and Lyall grinned at him from his place by the fire.
“Or a hart, like young Forster over there, and most of the other boys who pass through my hands. Too scared to do more than squabble amongst themselves and thus in need of discipline and protection.” Andrew raised his head and William could clearly see the deep bruising that marred his face.
“What if I refuse to choose. Or choose simply to be myself.”
“Not possible, I’m afraid. This is it, William. The fork in the road, the time to determine your path. Which will you be?”
“I-I…” William vacillated, his mind spinning as it passed from wolf, to ram, to hart. Choose. He had to choose. Forster, with his frightened eyes and vulnerable face. How could anyone choose to be a victim? To spend his days in fear? William could not, which left the wolf and the ram. Brutus and Lyall seemed to have a good life, certainly they were not subject to the same rules as Forster, but still, if William was not to be a hart, why should he not aim for the top. As Cropper’s student, he would be safe; none could touch him. He would have respect and, he suspected, influence far beyond the small boundaries of the school. It could be the making of him.
Squaring his shoulders, William looked Cropper in the eye and said, “I
choose. I choose to be a wolf. I am yours to pattern as you will.”