Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) (14 page)

Fourteen

‘For the life of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon
the altar to make an atonement for your souls.’

– Leviticus 17:11

I brought Thom’s shirt
back almost a week later. For the time being, I left it with my things in the
staffroom until I knew he was around. I’d made a concerted effort to be early,
to avoid another telling off. Since I had ten minutes before my afternoon shift,
I went wandering through the Great Hall and into the old Tudor kitchen beyond. New
exhibitions were open in there, including a Lepidoptera Collection, which
caught my attention first. The display case rested against the west wall,
housing fewer butterflies under the glass than I expected. I would have preferred
to see these creatures alive and in the gardens.

‘Have you been skipping your medication again?’ Thom
startled me from the back of the room. I hadn’t seen him in here. He approached
wearing a blue and grey casual shirt; the light cotton fabric flattered his muscular
torso. It allowed me a glimpse of chest hair where his top button was open. His
eyes were soft, rueful and matched his tone. ‘How’s the hand?’

‘It couldn’t be better,’ I rapped out, instinctively
touching my bandage. It still upset me that he hadn’t asked before. Really, I
should have been thanking him for finding Frances. But it was too late. I’d
started him off.

He glowered at me. ‘You should take more care–’

‘You’re absolutely right!’ I smiled in tone with
my sarcasm. ‘It was very silly of me to go wrestling glass with my naked
hands.’

‘Right, that’s it! Where’re your pills?’ he jeered,
still moving towards me. ‘Come on, Alex, don’t start!’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Honestly.’

‘I’m just surprised.’

‘At?’

‘You.’

‘Why?’

‘You seem to enjoy being some kind of rescuer.’ – He
rolled his eyes to this. – ‘But I guess since the damage was done you couldn’t
attempt a rescue, so why stick around to see if I was okay?’

‘What a walking contradiction you are! I interfere
and you scold me. I don’t interfere and you scold me. Is there any way in which
I can win? But I’ll admit, I made a small blunder at fishing you out of the
river, for even
thinking
you needed any help’ – he cocked an eyebrow – ‘and
what’s more I’ll apologise for it –.’

As he talked, I automatically checked my bandage.
I pulled it back slightly, revealing a faint bloodstain on the underside, and my
healing cut at the centre of my palm. He groaned an odd sound. I looked up to
find his eyes had widened in watching me: the pupils shrank to points! For the
first time I saw them move! They revealed a black and grey marble-like mixture,
swirling in the irises.

‘Don’t do that!’ He grimaced, edging back.

‘What’s the matter? It’s only a bit of dried blood!
Perhaps I’ve smelled out a weakness in you after all. You haven’t the stomach
for a little blood?’

‘No, believe me, it’s not that. You’ll catch an
infection if you keep interrupting its repair.’

‘Sure!’ I humoured him.

‘In any case it makes no difference whether I’m
sensitive to the sight of ghastly wounds or not.’ He brightened up. ‘I’ll wager
you’re not mad enough – though clearly
non compos mentis
to some extent
– or intent enough on aggravating me, that you’ll go about impaling yourself
just to get on my nerves. Or perhaps you are! You’re determined to make me
suffer.’

A handful of comebacks tickled my throat but I
couldn’t allow myself the pleasure. I merely grinned having triumphed already
at discovering such a weakness in him.

‘Hmm.’ He folded his arms; his searching eyes
having now returned to their usual immovable size. ‘Now, are you or are you not
going to respond to my question in a serious manner?’

‘What question was that?’

‘Have mercy! You’re enough to conquer the patience
of the Devil. – The question before you turned every answer into another
question. I asked in all sincerity, how is your hand? Your replies have been
nothing but sarcastic,’ said the king of sarcasm.

‘It stings. But it’s not bleeding any longer, so
you can relax. I don’t know how long I can go without picking at it though, just
to get on your nerves.’

‘Well mind you don’t. You’ll leave a scar.’

At that point my breath caught in my throat, and
the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. He’d taken my wounded hand suddenly
and very gently in both of his. Notwithstanding half-drowning me in the river,
it was the first time he really touched me. His skin was soft and cool.

‘What slender fingers you have, Alex.’

I exhaled stiffly and found my eyes growing heavy as
he examined my hand intimately. His black eyes flicked up to meet mine and he
released my hand as quickly, and as gently, as he had engaged it.

‘I think,’ I began, forgetting then what I was
going to say for a second – it had taken me by surprise. ‘I think it’ll scar
anyway.’

‘Scar? No! Having seen it I can assure you that
this type of wound will never close, but continue to bleed occasionally and
unavoidably.’ He nodded towards my hand. ‘The location of your little injury is
very telling and too apt,’ he said with some enjoyment. ‘You’re a stigmatic.’

‘Stigmatic?’ I laughed. ‘As in the wounds of
Jesus? Wasn’t Christ nailed to the cross by the wrists? Not through the palms,
because that wouldn’t support the weight of a body.’

He was confident. ‘Unproven and debatable. I am
merely quoting the Gospel’ – he cleared his throat – ‘which names the palms and
feet, and not the wrists and ankles, as some subsequent study has suggested. I
tend to look to the source.’

‘I see. So why exactly is the location of my cut
apt, dare I ask?’

‘Maniacs and masochists most commonly receive the
Holy wounds.’

‘But do they receive them on broken wine bottles?’

‘Frequently, I’m sure.’ The moment those words
issued from him, with some humour, his face changed, fell grave, and without looking
away from me he said, ‘
Mrs
Evans
,’ with some acrimony, ‘is no
doubt on her way to check up on you. You don’t want another caution.’

‘She might even say you’re a bad influence.’

‘Yes, well that would be a compliment coming from
her.’

He gestured for me to go before him, and then placing
his hand on the narrowing of my back, he walked by my side. I liked it.

Sure enough, the woman was on her way from the
shop as I sat down. I expected Thom to go off in another direction, but he
surprised me by staying and leaning on the desk. He didn’t usually suffer the
contempt she seemed to have for him. I didn’t wonder so much why Mrs Evans
didn’t like him.
I
didn’t like him when we first met. I didn’t
understand his character. I expected that if things hadn’t altered as they had
done between us, we might be on uncomfortable terms as they were now.

She slowed her pace on seeing him, as a cat when
confronted with a bullmastiff, looking to hiss and project those claws at the
ready. He gave her the slightest glance. She narrowed her eyes on him and
quickly came round the desk behind me.

‘Afternoon,’ she sighed, pulling out the diary
from under the desk.

I returned the greeting. Thom nodded his head, but
I doubt she saw. He folded his arms on the desk and stood his ground. She
opened the diary and began flicking through the pages aggressively. So much so,
I thought she might tear them out. Even in her presence it was difficult not to
stare at Thom. I managed to pull my eyes from him but only for a split second,
enough to notice she’d now reached the blank pages of a month ahead. She left
it open where it was and waltzed off with a little huff, muttering something
like she’ll be back in a moment.

Thom met my stare comfortably. ‘Why do I feel as
though I’m about to be interrogated?’

‘When’s your birthday?’

‘I don’t celebrate birthdays.’

‘But you have one.’ I cocked my head. ‘At least
tell me the month you were born?’

‘The first on the calendar.’

I leant forward and rested my chin in the palm of
my hand. ‘Which calendar?’

He laughed. ‘Egyptian.’

‘Ah, September then. Now we’re getting somewhere.’

I’m sure he anticipated my next question. Taking
into account the fact I highly mistrusted the things Mrs Evans said, it was impossible
to narrow down his age. Probably from the way he spoke and acted. Perhaps he
was closer to thirty after all.

‘How old are you?’

All expression vanished from his face. ‘How old
would you say?’

‘Twenty-eight?’

He grinned. ‘That’s settled then.’

Having answered in that way I knew he wouldn’t
confess more.

As threatened, Mrs Evans returned. She came back
to the diary, flicked a few pages back and began pencilling something in.

‘Don’t you have to be somewhere, Thomas?’ she said,
without looking up.

‘I don’t.’

She slowly raised her eyes to him, as a cobra
lifts the front quarter of its body to contemplate a strike. Then glancing down
at her wristwatch, she gave a little jump.

‘Damn me, is that the time!’ She slammed the diary
shut and placed her glasses on top of it. ‘I’ve got an appointment in half an
hour. Looks like I’m going to have to leave you to it,’ she said, stopping to
look at me with some distrust, while wagging a finger at her watch. ‘Can I rely
on you to finish your breaks on time?’

It’s always the way, the typicality of things. Her
memory was in perfect working order when it came to my unpunctuality. I nodded
at her. She then flew down the corridor, though not quite as fast as when on
her broom. Within moments she was back, her hands full of her belongings. She
came round the desk, looking for something else while roping her neck with a
scarf.

‘Right,’ she said to herself. ‘Hmm,’ looking at me
again. ‘You’ll need to cover Susan at her break. Can I trust you to do that?’ She
turned her head to continue her search. ‘Oh, heavens! I forgot! I had to make
another entry in the accident book for you, concerning your hand. Are you
attention seeking or something?’ She followed this with a failed attempt to
smile. ‘You’ll need to sign it again.’

‘Do you have everything, Mrs Evans?’ Thom broke in
suddenly, though his eyes remained fixed on me. ‘Coat, handbag?’ – She paid no
attention to him. – ‘Jack-knife, garrotte?’

I chortled.

She found her glasses. ‘I think I have everything,’
she muttered unwittingly.

‘You don’t want to be late,’ he said to her, and
winked at me.

Mrs Evans pulled out a piece a gum and stuck it in
her mouth. Thom received another venomous look from her before she raced out
the door, her jaws slapping together as she went.

‘Like a cow chewing the cud,’ he uttered.

I realised that these little remarks came about following
my scolding last week.

‘I’d better let you get on,’ he mumbled, pushing
himself away from the desk.

‘I suppose I’d better go and sign that book,’ I
huffed, getting up and making my way around it. Enthrallment tempted me to keep
him there longer. I just had no idea how. Thom remained there as I approached
his side. I stopped in front of him, loathed to deny myself his company.

‘When are you going to show me some more of your
magic?’ I enquired.

‘You’re too easy to fool, Alex.’ He rested an
elbow on the desk, with his back to the main door.

‘I’ve only had one try. Besides, I’ve a pretty
good idea of how you performed that one. You could easily have prepared for it
in advance, having seen my handwriting around here somewhere. It was just a
case of getting the paper into my pocket.’

‘And out again,’ he added, running his eyes over
me. ‘So you think you can tell how a magic trick is done then?’

‘I do, but like before, the less gadgetry used the
better. I’m sure I’ll be able to name how you’ve done it.’

‘Very well, but let’s make it interesting?’

‘You mean a bet?’

‘Certainly. Your confidence intrigues me. Why
don’t I use this bottle of water here’ – he pointed to the one on my desk –
‘and do something miraculous with it? Is that acceptable? If you can identify how
I’ve performed the trick, you win. If not, I win.’

I nodded. ‘So what are the terms?’

‘Ladies first, of course.’

I thought very quickly, and not properly, about my
prize. Before I had really considered how much I wouldn’t benefit from it, my
mouth was already working against me.

‘If I win,’ I said boldly, ‘you’re not to make any
more remarks concerning my sanity, ever again.’

While proposing this I realised that if he should
lose I would miss that strange attention I got from him. I couldn’t go back now
though. It would tell him too much of my thoughts.

He winced, but consented. ‘And what if I win? What
do I get?’ He took a step towards me and pushed up his sleeves. My breathing
became shallow.

I had some feeble ideas but I couldn’t suggest
them; they seemed either too paltry or even too forward for me to offer. I
wasn’t prepared to suggest that he buy me dinner or something. It wasn’t in my
character. I had no ideas to put forward.

‘I don’t know what would make you happy, Thom, if
you won. Name your prize and I’ll tell you if it’s within reason.’

‘Now why did you have to say
within reason
?
That changes everything.’ He then looked to be thinking carefully, before
turning in a smile. ‘If I win,’ he announced, ‘your forfeit is to call me sir.’

‘Sir!’ I grimaced.

‘Very good,’ he gibed. ‘Start as you mean to go
on!’

‘Wait a moment.’ I put my hand up. ‘I don’t think
so.’

‘Well, we could make it – oh, I don’t know –
master
,
instead? Or, more syllables perhaps? Your lordship, for example? I rather like
that one!’