Free Wilberforce by H. S. Cross

had been taking the Third for Prep when something had exploded in REN’s laboratory. Clem had been too slow to prevent four boys rushing through the adjoining door, which was presumably how the one boy (Carter? Peel? Wentworth minor?) had managed to set himself on fire, at least such was the word on the perimeter of the cloisters. Morgan had seen no boy incinerated, though several looked as though they’d taken up with the chimney sweep.
    Nathan scanned the cloisters for his brother, but Alex was nowhere in sight.
    â€”What if he’s the one who…?
    Before Nathan could enlarge on the idea, S-K emerged and ordered the Upper School back to its studies, promising six from his own arm to any who dared disobey him. Their own Prefect of Hall professed no sympathy for Nathan’s anxiety and rejected their pleas that Nathan be allowed to check for his brother in the Tower. If Pearl minor had been injured, Kilby argued, Matron would have her hands full. Furthermore, Kilby told them, they could expect a JCR whacking in addition to S-K’s six if they did not go to their study and stay there.
    â€”I don’t give a damn! Nathan snapped.
    Morgan and Laurie dragged him inside before he punched Kilby.
    There were no good men left in England. Any other JCR in history would have managed the crisis better. Even Silk would have done something to find out about Alex.
    Laurie tried to calm Nathan by inviting Holland and Darke to their study to play Black Maria. Morgan let Nathan shoot the moon, but as Nathan recovered his equilibrium, Morgan’s began to falter.
    Was this explosion what the shadow had been preparing all along, awaiting only a trigger—head bashed into desk, changing room trespassed, third PE borrowed from tomorrow? He had damaged his own person by smashing into Spaulding last week. Had he now through his excess released destruction into the Academy at large? An actual explosion had torn through the school, and Alex—
    Let him not be burned, Hermes, friend, let him not —
    This was what happened when he let himself go. Finding Alex in the lab Sunday evening ought, after the gunpowder business, to have sounded every alarm. Had Morgan listened? Distracted by Spaulding and the XV, Morgan had dismissed Alex, the true threat to civilized existence. Alex had been taunting him that night, just as he had taunted Morgan in the form room this afternoon. Alex wanted sorting out, wanted Morgan to haul him back from his folly. He yearned for those times apart from the world, when they wrestled and Morgan won, and they both in their antagonism felt altogether alive.
    Hermes, friend, let him —
    If Alex was not burned, Morgan would never overdo it with him again. If the explosion itself would fade away as a minor accident, then he would never again trespass in another House. He would erase Spaulding from every list in his mind. If the shadow would now depart, Morgan would pull himself together. He would reduce PE to once a day. He would even submit to a PE fast on Sundays.
    They drifted up to the dorms, where Colin had harvested fresh intelligence: the Third were officially being blamed for the Bang and had been threatened by the JCR with mass whacking. Unless the guilty parties owned up, the entire form would appear in games kit outside their respective houserooms at seven o’clock the following morning.
    â€”God knows they deserve it, Laurie said, but first thing’s a bit stiff.
    Last and finally, Colin summoned one of the fags to repeat his testimony, that Alex was in the Tower and had been there since tea.
    â€”Alibi? Laurie asked.
    â€”Malingering, Nathan said.
    Morgan felt a surge of elation, like a pint drained in one go.
    â€”Matron’s keeping him overnight so she can observe, the fag reported.
    â€”Observe what? snapped Nathan. His being an idiot?
    â€”The bark on the head he got at Games, the fag said looking darkly at Morgan.
    *   *   *
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