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Jack hadn’t been in favour of going to school.

It had never been an option in the six years before he’d met Thomas, nor for the ten years following.

Thomas had been the best teacher anyone could have.

But now Thomas was insisting on school, and Jack didn’t say no to him.

Though he was quite prepared to argue his case.

“Why do I have to go? At least explain that.”

“That you need to ask confirms it’s the right thing to do.”

Jack was used to Thomas’s enigmatic answers but he still hadn’t figured the why out about school.

Not yet. He’d made up some story to get Jack admitted to the sixth form at a place with a good academic record, pulling some of the strings he always seemed to have dangling.

Jack had still needed to take a test set by the school.

With no formal exams to prove his competence, it was the only way to prove he could cope with the work.

Thomas had shown Jack the email saying ‘Fishbourne Academy is delighted to welcome Jack Steel to the sixth form’. And that was that.

Over the summer, they’d moved house and Jack hadn’t been happy about that either.

He’d liked where they’d been living for the last year, right on the edge of the Yorkshire moors, but as Thomas pointed out, the new place was close to the sea, had useful outbuildings, and the old house was still there for when it was needed.

As were the other places where they’d lived, including houses in France and Switzerland.

Thomas owned several properties and Jack suspected he didn’t know about all of them.

He hadn’t got off to the best of starts that morning. Thomas had lifted the knife from the inside pocket of Jack’s blazer and tsked.

“No weapons in school.”

“But—”

“Not in school. You’ll be suspended if they find it. Possibly expelled. After all we did to get you in? Not going to happen.”

“One of your rules is always be ready. The knife makes me feel ready.”

“Ready to make a fire, build a shelter, prepare food. Not needed at school. You have more suitable means of defending yourself, though I’m hoping you won’t need to. If you do, be careful not to go too far. No broken legs, dislocated arms or worse.”

Jack nodded. But what was he supposed to be learning that he couldn’t learn from Thomas, who knew everything ? Jack rarely asked a question Thomas couldn’t answer and if Thomas didn’t know how to do something, he employed experts who did.

Consequently, Jack was fluent in six languages: English, Russian, Arabic, French, Spanish and Farsi.

He was good in three others. He’d read widely, fiction and non-fiction, and discussed every book he read with Thomas.

They’d dissected poetry, been to the cinema, the theatre, the opera.

He’d read a few of Shakespeare’s plays. Jack liked history, maths, geography and science.

He didn’t particularly love chemistry but he knew what was safe and what wasn’t, understood how to make an explosive device from every day substances and how to defuse bombs.

What he’d learned over the last ten years had often been physically demanding, occasionally painful, and was ongoing.

Thomas said neither of them would ever stop learning.

Jack respected that. He knew how to fight, how to escape from handcuffs, when and where to hide, how to climb cliffs and scale buildings, he’d trained to hold his breath underwater for a long time, learned ways to open things most people couldn’t open.

The list was endless and all of it with one purpose. To do his job and survive.

But Jack had never shown any interest in going to school. Nor had Thomas ever told him that one day that was where he’d go. But protesting it was a waste of time had got him nowhere. At least Thomas had let him choose the subjects he was to study.

“There’s always more to learn if you want to stay alive,” Thomas said.

Jack appreciated that, but still didn’t know what there was to help him at Fishbourne Academy.