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“Money talks. My father gives them extra for the Monks’ Benevolent Fund, and they figure that one bad apple isn’t going to upset the cart. And besides, I bear an ancient Catholic name. Father Philip doesn’t want to be seen expelling a de Lisle from Saint Gregory’s. It would be like blasphemy. Names and titles mean everything to him. That’s why he went speechless when you said you didn’t want to be called Campion-Bennett.” Esmond opened and shut his mouth like a drowning fish to imitate Father Philip lost for words. “It’s who you are, not what you are that matters here. And him a monk too—the old hypocrite! God knows what Christ would make of places like this!”

Theo felt awestruck by the vast edifice of deceit and hypocrisy that Esmond had conjured up in his mind. England seemed incomprehensible to him at that moment and he longed to be back in New York, where life made sense, even if it was going to hell in a handcart.

“How’s Barker?” asked Esmond, changing the subject. “Is he still leaving you alone?”

“Yes. Treating me like I don’t exist. It’s wonderful,” said Theo, smiling.

“I’ve noticed he’s got Cattermole polishing his buttons now. Poor kid looks like a deer in the headlights every time he scuttles past me in the corridor. But I’d keep your eyes open if I was you, Theo. Barker’s a nasty bit of work, and he’s not one to forget a grudge. I don’t think you’ve heard the last of him.”

“I’m more worried about Cattermole, to be honest,” said Theo. “He’s more rabbit than deer, and he’s not going to be able to cope with Barker terrorizing him. I think I’ll talk to him, find out what’s going on.”

“Perhaps that’s what Barker wants you to do.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it. I feel responsible for him, somehow, after we got across that ledge together.”

“Well, talk to him then. But be careful. There are some things I can’t save you from.”

Theo didn’t approach the task of talking to Cattermole with any enthusiasm. The shared elation they’d felt after crossing the ledge had soon evaporated when Cattermole started following him around the school, as if he were auditioning for the role of a second shadow. Irritation had boiled up inside Theo, until one day he couldn’t stand it anymore and ordered Cattermole to leave him alone.

“I can’t protect you,” he told him brutally. “I’m just a junior like you, and I’ve got my own problems. You’ve got to learn to stand on your own two feet.”

Cattermole hadn’t said anything. His eyes had just gotten very big, and his chapped lip had trembled like he was going to cry, which Theo couldn’t cope with, so he had turned and practically run away.

Afterward, Theo had felt guilty, but he had also felt that he had had no choice. It was bad enough not to have any privacy because the school wouldn’t allow it, but to have Cattermole attached to him like a limpet was more than he could stand. The boy’s perpetual misery drove him crazy. Theo thought he had even more cause for wretchedness after losing everything in his life, but he didn’t give in to his grief, so why should Cattermole feel entitled to carry on as he did?

Cattermole had left Theo alone since Theo had told him to stay away. They hadn’t exchanged a word. But Theo had intercepted several bitter looks that left him in no doubt about how Cattermole felt, so he was surprised when Cattermole forestalled his own hesitant intention to seek him out by opening a conversation himself.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Theo had had to go back to the dormitory because he had left a book by his bed that he needed for class. He turned around and Cattermole was standing right behind him. The boy’s ability to creep up unexpectedly was unsettling and reminded Theo of how annoyed he’d become when Cattermole used to follow him around the school. But he swallowed his irritation and pasted a smile across his face instead, remembering his resolve to try to help Cattermole instead of hurt him.

“Are you looking for me?” he asked.

Cattermole nodded. He looked nervous, twisting his hands together and avoiding eye contact.

“Because it’s funny. I was wanting to talk to you, too, but I guess you beat me to the punch.”

Still, Cattermole said nothing. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but nothing came out and Theo was reminded of Esmond’s drowning-fish impersonation of Father Philip.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked. “Is it Barker? That’s what I wanted to ask you about, actually.”

“No, it’s not,” said Cattermole, vehemently shaking his head. It was as if the mention of Barker’s name had acted like a mini electric shock, jolting him into speech. “He’s all right, really, when you get to know him.”

“No, he’s not,” said Theo incredulously. “He’s vile. Are we talking about the same person?”

Cattermole smiled nervously. “I wanted to thank you,” he said, ignoring Theo’s question and changing the subject.

“Thank me?”

“For getting me across. I couldn’t have made it on my own.”

“It’s all right. You already did thank me,” said Theo.

He could see the look of panic in Cattermole’s eyes as if he was reliving his terror on the ledge, but then Cattermole swallowed and fought it down. “No, I mean thank you properly,” he said. “I’ve got a cake from home. Do you want some?”

Theo didn’t feel hungry, but he didn’t feel he could say no. After all, he had been intending to talk to Cattermole, so it made no sense for him to turn down his offer now.

“Good,” said Cattermole, smiling for the first time. “It’s in my trunk. I’ll go and get it.”

Theo sat on his bed and waited until Cattermole returned with two large pieces of pumpkin cake in his outstretched hands.

“How is it?” Cattermole asked. He hadn’t started on his slice, but was watching Theo eat with rapt attention, as if everything depended on his answer.

“It’s delicious. Best food I’ve tasted since I got to this beastly place.” It was true. The cake was rich and perfectly spiced. “Who made it?”

“My mother. Sometimes at home we make them together. We—” Cattermole stopped, realizing he’d broken the unwritten school law that boys should never under any circumstances talk about their mothers.

Theo, of course, didn’t subscribe to any such law, and he had a momentary vision of the happy domestic life that Cattermole might have enjoyed if he hadn’t been sent to Saint Gregory’s. But just as he was about to ask who had been responsible for that decision, Cattermole changed the subject again.

“I got one before, two weeks ago, but someone took it out of my trunk. They must have had my key, because I’d locked it.”

Theo looked at Cattermole with surprise. It was one of the longest sentences that Theo had ever heard him utter, and it had a prepared quality to it, as if he was reading off a script. Perhaps he was, Theo thought. He could see Cattermole working out what he was going to say before he said it. He’d heard that shy people did that sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Who do you think did it?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want it to happen again, and I thought that if there was a good place to hide my key ...” Again, he broke off, doing his drowning-fish impersonation.

“You’re asking where I keep mine?”

Cattermole nodded and then swallowed several times. His eyes were roving around the dormitory, looking everywhere except at Theo. His nervousness over his cake was so extreme as to be comical, and Theo had to work hard to subdue an urge to laugh.

“I keep it hooked on a loose spring under my bed,” said Theo. “At least there’s some use to everything falling apart, and my key’s the same color, so it’s perfect camouflage.”

Cattermole’s face lit up. “That’s so clever,” he said. “I’ll do that too. I mean, if I can find a loose spring. I’m sure I can. Thank you, Sterling.”

“You’re welcome,” said Theo. “I’m happy to help. Now, about Barker ...”

He stopped in mid-sentence because Cattermole had suddenly backed away, having the same negative reaction to the mention of Barker’s name as he had had before.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” said Cattermole with panic in his voice. And then, reaching forward, he put the piece of cake in his hand down on Theo’s bed, as if it was an offering, and fled.

Theo was left scratching his head. Cattermole’s behavior didn’t add up. One minute he was sharing cake and the next he was running away. It had to have something to do with Barker, given that just the mention of his name was enough to make Cattermole go to pieces. But what? Theo was curious now as well as concerned, but each time he saw him in the days that followed, Cattermole scuttled away, and Theo was no nearer to solving the enigma when Barker sprang his surprise.

One evening, just before lights-out, Barker and Lewis appeared in the doorway of the dormitory and announced an immediate spot search of the boys’ trunks and lockers because someone had stolen Barker’s silver-handled swagger stick.

The stick was part of Barker’s identity. He tucked it under his arm as he gave orders on the parade ground, he tapped with it threateningly when he was watching a brat perform a task, and he beat with it when he had an excuse to administer corporal punishment. Stealing it was personal. It was what someone would do if they had a grudge against him. And it was valuable—whoever had committed such a theft could expect the most serious punishment.

“Here’s the drill,” said Lewis. “Pull your trunks out from under your beds and then stand beside them with your keys in your hands. No unlocking until I get to you. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all get to sleep.”

It took a long time, starting with Addison and going down the aisle as Lewis, with Barker beside him, watched each junior empty his trunk and locker item by item onto his bed. But long before they got to him, Theo knew what had happened and what was coming. He cursed his own stupidity for not seeing it before, because why else would Cattermole have wanted to know where he kept his key? He had trusted Cattermole because he had done him a good turn and expected the same in return, but he should have known that that counted for nothing if you were small and scared and being terrorized by a skilled sadist like Barker. He knew full well from his own experience what Barker was capable of, and he was made of much sterner stuff than Cattermole.

And he’d been a fool, too, to assume that Barker had forgotten him just because Father Laurence had told him to. Esmond had warned him, but he had taken no notice because he had wanted to believe that his life could improve, instead of remembering as he should have done that he was cursed with ill luck.

He looked down over the heads of the other boys toward Cattermole, but he had his eyes fixed on the ground.

Slowly they got nearer, and still Barker never even glanced in his direction. Theo almost had to admire him for it. He knew Barker must be counting down the minutes and the seconds, but he had the self-control to give no outward sign of his excitement.

Theo was tempted to put a stop to the charade but knew he couldn’t. Owning up to having the swagger stick in his trunk would be tantamount to an admission of guilt, and so he and Barker and Cattermole remained locked together in silence, waiting for the final act of the drama that had been playing out between them since the term began.

Lewis’s temper had become seriously frayed by the time he got to Theo. “Are you sure you haven’t lost it, Barker?” he asked irritably.

“Quite sure,” said Barker, looking at Theo for the first time and allowing himself a thin smile as Theo bent to open his trunk.

It was under a layer of clothing near the top, lying next to Theo’s old running shoes that he had carried with him through the Lower East Side and across the ocean, from one school to another. It infuriated him beyond measure that Barker’s vile swagger stick should be touching his most precious possession. Its very presence was a contamination.

As soon as the stick was visible, Barker darted forward and seized it, holding it up as if it were a trophy. “See,” he shouted, waving it at Lewis. “Sterling stole it, and this time, by God, you’re not going to let him off the hook.”

“What do you have to say, Sterling? Did you take it?” Lewis asked. He seemed disappointed more than angry.

“No. And if I did, my trunk would be the last place I’d put it in. Is there anywhere more incriminating I could pick? Surely you can see that?” replied Theo angrily.

“What I see is that it’s in your trunk,” said Lewis grimly. “And that you’ve got the key.”

“Cattermole took it and he gave it to Barker,” said Theo. “I know because he asked me about where I kept it two days ago. If you don’t believe me, ask him.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Barker. “How much more of this do we have to listen to? Sterling’s been caught red-handed and he needs to be punished. It’s got nothing to do with Cattermole.”

Lewis looked hard at Barker and then back at Theo. “Cattermole,” he shouted. “Come here!”

He came crying and shaking, and even though Theo had every reason to hate Cattermole in that moment, he felt sorry for him, too, realizing what horrors he must have been subjected to by Barker to get him to his present sorry state.

“Pull yourself together, man!” said Lewis angrily. “You should be ashamed of yourself, crying like a girl.”

Cattermole swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears, and then glanced over at Barker, who was staring at him fixedly while he tapped the side of his trousers with the swagger stick. The color had drained from Cattermole’s face, and he was trembling worse than ever.

“Now, listen,” Lewis told him. “Sterling says that you took the key to his trunk so either you or Barker could put Barker’s stick in it. Is that true, or is he lying?”

Silence. Cattermole’s eyes darted this way and that, as if in search of escape. From Lewis to Barker to Theo and back again.

Along from Theo, Alwyn looked like he was in the front row of a cinema on a Saturday night, wide-eyed and drinking in every minute of the action.

“Well?” insisted Lewis, leaning down close to Cattermole so that he could no longer see Barker. “I need an answer, Cattermole. You’ll be beaten if you don’t give me one. And worse, too, maybe.”

Cattermole opened his mouth to speak, but nothing audible came out, and so Lewis leaned closer, almost putting his ear to Cattermole’s mouth, and Cattermole tried again, this time with more success.

Slowly, Lewis resumed his full height and stepped back, turning to face Barker. “Cattermole says it’s true and that you made him do it,” he said. “I’m suspending you now as a prefect, and you and Cattermole will see Father Laurence with me in the morning. I expect he’ll refer it to the headmaster. God knows, the offense is serious enough.”

Barker stared at Lewis as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And then, without warning, he lunged at Cattermole with his stick and would have struck him if Lewis hadn’t stepped in the way and taken the blow on his arm.

Immediately he grabbed the stick out of Barker’s hand and looked for a moment as if he was going to strike him back with it before he dropped his hand. “Get out of here,” he said. “And if I have anything to do with it, you won’t be coming back.”

“What about my stick?” said Barker, reaching for it.

“I’ll keep that for now. We don’t want any more tampering with the evidence.”

A ripple of nervous laughter went around the dormitory. White with rage, Barker looked at the boys’ faces, seeing his authority evaporating like water in the summer sun, and then he abruptly turned on his heel and walked out. Behind him, a few of the boys began to clap.

Next morning, Alwyn found Theo after class and told him that Lewis wanted to see him. Theo had never been in Lewis’s study before. It was a larger room than the other studies and on a higher floor with a view down over the rooftops to the abbey garden, in which a black-hooded monk was at that moment walking the gravel paths in solitary reflection. There was a faint breeze in the air and autumn leaves were falling gently from the trees, floating down to settle in the mulched beds among the late-flowering asters and anemones. It was like looking through a window into another world, Theo thought. A vision of peace entirely at odds with the hubbub of the school.

The room was neat, unlike Esmond’s, and there weren’t many books, but the walls were covered with an array of framed photographs, all of different sportsmen. Among them, Theo recognized a picture of Eric Liddell, the great British sprinter of the previous decade. He was running with his head thrown back, his mouth open, and his hands clawing the air in an ungainly ecstasy.

Coach Eames had once shown Theo the same photograph. Theo remembered how he’d sat on a footlocker in the athletics hut and listened, enthralled, while Eames told him the story of the 1924 Paris Olympics, when Liddell, an evangelical Christian, had refused to run the 100 meters because the heats had been on the Sabbath. In the final, Liddell’s great British rival, Harold Abrahams, had pipped Eames’s hero, Jackson Scholz, the New York Thunderbolt, by a tenth of a second to win the gold medal. But then Liddell had won the 400 in a record time four days later.

Theo recalled how Eames had taken down a book from the shelf above his workbench and showed him Scholz’s photograph—staring and severe—and then flipped back to the picture of Liddell. “Charlie Booker saw him run,” Eames had said wistfully, a note of envy in his voice. “Said he was the ugliest runner at that distance he’d ever seen, but also the best.”

The vivid memory of that summer afternoon in Manhattan, shortly before everything fell apart, enveloped Theo, and it was as if he could see his old coach’s glowing face and hear his voice rising and falling as he described the rival athletes’ glory and despair.

Theo winced—with the memory came a swamping feeling of loss as he thought of all that he had left behind.

“You’re looking at Liddell,” said Lewis, who’d observed Theo’s intense reaction to seeing the photograph.

Theo nodded. “I guess he’s the only runner,” he said, looking around at the athletes in the other photographs, who all seemed to be rugby players and cricketers—games Theo did not begin to understand.

“Yes, but he was a rugby player too,” said Lewis. “Played on the wing for Scotland before he gave it up to run. And then he gave that up too ...”

“And went to China as a missionary,” said Theo, finishing Lewis’s sentence. They both smiled, amused by the unlikely coincidence of finding that they came from such different worlds and yet shared an interest in an athlete who no longer ran.

“Runners can make good rugby players,” said Lewis. “In the middle, in the scrum where I play, it’s a physical battle, but the point of the game is to get the ball out to the wings, and then it’s how fast they can run and change direction, getting past their opposite numbers. That’s how sides score tries. It’s how they win.”

“Tries?” Theo repeated.

“Like touchdowns in America,” said Lewis. “The two games aren’t that different. American football grew out of rugby. It wouldn’t take you that long to get the hang of it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following,” said Theo, looking perplexed. He thought he’d been summoned to Lewis’s study to talk about Barker and Cattermole, and instead Lewis was talking to him about rugby, of all things.

“I’m suggesting you should play,” said Lewis. “On the wing, like Liddell. I saw those running shoes in your trunk last night. You’re a runner, aren’t you?”

“Not that kind of runner. When I ran, I ran distance.”

“I know all about that,” said Lewis. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how you leave all the other juniors behind on those runs? What I want to know is if you can sprint too. I’m betting you can.”

For the second time that morning, Theo could hear Coach Eames’s voice in his head: “ Sprinters run on nerves; distance athletes run on heart and guts, and on brains too. ” Perhaps it was time to test his nerves.

The forced unpacking of the shoes Coach Eames had given him seemed like a sign. Magic shoes from another time. Why had he kept them, dragged them across the ocean, if he didn’t intend to run again?

“All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”