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They re coming, Sir, said someone. Redman thought it was
the aggressor. A thin lad: about nineteen. The sort of eyes that
could sour milk at twenty paces.
Indeed a small posse of boys was emerging from the main
building, carrying a stretcher and a red blanket. They were all
grinning from ear to ear.
The band of spectators had begun to disperse, now that the
best of it was over. Not much fun picking up the pieces.
Wait, wait, said Redman, don t we need some witnesses
here? Who did this?
There were a few casual shrugs, but most of them played
deaf. They sauntered away as if nothing had been said.
Redman said: We saw it. From the window.
Leverthal was offering no support.
Didn t we? he demanded of her.
It was too far to lay any blame, I think. But I don t want to see
any more of this kind of bullying, do you all understand me?
She d seen Lacey, and recognized him easily from that
distance. Why not the attacker too? Redman kicked himself for not
concentrating; without names and personalities to go with the
faces, it was difficult to distinguish between them. The risk of
making a misplaced accusation was high, even though he was
almost sure of the curdling eyed boy. This was no time to make
mistakes, he decided; this time he d have to let the issue drop.
Leverthal seemed unmoved by the whole thing.
Lacey, she said quietly, it s always Lacey.
He asks for it, said one of the boys with the stretcher,
brushing a sheaf of blond-white hair from his eyes, he doesn t
know no better.
Ignoring the observation, Leverthal supervised Lacey s transfer
to the stretcher, and started to walk back to the main building, with
Redman in tow. It was all so casual.
Not exactly wholesome, Lacey, she said cryptically, almost by
way of explanation; and that was all. So much for compassion.
Redman glanced back as they tucked the red blanket around
Lacey s still form. Two things happened, almost simultaneously.
The first: Somebody in the group said, That s the pig . The
second: Lacey s eyes opened and looked straight into Redman s,
wide, clear and true.
Redman spent a good deal of the next day putting his
workshop in order. Many of the tools had been broken or rendered
useless by untrained handling: saws without teeth, chisels that
were chipped and edgeless, broken vices. He d need money to re-
supply the shop with the basics of the trade, but now wasn t the
time to start asking. Wiser to wait, and be seen to do a decent job.
He was quite used to the politics of institutions; the force was full of
it.
About four-thirty a bell started to ring, a good way from the
workshop. He ignored it, but after a time his instincts got the better
of him. Bells were alarms, and alarms were sounded to alert
people. He left his tidying, locked the workshop door behind him,
and followed his ears.
The bell was ringing in what was laughingly called the Hospital
Unit, two or three rooms closed off from the main block and
prettied up with a few pictures and curtains at the windows. There
was no sign of smoke in the air, so it clearly wasn t a fire. There
was shouting though. More than shouting. A howl.
He quickened his pace along the interminable corridors, and
as he turned a corner towards the Unit a small figure ran straight
into him. The impact winded both of them, but Redman grabbed
the lad by the arm before he could make off again. The captive
was quick to respond, lashing out with his shoeless feet against
Redman s shin. But he had him fast.
Let me go you fucking Calm down! Calm down!
His pursuers were almost there. Hold him!
Fucker! Fucker! Fucker! Fucker!
Hold him!
It was like wrestling a crocodile: the kid had all the strength of
fear. But the best of his fury was spent.
Tears were springing into his bruised eyes as he spat in
Redman s face. It was Lacey in his arms, unwholesome Lacey.
OK. We got him.
Redman stepped back as the warder took over, putting Lacey
in a hold that looked fit to break the boy s arm. Two or three others
were appearing round the corner. Two boys, and a nurse, a very
unlovely creature.
Let me go . . . Let me go . . . Lacey was yelling, but any
stomach for the fight had gone out of him. A pout came to his face
in defeat, and still the cow-like eyes turned up accusingly at
Redman, big and brown. He looked younger than his sixteen
years, almost prepubescent. There was a whisper of bum-fluff on
his cheek and a few spots amongst the bruises and a badly-
applied dressing across his nose. But quite a girlish face, a virgin s
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