LITMIR.BIZ

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Spink, vigorously rubbing out some errors in his calculations, vibrated our table. Several heads lifted to glare at him, but he was furiously intent on his work and unaware of them. He sighed as he began his calculations again, and when Gord leaned over to point out a mistake, Trist growled, ‘Bessom, can’t you teach catechism elsewhere? Your acolyte is quite noisy.’

      It was no worse than any of his usual remarks, save that he had included Spink in his name-calling. It won him a general laugh from those of us around the table, and for a moment it seemed as if he had defused the tension that had gathered. Even Gord only shrugged and said quietly, ‘Sorry about the noise.’

      Spink spoke in a flatly furious voice. ‘I am not an acolyte. Gord is not a bessom. This is not a catechism. And we have as much right to study at this table as you do, Cadet Trist. If you don’t like it, leave.’

      It was the last phrase that did it. I happened to know that Trist himself was struggling with his maths proof and I am certain that he was every bit as weary as the rest of us. Perhaps he secretly wished he could ask Gord’s advice, for Gord had swiftly and tidily completed his maths assignment an hour ago. Trist rose from his bench and leaned his palms on the study table to thrust his face toward Spink. ‘Would you care to make me leave, Cadet Acolyte?’

      At that point, our study mentor should have interfered. Perhaps both Spink and Trist were relying on him to do so. Certainly they both knew that the penalty for fighting in quarters ranged from suspension to expulsion. Our mentor that night was a tall, freckly second-year with large ears and knobby wrists that protruded from his jacket cuffs. I do not know if he swallowed a great deal or if his long neck only made it seem so. He stood quickly and both combatants froze, expecting to be ordered back to their studies. Instead, he announced, ‘I’ve left my book!’ and abruptly departed from the room. To this day I do not know if he feared to be caught in the middle of a physical encounter or if he hoped that his leaving would encourage Trist and Spink to come to blows.

      Bereft of a governor, they glowered at one another across the table, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Spink had come to his feet to face Trist across the table and the differences between the two could not be more apparent. Trist was tall and golden, his face as classic as a sculpted idol.

      Spink, in contrast was short and wiry and had not shed his boyish proportions. His nose was snub, his teeth a bit too large for his mouth and his hands too large for his wrists. His uniform had been home-tailored from a hand-me-down and it showed. His hair had begun to outgrow its most recent cropping and stood up in defiant tufts on his head. He looked like a mongrel growling up at a greyhound. The rest of us were wide-eyed in silent apprehension.

      Gord’s intervention surprised all of us. ‘Let it go, Spink,’ he counselled him. ‘It’s not worth getting disciplined over a fight in quarters.’

      Spink didn’t look away from Trist as he spoke. ‘You can take the insults lying down if you want to, Gord, though I’ll own I don’t understand why you eat the dirt they throw. But I’m not about to smile and nod when he insults me.’ The suppressed anger in his voice when he spoke to Gord shocked me. It made me realize that Spink was just as angry at Gord as he was at Trist. Trist’s acid mockery of the fat boy and Gord’s failure to react were eating away at Spink’s friendship with Gord.

      Gord kept his voice level as he answered Spink. ‘Most of them don’t mean anything by it, no more than we mean harm when we call Rory “Cadet Hick” or when we mock Nevare’s accent. And those who intend it should sting are not going to be changed by anything I might say or do to them. I follow my father’s rule for command in this. He told me, “Mark out which non-commissioned officers lead, and which ones drive from behind. Reward the leaders and ignore the herders. They’ll do themselves in with no help from you.” Sit down and finish your assignment. The sooner you sit, the sooner we’ll all get to bed, and the clearer our heads will be in the morning.’ He swung his gaze to Trist. ‘Both of you.’

      Trist didn’t sit down. Instead, he flipped his book shut on his papers with one disdainful finger. ‘I have work to do. And it’s obvious that I won’t be allowed to do it here at the study table in any sort of peace. You’re being a horse’s arse, Spink, making a great deal out of nothing. You might recall that you were the one shoving inkwells about and shaking the table and talking. All I was trying to do was get my lessons done.’

      Spink’s body went rigid with fury. Then I witnessed a remarkable show of self-control. He closed his eyes for an instant, took a deep slow breath and lowered his shoulders. ‘Nudging your inkwell, shaking the table and speaking to Gord were not intended to annoy you. They were accidents. Nonetheless, I see they could have been irritations to you. I apologize.’ By the time he had finished speaking, he was standing more at ease.

      I think all of us were breathing small sighs of relief as we waited for Trist to respond with his own apology. Emotions I could not name flickered across the handsome cadet’s face, and I think he struggled, but in the end, what won out was not pretty. His lip curled with disdain. ‘That’s what I would expect from you, Spink. A whiny excuse that solves nothing.’ He finished picking up his books from the study table. I thought he would walk away and he did turn, but at the last moment, he turned back. ‘Once pays for all,’ he said sweetly, and with a graceful flick of his manicured fingers, he overturned the inkwell onto not only Spink’s paper but also his book.

      Gord righted the inkwell in an instant, snatching it away from the table. It was good that he did so, for in the next moment, books, papers, pens and study tools went flying as Spink took two giant steps over the table to fling himself on Trist. Momentum more than the small cadet’s weight drove them both to the floor in front of the hearth. In half a breath, they were rolling and grappling. We ringed them, but there was none of the shouting that would ordinarily mark two men fighting in a circle of their fellows. I think every one of us who watched knew that we suddenly had been catapulted into a place of decision. Spink and Trist were breaking Academy rules by fighting in quarters. And those rules dictated that at least one of the combatants must be expelled and the other suspended, if not both expelled. The rules stated that anyone witnessing such a fight must immediately report it to Sergeant Rufet. By not immediately going to report it, we were participating in the fight. Every one of us standing there suddenly risked his entire military career by doing so.

      I expected Trist to end the conflict quickly. He was taller and heavier than Spink, with a longer reach. I braced to see Spink go flying and hoped there would be no blood. I think if Trist had ever managed to get to his feet, he would have made short work of my friend. But to my astonishment, once Spink had Trist down, he quickly restrained him. Trist, shocked to be borne down and then held face down on the floor, first thrashed and then flailed like a landed fish. ‘Let me up!’ he bellowed. ‘Stand up and fight me like a man!’

      To this, Spink made no reply, but only spread his legs wide and tightened his grip about Trist’s neck and one of his shoulders. The smaller cadet clamped on like a pit dog and gripped his own wrists to lock them around Trist’s neck and shoulder while Trist heaved and bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off. Trist’s boots crashed against the floor and he kicked over two chairs as he struggled. Every time Trist tried to pull a knee under himself to come back to his feet, Spink kicked it out from under him. Both their faces were red.

      No blows were struck, save for a few flailing and forceless ones by Trist. Watching Spink get a hold on him and then immobilize him reminded me of a battle I had once witnessed between a weasel and a cat. Despite the difference in size, the weasel had quickly dispatched the cat before I could intervene. Now Spink, despite his smaller size, mastered Trist, half-choking him. The tall cadet was running out of wind; we heard him wheeze. Spink spoke for the first time. ‘Apologize,’ he panted, and then, when Trist only cursed at him, he said more loudly, ‘Apologize. Not just for the ink but for the name-calling. Apologize, or I can hold you here all night.’

      ‘Let him up!’ Oron cried in a voice shrill as a woman’s. He sounded outraged and distressed. He sprang forward as if to attempt to drag Spink off. I stepped between them and him.

      ‘Leave them alone, Oron,’ I advised him. ‘Let them settle it now or it will plague us all

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