LITMIR.BIZ

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mirror. He eventually managed to wedge one end of the bow in the passenger’s footwell whilst the other end stuck out of the sunroof, giving the impression of a dodgem aerial. Driving carefully so as not to get the bow caught in any low tree branches, he proceeded along the driveway to his parking space, leaving a trail of wide-eyed children, many with their hands held firmly behind their backs.

      The bow was cumbersome to carry from the car to the classroom. The passage between the two single-storey buildings which constituted the particular block was narrow, and only by holding the bow upright was progress possible. How the boy had managed to get the thing to school was a mystery.

      At the end of the passage, Erasmus found himself faced with a door and a problem. Because this particular block of classrooms had been adapted from service buildings on the former manor, the doors were short and squat – presumably in order to force servants to duck and thus remember their place. The bow was, therefore, a foot taller than the door. Erasmus adjusted his grip on the briefcase in his left hand and reached for the door handle, attempting to manoeuvre the bow with his right hand as he did so. It was an unsuccessful effort: by the time one end was touching the wall behind him, the other was pressed firmly against the lintel above the door. He stared at the weapon thoughtfully, the physicist in him consumed by the interesting problem in three-dimensional geometry this presented. He tried shifting his posture, attempting to bend the bow to his will by careful application of weight. The bow, however, had other ideas and remained stubbornly straight.

      And it was as he was so occupied that the door-handle turned purposefully beneath his hand. Erasmus, caught off-balance by the sudden absence of door, nearly fell into the corridor beyond. It was the presence of the petite, blonde woman in the corridor which prompted him to arrest his descent and stumble to an awkward state of balance.

      ‘Sorry,’ he said.

      ‘Sorry,’ she said near-simultaneously.

      ‘What for?’ they said in unison.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Erasmus. ‘I’m afraid I was a bit preoccupied.’

      ‘Ah,’ said the woman, smiling. ‘What’s her name?’

      Erasmus looked at the bow. ‘I don’t think he gave her one,’ he said. ‘One of the boys, you see.’

      ‘One of the boys?’ The woman’s eyebrows arched slightly as she found herself worrying whether the man was a lunatic. It would be a disappointment if he were, she considered.

      ‘Yes. I confiscated it from him this morning. Why they bring these things into school, I don’t know.’

      ‘Oh.’ The relief was palpable in the woman’s voice, but Erasmus didn’t notice it. He did, however, notice the woman as if for the first time – largely because it was the first time.

      ‘Have we met?’ he asked.

      ‘No. My name’s Ellen.’ Ellen extended a hand. Erasmus reached out, but was prevented by the bow. Frowning at the weapon, he let it go, gripped and shook before returning to his charge.

      Ellen looked at him, but said nothing. She seemed to be waiting for something.

      ‘Oh,’ said Erasmus. ‘It’s Erasmus.’

      ‘Your name?’ Ellen wasn’t sure if he wasn’t referring to something else – the species of mould on the lintel, for example. He was clearly a very distracted man.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘It’s an unusual name. Nice.’

      ‘Thanks. I had unusual parents. At least I presume so – I’ve not made a study. Not my area – psychology.’

      ‘No? What is?’

      ‘Physics. And history. Yes, physics and history.’

      ‘That should make you the best person to work out how to get an ancient weapon into a confined space, then, shouldn’t it?’

      ‘I suppose it should, yes,’ said Erasmus, taking the statement entirely at face value. ‘I think it might be easier if you go,’ he added on reflection.

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘If you’re coming through the door. I’ll have more room to turn the bow.’

      ‘Ah, yes. I suppose I ought to be getting to my classroom anyway. Do you know where they teach geography, by any chance?’

      Erasmus frowned. ‘Have you tried asking a geography teacher?’ he asked. ‘I understood there’s a new one starting today.’

      ‘Yes, I’d heard that. And I suppose if you want to ask someone directions, a geography teacher would be your best bet.’ Ellen moved out of the doorway and stood aside to let Erasmus pass. The teacher looked intently at bow and doorway a moment, then executed a complex twisting motion and slipped the bow into the corridor. Ellen observed the almost childlike smile of triumph on his face as he succeeded. There was a lot for a woman to like in that smile.

      ‘I’ll be off then,’ she said, her tone hopeful.

      ‘OK,’ said Erasmus, studiously pushing his briefcase against the door to hold it in place whilst he manoeuvred the bow. ‘Good luck finding your geography teacher.’

      Ellen watched him disappearing into the building. Her face would have made an interesting study had there been a psychology teacher to observe it. Perhaps fortunately, psychology had no place on the curriculum.

      The classroom was a dark one; the north-facing windows, set just below ceiling height, allowed little natural light to penetrate and a number of electric strip lights struggled bravely to illuminate the dark and cobwebby corners. For Erasmus, however, this was a home away from home. Without the intrusion of sunlight, there was no difference from one season to another, no time except that which he marked with the staccato sound of chalk on blackboard and no distractions to draw the pupils’ attentions away from their studies.

      This was a room in which a teacher could set the class an essay question then sit and peacefully while away the hours with a mug of coffee and a pile of books to mark. He had to use a different room for science lessons, of course: the school wasn’t so well equipped as to allow the laboratories to be tied up with his history lessons, but science lessons tended to be in the afternoons when most of the youthful energies had been expended on the playing field, and the pupils always seemed more docile when they were armed with a piece of Veroboard and a power-pack. True, it was probably because they were working out how to electrify Harrison’s pencil case whilst he was out of the room on one of his frequent trips to the lavatory, but Erasmus firmly believed a few electrical shocks were acceptable in the pursuit of knowledge.

      For the moment, however, the room was devoid of pupils as Erasmus kept himself occupied working through a series of torturously complex equations on his blackboard. Soon the nine o’clock bell would ring, signifying the end of registration and the beginning of the slow exodus to the first lesson of the morning.

      Turning briefly from his calculations, he glanced at the pile of books on his desk; form 3A first this morning – hopefully Atkinson wouldn’t make too much of a fuss about his bow. He looked at the weapon, propped up next to his umbrella in the corner of the room. Where the boy had acquired such an article was a mystery – he hadn’t seen anywhere selling them and Mr Gaunt certainly wouldn’t have got the pupils to make one in woodwork. He shrugged: small boys seemed to have a natural ability to locate destructive implements, no matter how hard they were to acquire. If the UN had had the foresight to send a squad of thirteen-year-old boys into countries suspected of harbouring weapons of mass destruction, you could guarantee they’d locate any nuclear arsenal in a matter of hours. True, they’d probably set off a few bombs just to see what they could do, but at least you’d know where they were and could take the appropriate action.

      The sound of youthful conversation drifted through the door and returned the teacher’s attention to the real world. Erasmus checked his watch: it was three minutes past nine – obviously the tannoy still wasn’t working. He checked the volume control

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