Calgacos

by Aubade Teyal

  **********

  It was Mannik who decided the best place to start their search would be at the local history section in the Balreaig’s library. It was what he had been doing all his life, going to the library for help. His mother was a librarian. And she had brought up all her children to feel as at home in a library as a seal was in water. For Mannik, it wasn’t the borrowing of books that defined a library. It was shelter, peace and being on a search. None of which he had found at Calgacos.

  The rest of the morning was spent arguing over who would ask Kearns for permission to go to Balreaig.

  'We are allowed to go,' Mannik explained for the tenth time during a quiet lunch. 'If we ask.'

  At the end of their table, a few Perissodactyla juniors were eating and paying them no attention.

  ‘But I don’t want to ask, I just want to go,’ Lennox told him, also for the tenth time.

  And it was true. It was the way she was, the reason she had moved schools so many times. She had an instinctive distrust of authority. She would rather go without permission, and risk being caught and all the trouble that brought, than force herself to approach a teacher voluntarily and ask a favour.

  The problem was Mannik didn’t feel the same way. He wouldn’t go without permission. He refused. And he didn’t want to ask for permission either.

  'It's because it's beyond the school's lands. That’s why you have to ask. They always give permission, well nearly always.’

  Mannik paused and looked around. He was always wary of being overheard, mocked, or belittled. It was why he kept his voice small, why he sheltered behind his overgrown mass of hair, so he could be always on the lookout. When he was sure Connel, or anyone else who enjoyed mild bullying was nowhere in sight, he added,

  ‘Connel was refused permission at the start of term but that was after he’d spent the whole of fitness in bed.'

  'What? Connel who tried to start World War III because I was slow after endurance, spent a fitness session in bed! What a hypocrite.'

  'Fitness is fitness,' said Shergar looking up from further down the table. 'Some love it, some love to hate it. But Endurance, that's different. You can't compare them.'

  Mannik and Lennox fell quiet. They hadn’t realised Shergar was listening to their conversation. They said nothing more until Shergar left the table, then they began the argument again.

  'If Kearns is going to say yes, why don't you ask for permission?' Lennox asked.

  Mannik shrugged and looked out of the corner of his eye where they both knew Kearns was sitting, deep in conversation with Conley.

  'He doesn't like me.'

  'And he hates me!' Lennox exclaimed.

  She knew it without doubt. Every time she passed him, in the common room, in the corridors, in the dining hall, in the courtyard after endurance, he was always looking at her, his shoulders hunched, his dark eyes half closed, but seeing everything. He noticed when she coughed, when she sighed, when she looked up, when she looked down, and when she looked at him. She felt exposed. Hunted.

  'He hates that I'm a girl. And he really hates the fact that I'm here, a girl, defiling his house.'

  ‘I think he just hates everyone,' Mannik mused.

  They sat in a silent stalemate. Nothing was going to convince Mannik to approach Kearns. Lennox pondered, and watched Kearns. He had just finished a plate of stew, and was easily accessible. He was sat at the end of the teacher’s table. She could easily approach him, ask, and make a quick get away with her food tray in her hand.

  She rose from her seat. Mannik knew at once what she planned.

  'Wait,' he muttered. 'He's talking with Conley.'

  But Lennox was already on her feet, and moving. She crossed the dining hall towards the teacher's table and, as she approached, without meaning to, she slowed. Her steps became measured and silent. Kearns and Conley were talking in hushed tones. As she approached, she heard their conversation quite clearly.

  ‘…should be sent packing.’ Kearns was saying. ‘It's quite simple. We don't need a plan. '

  Lennox stopped, her heart cold. There was no doubt in her mind, Kearns was talking about her.

  'Torkil sees things differently,' Conley muttered. 'He has a long term plan. He wants to harbour our friend.'

  'Well his plan might backfire.' Kearns interrupted, bullishly. 'And we have to be ready.'

  'What do you propose?' asked Conley.

  Lennox waited with baited breath for Kearns to reply. But there was a sudden silence at the teacher's table. As she stood, transfixed, Kearns looked her way, fixed her a fierce stare, and beckoned her over.

  'Did you want something?' he asked, pupils hovering below heavy lids.

  'No,' she blurted, without thinking, and then had to backtrack. 'I mean, yes. Yes I wanted permission to go to Balreaig. Mannik and I wish to go.'

  'Why?' Kearns was so close, she could the pockmarks in his skin, and patches of dark toughened skin, like leather.

  'We want to visit the library there.'

  Kearns gave a short, high pitched laugh. It sounded more like a dog in pain.

  'It has about one book, and a cranky old librarian who guards it like a favourite bone. Why on earth would you want to go there’

  Lennox cringed and tried to drag her attention from his skin, his nose and the creases deep in his forehead.

  'Because our Personal Pursuit is local history and we thought there might be information there.'

  It was gone in a second, over so quickly that Lennox thought she might have been mistaken, but she had the impression that Kearns shot Conley a significant look.

  'Go,' Kearns agreed,' dismissing her with a wave of his hand. 'Visit and be back by dinner.'

  She nodded and was gone, walking as fast as she could.

  Mannik joined her outside the hall almost instantly.

  'Well?' he asked. 'What did he say?'

  'He said yes.' She paused. Was she reading too much into the one brief glance?

  'But there was something else. Something he didn’t say.’

  'What do you mean?'

  'When I told him our Personal Pursuit was local history, he… he looked not worried… but interested.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking.’

  Neither said anything more, but their spirits lifted. They both knew this could mean nothing. But it could also be their first lead.