by Aubade Teyal
Chapter Fifteen - Training
For the rest of the week, Lennox was treated with silence by the juniors of Feliformia. They were too busy talking about her, to talk to her, too busy predicting doom in the Calgacos cup, and laying the blame at her feet. All the houses had put up squad lists on the same day, and although these were not published outside of the houses, it was soon common knowledge who was representing which house.
Inevitably bets placed on the outcome, with Perissodactyla as the bookie’s choice. Traditionally, Perissodactyla always had the best runners in the school, and Nighten was making sure that tradition continued. He was taking out the whole team for additional fitness training, and Shergar, who was on the team as the only junior, was said to be running as fast as Olson, the House Captain.
If it's down to speed, Perissodactyla will win,' Lennox overheard Horace tell Zac in the dining hall one day. 'Without Kellas, you're a slower team. I'm putting my money on Perissodactyla.'
And you'll be losing your money fast then,' Zac warned him. 'It's not a race.'
'Speed always comes into it,' Horace replied knowingly. 'You'll see.'
For Lennox, it was a miserable couple of weeks. Connel blamed her personally for the fact that he had not been picked.
‘I was first out of all the Juniors, and second overall,’ he had protested to Duncan. ‘How can I not be on the team?’
But Duncan simply walked away. It was a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have. So Connel was forced to vent his frustrations on Lennox.
‘You went to Balreaig together the other day, didn’t you?’ he accused her, when they were lining up for history.
‘Yes.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’
‘So, is it official? Are you two together?’
‘No!’
She should have walked away then. She knew what was coming next. But there was nowhere to go. She was stuck in the line.
‘I pity the others on the team. I imagine you and Duncan will ditch them.’
‘It’s not like that!’
But Connel ignored her. He had something to say; he had no intention of listening to her.
‘When you came here, people weren’t happy. They said you’d change us. Weaken us. Corrupt us. And I stuck up for you. Now I wish I’d never bothered. I was wrong.’
Connel was right. He was just saying what everyone else thought: she had won help position because she was Duncan’s girlfriend. She was viewed as the weakest link on the team. No one dared criticise Duncan; he was too formidable presence. Lennox, however, was easy game, and she was subjected to snide remarks for days.
Her misery was exacerbated by Mannik’s continued absence. He had reappeared the night after the list went up. Lennox sat opposite him and watched him pick at his dinner. The food seemed to stick in his throat, and he grimaced as he chewed, as if eating poison.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ she had asked, too many times.
Each time he’d nodded and averted his eyes from her face.
The following morning he was gone, back in Gnarle’s infirmary, excused from lessons, too ill to participate. This time his absence was prolonged. Lennox waited two weeks with increased impatience, until she could wait no longer.
She decided to go looking for him after dinner when the castle was quiet. She headed off towards the old part of the castle, looking for the infirmary. She had only been inside once before, when Kellas had led her to the door, and she remembered little of the route. The ancient part of the castle, where the Masters lived, and the surgery was located, was a labyrinth, seldom used by the students. There seemed no plan, or purpose, to many of the rooms. They were all sparsely furnished, bedecked with ancient, gigantic gilt portraits, and deserted. She slipped through door after door, until she discovered a room that looked familiar, and shortly after knocked on the surgery. When there was no reply, she ventured inside.
The surgery was as she had remembered it, walls filled with shelves cluttered by an assortment of bottles, jars and varying coloured syrups. In one corner there were bunches of dried branches, and baskets of dried and damp moss, and pouches of ground powders. Next to the tiny porthole of a window, there was a desk with narrow, wooden drawers, and a chair occupied by Dr Gnarle.
He looked up straight away, though he had not answered her knock, and stood up abruptly.
‘You’re here about your friend, aren’t you?
He hurried over, peering at Lennox as if she were miles away.
‘He’s just this way.’
Gnarle bustled out of the room, through a door she had never noticed before, completely covered by a tired, yellowed mirror. She followed him and found herself in the infirmary. Mannik was sat in an armchair by the fireplace, with a book in hand. He looked completely normal.
‘Here he is. Here he is,’ Gnarle led her over, hovered then darted away.
‘Just a few minutes. We don’t want to tire him out,’ he decided, and scurried back into his surgery.
Lennox waited, puzzled, for him to shut the door. But he didn’t. He left it wide open. She had the strange feeling that if she hadn’t entered, he never would have answered her knock.
‘So, how are you feeling?’ she asked, drawing up the only other chair in the room.
Mannik shrugged.
‘I’m not feeling great,’ he admitted. He looked tired, and his eyes were bloodshot but his face was, at least, the right shade.
‘You look better,’ she insisted. ‘When are you coming back?’
There was a rug over his legs and arms, and she could see his arms twitching as she spoke. Beside him lay his knife and his carving.
‘It’s not up to me.’ He nodded towards the door through which Gnarle had left. ‘The fits are too frequent at the moment.’
‘And what does he say is wrong with you?’ she demanded. ‘Is it epilepsy? Or something like that?’
Mannik’s hands under the rug were fidgeting wildly. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t say. They’re just fits.’
She had not intended to drill him with questions. She had assumed he would know what was happening and would want to tell her, rather than become defensive. But she could see he was reluctant to talk about his illness, and she had not come here to quarrel with Mannik. That was the last thing she needed. So she changed the subject. Or she tried to change it.
‘I just want you back. It’s hell out there without you. All they ever talk about is the Challenge Cup.’
‘Then you should have lots to say, now that you’re in the squad.’
It was surprisingly snide remark, not like Mannik at all.
‘Not really. If they’re in Feliformia, they want to talk about how I’m ruining the team, and if they’re in any of the other houses, they just talk about how Felifomria hasn’t a chance this year. So they’re always talking about me, never to me.’
‘What did you expect?’
Lennox stood up. Another heartless comment. Something was wrong. This was not like Mannik. At that moment, Gnarle reappeared at the doorway.
‘Time’s up.’
‘I was leaving anyway.’
She didn’t bother to say goodbye but she did look back. Mannik was already whittling. She stopped, surprised. There was something strange about his fingers, the tips appeared darkened, as if he dipped them in paint. But Gnarle put a hand to her back and ushered her out and she saw nothing more.
