Chapter One - Pilgrim's Howe - Ladies and Gents

Ladies and gents

Peter couldn't think all morning. When he got to school he hid his new stash of cards in with the rest in his locker. A gallery of wizards and witches, ghouls and goblins stared down at him brandishing their scores and numbers compounding the confusion he was feeling into a knot in his head. He closed the door to the locker, hiding away his private little world of character sheets, score cards and dice.

On the soccer field before lunch he didn't notice as balls sailed by or as jocks clamoured for the ball. He ran around zombie-like shadowing other players, his mind firmly elsewhere.

Guilt was setting in – guilt about his light fingers and their collecting habits. The money he pilfered from his sister, the borrowed items that littered his locker all gnawed at him as he realised how selfish he'd been imagining himself to be a hero in some stupid fantasy.

That didn't matter. It never had – only his family mattered, every last stupid one of them.

BANG!

Peter tasted blood in his mouth and heard Coach screaming down at him to look where he was going. He'd done it again – getting lost in his head, blocking out the real world.

Rough hands picked him up and directed him towards the changing rooms. The rest of the class were slouching off. Wiping his mouth, Peter jogged to catch up with a couple of fellow nerds who he loosely called friends.

"Hey guys," he stammered, realising he probably hadn't talked to them since he'd last wanted to swap cards.

"I want my monacle back." Lee muttered. He was a big guy with thick braces and an uneven complexion. He didn't look happy. Peter recalled the last time they'd played a game – Lee had been a Mage and insisted on wearing the monacle. It was so shiny.

"What makes you think I know where it is?" Peter asked evasively.

Some of the other guys snorted and turned away from him. Lee just flushed and turned on him. "Because you're thief Pete. If I thought it were funny I'd probably give you a Level Four Stealth Class, but seeing as I don't – I'm just gonna call you a stinking thief."

Lee turned away and ploughed on ahead leaving Peter behind. A mixture of feelings were brewing in him as he kept his head down on the way into the changing room. Anger, embarrassment, guilt and a strong sense of injustice.

"Donaldson!" Coach's dulcet baritone boomed through the narrow, tiled space. What ensued was a tirade about his lack of enthusiasm and commitment. Did he want to graduate? Did he want his GPA to drop because he wasn't committed? Angrily, Peter soaked it up until he was permitted to change.

He stood near enough to Lee and his friends to be away from the jocks, but not close enough for him to intrude. Stonily he concentrated on getting changed without incident. He was so wrapped in his anger and unhappiness that he dropped his glasses and watched them blurrily skate across the floor and under a bench. Angrily he trotted over and bent down to reached under the bench.


Dione was carefully folding her towel and gym clothes in the girl's changing room. She was trying to be as quiet and as thorough as possible as a blazing row was happening in the adjacent bathroom and she didn't want to be seen overhearing or indeed walking out halfway having heard. It was a tiresome affair, two popular girls from her year seemed to be screaming at each other over a boy – none other than the overrated Cole Steadman.

"Just stay away from him you dirty tramp!" One of the girls screamed, tearily – was her name Sarah?

"Hah! Watch me." Tracey Dawkins replied with a bitchy flourish. Dione admitted to herself that Cole could possibly have been considered attractive, but only in a square jawed white-guy kind of way. She didn't see it. And as for his 'skill' at sport – well, if he spent more time practising and less time staring at his own reflection then he'd be a true athlete.

As the last of her things were neatly packed away it became clear that she'd have to leave and risk being seen. Tiresome, she thought. Dione did her best to avoid all the traps and loopholes in High School politics. She did not want to get caught between the grudge of two highly-strung socialites – they could easily make her life uncomfortable.

She was in luck – she looked around a corner to see Tracey stride out triumphant while Sarah stood with her back to Dione, trapped in a blanket of her own misery.

Momentarily she considered going to comfort her then decided against it. She didn't want to get involved.


Frank waited until all the other boys had left before kneeling down and helping Peter. A million different feelings were running through him at once – he was intensely angry, piteous and frightened all at once. The attack had been nothing short of brutal, even by Steadman's standards.

Peter was crouched against the wall of lockers and was cradling his head in his towel. Frank wondered fleetingly why he hadn't used it to cover himself up – but then he saw, the towel was covered in blood. Quietly, Frank pulled his own out of his bag and offered it across the gulf to Peter, who still hadn't noticed him.

"Pete?" Frank ventured kindly. Who was he kidding? Who called him Pete, for crying out loud? Nobody. Frank wasn't entirely sure he'd shared more than two words with Peter in all their time at High School.

Peter seemed to hear the voice and look around, he was snuffling and squinting at Frank as if through misted glass. Glasses. Frank immediately began looking for them on the floor. It gave him an opportunity to recover. Peter's face was a mess.

"Frank?" Peter blubbed.

"Yeah, it's me." Frank replied, handing him his glasses, "Here you go buddy."

Peter took his specs and didn't reply. Frank wanted to be more friendly, more supportive – do what his father might have done. He could strike up a conversation about a shared interest; blabber incesssantly to hide the awkwardness. He could do a hundred things to handle the situation, but Frank honestly didn't know what to say to a boy who'd just received the beating of a lifetime. Looking back later Frank realised that he too was in shock, but Peter may as well have been on another planet because Frank had no idea how to reach him.

Sitting weakly on the bench Peter stared down at his glasses, retreating down into himself and away from what he'd just been reduced to.

"Do you want a glass of water? Can I get you anything?" Frank asked, embarrassed and frustrated. Peter shook his head but Frank had no idea whether this was in response to the question.

"Ryker."

Frank jumped at the sound of his surname being barked. It was Coach. "What in the blazes happened?" He stood stoutly, bearing down on the both of them. "I turn my back for two seconds and I get this." He hadn't seemed to have taken in the enormity of what had happened to Peter. Then it dawned on him. The silver haired, tough-skinned old weasel whistled between his teeth as he leant dow to examine the extent of the injuries.

"Jesus Donaldson," he whispered between his signature clenched teeth, "What in God's name happened?"

Frank lingered uncomfortably between the two of them, picking up instinctively on the evasive use of the word 'what' as opposed to 'who'. The strategy didn't last for long as Coach stood up and looked between Frank and Peter sternly. He looked guilty. There was a pause before Coach spoke.

"How is Don?" He asked gruffly, "Your father, how is he?"

"Good. The chest still gives him trouble – in the cold."

Coach nodded, "Knew him well. We played football together in College. A more honest man I never met. Good to know he's serving his community. I bet he makes a damned fine Fire Officer."

Frank nodded. He was used to the working man's fanfare that accompanied the use of his father's name. Coach hadn't brought it up for a reminiscence though. He was fishing for the truth, not a cover story.

Frank nearly laughed. The thought of lying to protect Steadman and by proxy, himself had only just occurred to him. Telling the truth, in the face of his inability to help Peter directly, was the only option he entertained. So, with no trimming, he relayed the events beat for beat and watched Coach's shoulders sag.


"You ungrateful, selfish little rat!" Coach screamed from across the space of the vice-principal's desk. The vice-principal himself was standing in the corner, arms crossed and his expression hidden behind the reflection in his glasses.

Cole tried not to squirm as he replied, "I'm sorry Sir, I don't know what came over me."

Despite being the only things he could have said, these words clearly weren't what Coach wanted to hear. "You're sorry? Sorry for beating on a kid half your size, with half your talent for no reason? Or sorry because you've let the team down, me down and yourself down?"

Cole's shoulders bunched up at the sound of his words. They hit home, stinging his pride and his muddied sense of honour. The truth was he actually regretted what he'd done. Even while it was happening he couldn't have given anyone a decent reason why he was doing it. There was no honour involved – Peter had just been there, under his feet, worming around like a freak. He could feel the anger rising up in him again. It wasn't like he'd caught him with Sarah – he'd just felt offended –

"Look at me!" Coach shouted again, "My hands are tied. The faculty has to suspend you. There is no other option. I can't weasel you out of this one Steadman. Phoney homework and extra credit are one thing, but beating on some kid for no reason. Hell, there aren't words to describe how angry I am with you boy. I've a mind to throw you off the team and have done with it."

Cole looked up, a streak of fear flashing through him. The story of him getting suspended for beating someone up he could live with, he couldn't live with getting kicked off the team.

"Now I'm getting through your thick skull, eh Steadman?" Coach sneered. "Get out."

Cole spun around and walked out with two competing feelings battling it out within him. One was destitution, although Cole didn't see it as that – he only felt fear. The other was anger – anger at Coach's temerity, anger at Peter and anger at everyone and everything bar himself.

"Get out of my way!" He screamed at a group of Freshmen who half blocked his path. They retreated like a shoal of fish. Dimly he recognised Sarah's scrawny brother among them - Bobby? Robby? One of the two. Another snot who didn't make any effort. He saw a glimpse of his own feelings reflected back at him from the kid and it was at that point that he began to feel shame for what he'd done.

He determined to go to his car, drive home and break into his father's liquor cabinet. Briefly, the thought cheered him up. Then he ran into Sarah.


She was composed. Her battle with the Dawkins bitch did not show on her in the slightest. As far as the plebs were concerned, she was her normal picture of brilliance. Inside on the other hand, she was rattled. Her confrontation with Tracey hadn't gone as she'd hoped or expected. She'd underestimated the girl and now everything seemed clearer. Her revenge would have to be more than just casual, it would have to be complete, if only to protect what was hers. When fighting weeds, she mused, you had to go for the roots.

First of all however, she needed to know how much of what tracey had claimed was bluster and how much was truth. For that, she needed to confront Cole.

Her legs led her through the school, slowing to be seen in places, speeding up where she could afford it. She unconsciously checked all of his familiar haunts and was terrified when she couldn't find him anywhere. Fearing the worst, she slowly lost her composure and her search became desperate.

Eventually she found him in the long hallway that cut through the centre of the main school building, leading to the front doors. He was going somewhere.

"Where are you going?" She demanded, arms crossed as she stepped into his path. For a moment she didn't notice the expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I've been suspended." He replied in a deadly undertone.

She blinked, wondering whether she'd heard him right., "Suspended?"

He nodded, impatient, his body racked with anger and frustration. He looked like a time bomb and Sarah felt scared. Cole nodded fiercely.

"What happened?" She asked quickly, her hands springing to the nearest forearm. "Tell me." She whispered, needing to know the details – fearing to hear her name, although she could smell it already. It was only a matter of time before it reared its ugly head.

Cole moved her aside with a gesture and strode out into the sunlight. He was going for his car.

"Talk to me Cole – tell me what happened." She demanded, her voice rising.

"Stay away from me Sarah – I need to be alone."

Terror gripped its vice-like, chilly fingers around her insides and squeezed.

"It's her – isn't it!"

Cole didn't stop, he didn't even flinch, he didn't even seem to hear. Tracey's victory burned within her threatening to tear her apart. Only her keen self-awareness stopped her from sinking on the stone steps into a gibbering wreck.

Of all the things she'd expected to feel, she hadn't expected to have been this attached to Cole. It stunned her. She wasn't stupid and her own cynicysm had forced her to see the attraction of a such an animalistic choice in mate. He had a big car, he was good-looking, he was Captain of the football team. He was a symbol of status and she was a symbol of his. But she'd never once thought that she actually felt attracted to him.

She was stricken.

It was a long time before she noticed a meek presence behind her. It was Robby. Around them, she noticed that everyone had gone, afternoon classes had begun. She needed comfort, she needed solace and she needed her brother. It was the intensity of his anger and frustration that drove her on. Without that passion opposing her every move she didn't think she could have risen to her school-wide position of power. Now that Cole was gone, Robby was still there, because he loved her – he would never betray her.

Despite how much she loathed herself at times; despite how much she hated him, at times, the bond between them exapanded to allow her to accept his hand across the social gulf between them and squeeze it. She'd have hugged him had they not been standing outside the entrance to the school. In its own simple little way, she felt, his sweaty hand meant more to her than all the pompoms and cheers life threw at her.


Robby sat and chewed his dinner quietly. This truly was bliss.

The parents ate unsteadily, expecting a row or a comment at any moment, but the moment never came. Sarah was keeping quiet, she was even eating ravenously, which almost never happened. She was notoriously picky about what she ate, causing the parents no end of further worry. But tonight was different. Earlier that day he'd witnessed the public breakdown of Sarah's relationship, if he could call it that, with Cole.

Everyone had seen him stalk off at the mention of another girl's name. He was a Cheater, then, Robby mused. He couldn't say he was surprised. After all his other crimes, Cheating just seemed like another one on the list.

Sarah was no longer top girl. Whether or not she realised it was another matter, all afternoon she'd seemed distant and dreamy. Cole would no doubt hook up with whatever skank he'd been seeing on the side and he'd have his new queen. Good riddance, Robby thought. Sarah was no longer Princess at home and Queen in school.

Robby contemplated something now which made his heart skip a little. Before today he'd never have tried anything like this. With calculated stealth he pulled a flyer out of his pocket and unravelled it. The flyer was advertising the Carnivale. Everyone in school was going – half with consent and half without it. Robby himself had been thinking of sneaking out as he was convinced that his parents would have stopped Sarah, forcing her to do so herself.

He slid the strip of paper across the table towards her until he caught her attention. Her eyes scanned over it and didn't recognise it at first.

"Mom," she said, he voice creaky, "Dad? Could I go to the Carnivale, please?"

Robby would have laughed had the situation not been more delicate. He hadn't heard Sarah use the word please since… well, he couldn't remember it at all. The same thought occurred to his parents who looked equally baffled.

"Er- er – only if you take your brother." His father said defensively, falling back on a time worn discouragement. Sarah seemed to consider this for a moment before replying.

"Okay."