“That’s why I’m here—to teach you what you don’t know.”
There was a lot Jackie didn’t know. “I can read some words.” He knew how to tell what cans had beans.
“Good. We’re also going to study numbers, history, and philosophy. Do you know what philosophy is?”
Jackie shook his head.
“It’s the study of living and thinking. Philosophy is what teaches us how to be a good person.” He smiled. “It’s my favorite subject. It’s what the great thinkers in history studied. You look like a boy who has lots of thoughts.”
Jackie nodded.
“I thought so. I could tell, because you’re quiet, like me. We quiet types tend to have more thoughts than most.” He pulled another book from the stack on the table. “Ah, this one’s my favorite. It’s about a pirate and a group of lost boys fighting to protect their friends. Shall we read it?”
Jackie nodded.
“There are illustrations, so you should probably move closer if you want to see.” He sat down and adjusted his glasses before opening the book. “Peter and Wendy, by JM Barrie.” The page turned with a stiff, satisfying swish. “All children, except one, grow up…”
As Mr. Carrow read, Jackie inched forward, little by little, until he found himself sitting in a chair, leaning closer to see the pictures of fairies and children flying through the air.
The sun shifted as Mr. Carrow read for so long, Jackie forgot he was reading at all. His distracting thoughts left his body, leaving only visions of Mr. Carrow’s words until he eventually closed the book and said, “I’m afraid we have to stop there.”
Disappointment flooded Jackie. It was the first time, while in the chancellor’s home, that he forgot where he was and forgot to worry about what would happen next. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
The tutor smiled. “Of course. How else will we find out what happens to Wendy?”
Jackie smiled back, trusting him to keep his promise. And he did.
The days that followed took on a predictable rhythm. Mornings were for lessons. Midway through their first lesson, he and Mr. Carrow shared a meal, delivered by the silent servants who never met Jackie’s eyes.
“Are they always so quiet?” Mr. Carrow asked, his question giving Jackie a giggle for some reason.
He nodded. “They only talk when the chancellor asks them something.”
He raised his brows but made no comment as he bit into his sandwich.
Jackie enjoyed their conversations. Mr. Carrow always seemed to know something about everything. After lunch, they would read for a while, then finish the morning lesson before moving on to look at maps and other things. Sometimes, they played with numbers, but Jackie’s favorite part of the day was when they read.
Mr. Carrow’s books smelled of dust and age. In Jackie’s mind, that meant they were full of secrets. And he wanted to know every single one.
As the seasons changed, Mr. Carrow added more subjects to their day. He taught Jackie about poetry, philosophy, the myths of ancient Greece, and told him stories about kingdoms that rose and fell under the rule of tyrants who mistook themselves as insurmountable gods. Every day was an adventure that distracted from the nightmares that haunted Jackie’s nights.
“You see, Jack, not all warriors fight with metal and swords. For some, the greatest weapon is wisdom.” Mr. Carrow tapped his temple just above the rim of his glasses.
“One day I’ll be big.” Jackie sat up a little straighter.
“Yes, big and smart.”
As time went on, Jackie found himself torn between both worlds. His visits with the chancellor had grown longer and more frequent. Mum’s health was only getting worse, making his time at home challenging in other ways. He wanted to be with her, but he also didn’t like being away for too long. He frequently worried he’d forget everything he learned, but Mr. Carrow always remembered exactly where they left off.
Whenever he returned home, Mr. Carrow sent him with a book, but Jackie always kept it hidden for safekeeping, guilt gnawing at him for staying away for so long. When he got lost in stories, it was easy to forget his mother was fighting her own battle, but every visit instantly reminded him.
His mother’s arms were pockmarked from needles, and her gaunt face no longer resembled the lovely creature he remembered. Sometimes, she mumbled gibberish for hours on end, snapping at him as if he were someone else. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but it hurt all the same. Jackie had found her unconscious many times, making it all the more difficult to leave her side, but she always urged him to go, claiming she needed more medicine or she wouldn’t be able to live.
By Jackie’s tenth birthday, he was spending holidays with the chancellor. Often, when Jackie wasn’t in a cooperative mood, the chancellor would remind him of his mother’s illness and how costly her medicine was.
“Why isn’t the medicine making her better?” he finally asked, a question that angered the chancellor greatly.
After that, the chancellor no longer used his mother’s failing health as a threat. Instead, he threatened to send Mr. Carrow away. Jackie couldn’t let that happen. And once the chancellor understood he would do anything to ensure his tutor would stay, his nights at the estate became much worse.
