“With respect, Chancellor?—”
“Respect? You want to show me respect? Do as I say. You’re not to fill my boy’s head with this rubbish.”
My boy. Jackie’s stomach clenched at the possessive label, embarrassed in ways he couldn’t describe.
Mr. Carrow’s face went carefully blank as he gave a single nod of understanding. “As you wish, Chancellor Aurin.”
“That’s better. I want you to focus on the rise of strong leaders, men who knew how to take power and keep it. Hitler, Mussolini… Say what you want about them, they knew how to command a room. They knew how to make people listen.”
He rounded the table and planted a meaty hand on Jackie’s shoulder, causing his spine to stiffen. “Loyalty, Jackie, that’s the only currency that never devalues. Remember that.”
Jack held his breath until the chancellor released him. Then he was gone, Marco trailing behind like a devoted dog.
Mr. Carrow sat very still for a long moment before even exhaling. Then, quietly, he picked up the poetry book from where it had fallen and smoothed its cover with gentle fingers, the way one might comfort a wounded thing.
When he finally looked at him, he searched Jack’s face for a long time, and Jack wondered what he saw.
After that, the lessons changed, but Mr. Carrow made sure they were no less interesting. He’d teach about totalitarian men, the kind that impressed the chancellor most, but never without reminding Jack that no evil lasted forever.
It was a good principle to keep in mind, because being in the presence of evil for even a few minutes could sometimes feel like an eternity.
The chancellor met with his religious advisor regularly. Reverend Webb was a performatively devout man with small hands that, when they weren’t passing envelopes full of money to the chancellor, were clasped in front of his belly as if in prayer. He nodded emphatically at everything the chancellor said, even when he lied. Webb often claimed that good deeds were rewarded by wealth, backing his claims with scripture from the gospel.
Jack knew this was a lie because there was nothing good inside the chancellor, yet he was the wealthiest man he’d ever met. Reverend Webb was not a good man at all, because good men didn’t tell lies.
“I’ve personally spoken to several congregations,” he claimed. “They see you as a defender of traditional values.”
“Of course they do,” the chancellor agreed, hunched over the half-eaten cheeseburger on his desk. Grease soaked through the paper wrapper. “I have more values than any other member of parliament. The smart ones know that. That’s why they see me as a savior.”
Webb nodded enthusiastically. “The moral majority believes?—”
“The moral majority believes what I tell them to believe.” The chancellor laughed, spraying crumbs over his desk. “That’s the beautiful thing about sheep, Reverend. They’ve already been trained by a good shepherd. You just keep leading your flock to me, and everything will work out fine.”
Jack watched as the reverend’s face twitched the way people’s expressions often did when they didn’t fully agree with the chancellor.
But like everyone else, the reverend didn’t disagree.
The chancellor reached for another burger, his third, only to pause when he caught Jack staring.
Jackie immediately dropped his gaze, but it was too late.
“Come here, boy.”
Abandoning his book, he moved slowly across the room.
“This is a smart kid,” the chancellor told Reverend Webb. “One of the smartest. I’m having him tutored by a Cambridge man. Best education money can buy. Sit.”
There was no chair.
The chancellor pushed back from the desk and patted his lap. Jack’s eyes drifted to the reverend, heat scorching his neck where the collar touched his skin. He was much taller than he’d been four years ago, and every added inch of height somehow deepened the shame.
Spine stiff, Jack lowered to sit on the chancellor’s knee. When his hand landed on his stiff shoulder, he held his breath. He didn’t typically touch him when others were around. Only sometimes in front of the staff, or when he was in an uncontrollable rage. This was new, as if the chancellor were making an unapologetic claim or daring the reverend to call him out.
“Children are the future,” Webb finally said. “Young men, in particular.”
Jack stared unblinking at the door as the hand on his shoulder slid lower, trailing down his arm until it rested on his thigh. It was a test. The more discomfort the chancellor could get others to abide, the more power he had over them. Jack held perfectly still, barely breathing, waiting for it to end.
Time slowed until the chancellor let out a satisfied groan and gave him a soft pat on the hip. “Run along now, son. I’ll make time for you later.”
