Chapter 3
The Headmaster watched with a stern eye the students filing into his school through the front doors. His robotic hand clutched the banister of the staircase like the claw of a great mechanical eagle. He caught the gaze of the new teacher held it until the man had to look away. He literally scanned the untidy rows of children distastefully with a yellow cybernetic eye, searching for a familiar face.
There they were. He didn’t spot them until the teachers had grouped them together at the foot of the staircase where he would greet them all with a usual introduction and welcome along with a warning. Rules were strict here and punishments were terrible. He would stand for no rebellion in his school. He breathed in, allowing the scent of human blood to fill his head and lungs as he watched Forrest and his little gang sidle through the crowd to reach each other.
“Welcome new students to Number 453 School. And welcome back to all the ones who have returned. If you could make your way up to the dormitories, the girls’ is on the 1st floor, right wing. Boys’ left wing. You will find a timetable taped to the door. For those in third year or over, individual time tables will be found on your bedside table…”
***
It was the second time he had seen the headmaster in the flesh. Or rather, in half of it. It was horribly disconcerting for anybody new here to see the scared skin merge with the shiny metal, to see the metallic imitation of a tongue speak words coming from an automatic voice box. He wondered, like so many of the other teachers must wonder, whether all these upgrades added with his consent, or were they some sick experiment from the time when vampires were used as lab rats?
The Headmaster’s words soon lost meaning to him and he began to look over the heads of the students. The new ones looked scares and ridiculously young compared to the older ones who were strangely divided. Not by age or colour or sex, but the looks on their faces. Half were looking up at the Headmaster intently, ears pricked and eyes full of obedience and even admiration.
The other half however didn’t seem interested. They were a minority. Ten or less students gazed about them with a bored expression or a few, Forrest included, were looking up at the Headmaster, not in wonder, but in undisguised disgust.
Forrest was toying with the edges of the bright blue scarf wrapped boldly around his shoulders. Every now and then the Headmasters eyes would drift to it and away and then back, like a proud housekeeper who has noticed a stain and is trying to ignore it. Blue, the colour of rebellion. Everything in the school was either red or gold. And that’s the way is has to be. Any other colour or pattern would encourage creativity and that wouldn’t be a good thing. So to wear blue… Dr. Malatratt couldn’t help but admire Forrest’s nerve!
And sure enough, as the other students were making their way to the dorms, Forrest was called aside by the Headmaster and made to follow him.
***
Although he had feared it from the start, separating from his sister still came as a bit of a shock. He barely had time to squeeze her hand and mouth a simple goodbye before he swept away by the noisy group of boys to the Left Wing. The ginger haired boy from the station still seemed a little shaken and kept looking at his guide through the corner of his sharp green eyes.
He was a vampire all right. The dark but clear tattoo below his eye told him so. He didn’t look like he had imagined them. But then, neither did the workers on the farm. They soon came to a door adorned with a plaque in clear bold writing reading “BOYS” and below that, a piece of paper with a neat hand-drawn table on it.
The dorm within was plain and empty looking. The bunk beds were hard and cold looking and the white sheets were piled squarely at the foot of the beds, yet to be made up. It reminded Tagg somewhat of a hospital room. The sub-vampire teacher gestured to the room feebly. It seemed to disappoint even him.
“You shall sleep here. You may spend your spare time here if you wish. Although in good weather, the yard is often open. You may put your personal affects on the tables beside your beds and there are drawers underneath are for your clothes. The bathroom is this door to the left…” he knocked gently on the door on the left wall. “… Dinner is at 5 o’clock.” He checked his watch. “You have ten minutes. I will be back to guide you to the canteen…”
He left, closing the door behind him with a rather final snap, leaving Tagg and the other boys to look around dismally at the small room with even smaller windows that let in barely any natural light, letting the electric ceiling lights cast a depressing yellow light across everything. A skinny tall boy with long blonde hair checked the bathroom and Tagg glanced over his shoulder. There was one toilet, three showers and one small sink between the twenty boys.
***
Of course the Headmaster would never get his hands dirty, thought Forrest bitterly. He merely left him in a classroom with another vampire teacher. Mr. Anderson was as brainwashed as the lot of them, falling for the rubbish that he was a sub-species worth little more than the slaves wage he received. He knew Forrest. He had “dealt” with him before. Forrest was just another smart-ass punk who needed fixing.
“You know I’m only doing you a favour, Forrest…?” he said, his voice tired with the usual speech, the usual routine. “You know you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”
Forrest considered telling him where he could shove his punishment, but thought better of it. It might be less painful if he played along with this disgusting game.
He forced himself to nod. But that wasn’t enough. Anderson glared at him and tapped his foot impatiently. He wanted Forrest to admit it, to confess. But he only stared back at the vampire coldly.
He blinked and Anderson was no longer six steps away from him but barely six centimetres. Forrest refused to give him the simple satisfaction of backing away or flinching. He took the first hit in the face. Blood spattered everywhere and there was a sharp sickening crack and his nose and cheekbones shattered!
***
Dr. Malatratt swore savagely under his breath. Was this the cost of freedom? Was this what happened to the student who showed a little bit of true potential? Forrest had come in to the canteen late, greeted by worried friends with many gasped and exclamations of horror. And not without cause. He looked awful.
He held a cloth to his nose, which still seemed to be bleeding slightly. His eyes were darkly ringed and tinged scarlet. Blood had soaked through to his uniform where his arms had been brutally cut and his hands were mangled where the fingers had been broken. He walked gingerly and limped obviously, meaning a few broken limbs. Malatratt was surprised he could even walk, he was in such a state.
Teachers usually had lunch in the staff room but every now and then it was the duty of one to stalk up and down the canteen, making sure the students remained in line. It was his turn now and he stared around the place dismally. Every student was talking quietly, being perfectly civilised and polite to one another, save the dinner workers whom they simply ignored. It was frightening. Where was the pushing, shoving, shouting, rudeness and anarchy that used to make a crowd of school-children?
The new children stared down at their food, as confused as he was that everyone was so well behaved and not sure what to make of it. The boys and the girls sat at different tables of course. Everyone had looked up as Forrest entered, but apart from his friends, no one stirred and soon everyone went back to their meals, completely indifferent to his terrible injuries.
Dr. Malatratt strode forward purposely toward the group of boys and they all gazed at him, some reproachfully, some warily, others anxiously as though expecting him to have a go at Forrest for coming in late. He saw Forrest’s scarf wrapped around his upper arm where it had been stained red. It was strange that he had been allowed to keep it.
“Are you... erm… are you okay, boy?”
The all looked a little shocked now at his gentle voice, his caring tone. Forrest nodded and tried to speak but his voice was muffled by blood leaking from missing teeth. The smell of it was overpowering and Malatratt had to take a couple of seconds to compose himself before asking, “You got that from wearing blue, didn’t you?”
Forrest gave another nod.
“So you guys aren’t idiots…? You know what they’re really teaching you?”
“They’re teaching us to hate vampires!” piped up a girl from near the back that he hadn’t noticed before. She had long dark flowing hair and a pretty, if plain, face. Her friend shushed her, watching the teacher for his reaction. A couple of the other students looked up again from their plates. But Malatratt only nodded, his mouth set in a frown as if thinking hard.
“Will you come to my office, Forrest? Tonight after dinner? And the rest of you if you like… I might have something to help stop the pain…” he gestured at the cuts on his face and the two panda eyes. “And…” he added, noticing the surprised expressions on the other children’s faces at this offer of kindness. “You will receive a Punishment Exercise for being late!”
The boys around Forrest groaned and a couple mutter obscenities behind their hands. But Forrest just looked at him, a strange mixture of surprise, mistrust and something close to gratitude. He looked very confused.
***
The teacher, who had guided her into the canteen, had seated all the girls on the table to the right. Yet she never said anything about walking over to the boys table once she had received her food. She looked round nervously at Tagg who was sitting on the left table, prodding the steak pie that had been put down in front of him with his fork miserably. He wasn’t having a good time of this then… Oh, how she wanted to go comfort her brother but there was something stopping her. It was like an invisible barrier that divided the hall in two. Maybe it was against the rules to switch tables. No matter, she was determined to talk to him later.
She couldn’t wait to complain about how small her dorm was, couldn’t wait to exclaim and debate about how that boy had been given such a brutal beating that he could barely walk. She imagined the conversation while skewering her own boiled potatoes and stuffing them into her mouth hungrily. They were hard and flavoured in some way that was strange to her. She made a face and struggled to swallow it. Laying down her fork, she decided to try the pie only to find it tasted the same. Sniffing, she drank from the glass of orange juice, finding the same flavour even in that. Wrinkling her nose, she turned to the girl opposite her, who seemed a little older.
“What do they put in the food?”
The girl shrugged. She had already finished three quarters of her food and was dabbing her face with her napkin. “Not sure… I didn’t like it at frist but now I can’t get enough of it! Funny huh?”
Robin stared at her food warily. Her mother had told her about how they put flavourings and preservatives in the food from the town market and that all the good food she prepared at home was fresh and pure. The flavouring in the pie and potatoes and even the drink must be something to make it taste fresher. It was still there on her tongue. “Yes… funny…”
“I’m Sara by the way!” she told her proudly.
“Robin…” They shook hands across the table.
Robin watched the beaten, bloody boy lead one of his friends, a dark haired girl to the girls’ table. He said goodbye and then limped over to his own table.
“Who is that boy?” she asked Zara, who gave him a look of deep distaste.
“Who? Forrest? He’s always getting into trouble. Better stay away from him if you know what’s good for you.”
“Why was he beaten so badly? Some of those cuts look nasty.”
“He deserved it!” she muttered. “Wearing blue right in front of the Headmaster! The cheek of him!”
“What’s so bad about wearing blue…?” Robin asked, confused.
“This school’s divided into two houses,” explained Sara impatiently. “Depending on what your surname is. A-M is the Gold House. The rest are the Red House. You wear your uniform, and you’re proud about it! But blue’s a rebellion colour, surely you know that! The Werewolf rebels wear it! It’s the colour of their banners! Anyway, he’s got a blue scarf now! First it was a bandanna, he looked ridiculous with it on!”
“And so he got beaten…?”
“It seems like it.”
“But I still don’t get it…” Robin persisted. “I don’t see anything wrong with wearing a rebel colour. So long as you don’t start rebelling.”
“The werewolves who are rebelling against the World Government,” he said, like she was trying to explain to a three year old that two and two make four. “Are terrorists! How would you like it if you were in the Government and were doing everything you can to give everyone and equal share, which is more than those filthy animals deserve, and these stupid rebels come and disrupt everything!?”
“Well I… erm…”
“Exactly!” interrupted Sara like she had just made an inescapable point. “If you ask me, anyone in the school who wears blue is guilty of nothing short of treachery!”
“Yeah…” replied Robin in a half hearted sort of way, looking over at Forrest, a troubled expression on her face. “I s’pose so…”
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