Part 51 (1/2)
Richie straightened up.
”Not really,” he said, his tone light.
Something changed in Zajac's expression, as though the ground had s.h.i.+fted.
”Just because there's gym cla.s.s today don't mean”
”Forget it,” said Richie.
”Ha. I was right about”
”Let's do it now.”
All voices stopped. Faces grew pale.
”Without armour?” said someone.
”What's the matter, Zajac?” Richie stared into his target's eyes, aware of the pulsing throat, the solid body, even the position of the feet. ”Are you scared?”
”No, I”
”Back off,” called Mal.”No.” Zajac ripped his knife free. ”You've had it now, Broomhall.”
”Richard,” said Mal. ”Run inside to a teacher.”
”My name is Richie.” He drew his own blade, scarcely hearing the gasps. ”And I'm fine here.”
This is it.
He began to circle Zajac. Around them, boys formed a perimeter, defining a fighting arena. From the distance, Richie might have heard Mr Dutton's voice calling for them to stop; but he could not be sure, because his hearing was filled with a hiss like surf. This was a sure sign of stress, and he knew it was natural, so he could continue.
Zajac leaped forward and Richie spun away.
”I knew it,” sneered Zajac. ”Cowardly little f”
Richie's blade sliced open the back of his hand. Zajac screamed.
It's called defanging, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
Then Richie slammed his hilt inside Zajac's right wrist while slapping the back of the hand with his left. Zajac's knife spun away and was gone, clattering to the flagstones. Then Richie's foot stabbed into a knee, and Zajac was down.
Got you.
Richie held his blade against Zajac's throat, preternaturally aware of how soft the skin looked, how easy to slit open, and what it would look like if he did.
”This,” he said, ”is the carotid artery. One and a half inches to penetrate. Five seconds till loss of consciousness. Twelve seconds to die.” He s.h.i.+fted the knife to Zajac's arm. ”Brachial artery. Penetration, half inch. Fourteen seconds, unconscious. Ninety seconds dead. Radial artery”
A third of the way through the Timetable of Death, Zajac fainted.
Good.
There was a long, extended pause; then everyone in the quadrangle cheered.
”What's this?” Two teachers finally pushed through. ”Broomhall? What's happening?”
”Nothing, Mr Dutton.”
”It doesn't look like”
”Hush, Jack.” The other teacher, Mr Keele, touched his sleeve. ”It doesn't matter.”
”What do you mean, it doesn't matter?”
Mr Keele stared upward, then down at Richard.
”You're off the hook this time, Broomhall. Just this once, all right?”
”Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
On the ground, Zajac, bizarrely, had begun to snore.
”Cool,” murmured someone, and several boys laughed. But Mr Dutton was looking up, just as Mr Keele had.
”You're exactly right,” he said.
The two teachers stared at each other. Then Mr Dutton addressed the boys.
”I'd say global cooling is here.”
”Salvation?” said Mr Keele.
”Or a different kind of doomsday.” Mr Dutton smiled. ”Maybe a cup that's half empty or half full.”