By Royal Command

  As she talked she was constantly moving, busy, alive, every few seconds flashing her eyes at James and turning the full power of her gaze upon him, like a mythological creature who could cast a spell on someone just by looking at them. She seemed to fill the whole room with her energy and James was rooted to the spot.

  At last Roan stopped what she was doing and stood with one hand on her hip.

  ‘And just what are you staring at?’ she said. James blushed and looked away, painfully aware that he had been unable to take his eyes off her.

  Roan laughed, crossed the tiny room and poked him in the chest with a finger.

  ‘Just you watch yourself, James Bond,’ she said. ‘There’s magic in me. I come from a family of witches. My ancestors were burned at the stake. They don’t burn us any more. They’re too scared. So, you watch yourself or I’ll turn you into a fat, ugly toad.’

  So saying, she pushed past him out of the room.

  James let out his breath, and realised he must have been holding it for some time. He smiled to himself. This half was going to be interesting.

  As he walked down the corridor two minutes later he found that he was already wondering when he might see the maid again.

  At that moment two men were standing on Windsor Bridge looking down at the rushing black waters of the Thames. They were leaning on the side, their backs to the passing cars and pedestrians. They wore dark coats and their hats were pulled down on their heads against the cold.

  ‘The cell in Lisbon has been closed down, comrade,’ said the larger of the two, known only to the other man by his code-name, Amethyst. ‘From now on Operation Snow-Blind will be run directly by Obsidian from our European headquarters.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the second man.

  ‘All the details are on this piece of paper,’ said Amethyst, slipping a note along the parapet of the bridge. ‘As usual you must burn it as soon as you have memorised it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t slipped up yet.’

  ‘No. You are a good agent, Emerald.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You will not see me again until after your mission has been successfully completed,’ said Amethyst. ‘From now on you are on your own. Do you have everything you will need?’

  ‘Almost. I’ll be ready in days.’

  ‘You will not need any more money?’

  ‘Not for now. Afterwards maybe.’

  ‘And the boy? You understand that now it is even more important that he dies.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Emerald. ‘Do you want it done before or after I complete Operation Snow-Blind ?’

  ‘You will find the right moment. Perhaps his death should be a part of it? We need to destroy not only his living body but also his reputation. He must be nothing when this is finished. It would be pleasing if he were connected to Snow-Blind in some way.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Emerald. ‘But if the opportunity arises sooner I’ll deal with him then. You can sleep easy, though, Amethyst. He won’t be seeing another Christmas.’

  ‘Good. And now… goodbye and good luck.’

  ‘I shan’t need any luck. It’s down to skill and art, my friend. That’s why you chose me. Because I’m the best there is.’

  ‘We shall see. If anything goes wrong, if you do not succeed, then it is you who will not be seeing another Christmas, Emerald.’ The man turned to his companion and spoke briefly in his native Russian, ‘Do svidanja.’

  ‘Do svidanja.’

  At that the two men parted without another word and walked off in opposite directions, each lost in his own thoughts.

  11

  Consorting With a Common Maid

  James thought about Roan often as he sat through his lessons at the beginning of the half. It certainly helped to take his mind off the dreariness of his schoolwork, but it also made the days seem longer as he couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of her again.

  A glimpse was all that he could hope for. She hadn’t said one word to him since that first meeting. She filled his wash-basin in the mornings, but she was always gone before he was properly awake. For the rest of the time she was busy about the House. Sometimes he passed her in the corridor, or on the stairs, and she would nod at him and then pass quickly by. He wondered if she was avoiding him on purpose, or, as seemed more likely, she simply didn’t give him a second thought. To her he was probably just another boy.

  One warm May afternoon, with the sunshine blazing through the dusty windows of his classroom and creeping across the desktop as he worked, he made a decision.

  He would stop thinking about her.

  After the two forty-five absence he joined the flood of boys heading down to the river over South Meadow. Ahead of him was the castle, its stones glowing honey-yellow against the blue sky, but James was so used to the view that he barely even noticed it was there. He didn’t join in with the excited chatter of the other boys. He wanted to get out on to the river, alone, and work his body. It would clear his brain and wake him up.

  When he got to Rafts, Croaker helped him get his boat down under the watchful eye of Alf, the boss of the watermen. Croaker was ancient, red-faced and watery-eyed, his face half hidden by a huge moustache. He had been working here on the river for years, and not even the older masters could remember a time when he had looked any younger.

  The two of them slid the dodger into the river and then Croaker held it still while James carefully climbed aboard, making sure he didn’t capsize it. Croaker then handed him the oars and he was off, pulling steadily upstream towards Boveney Lock.

  He enjoyed sculling. It was hard physical exercise that used his whole body. He always felt a deep, warm glow after being on the river and there would be a pleasant ache in his back and shoulders. With the water flowing fast in the opposite direction there was a tremendous sense of speed. He passed several slower rowers and had to keep turning around to make sure he didn’t collide with anyone else on the busy river.

  The locks were even more crowded, with rowing boats of all shapes and sizes – riggers, whiffs, gigs, perfects, pairs and fours – crewed by boys of all shapes and sizes. There was a good deal of jostling and name calling, not all of it friendly, but once James was safely through he was out on to open water, with grassy meadows on one side and, on the other, large houses with lush green lawns rolling right down to the water’s edge.

  He sculled on, tugging mechanically against the oars, and was just starting to feel stiff and cramped when he turned round to see the trees of the small island known as Queen’s Eyot six hundred yards away at the end of the reach.

  The island was owned by the school and was a popular destination on summer afternoons.

  James negotiated his way to a mooring and ten minutes later he was enjoying a large tea on the veranda of the summer-house that stood on the island, watching a group of boys play rounders on the lawn.

  Feeling suitably refreshed he got back into his dodger and was about to head back to Rafts when he decided to go further upstream and really stretch himself. There would be less river traffic up this way and he wanted to see how fast he could go. He made his way slowly around the island and pulled hard on the sculls, smiling as the gig picked up speed and cut through the water like a knife blade.

  A shout from the bank caused him to stop and he looked over to see a girl waving and calling his name. He started over to her and as he got nearer he realised it was Roan, wearing a plain green dress.

  ‘That looks fun,’ she said when he was near enough.

  James shrugged.

  ‘Would you care to take a girl on a trip?’ she added, flashing him a smile.

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s allowed,’ said James.

  ‘Not sure if it’s allowed?’ Roan scoffed. ‘I didn’t have you down for a sap, James Bond, always worrying about the rules and being a good little boy. Are you scared of getting into trouble, then?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ said James, trying to act nonchalantly. ‘I just said
that I wasn’t sure it was allowed. I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

  ‘Ah, I can look after myself, thank you very much.’

  ‘Climb in then,’ said James. ‘And be careful or we’ll be swamped.’

  Roan was sure on her feet and obviously used to boats, and she skipped lightly aboard, barely rocking the dodger at all. She sat in the stern, facing James, and offered him a wide, open smile.

  James carried on upstream, away from the other boys. It was harder work with an extra body on board, but he soon had the dodger flying smoothly across the water. Roan settled back, closing her eyes and letting the sunshine fall on her upturned face.

  ‘Is that as fast as you can go?’ she said, and James strained harder at the sculls.

  After a while Roan opened her eyes again.

  ‘You make it look easy, so you do,’ she said. ‘But I know it’s not.’

  ‘What were you doing up this way, anyway?’ said James.

  ‘I was just out for a walk,’ said Roan. ‘It’s my afternoon off. It was such a lovely day and it was a shame to waste it sitting around indoors. I like to be out in the sun and the wind and the rain. You look like an outdoors sort of a lad yourself. I’ll bet you’d rather be out in the fresh air than stuck in some stuffy schoolroom learning all about why the map of the world is all covered in red. The great British Empire. God save the King.’

  ‘You don’t like the British Empire?’

  ‘I’m Irish, darling – what do you expect?’

  ‘Well, I’m half Scottish and half Swiss,’ said James. ‘So you can’t blame me. Do you think I should be up in arms over the English invading my country – well, one of them?’

  ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘There’s a way about you, James, like you’ve seen more than a boy your age should have done. Do you think about things more than other boys, I wonder.’

  ‘I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about history, if that’s what you mean,’ said James. ‘It’s like you said. I’d far rather be outside, running, or rowing, or playing sports, than sitting inside pickling my brain.’

  Roan laughed. ‘Yes, but sooner or later, darling, you’re going to have to live in the real world.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said James. ‘Your world is the real world, and my world is somehow not, is that it?’

  ‘Look around you,’ said Roan, dangling her fingers in the water. ‘You’re in a very privileged school, James…’

  ‘As if I could ever forget. But it’s no less real than the backstreets of Dublin, or wherever you are from.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘To a tribe of pygmies living in the Congo I doubt that your world would seem very real,’ said James.

  ‘Point taken.’ Roan nodded her head. ‘But –’

  ‘I’ve finished with lessons for the day,’ James interrupted. ‘So I’d rather not listen to another lecture, thank you very much.’

  Roan stared at him for a long while, then burst into laughter and clapped her hands.

  ‘I like you, James Bond,’ she said. ‘You’ve got spirit. I can see you’re not one to go down without a fight.’

  ‘It’s getting late,’ said James, trying to hold back a self-satisfied smile. ‘We should be heading for home. I’ll drop you off somewhere near where I picked you up, before we get to Queen’s Eyot.’

  ‘Why? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?’

  ‘No, I just thought…’

  ‘We’ve been through this, James. I want to be dropped off in town, and if you were a proper gentleman you’d take me all the way.’

  James sighed. What the hell. If that’s what the lady wanted, than that’s what the lady would get.

  He endured the catcalls, whistles and banter at Locks. He ignored the shouts from the banks. He sculled past jeering boys in boats without saying a word. And when he got to Rafts he paid no attention to the looks he was getting from Croaker, Alf and Charlie, the other boatman.

  That night, however, back at Codrose’s, Theo Bentinck called him up to the Library, where the senior boys who ran the House spent their evenings.

  ‘I hear you were seen on the river with a boys’ maid,’ he said, his tight little mouth squeezing out the words and icing them with disgust.

  ‘It was Roan Power,’ said James, standing straight-backed and unashamed.

  The other boys in Library were lounging in their chairs pretending to read newspapers or play cards, but James knew that all their attention was on him.

  ‘Was it your intention to bring shame on your House?’

  ‘No,’ said James, casually. ‘She was out walking and asked for a lift back to town. Where’s the shame in that?’

  ‘Where’s the shame in that?’ sneered Bentinck, who was walking slowly round James and inspecting him as if he was something nasty that had been dumped in the middle of the floor. ‘An Eton boy consorting with a common maid? You are more stupid than you look.’

  ‘Consorting?’ said James. ‘That’s a fancy word, isn’t it? I’m not sure I know what you mean by consorting.’

  ‘I mean – we do not give boat rides to servants. We do not talk to them or meet with them socially. We do not consort with them.’

  ‘You might not,’ said James. ‘But I do. Is there a rule that says I can’t? If so, I’d like to see where it’s written down.’

  ‘One does not need to write such things down,’ said Bentinck, and he laughed in a superior, mocking way. ‘It is understood.’

  ‘Not by me it isn’t,’ said James.

  ‘Well, I suppose you are not from a good family,’ said Bentinck. ‘But I would have thought that even you would have understood that servants are beneath us. They need to know their place, and their place is not sitting in the back of an Eton boat like Lady Muck.’

  ‘She was doing no such thing,’ said James, who was growing bored of Bentinck. ‘She was merely getting a lift back to Rafts.’

  ‘In full view of boys from other Houses,’ said Bentinck, his voice getting louder and louder. ‘We might never live this down.’

  At this James couldn’t help but burst out laughing. ‘Do you suppose the reputation of Codrose will ever recover?’ he said, looking round at the other members of Library, who were all trying not to smile. ‘Why, I should expect it’ll be on the front page of The Times tomorrow – “Codrose boy seen talking to a servant”. Don’t be ridiculous, Bentinck.’

  Bentinck coloured a deep scarlet and he jutted his chin forward bullishly.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, come on, Bentinck, don’t you think you’re going rather over the top?’

  ‘Don’t question me,’ Bentinck thundered. ‘I am head of House. I will not have my authority questioned. You have earned yourself a beating, Bond.’

  ‘Of course,’ said James. ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to come to that.’

  ‘Perhaps after this you will know your place a little better.’

  ‘And just what is my place?’ said James.

  ‘Your place is where I damned well say it is!’ screamed Bentinck and he stalked across the room to a cupboard from which he took out a thin cane, a little shorter than a walking stick, with a curved handle.

  James knew there was no point in protesting any further. Bentinck was in charge and he could write the rules. James wondered if he should have held his tongue, but guessed that Bentinck had been lining him up for a beating from the start and had just been looking for an excuse. James wasn’t worried about the pain – he could cope with that – what made him furious was the pleasure that Bentinck was going to get from this little victory, and the pleasure he would obviously take from inflicting pain on him.

  James knew all too well that there were people in the world who enjoyed causing hurt to others.

  Well. He would make it as unpleasurable for the sadistic brute as he could.

  He took up a position leaning over th
e table in the centre of the room and heard Bentinck walk round behind him. He tried to relax. He knew that if he tensed the pain would be greater. He put his mind outside his body, and pictured himself back on the river. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen to someone else.

  Then there was a grunt, a quick swish, and the cane lashed into his backside with a loud thwack that filled the room.

  James clenched his teeth so as not to make any sound, though the pain was more intense than he had been expecting.

  He had to admit. It hurt like hell.

  All the muscles down his legs jumped and spasmed and there was already a deep ache in his buttocks and a stripe of fire across them. A second blow came quickly on the first and the force of it rocked James forward. Bentinck had done this before; he was an expert at it, and he made sure that the second lash landed in exactly the same place as the first.

  Thwack!

  A third lash. Once again hitting the same spot.

  The pain was spreading from the red-hot centre along all his nerves, so that it went right through him.

  Bentinck slowed down for the final three lashes, letting James wait for them. Allowing the pain to die away just enough each time so that when it came back it was a worse agony than before.

  In a way, the pain grew so great that it became unreal, and James found that he could easily take his mind back to the river. He was with Roan, now, looking into her smiling, happy face, and the sun was glinting on the water, making it sparkle with shards of silver. And there was silver and gold glittering in Roan’s eyes…

  He smiled. The image of Roan’s face was enough to make the last blows feel like they were landing a thousand miles away.

  Finally it was over.

  Bentinck must have hit him especially hard. James could feel blood trickling down his legs. He took a deep breath and set his face into a bland mask, then straightened up and turned to face his tormentor, who was sweating and panting from the effort.

  James knew the etiquette was for him to thank the boy, but he wasn’t going to do it. Let him beat him again if he wanted. Instead he looked Bentinck straight in the eye and held his gaze until the older boy was forced to look away.