Secret Army - Robert Muchamore Page 0,1

metal locker, then shook him violently by the shoulders.

‘This shoe-cleaning kit is filthy. Nothing is folded properly. Why is there mud on the sole of your plimsoll?’

After each sentence Williams jammed two fingers under Mason’s ribs, sending his body into a spasm.

‘Report to my office first thing,’ Williams yelled. ‘And cold showers for a week.’

‘No!’ Mason wailed, as he tried to wriggle away. ‘Leave me alone.’

Troy knew he’d come off badly if he interfered, but what kind of person stood and watched their little brother get bullied?

‘Unacceptable!’ Troy shouted, using the only appropriate English word he could think of as he stepped away from his bed and strode purposefully down the narrow room towards Williams. A couple of boys whispered cautions, and one even stepped into his path.

‘He’ll murder you,’ the boy warned.

‘Keep your head down, mate,’ another begged, but Troy marched on.

Troy imagined an heroic gesture: knocking Williams out with a punch to the jaw or slicing his head off with a sword. But reality found a thirteen-year-old dressed in baggy shorts and vest facing a grown man with fiery eyes and hobnail boots.

‘It seems I have a visitor,’ Williams said, cracking a demented smile as he shoved Mason back over the end of his bed. ‘What can we do for you?’

Troy was quaking, but couldn’t walk meekly back to his bed with all the other lads looking on.

‘He’s eight years old,’ Troy said. ‘Why not help, instead of hurting him?’

‘Or you’ll do what, big man?’ Williams taunted. ‘This is my dormitory. I make the rules.’

Troy had fought a few times in his thirteen years. He’d won more than he’d lost, but the punch he threw now wasn’t his best. It glanced off the fleshy part of Williams’ arm with barely enough force to rustle his shirt.

‘You dare raise a hand to me!’ Williams roared, as Troy found himself being thrown forwards over the end of Mason’s bed, with Williams wrenching his arm tight behind his back and his brother’s legs trapped beneath him. ‘George, Tom, deal with him.’

George and Tom were stocky lads of fifteen. They acted as snitches and enforcers for Williams, who let them bully and extort the younger lads in return.

‘Put them both down,’ Williams ordered, before pointing at Troy. ‘And make his trip an uncomfortable one.’

Troy didn’t know what being put down meant, but there were sadistic grins on George and Tom’s faces as they grabbed his arms and bundled him outside. After dragging Troy ten metres down a freezing corridor, they turned into an unlit cloakroom and shoved him in a corner with a coat hook digging into his back.

‘Fists up, you French weed,’ George grinned, as he made a boxing stance. The fifteen-year-old was bigger than his pyjamas and his muscular torso showed where his top was too small to button over his chest.

Troy raised his hands, but George was too strong. His first punch batted Troy’s defences aside. The second was an uppercut that smacked his lower jaw and made his teeth clatter.

‘I’ve got plenty more where that came from,’ George laughed, as he grabbed Troy around the neck, bent him over and brought his knee up into his guts.

Troy groaned and belched as his throat filled with burning stomach acid. George backed away after a couple more punches, only for Tom to drag Troy out of the corner and hook his ankle, sending him sprawling across the floor.

‘Stings, don’t it, froggy?’ Tom smiled.

Troy groaned as he rolled on to his back, then sat up, clutching his stomach and coughing.

‘We can do what we like to you now,’ George added. ‘Fancy raising your hands to Williams! You just signed your own death warrant.’

Troy was defenceless, lying in the dark with two heavyweights looming. He hurt in a dozen places and blood drizzled from his nose. Out in the corridor he heard wailing and saw Mason’s legs as Williams dragged him past the doorway.

George hitched Troy off the gritty lino, intending to knock him down again, but Williams called from the far end of the corridor.

‘Get Troy out here. I want to be in my room before Book at Bedtime comes on.’

A metal bolt thunked. With one hand grasping Mason’s neck, Williams booted a door open and bitter outdoor air rushed into the corridor. Troy finally understood what being put down meant as he was dragged barefoot on to the icy courtyard behind the building.

‘I’m not going down there,’ Mason sobbed as Williams lifted the hinged wooden flap that covered the entrance