“Sir, respectfully, this is the first we have heard of this. I hadn’t heard of any cadets having such accidents.” Spink was appalled. I held my silence. I had the most peculiar feeling of hearing something I’d already known. Had I truly suspected such things were going on at the Academy?
“No? Well, I’ve had to send two lads home this year already. One for a badly shattered leg, and the fellow who ended up in the river with a punctured lung came down with pneumonia. And now this young man, with fist-sized bruises all over his chest and belly from ‘falling down the steps.’ ” He snatched his glasses off again, and this time polished them furiously with the edge of his smock. “What do you think? That the bullies who do this will respect you for not reporting them? That there is some sort of honor or courage to enduring this sort of abuse?”
“I hadn’t heard anything about it, sir,” Spink repeated doggedly. An edge of anger tinged his voice now.
“Well. You do now. So think about it. All three of you.” He had been leaning against the bunk Gord sat on. He straightened suddenly. “I was born to be a healer, not a soldier. Circumstance puts this uniform on my back, but I cover it with the smock of my vocation. Yet sometimes I feel that I’m more of a fighter than you lads born to soldier. Why do you take this? Why?”
None of us attempted to answer. He shook his old head at us, and I suspect he felt disgust for our lack of spark. “Well, take your friend back to your dormitory. There’s nothing broken and nothing bleeding, and he should be able to get through the day tomorrow. In two or three days he’ll feel like himself again.” He swung his attention more directly to Gord. “You drink one of those powders I gave you tonight, and another in the morning. They’ll make you a bit woozy, but you’ll probably manage to get through your classes. And eat less, Cadet! If you weren’t fat as a hog, you’d have been able to put up a better fight, or at least run away. You’re supposed to look like a soldier, not a tavern keeper!”
Gord made no reply, but only lowered his head more. I winced at the harshness of the doctor’s last words, even as I had to agree with them. Gord moved slowly to get off the bed; I could almost feel his pain as he stood. He grunted softly with pain as he shouldered into his jacket. It was caked with mud and pine needles. He hadn’t picked up that dirt from the library steps. He fumbled at his jacket buttons as if to do them up and then let his hands drop to his sides.