Turner. Jonathan De Montfort

. . . no. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that.’ James pointed at his brother. ‘You see, that’s my brother. You pick on him, you pick on me. Simple enough even for an idiot like you to understand. But even if he wasn’t family, the powerful should never be allowed to prey on the weak, especially when they’re as ugly as you lot.’

      Martin and the boys glanced at each other. The hands holding Hero’s hands and feet shifted anxiously. Hero lifted his head from the pavement just a bit to better see what was transpiring above him.

      James’s face was implacable. ‘Well, come on, then, wankers. Or are you all too chicken? The four of you can only pick on one smaller boy? You’re pathetic. You know that, right?’ He flung one hand towards Martin. ‘And pull your pants up, mate, no one wants to see your tiny cock. I mean, seriously, how do you deal with the laughter you must get from every girl who sees it?’

      Hero couldn’t quite suppress a smile. How does he think of all this stuff so quickly?

      Slowly, Martin stood up, fastened his pants, and stalked towards James. ‘Okay, I didn’t want to do this, but you asked for it, mate.’

      James smiled as if to say ‘Indeed I did’ and gazed at Martin with cool, steady eyes.

      Martin hesitated.

      Hero knew why; he felt it too. Immense power emanated from his brother. And what was wrong with his eyes? They weren’t moving—wait, no, they were moving, but they had no colour. That couldn’t be right. Hero blinked deliberately and looked again. They looked normal enough—but wow, he was unflinching. Was he even blinking?

      He glanced over at Martin. A vein pumped on the ringleader’s temple like a caterpillar on speed. He’s afraid. He’s actually afraid of my brother. Warmth like the elixir of life flooded into Hero’s chest, arms, and legs. He smiled, choking back tears of joy and relief.

      James remained expressionless. Martin, now standing in front of him, clenched his fists, but James stared directly into his eyes.

      Martin let loose with a punch. In a blur of speed, James twisted to his right, smashing Martin’s nose with one elbow. The sickening crack startled everyone except James, who simultaneously positioned his left leg behind Martin’s right, sending Martin flying backwards to the road.

      Dark red blood advanced rapidly down Martin’s white shirt, reminding Hero of those strange post-war maps of an expanding Communist Russia that he’d seen on videos in history class. The grips on his hands and feet had vanished, and he sat up.

      James brought the heel of his shoe down into Martin’s stomach. Martin winced, squealed, then threw up over his own face.

      James glanced at the other three boys. Hero could have sworn there was the slightest flicker of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

      He’s enjoying this.

      The other three boys approached James.

      Now even his eyes are smiling.

      They surrounded him, Dave behind, another in front, and the third hanging slightly back and to the right. Dave darted forward but found himself clutching at empty space. He looked ridiculous, like a human marionette whose wires had tangled. He jerked in reaction to a whistling near his left ear—a mistake. His nose met with the palm of James’s hand, now travelling at high speed. He brought up his hands to protect his face, only to receive a sharp punch to the solar plexus. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath as if his life depended upon it. Hero couldn’t be certain if it was the light from the street lamp that made Dave’s face look so grey, but it was a look that would’ve kept good company inside a coffin.

      The attack had been so fast and clinical that the other two backed away.

      ‘What’s the matter, lads? Lost your balls now you’re in the big boys’ league?’ James said.

      The boys looked on in horror at their fallen comrades, now covered in blood and puke. Their faces shone with a thin film of sweat, and their pupils had shrunk to the size of pinheads.

      Standing under the street light, James looked like an Old West gunslinger, towering imperiously in the moonlight at the O.K. Corral. At any moment, Hero half expected him to say, ‘I’m your Huckleberry.’

      James pointed at the boys. ‘I’m warning you, if I find out that you or any of your friends have so much as looked at my brother in the wrong way, or if you even fart in his general direction, I will hurt you. And to be clear on this, I won’t just rough you up like I did today. I’ll really hurt you.’

      The boys took another handful of steps backwards.

      And then it was over.

      James walked past them and helped Hero to his feet. ‘Let’s go home, bruv, and get you cleaned up.’

      ‘How did you know?’ Hero whispered, his hands still jittery as he gathered his scattered belongings.

      ‘I followed you around school today. I saw them beating on you earlier, so I followed you home just now.’

      How had he managed that? All that peering over his shoulder the whole way from school, and Hero’d never known that James was right behind him, covering his back the whole way. Crazy.

      ‘Well, I didn’t see you.’ He straightened his shirt and fell into step alongside his brother.

      James smiled. ‘I’m very good at that.’

      Chapter 6

      Hero

      Blood splattered the bathroom sink where it had dripped from Hero’s mouth, forming long rivulets and circling the plughole, the deep red contrasting with the white of the porcelain.

      ‘You know, you make me laugh, bruv. You say you don’t want to be a hero, and there you are standing up to four guys much bigger than you. Sounds like a hero to me.’

      Hero looked up into the mirror at James, who was standing in the doorway.

      ‘What was it you said? “I heard your nan gave birth to your mum by taking a shit.”’ James laughed so hard that he had to steady himself against the door frame. ‘That’s genius, bruv. I’m definitely stealing that one for later usage.’

      Hero grinned, then regretted it immediately when his split lip reopened. Blood welled over his teeth, filling his mouth with a warm, metallic taste.

      ‘So why were those guys bullying you, anyway?’

      Hero grabbed some loo roll, packed a wad of paper between his lip and his teeth, and began recounting the last few weeks, starting with standing in the music room next to Fi after their first class there.

      ‘Hey. So what instrument did you pick?’ she asked.

      ‘Piano,’ he replied.

      ‘Can you play?’

      ‘A little.’

      ‘What grade are you?’

      He shuffled his feet. ‘I took my grade eight last year.’

      ‘Wow. Would you play for me?’

      ‘Sure. What instrument do you play?’

      ‘The violin. I’m not too good, though. So how about tomorrow?’

      ‘Eh?’

      She was grinning at him. ‘Will you play for me tomorrow at lunchtime?’

      ‘Wait, wait, wait,’ James interrupted from behind.

      Hero dragged himself back to the present.

      ‘You pulled a girl on your first day at school? Man, you’re my hero, buddy. Go on.’

      Hero grinned tentatively, mindful of his lip, and took a deep breath. ‘Well, the next day, lunchtime arrived, and we met outside the music building.’

      Fi’s hair bounced as she ran