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.He was apparently oblivious to the threat of the dog pack that was massed all around him.The nearest groups of dogs had immediately leapt to their feet, turning to face the hearse, preparing to defend their leader.But the White King had suddenly left his spot on the front steps.He was bounding up the garden path and out of the front gate with youthful vigour, loping towards the hearse.The scores of dogs who had begun to close in on the long black vehicle hesitated.They’d seen the man jumping out of the hearse and they were obviously poised to attack, to close in fast and rip him to pieces.But they made no move towards him.Instead they turned and watched the White King as he raced along the pavement towards the hearse.The ancient withered dog was running with the speed and excitement of a puppy.The ranks of other dogs backed away to clear a path for him as he dashed towards the man who’d emerged from the hearse.He was a small man in a pale jacket, wearing an incongrous straw hat which he clutched to his head, as if he was more worried about losing his hat than anything else.It’s the Doctor.’Redmond looked up to see that Roz had joined him at the edge of the roof.She stared down into the street.Redmond turned to follow her gaze and he was just in time to see the White King slow down and approach the Doctor; it moved unsteadily now on its frail legs, head shaking a little as it jabbed its muzzle up at the Doctor.And began to lick his hand.Chapter 32Miss Marcroft was lost in thoughts of fruit salad when the nasty looking old man came back into her office.It had only been a short time since lunch but Miss Marcroft could still distinctly taste every flavour of the tart, chilled fruit she’d consumed.She was lingering over these flavours when the old man came back in.Francis Leemark.He was Wolfs father.She had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the old man had proved to be, if anything, worse than his son.Even more rude.And more arrogant.‘I need some information,’ Leemark announced, as he came marching back into her office.Miss Marcroft ignored him and pretended to be busy on her computer.Let the old bastard wait.But he wasn’t going to wait.He leant over the desk, his musky body odour and the sour smell of his coffee-breath wafted at her and thoroughly destroyed the delicate memory of this lunchtime’s fruit salad.Miss Marcroft hated people who drank coffee almost as much as she hated people who smoked.She frowned with concentration and began typing on her computer keyboard.‘You’ve got a fellow teaching here says he’s a Buddhist monk?’Miss Marcroft ignored him and kept on typing.But Francis Leemark wasn’t going to be ignored.‘I want to know what class he’s teaching in, right now.’He was leaning across the desk, much too close to her.‘Why do you want to know?’ She didn’t look up from her computer.‘I just want to know.So just tell me.’Miss Marcroft finally deigned to look at this rude intruder.There was something strange about the way he was standing, one hand dug deep in the pocket of his old canvas work jacket.‘I’m not sure I should give out that information,’she said.The old man began to shout.‘I have a son at this school.I have the right to know what goes on here.’Miss Marcroft reached out for her telephone and pressed the button that activated the intercom in Mr Pangbourne’s office.‘Mr Leemark is back,’ she said.‘And he wants to know-’She didn’t get any further because the old man reached out with one hand and slapped it down on the phone, breaking the connection.She looked up at him with fury in her eyes that died as soon as she saw his other hand.It had come out of his jacket pocket.It was holding a gun.He was pointing the gun at her.‘Mr Pangbourne ain’t going to be answering any questions.Now tell me which classroom that bald-headed freak is in.’The Young Master was sitting cross-legged on his desk at the front of the room again.He was reading from a large book open on his lap.Occasionally he’d alter his position slightly and his baggy orange robe would shift around his knees and the girls in the front row would repress giggles.‘“The crowd wants to wake the dreamer in their midst”,’said the monk, reading aloud from the book.“For fear that otherwise they might prove to be figments of his dream”.’ He slapped the book shut and looked up at the class full of teenagers.‘Who wrote that book?’ asked a pinched, studious-looking boy in the second row.‘You might call it a Zen text,’ said the monk.‘Well, I’ve read a lot of Zen,’ said the kid.‘Me too, but only now and Zen,’ shouted Wally Saddler from the back of the class.And beside him Wolf Leemark grinned.‘Quiet please,’ said the young monk and, oddly enough, Wally obeyed.The monk turned back to the kid in the second row.‘Now what were you saying?’‘Well, it just doesn’t sound like any Zen proverbs that I’ve ever encountered.’The Young Master smiled.‘That’s not surprising, because in fact it was written by a friend of mine.Written especially for the lessons here in this school.But the point is, like those who fear the dreamer, we too are drawn to certain ones among us, drawn by their strange composure.This is what, for lack of a more adequate term, we call charisma.Some human beings possess this strange talent.For some it’s like a thousand-watt light they can’t switch off.When they walk through a crowd everyone notices them.The crowd doesn’t know it but on a deep unconscious level they look to these individuals for subliminal signals.Instructions on how the pack should behave.Hence the alpha male.’Sitting in the front row Ricky McIlveen looked pale and tense, the very picture of someone hearing something he didn’t want to hear.All the kids sitting near him seemed to have picked up on his tension.But the mood had not quite communicated itself to the back of the room where Wolf Leemark held sway.As the other kids nearby watched with expressions ranging from hero-worship to disgust, Wolf suddenly slumped over in his chair, head limp and eyes closed.He made an extremely loud snoring noise.At the front of the room the monk grinned good-naturedly at the noise and the laughter that followed it.He set his book aside and shook one of his voluminous sleeves aside so he could glance at his incongruously modern wrist-watch.‘I agree that it all sounds a little esoteric,’ he said, climbing down from the desk.The girls in the front row bent low over their desks, taking one last look as he stood up.‘And next week we’ll suggest some alternative paradigms to explain dominance in groups, as well as looking in further detail at the underlying mechanism.I want you all to read up on behavioural display in Skene and Lipsett, and write me a three-page essay on whether you think this is the key to alpha male dominance.’At the mention of the three-page essay a disgusted groan arose from the kids, who were now standing up, gathering their books and noisily scraping chairs back under desks.‘OK, OK,’ said the monk as the bell rang, signalling the change of periods.‘That’s three pages on my desk next Tuesday.’At the back of the room Wolf grinned and said, ‘OK, let’s go [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]