Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [94]
The Young Master turned and smiled at the kids all around him. It was kind of a dreamy smile and Wally wondered idly if the guy had been smoking before class.
Maybe he’d got high on Nepalese Temple ball or some other fantastic pot he’d brought back with him from some remote mountain fastness. Those Buddhist monks would need something to get them through those long cold winter nights besides the Yak-butter tea.
‘The pocket on the pool table is like the human capacity for belief,’ said the Young Master. ‘The influence of a great leader is like the pool ball rolling inexorably into it.’
He began to walk back towards the front of the classroom again.
‘I said before that all human beings had this behavioural indentation, this capacity for blind belief. But I wasn’t telling you the truth. Not the whole truth. Most human beings possess this structure in their minds. The vast majority do.
But there are a very few rare individuals who are different.’
The monk stopped at the front of the class again but this time he didn’t sit on his desk. Instead he remained standing by the front row of kids.
The two girls sitting there were no longer watching his legs. They’d lost interest because a couple of minutes ago they’d begun to grow extremely uncomfortable. Up until that moment they’d both been relaxed and happy. A bit hot and giggly and comfortably horny, safe in the familiar fuzzy warmth of a school classroom with its powerful associations of boredom and security.
But for the last couple of minutes they’d been growing more and more uptight. Neither of them could have explained precisely why. But if you’d asked them they would both have told you that it had something to do with the kid sitting at the end of the row beside them. The new kid. The one called Ricky Mcllveen.
Maybe it was something to do with the uncomfortable angle at which his body was twisted around, his torso turned away from them to face the monk. Maybe it was the tense way one hand gripped the side of his neck, like the kid was clutching at himself. His whole posture radiated anxiety. He was staring up at the Young Master, listening intently. It was as if he was terrified at what he was about to hear.
‘Those individuals are the ones who set the ball rolling on the pool table. Instead of the need to believe they have the capacity to inspire belief. Instead of a behavioural vulnerability they have a gift for exploiting that vulnerability.
We can see the same basic structures operating in animal populations. A single individual who dominates the actions of a whole group. In human beings the effect is more complex but the designation is the same. We call this kind of individual the alpha male.’
Mr Pangbourne stood at the open window of his office, looking out at the school garden he’d nurtured over the long hot summer. The honeysuckle had finally started to thrive and it was growing all over the wooden trellis he’d fixed to the wall around his office window. Pangbourne had cut the wood for the trellis himself, just like he’d drilled the holes in the wall for attaching it. Now, in the late afternoon and early evening, he could open his window and enjoy the rich wafting smell of the honeysuckle.
He’d be able to enjoy it even more if his sense of smell was a little keener. This was one argument for giving up smoking. Indeed, it was about the only argument Pangbourne could think of. He repressed the urge to dig the pack of cigarettes out of his desk drawer and light one. He had a visitor due for an appointment any moment now.
He took one last deep breath of the honeysuckle fragrance and shut the window. The office should have aired out by now, the smell of tobacco dissipated. Pangbourne didn’t like to expose his visitors to the unpleasant side-effects of his addiction. Not unless they were old friends or he found himself particularly