Quite a boarding school!

by Bondwriter

24. Up and running

While poor Matt was both ogling and being taunted by Fred in the secluded building at a comfortable distance, Lewis’ senses in the air of this grey foggy morning were on the look out for any clue as to what the energetic trio was up to. He gestured to Phil what he could make of the behaviours he observed and the few words he heard. The wind was against him, but he managed to take in that things were going according to plan. With clever motions of his hands, he was telling Philip that his scheme was well designed, and that they were doing exactly what he’d said they would.

“OK, stay outside in case something goes wrong, Billy; Ben and I will go and explore,” Keith said.

“Yeah. Nothing brash, though, K. Lewis must have something planned.”

The sign language translated Lewis’ glee to Philip as his opponents were on what he knew was a way to defeat. He accompanied the actions that ensued with silent explanations. Ben was opening the door, then entering, followed by Keith; Billy was taking a few steps back, looking around for any hint of foul play.

Lewis chuckled inwardly, rather proud of having so well chosen his hideout. He could see but he couldn’t be seen. He then indicated that it was time for Philip to make his move.

The next fifty-three seconds saw a flow of actions. Philip leaping out of his position, screaming; Billy taking off, making a split-second decision to flee away rather than follow his friends and get trapped inside the pavilion; Philip smoothly adapting his running style to his target’s; and last but not least, Lewis rushing with a key to the door out of his pocket and locking the door, making Keith and Ben prisoners of the building.

They dashed towards the entrance, but it was too late, and as Keith grabbed the doorknob, and pulled on it, he could only notice the door had been locked. He cursed and yanked on the knob. The merry snigger he heard behind the door could belong to one person only.

“Thank you for this brilliant display of vocal annoyance, Cowboy. Curious birds just get trapped inside the cage! I’ll come back to the bold explorers later on. For now, wait a bit.”

They could hear steps moving away. Keith yelled some threat of very unpleasant retaliation in case they laid hands on Billy, but the only reaction he received was some delighted laughter. He turned to Ben.

“Don’t worry, Keith, there’s another way out. I’ll show you.”

Billy had been running for a few hundreds of yards, and Philip kept at the same distance. In his eagerness to lose his pursuer, the chased boy didn’t notice how the woods’ configuration slowly took him back where he came from.

Some hills planted with shrubbery on his right drew a curve, which had him follow an unwanted path back towards the pavilion. In such an occasion, the straight line was preferable, if only to take the hunter far away from his starting point.

So he was bemused, but only for an instant, as he felt the scarf stuck in his waistband swiftly pulled out. The following snigger was only too familiar; Lewis had ambushed him cleverly, waiting behind the big oak tree for his prey to be within reach. Billy dropped on his knees, as the rules required. Philip came to a halt also behind, panting. Of course, Lewis lost no time in handling the situation.

“Now that we’ve caught the strategic leader, our plans towards victory should be facilitated… But we have to treat this very special take properly; the rest of our scheme is dependent upon him remaining our prisoner until our final triumph.”

To Billy, being knocked out meant having to stand the verbose and pompous adversary without more than small disapproving grunts. He felt the hands of his opponents getting busy with rope.

They first tied his wrists and elbows. It was rather loose, but Billy knew the Saint Sebastian way well enough to realize this was only very temporary. Some hobbles around his knees and ankles were tied by Philip, whereas Lewis took care of the gagging.

A thin silk scarf with a big cotton ball knotted in the middle was crammed inside his mouth, the two ends tied over his neck. The wadding was substantial, and it kept his mouth open. Several strips of sturdy tape forced his jaws together and utterly sealed his lips. In such a game, gags are of crucial importance to gain an advantage over the opponents by preventing the prisoners to bring any assistance through a call or a warning. It was not overlooked once again.

They stood him up, and with a long piece of white cotton rope, Lewis made a chest harness. The middle of the rope was laid on the back of his neck, both strands coming down in front, being pulled underneath his armpits before being crossed at spine’s mid-length to go back in front. Lewis held the two strands and pulled them down, offering the ends for Philip to catch between his thighs.

The blue-eyed acolyte grabbed the rope and pulled the threads up in his back. Lewis held the rope so it would pass between Billy’s legs without catching anything in the way, lest, heaven forbid, it deprives the prisoner of his manly attributes.

Philip threaded the ropes through the X in the middle of the back, looped them and knotted them, before he had them pass through the one over his neck. He then went back under the armpits and made several turns around his chest. A knot was eventually tightened.

‘The torso harness,’ Billy thought, ‘basic but always an insurance to a successful tie-up. I imagine what’s coming up next.’

And indeed there was no surprise, as his wrists were untied only to be crossed and seized into a square lashing. This ended with the two ends of the lashing being fixed to the cord running over his spine, and finally knotted out of reach between his shoulder blades.

At least there had been a relative silence as this had all gone by. Billy knew better than to grunt and to give some satisfaction to Lewis. But his lack of uttering any sound, albeit muffled ones in any case, did not stop Lewis to go into his usual blathering.

“I must confess, Phil, that this catch doesn’t leave me impassive. This one major third of our rival team is no small step towards victory. If their squad was to be considered a duck, it would be a headless one by one…”

“Or a lame duck,” Philip added, quite pleased with participating in the witty chatter that aimed at ruining an opponent’s morale. The chuckle from Lewis confirmed that this teamwork was successful. They went on back and forth, while they pushed Billy in front of them, heading to the place where Fred was keeping an eye on Matt.

Speaking of whom, the captive scientist had found a flaw in Phil and Fred’s rope work. The loop encircling Matt’s right wrist had a little slack in it. Twisting and trying to get free usually meant the ropes tightening, but for once it felt different. With Fred being engrossed in the pixel pixy’s adventures, and ironically attempting to free a princess, the boy bound to his chair in front was finding a way out.

Keith had followed Ben to the first floor of the house. There was a window that they could open, and it was not high enough that they could get hurt while jumping out. Ben flung the window open, but to his horror and dismay, a lock had been put on the handle that kept it shut.

“Bastards! They’ve thought of everything! Fred knows these woods and all the places well indeed.”

They tugged and pulled over it, trying to break the small lock. But it was no good. Its diminutive size didn’t make it any less sturdy, and it held. To their dismay, they could hear Phil and Lewis walking past the pavilion. Keith was about to burst into angered screaming, but Ben hushed him with a sign.

“There’s nothing Lou wants more than hear you tell him off. What would Billy do in such an occasion?” he whispered.

“He would make a stern face and say something like ‘let’s not get worked up and we’ll come up with a solution     .’”

“Yeah,” Ben said repressing a laugh. “This seems like good advice. Let’s think for a bit. We’ll kick their butts later on, once we’ve rescued Billy and Matt…”

Sadly enough, it was the very opposite that was taking place at the very time these words were uttered, as Phil used a switch he’d torn of a hazel tree to goad Billy into moving ahead. He was not aiming to hurt, as Lewis’ supervision made any inhuman cruelty risky; plus Billy would either tell later on, or would be in a position to pay him back sooner or later.

Phil was skilled enough to get interesting sounds both from the green wood making contact with the nylon-covered flesh and from the well-stuffed mouth, which of course brought much mirth and cheers from the pair of torturers. They soon were at the door of the pavilion they’d planned to use as a jail.

They entered, and Fred didn’t even raise his eyes. He was entirely focused on getting his little character through the maze and traps that took him closer to the end of his quest. Lewis caught immediately the look of surprise on Matt’s face. As surprising as it seems from a tightly restrained lad kept tied to his chair, Matt had frozen in the middle of some move. ‘Typical hand in the cookie jar attitude,’ Lewis thought. He took a few steps towards the chair, his keen eye noticing right away what was wrong. The right hand was free.

“It’s a bit early to part from us, Matty boy,” he tittered as he snatched the wiggling wrist and began a short work of securing it back to the ropes. “We’re such a nice company after all.”

Matt sunk in his chair, feeling his hands once again inescapably bound. Lewis then turned towards Fred, a stern look of reproach on his face.

“You’ve got to decide which game you’d like to play best, Fred. We can’t let them win because you’re into your babyish entertainment.”

“Uh…” was the cleverest reply Fred could find. He’d meant to pretend he was not paying attention to his ward, in a deceitful manner, perfectly —and a bit vainly— aware that Matt was looking at him; the two-by-three-inch screen had eventually gotten his full attention, though. And this was a behaviour his team could not put up with.

As Billy raised his eyebrows in an appreciative manner, Lewis decided he wouldn’t have a display of discord in front of his enemies. His chest puffed up, taking his most general-like stance, he spoke: “I think you should go with Fred to pick up the remaining fruits from the tree. I’ve planned this well enough so that even you two can handle the next episode by yourselves. I’ll take care of young Billy here. It’s always a pleasure to add to his discomfort. And he’s such a nice sport, we’ll have a lot of fun together... won’t we, Billy.”

The only reply he got was a head raised higher and dark eyes casting a dark look.

“Woo, the dignified angry look number twenty-two! My favourite one indeed!” and turning to the others, “Go in peace, my friends, knowing I’ll have as much fun here with Mr. Grand and Noble as if I were in your delightful company…”

Meanwhile, Keith and Ben’s brainstorming session had not yielded this many productive results. They had gone from wondering about how to get out to trying figuring out what Lewis and mates had in store. They were gathering as much twisted and devious thinking as they could. Ben was a big fan of the FBI profilers featured on the telly in these American series. So he’d suggested thinking like the criminals. So far, they just imagined that the plan was to get them all well trussed up and to enact some nasty revenge for last time’s exactions. But this wasn’t such a major breakthrough in Saint Sebastian expertise.

They quit making bold and innovative assumptions as they heard some sort of noise. The key had been turned into the lock. They looked at each other. This was of course most certainly a trap. They came closer to the door, Keith indicating that Ben stay away as he’d check what was going on. He cautiously opened the door.

Of course, this brewing drama had no influence over Lewis’ enthusiasm into weaving a neat network of white cord to restrain Billy into the —now— infamous ball-tie. Right where Fred had sat just a few moments before, he’d spread a small, thick woollen blanket over which he’d gotten Billy to stand; then he’d prepared the set up by looping and lashing several lengths of rope, roughly around all the joints. Once it was all neatly arranged, he pressed on his TuG fellow’s shoulders to get him to kneel. Billy gave a bit of a fight, but there were already way enough ropes so as to hinder any resistance. It was too bad, but he had to yield to his captor’s will.

From there, Billy’s fate was soon settled. The loops were carefully entwined and knotted, and Billy’s legs were doubled, his heels touching his butt, his knees stuck to his chest.

“Billy Boy and Matty Boy, both prisoners of the dreaded, ruthless, internationally feared Lewis Fatbind. Sweet! Swell!”

Lewis clapped his hands and went into a little dance owing to some North American tribe as well as to the antics of the likes of a Mick Jagger or an Iggy Pop. His uncomfortable position prevented Billy from enjoying the visuals, but he got all the little shouts and yapping. Matt was mesmerized — by Lewis, of course, but by his handiwork especially. The ropes were symmetrically knitted, turning Billy into some piece of art.

Keith was mesmerized too. By a show somehow similar to the one Matt was witness to. Ten yards from the open door, he could see Philip tied to a tree. Not exactly the best ever pole-tie there had been in their little band of players, since they’d experimented quite a bit with this particular figure, but it was well into the upper range. Keith waved to Ben to come over. So, here they were, on the threshold, wondering how Phil could have ended up from imprisoning Billy to being a captive himself.

They stuck their heads outside, checking if some of their foes were around. The coast was clear. Having another look at each other, they moved out in the cold of the winter. The sight of Phil, wearing a thick jacket maybe, but barelegged on a day when temperature was just barely above freezing, inspired some compassion. Plus of course, Keith could make the assumption that Lewis’ team had experienced some disagreement, and that freeing Phil could get him to switch side.

This was a bit naïve, but how could Keith have guessed? It had all gone so fast, not even two hours since the moment they’d woken up at nine, with the misdeed performed. Lots of guesses and assumptions had been made. And Phil’s desperate mmphing was so convincing...

He approached circumspectly, his senses on the look out for some movement around. Ben stayed close, unconsciously searching the protection of his rash team mate. The blue eyes were pleading and both Ben and Keith were in no doubt that some of Lewis’ intrigue and unsavoury conduct towards these of his own side. Both boys empathically neared the victim of such treachery, now willing to rescue him from the evil ways of his peers.

Keith did see Fred behind the tree, but it was too late. The wide trunk had concealed him until they were two feet away from the –supposedly – bound boy. Fred was holding on to the ropes that encircled Philip, and when he let them go, the whole network dropped to the ground. Keith, whose racing skills had gotten him great admiration from most his fellow football players, did turn on his heel and attempt a quick escape. But his attempt failed, as he felt Fred’s hand holding on to the scarf tugged in his trousers’ waistband. He went down on the mattress of damp and cold leaves strewn across the soil.

Ben had not fared much better. He didn’t have Keith’s quickness, and was even slower into realizing they’d been fooled. Phil pounced on him, encircling his arms in a tight embrace, and lowering himself until he reached the small of his back of his hands, while preventing him to use his hands for defence.

“Got it!” Philip shouted eagerly as he ripped the scarf away, causing Ben to faint, almost literally this time. The capture was no small feat, and the woods echoed with the laughter and triumphing remarks from the captors, as they got into trussing up mode.

“Curiosity killed the Keith!”

“Little Ben felt bad about his poooor friend Philip!”

“We win again! We win again!”

“I’d rather say ‘they lose again, they lose again!’”

Keith was fuming, as Ben still wondered where it had all gone wrong. The ritual binding ended with big balls of cloth pressed into their mouths, and a solid layer of tape to seal their lips. They were put back up on their feet, and unceremoniously pushed ahead towards a celebration of their foes’ victory.

“It’s a sure win, and we’re not even halfway through the day!” Fred commented as they heard the bell of the village’s church striking eleven in the distance.

Lewis’ face had seldom displayed as much contentment as when they entered the pavilion ten minutes later ; he was still taunting Billy and Matt, but quickly diverted his sniggering towards the two bound and gagged newcomers.

“Ooh! Ben and Keith themselves! The potential rescuers! The deliverers from evil! The trump that saves the day! Foiled again. Deceived by wits and careful planning. Fooled by the brains of their opponent. This is sweet.”

He turned to his henchboys.

“And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”

Ben was maybe the only one of the four bound and gagged boys not to get the irony of Lewis' reference to Henry V. Using an inspirational speech to celebrate victory was somehow useless. And Lewis was a solid six weeks late in his schedule, since they were nearing Christmas, and Saint Crispin's day was on October twenty fifth. But the speech delivery did get the expected effect, as it was followed by many a cheer and rejoicing. After a good five minutes of the three winners laughing and booing their helpless opponents, Lewis took a grave and important tone.

"My friends, my friends, let's remain gallant and let's give some credit to our opponents."

His unctuous, smarmy tone did nothing to calm the anger Keith felt. He tried to kick Lewis with his hobbled legs. But his hampered move was swiftly dodged by the orator, who took a rebuking tone.

“Now, now, my yellow-haired livestock-keeping friend, this is definitely in very bad taste to turn against the winners. This is indeed a display of quite a lack of fair-play. But not to worry, I think I have a way to teach you how to help you see the errs of your ways.”

“Mmmmph!” Keith complained, trying in vain to get across the message that this result had been obtained through much treachery.

Philip guffawed. “Should I go get the accessories?”

“Please do. This is a lesson they won’t forget any time soon. Fred and I will solve the temporary inconvenience of having left our guests’ lower limbs too mobile.”

As Philip climbed upstairs, Lewis restrained Keith’s knees and ankles, and Fred took care of Ben’s. Once he was done, he turned to Matt.

“Well, Matt, you should be glad you’re not included in Lewis’ plan. You’ll witness how revenge is a dish best served cold, as he always says.”

“Well, I didn’t coin this proverb…” the object of such an effusive admiration modestly admitted, “but yes, we have a score to settle. I’d bet they bragged to you about turning us in maids last month. Well, we had to find a proper way to get even.”

A series of mmphing grunts ensued. Mat and Billy had caught what was coming from the corner of their eye, but it was plain obvious to Ben and Keith, as Philip royally descended the steps, waving a bundle of pink material.

“Sometimes, having girls in your acquaintances and in this case in your relatives can prove to be helpful once in a while.” Lewis stated. “My cousin is part of a sports-supporting girl squad, which Americans would call ‘cheerleaders’. She lent me some outfits.”

Keith and Ben’s eyes got wide open with horror.

“After all, being considered an eccentric, or even worse by your own cousin was well worth seeing the interesting look on your faces, my friends.”

More sniggering from his cronies ensued. Of course, the expressions on all four faces were priceless, even though Billy was turned face down and it saved his look of annoyance from being seen. But the three other could fully envision the pink shiny nylon that the costumes were crafted with.

It took all three of the captors to handle Keith properly. He put as much of a struggle as he could, and he did manage to get a few restrained blows to hit their target, but a very apt teamwork did yield the expected result. Thirty minutes later, they’d rid him of his navy blue track suit and replaced it with a tight pink bodice and skirt. They even had added a pair of flat-heeled patent leather pink shoes. The ropes had been applied simultaneously, to hinder any escape or as much struggling as possible.

They took care of Ben, and then of Billy, who was almost relieved to be put into such shaming clothing since the ball-tie was becoming unbearable. The three prisoners ended up standing in a line, facing Matt.

“Some intensive labouring was required from us, but the general effect our toiling created is definitely enough of a reward. Why shouldn’t we have a bite to gather some strength again before we go into more punishing of our losing opponents?”

Lewis’ suggestion was well-received by Fred and Phil, and they went to sit at the table. Fred took their picnic out of the rucksack.

‘A curious feeling of déjà vu,’ Billy thought. ‘I just hope it will end up as well as it did when we played the treasure hunt last month in Saint Sebastian.’

He tried to reassure himself as much as he could, since the situation was dire. Twisting around a bit, he felt no flaw in the way the ropes had been laid around and knotted. Just enough slack to let the blood flow freely, but none to allow for undertaking an escape attempt. The months of training were now bearing some results. Still, as he was not one to surrender, he kept on trying. Sometimes the weak point was not obvious and needed some time to be investigated and found. That’s what Matt had just experienced, and he hoped he would be able to go through before Lewis’ keen eye found out how he could still bring the victory to the other side.

At the table, the spirits were high. A festival of wit was taking place, with Lewis setting the bar high, of course. His latest fancy was to pose as Oscar Wilde, and he was good at playing the part. The others did not succeed as well, but they went for it nonetheless, which could only be very annoying for the other party, standing in their ludicrous pink shiny outfits.

“Should we feed our captives, Lewis?” Fred asked.

“No, why should we? Look at the unpleasant looks they cast down on us. Why should they be fed as they’re already fed up?”

The guffawing of male teenage voices at their most stupid erupted. The prisoners stood stoically, as there wasn’t much else to do.

Lunch was eventually over, and the infernal trio rose and gathered around the bound and gagged ‘cheerleaders’, bumbling as a cloud of bees around a pot of honey. Philip picked up a bag he had tossed down when he’d brought the costumes.

“What would cheerleaders be without their pom-poms?” he smirked.

He set to work and fixed the big fluffy accessories to the ropes that went above his prisoner’s shoulders. Once he had thus added insult to injury, the ‘leader’ delivered another one of his speeches.

“Though our scheme was expertly crafted and capably executed, I still am awestruck at how fast we managed to prevail. I definitely wouldn’t want to put the blame on any weakness of yours, and I’d much prefer reflect on our sense of tactics and apt coordination. Nonetheless, our fair-play shouldn’t prevent us from experiencing some communal celebration, my friends and I. And as it was customary in Ancient Rome, our triumph should coincide with a parade of the prisoners that were brought back from the battlefield. You’re in no condition to parade, are you lads? I guess not. But you may dance and cheer us up with some enthusiastic chants. They will be muffled, indeed, but they might be a nice accompanying tune for this afternoon of great achievement. I suggest you sway as your bonds allow, and sing ‘Lewis, Philip and Fred are our masters, praise be to them.’ Will you please entertain us this way?”

The three prisoners looked at him with equally surprised looks. This was dumb! Were they expected to do that?

“Oh, you will sing, my little birdies, you will sing. Will you be so kind as to get the items that will ensure an entertaining performance, Phil?”

Crouching down on the bag that seemed an endless supply for opportunities to humiliate their prisoners yet further, Philip then stood back up holding three six-foot long satin ribbons, as pink as the rest of the outfits. They were fast dealt to each of the captors, who went into a ribbon-tying contest. The length was sufficient to do three turns around the lower face. Care was given to the activity.

“It will look nicer than the tape.” Fred commented as he meticulously swathed Ben’s lower face in the thin, supple and soft material, making sure each layer didn’t form any crease, and that it would hold no matter what.

“Yes, it will. And no only does it beget an aesthetic effect that will be most pleasing to the eye, but I think it also bears some interesting acoustic enhancement, as our cute cheerleaders –or so I was told- are also accomplished singers.” Lewis added as he was also wrapping Keith’s jaws with glimmering satin.

“Mmmmbllmm,” his patron reacted.

“What did I just tell you? Young Keith is eager to display his vocal talents. Doesn’t the pink add to the intensity of his green eyes?”

They were done with adding insult to injury. The ribbons had been tied in big bows; Billy’s was tied on his neck, Ben’s under his ear, and Lewis had knotted the bow over Keith’s mouth, just under his nose. He turned to Philip and winked.

“Should you get the baton for our unruly friends?”

He then had a look at the frightened look of the three gagged boys. The loud moans confirmed that there was genuine concern over the turn of events. Though he’d have enjoyed causing further distress, Lewis enjoyed even more a good play on words.

“Oh, you might be misunderstanding me, girls. I’m not referring to the baton that the riot police could use to crack the skull of protesters. Of course, considering that you played such a nasty trick on me dressing me up as a maid, you know deep down that you deserve to incur my rightful wrath. But I don’t derive any uncanny pleasure from inflicting pain…”

“No, you don’t.” Philip confirmed, having gone to the back of the room to get the stick he’d used to coax Billy all the way to the pavilion they were now all gathered in. “But, well…”

“You do?” Fred asked.

“We all know our Phil has some taste for whipping or flogging his helpless foes. But he’s also a civilized being, able to master his dark leanings and obey the rules. So, his baton should be seen as this of a conductor. Music, art, these are the fields that we are into this very afternoon. I’d say that he’s unlikely to inflict any unsavoury treatment upon your sorry behinds, unless… Unless, of course, you do not perform in a satisfactory manner.”

And thus the “performance” started, with the three ‘conductors’ laying out the ‘score’ as the three defeated boys had to comply with their every whim. The sentences they had to mmph changed and were all occasions to praise the merits of their captors, whereas the ‘choreographies’ they had to perform ranged from preposterous to demeaning.

Billy rationalized that it would have to end at four, as had been said in the letter Lewis had left for them in the morning. It had to be soon, though he feared that the delight their predicament occasioned to Lewis and his pals could get the ordeal to last longer. He took comfort in sharing this awful punishment with Ben and –of course- Keith.

Lo! The three victors had gotten much too engrossed into debasing their opponents. They should have paid more attention to the new recruit, whom they had completely forgotten, even though he was never more than six feet away from them. Matt came back to their mind when they heard a voice, youthful yet mature, pronouncing what could have been a magic formula. Sadly enough for Lewis and his friends, this magic formula signed the end of their triumph.

The six words they heard sealed their fate for the day: “Scientia non habet inimicum nisp ignorantem.”

© Copyright Bondwriter 2009

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