Tales of the Zodiac - The Goat's Tale Read Online Free Page A

say or what the head has to say or what you have to say. We will both run today.”
    If what he were saying weren’t so important, so selfless, then this flurry of petulant squeaking and effeminate hand gestures might look slightly comical. As it is, however, I look the little prince in the eye and almost cry. There is nothing as emotional as competition.
    As the other boys are already out on the field, the audience consists only of myself, the sports master, and the prince’s two cousins, Howell and Cai. In a sense, this is fortunate. It is difficult to imagine how the sports master would have taken to being so spectacularly undermined in front of a whole class. Even now, he bears the snarl of a starving wolf caught between hunger and self-preservation. After all, however angry the man is, the prince must always have what he wants. That much is understood even by wild men such as this.
    “So be it,” he growls, prowling out onto the running field, no doubt imagining a more brutal end to the exchange that has just passed. The prince, his cheeks as flushed as ever, offers me a gracious smile. He no doubt expects my thanks. The indignity of it all means that my smile arrives stillborn. Why should I have to thank him for simply negotiating something for me that every other boy in the class has been given as a right?
    “Thanks,” I grumble, my eye contact fleeting.
    “Is that all you have to say, Goat?” snaps Cai, the prince’s much larger, much haughtier cousin. “You do realise whom you’re talking to, don’t you? The prince has just done you a favour that a peasant doesn’t deserve. Have the grace to thank him properly.”
    Cai steps forward as though to confront me. I am unintimidated.
    “Leave the boy alone, Cai. None of this is his fault any more than it’s yours. I can quite understand why he’s not too fond of me at the moment. Let’s go outside.”
    The prince half chuckles as he says this; the situation certainly appears a lot lighter to him than it does to me. Cai stares at me a fraction longer than he should before following his cousins out of the door. I stand alone in the cavernous changing room. A small sigh escapes.
    The weather outside is as wet and wild as I have ever seen it. Grey drizzle blankets everything. The school looms behind, and green grass is all that can be seen anywhere else. On a good day, the sea would be visible on the other side of the field, as would the ragged, undulating coastline around which we are due to run. The sports master, too, appears to be lost amongst the rain, perhaps licking his wounds, perhaps engaging in some fresh conspiracy against me. Small groups of boys stand around – their sports kits already wet and clinging to them – stretching, getting ready for a race that they have no intention of winning. As ever, I prepare alone.
    “Right, you set of gwnts, gather in,” barks the sports master, seeming to merge from out of the shadows. We do as requested.
    “Right, you know the drill. It’s once around the island. It’s a filthy, shitty day so I’ve been told to ask you to be careful. I, however, couldn’t give a solitary frutt what happens to any of you. Go over there. The race starts when I whistle.”
    It all seems awfully understated. On a better day, the mothers and possibly even fathers would have turned out to watch. I wonder if, somewhere beneath the murk, the king is watching. I wonder if, somewhere near a slippery cliff top, a king’s agent is waiting for me to pass by. These are all risks that an honest boy must take.
    The thirty boys jostle over to the start line as if to give the impression that twenty-eight of them aren’t just prepared to roll over for the prince to win. I make a point of staying back, away from the herd, keeping my eyes sharp for the sneaky ankle kicks that are undoubtedly to come. For a moment, there is silence.
    The whistle cuts through the drizzle and everyone starts to trot. The prince is allowed to move to the