Pondering over the constant riddle that was Nancy, Nigel returned to the men's barracks. He couldn't think of anywhere else to go. The warden on the reception demanded to know where he had been. As soon as Nigel told the warden he had been sent to see Mr Rinder the warden fell silent. Not wanting to be mixed up in anything that involved the master of the workhouse he waved Nigel away.
Nigel's return coincided with lunch. He joined the men queueing for the counter at the front of the mess hall. As he waited in line he watched the men already sitting at the tables. With their heads down they ate with jerky mechanical movements as they stared off into space. One of the kitchen attendants passed Nigel a bowl filled with weak brown soup that looked suspiciously as if it was last night's broth that had been watered down further.
With lunch finished the men were given thirty minutes of exercise time. On mass the men migrated into the yard surrounded by the workshops. The men splintered into groups to either talk or pace around the yard. Nigel spotted Gilbert Baxter surrounded by a group of young men sitting on a set of stairs leading up to a workshop laughing. As he crossed the yard Nigel spotted the source of their amusement - the sullen boy from the neighbouring bed. The boys had stolen his flat cap and were throwing it to each other in a game of keep away. The sullen boy's feeble attempts to regain his cap only made them laugh even harder. Gilbert waved the cap in front of the boy's face. The boy made a desperate lunge for it. Gilbert spun away and flung the cap over the boy's head to Nigel. Nigel fumbled it and the cap fell to the floor to the groans of the others.
Nigel bent over and picked up the hat. When he straightened up, he found the sullen boy in front of him. The boy was on the verge of tears, a pitiful sight for somebody in their late teens. Noncommittedly he held out his hand for his cap as if expecting at any moment for Nigel to throw it away. Behind his back the other boys waved and called for Nigel to throw the cap to them. Nigel held out the cap. The sullen boy snatched it, muttered a barely audible thank you, and then scurried off.
"What do you think you're doing?" one of the boys demanded. "You just ruined our game."
"He didn't look like he was enjoying it." Nigel said pointing at the fleeing boy.
"It was just a bit of harmless fun," Gilbert said.
Nigel's cap was yanked from his head. He spun around to see one of the boys holding his hat. The boy had circled behind him to snatch it while he had been looking at Gilbert. The boy waved the cap and then threw it to his friend. Nigel made no effort to grab it.
"Come get your hat," the boy shouted waving the cap like a flag.
"You keep it," Nigel said turning away. The boys threw his hat between them waving it and calling to him to try and get it back. Nigel ignored them suspecting they would soon get bored if he didn't play along.
"Gilbert can I have a word?"
"Call me Bax," he corrected. "Say what you got to say."
"What do you know about the werewolf?" Nigel asked. His cap fell to the floor, the game forgotten about as the boys drew in close to listen.
"You heard about it then? It has been prowling around at night for a while but last night it killed someone. It broke into the infirmary and tore a man's throat out. There was blood and bits of flesh everywhere."
"Do you know who the werewolf is?"
"If I knew that don't you think that I would do something about it? The lads and I are thinking about leaving here. We're not the only ones. Since last night a lot of people are thinking about returning to London. I suppose you could come with us if you want. Freddy knows a bloke in St George's who might be able to get us work on the docks."
"I got to stay here."
"When you get eaten by a werewolf don't say I didn't warn you. Think about it. We're not going to go until tomorrow."
The bell in the church chimed signalling the end of lunch. On mass the men drifted back to the workshops. For Nigel that meant returning to the kindling shed. He took his place at the bench for another afternoon of repeatedly swinging the axe. By the end of the day he was just like the rest of the men - an automaton. All thought had been lost in the repetitive swinging of the axe. Nigel left the workshop with a right arm feeling as heavy as lead, a hand covered in broken blisters and a deep melancholy suffocating his mood. He joined the downtrodden in the supper queue to be given a block of dry cheese and a pint of water. Thankfully he had a small amount of bread left to bulk up his meal.
Drained of energy he made his way up to bed. Most of the men were back in the exercise yard enjoying the early evening sunshine, but after a day of hard labour and having not slept much over the previous few nights he felt dead on his feet. The Professor would expect him to be using the time to further the investigation, but at that moment Nigel no longer cared if the board of governors banished him from the workhouse grounds. In fact, he welcomed it. If they had to go back to London at least he wouldn't get eaten by a werewolf. Without taking his clothes off he collapsed on to the bed. He was so tired that he didn't care about using the disgusting pillow.
Nigel was shaken awake. He opened his eyes to find somebody looming over him. Bleary eyed it took a moment for Nigel to recognise the sullen lad from the neighbouring bed. Nigel looked past him at the skylight. The sky was still blue.
"What do you want?" Nigel mumbled not really wanting to know the answer. All he wanted was to be left alone to sleep.
"I got to talk to you," he said shaking Nigel again.
"Can't it wait until morning?"
"No."
Groaning Nigel sat up. Whatever he wanted would not be worth waking up for. He glanced around the ward. Apart from a few of the older men sitting on their beds reading the bible, the majority of the men were still outside. Nigel must have been asleep for all of twenty minutes.
The sullen boy sat back down on his own bed. He pressed his chin against his chest and looked at Nigel from the corner of his eyes as if frightened to make eye contact.
"Is it true you found the dead man in the infirmary?" he whispered
"A lot of people die in the infirmary."
"You know the one..." He glanced around the ward. The men were not paying any attention, but he still leaned in and whispered. "The one that got eaten by a werewolf? I heard that you found him. I heard that some people think you killed him. They say that you're the werewolf."
"I could be," Nigel said flippantly. He just wanted to be left alone so that he could go back to sleep.
"You're not."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've seen a man turn into a werewolf and he didn't look anything like you."
Nigel stared at him trying to fathom whether he was lying. With his head lowered submissively, his nervous demeanour, and his refusal to make eye contact Nigel found him impossible to read.
"Do you know who this man is?" A name would provide the Professor with a lead to investigate further. Even if it led to a dead end, a potential suspect would be something he could put before the governors.
To Nigel's disappointment the boy shook his head. "I don't know his name. He doesn't work in the men's barracks. He keeps watch on the men working in the grounds."
