His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched. The bones of his elbows and wrists felt as though they might snap at any moment. Fangs seemed to be ripping at his shoulders. Once in a play fight when they were children, William had twisted Edmund’s arms up behind his back, and Edmund had screamed with the pain. This was ten times worse. Even though he tried not to move, hands seemed to grip his body, torturing every part of it.
He began to count. ‘One . . . two . . .’ Up to ten, standing on his toes so the pain beat through his back. ‘Eleven . . . twelve . . .’ Another ten with heels down, while his arms tore and throbbed. His neck was hurting too now. So were the muscles of his legs, cramping and burning as he tried to find some relief from the agony.
There were voices nearby. Corporal McKean
