his chair and lifting his feet, planting them on the desk. He held the object up before him and turned the chain between his fingers. Slowly, it began to spin, first one way, and then back the other.
'What are you?' he asked. 'Help me out here, will you?'
Winterburne continued to spin the medallion, searching for some inspiration, but nothing came. He huffed and rose to his feet, making to walk out from behind his desk. He had forgotten about the pile of books and documents that he had left on the floor near his desk and they tripped him, causing him to kick them all across the floor of his office.
'Oh, hell!' he said.
He looked down at the papers, and then he raised his gaze to the ceiling, sighing. Kneeling, he pulled the loose leaves together into some sort of disordered pile.
'Bloody books!' he said, and paused. A thought passed through his mind, and then his face lit up.
Winterburne slid the medallion into his pocket and charged out of his office. As he made his way down the corridor, Watchman Roland opened the front door and walked in. Winterburne pushed his way past the man and the door swung shut behind him, but just as he reached the porch, he turned back and poked his head back through.
'Roland!' Winterburne called.
The Watchman, who by now had almost reached the Common Room, started with surprise and spun around to look at him.
'Sir?'
'When Cromwell gets back, tell him that I've gone up to the University to look in their library.' He tapped the pocket in which the medallion nestled safely. 'I'm going to find out if they can help me identify our little friend for us.'
oOo
Winterburne strode along West Street, past the familiar buildings, shops and dwellings where the people of the city would be going about their business. Life went on and most of the people would be oblivious of the fact that a young girl's life had been snuffed out so close to where they lived out their own personal dramas.
He reached the first intersection, turning left into the road that ran up the hill to Imperial Square, stopping as he reached the door that was his destination. Before him the façade of the three storey building that made up the University of Westmoreland looked back at him.
The University building extended on both sides of its central entrance porch and each floor offered a row of stained glass windows. The door of the building looked heavy, and all of it's height of seven feet. At eye level, a small spy slot had been cut into the wood. Winterburne assumed it was for the butler to use to see who was disturbing the occupants inside.
He approached the door, thumping it with his closed fist. Then he stepped back as he waited for any sound of activity to come from within. Without warning, just as he was about to pound on the door again, the spy hatch slid open.
'What do you want?' a man's voice asked.
'It's Captain Winterburne of the Watch,' he said. 'I need to speak with one of the Professors, urgently.'
A pair of eyes appeared against the slot, staring at him as they scanned him up and down. Winterburne stared back. After a few moments, the man had clearly had his fill of what he saw, and the hatch slapped closed again.
Three bolts snapped back, one at the top of the door, one in the middle and one at the bottom. The bolts sounded substantial, and the noise was quickly followed by a clunk as a key turned in the lock. The door opened slowly, at first, revealing a short man dressed in dark blue robes. He wore a beret which flopped over his hair-line and almost down to the level of his eyes.
'I'm sorry about that,' the man said, smiling at him, 'but one can never be too careful these days. But I don't need to tell you that, do I Captain? Please, come in,' he said as the door swung open.
Winterburne stepped through the doorway and into a corridor. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
'One moment, please,' the man said.
Winterburne watched him close the door and turn the large iron key in the lock again, before sliding the black bolts into place, in a reversal of the ritual of only a few moments before.
The man reached up to slide the last bolt, stretching as he stood on tip-toe. Then he turned. 'I am Gilbert Foxe, Captain,' he said, reaching out to take Winterburne's hand. He gripped it tightly and shook it vigorously. 'I am the butler of this University.'
'Master Foxe,' Winterburne said, 'I need to speak with one of the Professors. A Watch matter. It is very important.'
Foxe looked at Winterburne and nodded. He smiled and gestured with an open hand, pointing down the corridor. 'This way,' he said.
The corridor was dark, but now that his eyes had adjusted to the light Winterburne noticed it was lined with plinths upon which a variety of vases and jugs sat. They looked expensive and he took great care to stay in the middle of the carpet so that he did not knock them. That would be the last thing he needed, they looked priceless, and most likely he would have spent the rest of his life paying back the debt. Along the walls hung paintings of men, dressed in formal robes, and almost all of the figures sat in front of a similar bookcase full of books.
Foxe seemed to anticipate Winterburne's question. 'They were all Principals of this University, Captain,' the man looked back over his shoulder. 'These pictures cover the last two hundred years, give or take a few.'
Winterburne thought they were impressive pictures, and fine art indeed. 'Which one is of the current Principal?'
'Ah, no,' Foxe replied, 'only after his death will he join his illustrious predecessors.'
'I see.'
'It is tradition, Captain,' Foxe said, 'I don't pretend to understand it either.'
'We have some of our own traditions in the Watch too, Master Foxe, don't you worry,' Winterburne said, thinking of the initials carved into his desk.
The butler smiled back at him. 'I don't know how many of these academic types you know, but the Professors in this establishment like to keep their little eccentricities polished.'
Winterburne chuckled.
'In fact,' Foxe added, 'they make a particular point of it.'
The butler took Winterburne through a door at the end of the corridor, and beyond into a waiting room. It had been well decorated, and all round the room had been placed well proportioned, padded leather chairs. A large fireplace occupied one of the walls in the room, but it did not look as if it had seen a fire for some time. On the mantle sat a large brass time-piece. The movements were visible through a glass bell, spinning away, marking the time. There was a quality to the ticking that seemed to expand to fill the whole room.
'Wait here,' Foxe said. 'Make yourself comfortable and I will see if Professor Elyot is available.'
The butler left the room and Winterburne took in the surroundings. Next to the window a small bookshelf had been fixed to the wall. He walked across to it and picked up one of the books. It was bound in leather which had been dyed a green colour that had darkened with age. The writing on the front was gilt but it was written in a language that he did not recognise. He flicked through the first few pages of the book, but that was equally unhelpful and did not tell him any more. He replaced it on the shelf, turning to face the centre of the room.
A large oil painting of the University hung above the fireplace, full of luxurious greens, and generous browns, but even with his untrained eye he could see that the artists licence had been wildly exaggerated. In fact, on second thoughts, it was thoroughly criminal. For a start, although the building was recognisable, it was portrayed as if it had been laid out in the middle of open fields, and surrounded by a pine forest. He smiled.
The door opened behind him and he spun around to see an ageing man enter the room. Foxe followed closely behind. The man's long grey hair and long grey beard hid most of his face, and his half-spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose covering a large portion of the rest. The man spied him over the top of his lenses.
'Ah, Captain,' he said, as he reached out to shake Winterburne's hand. 'I am Professor Humphrey Elyot.
Winterburne, nodded his acknowledgement, and took h
is hand.
'I am the Librarian here,' Elyot said. 'I see you were just admiring the painting of the University.'
'Yes, it's very,' Winterburne searched for the right word, 'imaginative.'
'It's utter tosh, of course,' the Professor replied, looking at the picture over the lenses of his spectacles. He motioned with his hand and waved it across the canvas. 'There were never any trees growing anywhere near the University, even before the city was built, and as you can see there is no sea on the horizon. I never liked it much, but I'm told it's worth something and no one can bring themselves to get rid.'
Winterburne was beginning to wonder if the spectacles worn by the Professor actually served any purpose or whether they were just for show as he had not made use of them at all since arriving. 'My apologies for disturbing you today, Professor,' he said, 'but I was hoping that you might be able to help me with a bit of a problem that I have.'
'Of course, my boy.' Elyot smiled back at Winterburne, but still spied him over the rims of his glasses. 'Anything to assist the Watch.'
'There was a murder, earlier this week,' Winterburne said, 'in the North Quarter.'
'A murder?' Elyot looked surprised. 'How very unfortunate.'
'Indeed,' Winterburne replied. 'I believe that we have a clue, but I am not sure if it is important.' He removed the medallion from his pocket and handed it to the Professor. 'I was hoping that you may be able to tell me whether this object is significant.'
The Professor held it up to the light and surveyed its details. He looked at Winterburne, and then back to the medallion. 'Foxe!' he shouted.
'Yes, Professor,' the butler said, who had already been standing at the Professor's side.
'Ah, there you are. Fetch Professor Harman for me, please.'
Foxe acknowledged the Professor's request and left the two men alone in the room.
'This is not,' Elyot said, smiling, 'my field of expertise, as it were.' He turned the medallion over and over in his hands. 'But I am sure, however, that Professor Harman would like very much to see this.'
'So you know what it is?'
'Oh yes,' Elyot said, 'but I will leave it up to Professor Harman to elaborate in a little more detail than I ever could.' Elyot handed the medallion back to Winterburne and strolled over to one of the seats, where he sat, placing his arm across the back. 'He likes to do that...elaborate, I mean,' he said. 'I shouldn't think he will be very long.'
Winterburne waited patiently while the clock ticked loudly in the background. It was as if the device was commenting on the very nature of each second and had an opinion on the quality of the space between each tick. Somehow, if it was at all possible, the time between each stroke seemed to grow in length.
The Professor continued to observe him over the rims of his spectacles, and he began to feel distinctly uncomfortable as the man's eyes bored deep into him. After what seemed like quite some time under the librarian's gaze, the door opened and in walked Foxe followed by another old man, sporting the same long hair and beard as Professor Elyot, but this time without the spectacles. Perhaps, he thought, with a smile, the hair and beard are all part of the uniform.
'Professor Tibbet Harman,' the man said, 'at your service, Captain.'
Professor Elyot stood and walked over to the pair. 'Tibbet,' he said, 'the Captain, here, has a...trinket on which he would like your professional opinion.'
'Really, Humphrey,' Harman said, and looked at Winterburne. 'Is that true, Captain?'
Winterburne handed Professor Harman the medallion.
The Professor slid his hand into the pocket of his robe and pulled out his own set of spectacles, slipping them onto his nose. 'Well now,' Harman said, 'what do we have here?'
He took out a magnifying glass and peered through the lens, over the rim of his glasses, as he surveyed the details of the medallion. He first
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