by Jodi Taylor
He fiddled with the paper, making a big thing of folding it neatly. ‘You don’t think …? After what happened with the factory as well, you don’t think this has anything to do with Thirsk taking the sword away, do you?’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘It can’t be a coincidence, can it? The sword is removed – Arthur’s symbol of protection – and suddenly, bad things start to happen. Suppose it’s like the London Stone – you know, “So long as the Stone of Brutus is safe, so shall London flourish.” Or the ravens leaving the Tower means the Crown will fall and Britain with it. Suppose it was left by Arthur to keep the people safe and by removing it, we’ve laid them open to …’
He was beginning to gabble.
I said gently, ‘It’s a coincidence. A dreadful one, but just a coincidence.’
‘These are not coincidences. These are disasters. First the factory closing. And now – this.’
He was more agitated than I could ever remember. I couldn’t blame him.
‘These things come in threes, Max. What next?’
‘Nothing comes next. Yes, it’s a tragic coincidence, Gareth, but nothing more than that. Look, it says here that the brakes failed. It was a mechanical rather than a supernatural disaster. Nothing to do with us. And certainly nothing to do with you.’
He so desperately wanted to believe me.
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes,’ I said firmly. ‘I really think so. I don’t think removing the sword was in any way responsible for the factory closure or the accident.’
He picked up the paper. ‘OK. Thanks Max,’ and he trailed back out of the Library.
I watched him go, turned back to my data stack, and stared at it for quarter of an hour, seeing nothing.
He was back the next week. My office, this time. He burst through the door without knocking. He looked dreadful.
‘Max!’
My assistant, Rosie Lee, was making tea in the corner. We have an arrangement. She makes me a cup of tea – I allow her a comfort break. It’s a system that works well for both of us. Given that she’s usually as hospitable as cholera, I expected her to invent an excuse and sweep from the room, but not this time.
I got him sitting down and she put a mug of tea in front of him. Then she swept from the room. I probably wouldn’t see her for the rest of the day, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now.
I didn’t mess about. ‘What’s happened?’
He could barely speak. ‘You remember? Do you remember?’
I tried to calm things down a little. ‘Remember what? Tell me what you’re talking about.’
‘I told you. I told you it was all connected. You didn’t believe me, but I told you. That these things come in threes. And now it’s happened again.’
‘Oh my God, not another accident?’
He shook his head, suddenly unable to speak. I keep a little something in my bottom drawer for this type of emergency, and added a tiny drop to his tea. Just a tiny drop because Dr Bairstow has strong views on drinking during office hours.
I made him take a few sips and then said, ‘What is it? Tell me what has happened.’
He gulped. ‘Oh, Max.’
‘What?’
‘Foot and mouth.’
‘Where?’ I said, knowing the answer.
‘My dad’s farm. They’ve set up a temporary control zone. The farm’s all shut down. And probably the neighbouring farms too. Everything’s stopped. No one can move their stock. There are restriction orders everywhere. I know they have to do it, but it doesn’t take long for a field to be grazed out, but you still can’t move the stock, and you have to bring in fodder, and the field gets wetter and muddier, and there’s shit everywhere, and you can’t keep the hay clean, and the animals can’t move in the mud, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And it’s my dad’s dairy herd. Three generations to build. We’ve won prizes. They’re not numbers – they have names. He knows them all and they’ll all be destroyed. On the farm. In front of him. His life’s work. And then they burn the carcases. He’ll never be able to replace them. Maybe he won’t want to.’
‘Is it definitely confirmed?’
‘No, not yet. But it will be. I know it.’
I switched on the screen and together we watched the pictures of barriers, restriction notices, disinfectant baths, and anxious faces. They pulled back to show images of the wrecked pub, followed by the closed factory gates with a few men standing around looking lost. Even the newsreader was commenting on the extraordinary run of bad luck that in less than a month had brought a prosperous community to its knees.
Roberts turned to me. ‘In Arthur’s day it was the Saxons. Today it’s …’ he gestured at the screen. ‘This.’
‘Gareth …’
‘Suppose it doesn’t stop here, Max. What’s next, do you think?’
He almost ran from the room.
I called Sands and directed him to keep an eye on Roberts.
‘Already on it,’ he said. ‘We’re in the bar.’
I frowned.
‘I can hear you frowning,’ he said, ‘but it strikes me that this might be the best thing. If he’s as pissed as a newt, then he’s not going to be able to dash off and do something stupid.’
‘Is he talking about doing something stupid?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Do not let him out of your sight.’
‘Copy that.’
That done, I called Peterson, thought for a moment, and called Markham as well. So that the three of us could talk about doing something stupid.
It seemed disloyal, somehow, to plot treason under St Mary’s roof and so, that evening, we all changed into civvies and convened a meeting at the Falconberg Arms – the pub in the village.
Markham got the drinks in and we settled ourselves in the furthest, darkest corner of the lounge bar, surrounded by hunting prints and horse brasses.
‘Well,’ I said, kicking things off. ‘The usual rules apply. Only one person speaks at a time. Everyone gets to speak. No interruptions. No violence. We all know what tonight’s topic will be. Mr Roberts, will you go first?’
We all knew what his opinion was, but it seemed wise to let him speak first.
‘I think we did it,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Well, not us specifically, but I think we initiated the events. We – Thirsk – moved the sword. It was put there to protect the people and we took it away.’
He sat back, indicating he had finished.
Peterson stirred. ‘You can’t possibly know that.’
‘I can,’ he insisted. ‘I do. There’s no way my dad’s farm can have foot and mouth. It’s just not possible. There’s not been any new livestock – he hasn’t even been to the livestock markets for a few weeks. Not Monmouth, nor Abergavenny. It’s a prize herd. He looks after them far better than he ever looked after us. And streets ahead of how he looks after my mam. According to my mam, that is.’
‘It’s a highly contagious disease,’ said Peterson. ‘Vehicles, people, equipment, other animals – it could have come from anywhere.’
‘All right,’ he said hotly. ‘What about the lorry crash? Vehicles go up and down that lane all day long. Nothing like that has ever happened before. Why now, suddenly? And what about the factory? It was fine. They’re not some fly-by-night operation – they make agricultural equipment. They’re a family firm established for the last thirty years. Their order books are full, Dad says. Why now do the banks suddenly decide to pull the plug? I tell you – it’s the sword. They took away the sword and suddenly everything starts to go wrong.’
Silence.
‘Surely you can’t deny it?’
‘It does sound a little far-fetched,’ said Sands, mildly.
Roberts took a pull on his pint, set the glass down carefully on his beer mat, and said quietly, ‘Events are escalating. Who wants to speculate on what will happen next? Anyone?’
Silence. We all looked at our drinks.
‘Well, let’s have a think, shal
l we? What about a fire at the infants’ school? How many would you like to see die before you consider that I might be right? What constitutes a tragedy? Five? Twenty? Would they all have to die before you can accept what’s right in front of your faces?’
He was beginning to shout. I put my hand over his and said, ‘Hush.’
He jerked it away angrily, and went to speak again but Markham said, ‘If Max says to hush, then I really think you should hush, don’t you?’
He subsided into his pint.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Everyone just slow down and take a breath. Stop and think for two minutes. Then we’ll go round the table and listen to what everyone has to say. Everyone gets to speak. No interruptions. Questions and discussions at the end. Starting now.’
We picked up our drinks and no one spoke for two minutes while we marshalled our arguments.
As you can imagine, everyone had a great deal to say. Two more rounds of drinks materialised. I made several trips to the facilities. Eventually, it all ground to a simmering halt.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘We put it to the vote. ‘Who agrees with Mr Roberts’ theory? Peterson?’
He put down his glass and said, ‘I think there might be something in what he says.’ Which was as big a surprise to him as to us, I think.
‘Mr Sands?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Sorry mate – but no. I think it’s just an unfortunate coincidence.’
‘Mr Roberts?’
‘It’s the sword.’ He stared us down, defiantly.
‘Mr Markham?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know, and because I don’t know I’m saying horses, not zebras.’
He meant – if you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras. The most obvious explanation is usually the right one, and the most obvious explanation was just simple bad luck.
‘Two each,’ said Peterson, downing the last of his pint. ‘It’s up to you, Max.’
It wasn’t yet too late. Even at this stage, we could step back from the brink. And I did. I stepped back. I said, ‘I agree with Sands and Markham. Coincidences. Tragic, unfortunate coincidences.’
Roberts wasn’t happy, but he’d agreed to abide by the decision. We made our way back to St Mary’s in unaccustomed silence. We parted company in the Hall and worn out, I went to our room, where Leon greeted me with the news that as they were shutting down the dig at Arthur’s Cave, part of the trench had collapsed, burying two Thirsk archaeologists, one of whom had not survived.
Twenty-four hours later, we were assembled in my office. Rosie Lee, protesting violently, had been evicted. This time we had a plan.
‘We take back the sword,’ said Roberts before anyone else could say a word. ‘We take it from Thirsk, we go back to the hill fort and we replace it in the cave. We have to. Before anyone else dies.’
‘The cave is the first place they’ll look for it,’ objected Sands.
‘We’ll work out that detail when we come to it,’ said Roberts. ‘Let’s start with actually stealing the sword.’
‘No,’ said Markham firmly, from his moral advantage as our resident criminal expert – from the criminal’s point of view, of course. ‘You always plan your exit strategy first. Never mind how we get in – how do we get out?’
‘Out of where? Where is it being kept, exactly? It’s a big campus.’
‘The sword is currently located in their Archive and Museum,’ I said. ‘In a small workroom off the Zetland Library. The one that houses the Byland Bequest.’
‘That’s on the Northallerton campus.’
‘Correct. And all the better for us because Kal works in the main admin building on the St James campus in Thirsk. With luck, she can’t be implicated.’
‘Neat,’ said Sands, admiringly. ‘How did you find that out?’
‘I emailed Thirsk and asked them.’
‘And they told you?’
‘Why wouldn’t they? We’re worshipped as gods at the moment.’
I stood up and locked the door.
‘Before we go any further, there are some points to bear in mind. If we do go ahead and do this – take back the sword, I mean – we cannot possibly hope to get away with it. Even if we’re not caught in the act – which we probably will be – everyone will know it was us. We’ll be seen on campus. CCTV cameras will have us racing up and down motorways all over the country. Everyone should be aware of this. We have not yet reached the point of no return. If anyone wants to back out – now is the time to do it.’
‘Have we considered …’ said Sands slowly, ‘just going to the Chancellor and asking for it back again. You never know.’
‘It’s Arthur’s sword,’ said Roberts, in despair. ‘They’ll never give it up. And once we raise their suspicions, they’ll put it somewhere else, and we’ll never be able to get to it.’
‘Besides,’ said Markham. ‘It’s always better to seek forgiveness than beg for permission. Trust me.’
We devoted as much time and effort to this assignment as we would to anything that had come down from Thirsk. More, in fact. We had to do this the low-tech way, so there was transport to think of, routes to plan, and driving schedules to allocate.
Peterson caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head faintly. We would not be taking Leon’s pod. We weren’t going to get away with this and I didn’t want him implicated. It’s not good for a kid to have both parents in prison.
We broke off at lunchtime – anyone missing meals at St Mary’s is automatically under suspicion of something or other – and reconvened afterwards. We pulled up maps and diagrams. We discussed routes, balancing the advantages of motorway speed and convenience against the ever-present surveillance systems. We thrashed out a plan for getting in, and another one for getting out. We discussed how to avoid any restrictions in the Caer Guorthigirn area. The only thing we didn’t talk about in any great detail was how we would dispose of the sword. Because we didn’t know.
Obviously, it had to go back into the cave, but how would we conceal it? We discussed it for ages, getting nowhere, and eventually decided we’d wing it once we got there. Which is pretty much the History Department’s motto.
‘And how are we to steal the thing, anyway?’ said Sands.
‘Leave that to me,’ said Markham. ‘You just get me there. I’ll do the rest.’
‘We can get in on our St Mary’s credentials,’ I said, ‘that won’t be a problem. But the workroom we want won’t be open to non-essential personnel.’
‘Kal can get us keycodes and passwords.’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘We don’t involve anyone else.’ I looked around. ‘We all need to be very clear about this. We are breaking the law. We are committing a crime. I have no illusions that we will get away with this. I have no idea what the consequences will be, but I think we can rely on them being severe. At the very least, we’ll be sacked. We may go to prison. Academic disgrace is a certainty. No one should be regarding this as a romantic adventure. Or a crusade. We are stealing something that doesn’t belong to us.’
‘As did they,’ said Roberts, hotly. ‘It wasn’t theirs to take away. It was given to the people of Caer Guorthigirn. It belongs to them, regardless of who found it. Or who owns the cave. It belongs to the people. We’re not stealing it – we’re taking it back.’
Well, if that was what he wanted to tell himself …
‘That’s as may be,’ I said, ‘but everything stays in this room. We don’t involve anyone else. Not Kal, not Rosie Lee, not Hunter, not anyone. We don’t take anyone else down with us.’
Peterson looked at me. ‘Not Leon?’
My heart thumped unpleasantly. I kept my voice steady. ‘Especially not Leon. He’s Dr Bairstow’s number two. We’d be putting him in an impossible position. Agreed?’
They all nodded. ‘Agreed.’
Peterson and Roberts would share the driving. Roberts would provide the transportation. ‘Sands, you stay with the car while we’re inside,’ said Markham. ‘There�
��s nothing more embarrassing than erupting from a building clutching your loot only to find the car’s been clamped. Or towed. So your job is to ensure our quick getaway.’
He nodded.
Markham would do the actual thieving.
And me …?
I was fighting off attempts to make me stay behind. Which I managed to do very successfully by simply ignoring everything Peterson said.
‘You’re pregnant, Max.’
I was making a list. ‘And we won’t want to hang around at service stations so we’ll need sandwiches and water in the vehicle. I’ll organise that.’
‘It’s too risky for you.’
‘Mr Roberts, please make sure your vehicle is fuelled and serviceable.’
‘Suppose someone gets hurt? You, for instance.’
‘I’ve done the staff work – here are our routes. This one’s from St Mary’s to Thirsk, and this one from Thirsk to Caer Guorthigirn. Refuelling stops are marked. No one drives for longer than two hours.’
‘Max, you can’t go.’
‘I’ve prepared a cover story because we’ll need a reason to be in the Zetland Library.’ I passed over sheets of paper.
‘Max!’
‘And I’ve already done the groundwork by telephoning the librarian with queries as to the availability of some volumes.’
‘Are you even listening to me?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Look …’
‘And all the reservations are in my name so if you don’t take me then you won’t even get in, let alone get anywhere near the sword. Do you still want to leave me behind?’ and swept on before anyone could say yes. ‘The biggest problem is going to arise when we reach the cave.’
‘Bigger than actually stealing the thing?’ asked Sands.
‘Oh yes,’ said Markham. ‘That’s the easiest part. Max is right. We have to decide what to do with the damn thing once we’ve got it.’
‘Put it back in the cave,’ said Roberts, impatiently. ‘Surely that’s the whole point.’
‘And that’s it?’ demanded Sands. ‘We just wrap it in a blanket and lay it down in the cave somewhere? Because no one’s going to find it there, are they?’
‘We bury it somewhere,’ said Roberts.
