Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals

by Dan Abnett

  “No,” said Lara. “I’m sorry. How long will Samantha be in hospital?”

  “She was in a coma, and there could be organ damage. With this new information, I’m going to recommend some neurological tests, and there’s the psychiatric evaluation. It could be some time.”

  “Is she in any danger?” asked Lara.

  “She’s out of the coma, and that’s a very good sign,” said the doctor. “The oxygen is a precaution. She’s stable. I’m going to run those tests. Let’s wait and see.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Southgate,” said Lara. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Doctor Southgate. “Don’t look so worried. Things are looking promising.”

  Chapter 5

  Lara returned to the flat and to the Book. It wasn’t just about making Sam better anymore. The doctors had healed her body from the overdose, but, overnight, things had become much more serious.

  “This is about Himiko,” she said. “This is about Himiko and Yamatai, and it’s about saving Sam from the Sun Queen. The doctors can’t do that. She needs me now.”

  Lara went back over the pages that she’d read the night before. She went back to the notes on immortality and spiritual transference. That was what Himiko had intended. She had needed Sam’s body.

  The notes on the Ten Thousand Immortals jumped off the page at her. It was all about Himiko striving to be immortal. Lara tried to put it out of her mind. She needed to concentrate on Sam. She turned the page.

  On the following page was another handwritten addition in fading ink that simply read “Golden Fleece”.

  The Golden Fleece, thought Lara. The Golden Fleece...

  She flicked through the pages until she found the section on explorers and adventurers. The chapter on Jason was extensive, but she quickly found the reference to the Golden Fleece. She wanted to confirm her own understanding that the artifact had healing properties.

  “What are you thinking, Lara?” she said, closing the Book. “This stuff isn’t real… It can’t be real.”

  Lara strode into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She began pacing. Part of her didn’t want to accept what she was considering: That somehow, Sam had been possessed by the Sun Queen. But she couldn’t ignore it, and archaeology might have a solution. Lara found some nuts and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. She picked up her laptop and went back to the Book to settle in to do some research.

  Three hours later, Lara ordered take-away. After she’d hung up the phone, she went back into her contacts, scrolled down the list, and hit dial.

  “Professor Cahalane,” she said. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I need your help.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to hear from you, Lara,” said Cahalane. “Why don’t we meet up, and I’ll see what I can do?”

  It was getting late, and Lara was tired, but she couldn’t rest. She made tea and went back to the Book to read more about the Golden Fleece.

  The world was a wonderful, mysterious place, and she’d seen things with her own eyes… Things that she couldn’t easily explain. When science could give her all the answers, she’d listen. Right now, however, Sam needed her help, and she had nothing to lose.

  Lara needed a purpose, she needed to feel as if she was doing something to help her friend, and history was all she knew. Her experience on Yamatai had shown her there was a nugget of truth in the ancient myths. The Book was full of myths, and if she could find the truth behind the Golden Fleece, the truth behind any of the legends or artifacts concerned with healing, maybe she could do something to help Sam. She had to try.

  Everything was in place for her to meet her father’s old friend, Professor Cahalane, the following week. She hoped for good news on Sam’s physical progress before then, but if her friend was going to recover fully, she’d need more help than any doctors could give her.

  Professor Cahalane was in London for a lecture tour and was more than happy to meet his old friend’s daughter for dinner at his hotel. Lara had spent most of the week, when she was not with Sam, collating all the material she could find on myths surrounding healing and any artifacts associated with them. She spent days following up leads, but most of them resulted in dead ends. Lara found that her research kept leading her back to the Golden Fleece, and by the end of the week, it seemed like the only viable proposition.

  Lara soon exhausted the notes in the Book about Jason, but there was plenty of scholarly information on the web about the man and his myth, about the Argo and its crew, and even about the healing powers of the Fleece. There was very little that she didn’t already know. The crucial information, the whereabouts of the artifact itself, had been lost to the mists of time.

  That’s where the professor’s knowledge and experience could help Lara. Her father had trusted and befriended him, and Lara knew that she could rely on him. She also knew that Calahane had disapproved of her father’s methods, his practices as an archaeologist. She already suspected that he’d take a very dim view of her quest for a cure for Sam, particularly if it involved something as mythical as the Golden Fleece.

  Late in the afternoon, Lara dressed for dinner and caught the Tube at her local station at Piccadilly Circus. She stepped further into the carriage when a man in his early twenties, wearing a baseball cap, came onboard, uncomfortably close behind her. She would have preferred to remain by the doors; it was only one quick stop to Oxford Circus where she’d have to change to the Victoria line. She looked around at the other passengers, as she always did. They were the usual collection of shoppers and tourists making their way around the city. She looked twice at a disheveled older man sitting in a corner seat, but he seemed to be asleep. He looked down on his luck, and the other passengers were giving him a wide berth. Lara glanced back at the man who had slipped through the doors behind her. He had pulled a magazine out of his pocket and was flicking through it, so perhaps he planned to stay on the train for several stops.

  You’re being paranoid, thought Lara. Get a grip.

  Four minutes later, Lara got off the train. She wondered whether she really was being paranoid when the man with the magazine got off too.

  She switched to the Victoria line for another one-stop ride to Warren Street. She stood as far back on the platform as she could, her back to the wall, and watched passengers coming onto the platform behind her. She held her phone at her hip, her thumb on the camera button. If he was there, she’d get a shot of him.

  As the air pressure in the tunnel changed with the arrival of the train, she spotted Magazine Man come onto the platform at the last moment, looking around. She snapped his photo. He was clearly looking for someone.

  As the passengers got on the train, Lara ducked out behind Magazine Man. She left, hidden among the last of the disembarking passengers. When she could no longer be seen from the platform, she stopped and waited, her back pressed against the wall just beyond the exit.

  If he got on the train, thinking she was already on it, she’d catch the next one. If he didn’t… Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

  As Lara heard the train pulling out of the station, she walked the three steps back along the walkway, and darted a look along the platform. It was empty.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Then, she walked briskly towards the exit and the tail end of the disembarking passengers. There was safety in numbers.

  Back among the crowds, Lara turned again at the first opportunity and made her way down to the platform with the next wave of passengers. She was on her guard, her phone in her hand, constantly on the lookout for anyone who might be tailing her.

  It hadn’t been her imagination. Magazine Man had definitely been following her. Hadn’t he? She was sure of it… almost sure. She remembered the panic she’d felt only a week before and her anxiety over Sam’s condition, and decided it was probably paranoia. Still, she couldn’t b
e too careful.

  Lara didn’t feel much more comfortable when she left the train at Warren Street.

  She knew Professor Cahalane’s hotel well; she’d visited it several times before. The Professor was world-renowned, and he was a regular lecturer at the UCL Institute of Archaeology. He always stayed at the Wesley.

  Lara didn’t walk her usual route.

  She had wasted several minutes dodging Magazine Man on the Tube, so she was likely to be late. A few more minutes wouldn’t make much difference.

  Lara normally walked along the Euston Road to the hotel. On this particular evening, she crossed it and walked north along Hampstead Road and then turned right to take the long route around Tolmer’s Square. At the junction with North Gower Street, Lara stopped and looked around. Everything seemed fine, normal. She turned left past a short parade of shops on her right and Speedy’s Sandwich bar on her left, and then turned right into Euston Street.

  Lara very deliberately walked past the Wesley and around the corner onto Melton Street before doubling back. She did not see Magazine Man again, or anyone else acting suspiciously.

  When she entered the restaurant, Professor Cahalane was already seated.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Professor,” said Lara, shrugging off her jacket, and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

  “What’s five minutes between friends?” said Cahalane. “Why don’t you sit down? There’s no rush… You look… harried.”

  “I’m fine… Thank you,” said Lara, taking her seat.

  A waiter poured Lara some water. She looked at him intently while he performed the task, and then she sipped at the glass, grateful for the distraction and for the opportunity to calm herself.

  “Are you really all right?” asked Cahalane.

  “I really am,” said Lara, breathing more easily. She cast her mind back fifteen or twenty minutes to the man on the Tube. It was the anxiety. It just got the better of her sometimes. She was just panicky about Sam. She was a little on edge. She could handle it.

  “Honestly,” said Lara, smiling. She sat back a little in her chair.

  “Let’s look at the menu then, shall we?” asked Cahalane.

  “You say that as if you didn’t know every dish on it,” said Lara.

  “I think you’ll find they’ve changed it since you were last here,” said Cahalane.

  “Excellent,” said Lara, picking up her menu.

  The real conversation began halfway through the main course: A braised ox cheek for him and a confit Gressingham duck leg for her.

  “You know how foolish this is, don’t you?” asked the professor.

  It wasn’t what Lara wanted to hear, but it was no less than she expected.

  “Archaeology isn’t about the big prizes, Lara. You know that,” said Professor Cahalane. “It’s not about adventuring around the globe. You should learn from your father’s mistake. Archaeology is a meticulous pursuit, a science.”

  “I do know that,” said Lara. “I also know that my friend’s in trouble. Sam needs my help.”

  “It sounds to me as if Sam needs good medical attention, and from what you’ve told me, she’s already getting that.”

  “She is,” said Lara. “But I’m not a doctor.”

  “You’re not much of an archaeologist either, young lady,” said Professor Cahalane. “Why don’t you get back in a classroom? Why don’t you do some more study? You could be very good, you know.”

  “Thank you,” said Lara, and she meant it.

  Professor Cahalane was one of the foremost authorities in the world in his field. He was highly respected, and his breadth and depth of knowledge was second to none. What’s more, he was a great educator, popular with his students. His lectures were always well attended.

  “I could put you in the way of a good research fellowship. You only have to say the word,” said Cahalane.

  “Right now, I really need your help with this,” said Lara. “I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”

  “It’s just a story, Lara,” said Cahalane, sighing. “It’s a very beautiful story, of course, but then, they all are.”

  Lara said nothing as the waiter removed their empty plates and then brought the dessert menu.

  Professor Cahalane sat back in his chair, his wine glass in his hand.

  “I suppose a trip to Oxford doesn’t exactly qualify as gallivanting around the globe,” Cahalane finally said, putting down his wine glass and picking up the menu.

  “You know you’ll have the cheese,” said Lara. She was keen to ask what was in Oxford, but she knew that the simplest, best option was to allow the professor to take his time and get to the point when he was good and ready.

  “There might be a trifle on the menu,” said Cahalane.

  “There isn’t,” said Lara. “But since you’re a fan of custard, there is a crème brûlée.”

  “They do serve an awfully good port,” said Cahalane.

  “And we can’t both order the brûlée,” said Lara. “That’d be terribly bad form. You’re not kidding anyone, Professor. You know it’s going to be the cheese, and so does that waiter. He’s only waiting for you to put down your menu. He’s practically hovering.”

  “Let him hover,” said Cahalane.

  “I don’t think you should,” said Lara, smiling. “After all, I never met an academic who knew how to tip.”

  Cahalane dropped his menu onto the table and almost twinkled. A moment later he ordered the cheese and the crème brûlée.

  “There’s a good man in Oxford, Professor of Antiquities at the School of Archaeology. Man by the name of—”

  There was a crash in the kitchen. Cahalane turned to look as the dining room fell silent. The low murmur of chatter quickly resumed, but when the professor turned back to Lara, her face was pale and her fist was clenched around the handle of a knife, her knuckles white.

  “Are you quite all right, my dear?” he asked.

  “Quite,” said Lara, desperately trying to control the panic welling up in her.

  Professor Cahalane glanced at the knife in her hand, and Lara let go of it and wiped her sweating palm on her napkin.

  “You’re not all right though,” said Cahalane. “What can I do, dear girl?”

  “Nothing,” said Lara, unable to speak more than a word at a time as her heart beat hard in her chest, and she tried to breathe through constricted airways.

  “Get the girl a glass of water,” said Cahalane over his shoulder. He drew his chair a little closer to Lara’s and put a hand on her arm. “Someone dropped something in the kitchen. One of those large trays, I imagine. It gave you a fright. I quite understand.”

  “Thank you,” said Lara.

  The waiter poured Lara more water, and she began to sip at it.

  Just breathe out, Lara, she told herself. It’ll pass. Just breathe out.

  “There’s a little too much adrenaline in your blood stream, my dear,” said Cahalane, “but it’ll work its way out of your system. Let’s just sit for a moment. Would you like me to tell you about my chap in Oxford?”

  “Yes,” said Lara. “Please.”

  “Where was I, before we were so rudely interrupted?” asked Cahalane. “Ah yes, Babbington. Professor St. John Babbington. Very knowledgeable chap when it comes to artifacts. This sort of thing is right up his street. The man knows antiquities. He knows what they are, and their stories. He knows the significance of the legends and how they came to be. If he doesn’t know a thing or two about your Golden Fleece, there isn’t a man alive who does.”

  He reached out once more to touch Lara’s arm.

  “That’s it. You’re doing wonderfully. Another breath or two, and you’ll be as right as rain.”

  Lara was beginning to feel a little better. The professor’s calm presence made it easier. His pragmatic reassurance gav
e her the extra confidence she needed to get over the panic attack quickly. He was also giving her the first piece of her puzzle, the first step on her way to finding out more about the fleece, and the possibility of helping Sam.

  “Oxford’s a marvelous place. You might consider it for the next step in your education. Take a look at a prospectus while you’re there, visit a college or two. Some of the older ones are particularly glorious.”

  Lara sipped at her water a little more and then managed to take a long, deep breath.

  “I might just do that,” she said. “About Professor Babbington?”

  “He’s spent a long career tracking and locating artifacts. If anybody knows anything about the Golden Fleece, its history, where or what its alleged healing properties derive from, or how the legend came to be, it is Professor Babbington,” said Cahalane. “There, you see, you must be feeling better.”

  “I think I am,” said Lara.

  After a short pause, Professor Cahalane asked the waiter to hold off on the last course for ten or fifteen minutes. Then, he turned to Lara and asked, “Do you want to talk about this?”

  “Thank you, but it’s fine,” she said. “I’m getting help. It’s silly.”

  “It certainly isn’t silly,” said the Professor. “I had a research fellow once with the most awful anxiety disorder. It was a long time ago. She was afraid and embarrassed and… Well, never mind ‘and.’”

  Lara took another deep breath and sipped some more water. She was pleased to be over the attack so quickly. It was hardly an attack at all.

  “I’m very grateful. You helped enormously,” she said. “I have a problem with anxiety. I’ve been diagnosed. I have coping strategies. It was the noise.”

  “I can see that,” said Cahalane. “But you will be all right. It will take a little time, but I’m sure that you’ll be all right.”

  “So am I,” said Lara.

  She spoke firmly, brightly. He had done what an English gentleman does. He had taken control while he needed to, and now he would back off. Lara knew she could rely on Professor Cahalane not to ask a lot of personal questions, not to pry. If he could see that she was recovered, if he was reassured that she was being looked after, nothing more need be said.