Not that it would be a trial to eat here, he thought with a trace of envy. But not this time. Term was over, the students gone home for Christmas. This was set in readiness for the Founder’s Feast.
He looked again at the screen. Yes, that was oak. Strange how the wood had darkened and mellowed with age. It looked ancient, but not wearied or distressed with the passing of the years. Scrupulously maintained, he thought as he walked along the marbled centre. He was aware of the mess his shoes were making with mud and melted snow, but something caught his attention that banished guilt from his mind.
In the centre of High Table was a spherical object. Not resting or mounted on it, because only the top two thirds of the object were visible. Mounted in the table, in a specially carved hollow to hold the rock. He gingerly placed a finger on it.
It was approximately twelve inches in diameter. Smooth and highly polished. Black, with thin traces of red and green. Phil raised a hand to touch it.
“No. Please don’t do that.”
He turned and stared quizzically at Searles, who had now walked over to join him.
“The Divine Judgement,” Searles said in hushed tones that echoed around the cavernous Hall. “The meteorite that struck the Great Hall in 1799. A permanent reminder of the chequered history of All Souls.”
Phil felt a sense of awe. In this city of ancient architecture and timeless tradition, a body far older than the human race - maybe even older than the Earth itself - had travelled distances incomprehensible to human minds to land on the oldest college in Cambridge.
It humbled him, realising that human conception of time was nothing, mere seconds in the clock of the cosmos. It was easy to understand why mystical connotations were made with this object. Especially as it had travelled of all places in the universe, here to Cambridge.
To destroy. Phil shivered.
“Just a lump of rock, refuse from outer space,” the Master whispered. Whispers that became echoes. “And yet so much more. If you were a religious man you could easily convince yourself that it was a gift, or a message from God.”
“Or a curse.” Divine Judgement’s got a chilling ring.
“Quite.” The Master stroked the air above the polished spheroid with his delicate fingers. They appeared to tremble. “Are you aware of the Black Stone that is so precious to the Muslim faith? Pilgrims to Mecca make their way to the Kaaba, to raise their hands to the black stone embedded in the south-eastern corner. To receive energy they believe radiates from it. Muslims believe Gabriel gave the stone to Abraham, a symbol of the covenant between God and Man. It is a meteorite just like this.”
“And so much more,” Phil replied. He jerked away from the stone, shocked by how powerful his own whispered words were in the Hall. He looked back at the stone, forced himself to keep his next words as quiet as possible. Something about this stone demanded humility and respect. “For Muslims it’s proof of God’s existence and love for His creation. For anyone associated with All Souls, it looks like proof of God’s anger.”
“For disturbed minds, yes. Proof that human evil receives the justice it deserves from higher powers. As young Jason believes.”
“Why’s the rock kept here? Surely it should be in a museum.”
Searles shook his head. “It must never leave. We have had requests…well, demands, from the Senate that the rock be donated to the Fitzwilliam Museum. We have resisted. We are not superstitious or overtly religious men, Mr Lotson, but we do respect our college’s traditions. Just as the boar is consumed and eaten every year without fail, the stone never leaves All Souls. The tradition has it that as long as the meteorite remains, evil will never return to All Souls. God’s wrath in physical form, the most powerful means to prevent the Dark One regaining a foothold. Read into that what you will…but tradition must be respected.”
Phil stared at Searles in bewilderment. One of a group of highly intelligent and learned men, clinging onto a past that meant nothing. Continuing an outdated feast ritual for which the purpose had been forgotten and jealously guarding a meteorite that should be now sitting in pride of place in the geological section of a good museum. Even to the extent of not allowing outsiders to touch it.
Just what the hell motivates these people? No other college in Cambridge was like this one. No wonder rumours flew. Phil stood away from the meteorite and stared hard at the Master.
Searles is lying. No way is this adherence to ritual borne out of respect for tradition. There’s something else. Something Searles wants to tell me, but can’t.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking this,” he said, the words still booming. Damn it, how could you have a quiet conversation here? “When you emailed me this morning you said the meeting hadn’t been approved by the College Council. You said it was ‘imperative that we speak’. As if…well, like you have something else you want to tell me.”
Searles raised his eyebrows. “Nothing underhand about the meeting, Mr Lotson. The Council didn’t approve it because they don’t take you seriously. I wanted to meet you to satisfy myself you were a professional scholar, that you wouldn’t sensationalise or twist our story.” His eyes flickered over Phil’s head, his words spoken too quickly. And there was fear in the man’s eyes.
What are you afraid of, Searles? You’re the Master of All Souls. What’ve you to fear in your own college?
He turned back, looking to where Searles’ nervous gaze had landed. He saw a red light glinting, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before.
Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. He’d been so overwhelmed by the beauty of the Great Hall and the conversation with the Master about the Divine Judgement that only now was he aware of the CCTV camera. A faint hissing sound accompanied the red light above the black lens, as though the operator was zooming in on their faces.
Searles turned and walked rigidly towards the doors. At last Phil had his answer. Constant surveillance. The meeting’s being watched. Monitored, recorded. Hidden microphones.
Phil felt anxious to be away. He followed Searles, and both men left the Great Hall.
The red light of the camera and the ruby eyes of the boar followed their exit.
CHAPTER NINE
“Any memory yet?” Andy asked.
Rob dropped another cube of sugar into his coffee and stirred it with shaking hands. He raised it to his lips and saw Andy staring intently at him.
“Yeah. I just remembered that Emma has this amazing tattoo of a scorpion on her tit. I asked her if she was going to get a pair, but -‘
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know, Andy.” He sipped the coffee. “That drive through the woods earlier…it triggered something. Something scary. But I still can’t remember.”
“Nothing at all?” Andy sat back in the plastic seat and stared hard at Rob. Around them the Buttery was almost deserted. Hardly surprising with less than five days to go to Christmas. Two surly catering workers, their overalls spotlessly clean with the lack of custom glared at them behind the serving counter. The smell of stale chips and lasagne filled the air.
Unlike the rest of the college buildings, the Buttery was just like any other normal, modern cafeteria. Formica tables half-heartedly covered with paper Christmas-themed tablecloths. Small tubs of ketchup and vinegar sachets. A spotlessly clean wooden floor. A festive menu by the serving hatch offered basic roast turkey and all the trimmings for less than PS3.00.
Not today, though. Vegetable lasagne and chips was the only main course available.
Apart from the wild boar and red onion baps. Rob had turned green when he saw them on the hot plate. A Buttery Special, a tie-in with the Founders’ Feast tomorrow.
Sure you don’t want one? Only PS3.50, two for six quid.
Just coffee, thanks.
“Tell you this, though. If I was that pissed it’s amazing I got the van through the wood at all. Lucky not to get a ruptured fuel tank with all those stumps and roots hiding in the dark.” He shivered - or perhaps shuddered, Andy thoug
ht.
Hiding in the dark…he remembered how dark and oppressive the woods had been, and that was in broad daylight. He didn’t like the thought of going through them at night. But that’s what he’d have to do later when he returned to All Souls. No way could he go anywhere near the porter’s lodge.
Andy sipped his black coffee thoughtfully, gazing at the threadbare plastic Christmas tree in the corner by the Fire Exit. The fairy-lights seemed brighter now - or was it because it was getting darker outside?
Yes, definitely darker. The overhead strip lights flickered and hummed into life, an attempt by the catering staff to banish the midwinter darkness. Andy had started to feel more relaxed with each moment that passed in the college. But the darkness changed that.
“We’ll check on Emma’s room while we’re here. Can you at least remember where that is?”
“No need for satire, Andy. ‘Course I bloody remember.’ Rob looked at his watch. ‘Fuck me, half three and she still ain’t called! She ain’t going to be there now.’
“No harm in looking, is there? Might see one of her hall mates, they could have some idea.”
“Nah. Dan Bailey was the only one left, and he fucked off somewhere last night.” Rob scowled. “I’m gonna have words with that tosser in the New Year. Sold me some well dodgy gear - ‘
“So she was alone last night?” Andy lowered his mug . “Apart from you, of course.”
“Yeah. Usually nothing to worry about because security’s pretty tight. CCTV in all areas, swipe card access for the main buildings…since last year security’s really tightened up.”
CCTV…and I wonder who was watching the monitors? Perhaps John Franklin had been monitoring the college grounds on the night Geoff Michaels sneaked in and disappeared. Andy drained his coffee.
“Still got it?”
“Got what?”
Andy sighed. “The guest pass Emma got you. Do you still have it?”
Rob raised his eyebrows. “Think so. Be at home, though. Why?”
“Let’s hope that Franklin hasn’t cancelled it. If they use the system I think they do, that swipe card will be active for 48 hours.” He smiled coldly. “You and Emma might have made my job a bit easier. Come on. I think young Jasper needs a walk.”
* * * * *
Jasper needed more than a walk. Andy was reluctant to have the nervous and full-bladdered dog coming with them for longer than necessary, but he saw there was no way the dog was going back into the van without human company. He retrieved the toner cartridge from the van, checked the label matched what was on the delivery note, and slammed shut the sliding door.
“Is he normally this jumpy?” Andy asked. Rob attached the lead to Jasper’s collar.
“He’s manic, you’ve seen that. But…” Rob scratched the dog’s flattened ears. “I guess he’s spooked by this place as well.”
Andy looked at the unlit windows of the Master’s Lodge. There were two sets of footsteps in the snow that lead from the locked door. Phil and Searles had gone for a wander, and Andy wondered where the Master had taken him.
The Bursar’s office would have been hard to find using the poor map from the porter’s lodge, but Andy had noticed one of the CCTV monitors was fixed on a small set of buildings in Old Court. He’d also noticed a rather large man squeezing his way into the narrow doorway of the centre building, clearly labelled J stairway. That was where they headed.
Andy noted the entrance to the Bursar’s office was via one of the traditional Cambridge narrow spiral staircases. No wonder the fat man struggled.
“Rob. I’ll take the delivery.” I want do a little digging.
Jasper and Rob waited outside. It would have been pushing their luck to bring an animal into the offices. Especially after Jasper’s little “visit” to the kitchens.
J stairway wasn’t just narrow, it was dark. A bulb had gone and no one had bothered to fix it. For the second time that day, Andy made a journey that was darker than it should’ve been. The stairs were slippery, melting snow from his boots making the passageway treacherous. When he got to the top of the staircase, still in darkness, he could barely read the brass plate on the doorway. SIMON DAVIES - BURSAR. The badly fitting, almost warped door was outlined in pale yellow by the lights in the Bursar’s office behind. He could hear a man’s voice, raised in anger, shouting in what sounded like a one-way conversation.
He rattled the doorknob then pushed the door open.
It was a small office, cramped and unsuitable for the work expected to be performed within. In the right corner five-foot high bookcases full of overflowing lever arch files formed a small cage for the petite, middle-aged woman burying herself deeper into her cardigan, shrinking into her seat and edging her head closer to the keyboard as though she was about to be physically attacked.
The room was made smaller by the huge bulk of Simon Davies in the other corner. He stood in front of his desk with a corded telephone handset clenched to his reddened face and spittle flying from his thick lips. He had a ginger beard in a Tudor style and muddy brown eyes that bulged in their sockets and threatened to burst from a face scarlet with anger. His jowls strained for freedom over his shirt collar, despite the top button being undone and the grey striped tie loosened.
“I don’t bloody care what your excuses are! You promised me three workers for tomorrow night. Three!” He glowered at Andy. “I know it’s the Christmas party season, I know you’re swamped with requests…but All Souls’ Founder’s Feast is a renowned event. It should take priority over office parties for a bunch of chavs - just what the hell d’you think you’re doing?”
Andy had dropped the toner cartridge on the Bursar’s desk, spilling some of the untidily stacked sheaves of paper. Realising Davies was speaking to him, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Drop off from Santa. You’ve been a good boy this year.” He held out the delivery note. “Sign and print.”
If Davies’ face had been red before, it was purple now. Spittle on his fat lips turned into flecks of foam. The plastic of the handset threatened to break.
“Calm down, pal. Your head looks like it’s going to come off.”
The tense silence was broken by a nervous titter from the woman in the corner. Aware of the Bursar’s eyes blazing in her direction, her smile vanished and she buried herself back into her work.
“Ms Cox will sign the delivery note,” Davies’ voice was strangled. “And you would be advised to improve your customer service skills. Granta Office Supplies, isn’t it? I’ll be having words with Mr Harrison when he arrives.”
Andy’s back was towards him. He grinned and winked at the lady in the corner. She smiled nervously at him as she signed the paperwork.
“Your boss,” Davies added meaningfully. He was about to say more when he realised there were noises coming from the phone. “Yes? Oh. Well, if that’s the best that you can do…very well. Email me the young lady’s details, CC it to Ms Cox as usual. A copy of her CV…I take it she has silver service? Very well. Tell her to report to the kitchens tomorrow morning, eleven AM.” He slammed the handset down and glared at Andy’s amused expression.
“Can’t get the staff these days…” Andy’s words brought another nervous laugh from Ms Cox and another glare from the Bursar.
The glare softened and became a look of recognition. Davies turned and grabbed his coat from the top of a filing cabinet.
“Judith, I have to leave. An appointment with Mr Cassell. Be sure to get that invoice from Ocean Wave Direct cancelled. And we’re overdue a credit note on the last cancellation, chase them up. Then you can go.” He pushed past Andy on his way to the door.
“And the compliments of the season to you.” Andy’s words were addressed to a slammed door. He shook his head and turned to Judith.
“He always like this?”
She looked visibly relieved to have her boss out of the room. She took off her glasses and wiped them with the corner of her cardigan. Davies’ spittle had travelled a long way.<
br />
“Recently, yes. He was a perfect gentleman when I first started, but…he’s becoming unbearable recently. Under a lot of stress, snapping at the slightest little thing…”
“Seemed in a real hurry to be gone just now.” But that was because he recognised me. Wonder who he’s really gone to see?
Judith Cox frowned. “Yes, I thought that was strange. But then, he’s a strange man. And this is a very strange place. Not a popular place to work. That phone call he had now was with from an employment agency that sends catering workers to us. Since last year, no one wants to work here, especially not on the night of the Founder’s Feast.”
“I can imagine,” Andy said with a nod. “Lightning never strikes twice, but…”
Judith examined her glasses in the overhead light and put them back on. “But best not to take chances. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Andy paused. She hadn’t been here long, she wouldn’t know about Geoff Michaels. And he couldn’t very well rifle through the records of the Bursar’s office while the secretary was still there. But…
“There is one thing. A friend of mine went missing some time ago, I don’t know if you have any information on him?” He pulled out the creased photo and passed it to her.
She examined it carefully. “He looks familiar. I can’t say I’ve seen him around the college, though. But I only started two months ago.” She handed the photo back to Andy.
“Sorry. I think I recognise the face from the Cambridge Evening News last year. Missing student, isn’t he?”
Andy nodded solemnly. “Geoff Michaels.”
“Hmm, yes. It’s familiar now. Of course, he disappeared just before the incident with the college, so his story was forgotten. The police believe he had reasons for disappearing, they don’t suspect ‘foul play’…but you do?” Her eyes narrowed behind the half moon lenses, becoming more suspicious and appraising.
The Caretakers (2011) Page 12
