it too.
McAllister fell into the rhythm James had set, bundling a few clothes and private papers into a portmanteau.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’
They had, James reckoned, about half an hour before dawn would begin to shift the college into its morning life and the square below would begin to clack with footsteps and chatter. James went out onto the landing to make sure no eyes or ears were near, then beckoned McAllister. They went down the stairs and out the back door, and then along by the Anatomy House. From inside that grey building came a sudden sharp laugh that chilled both to the bone. They stopped dead and waited, but no one came out. They could hear a faint murmur of voices from within, but whoever was there was intent on their own business and had no interest in who might be passing outside.
‘They must have a fresh body for dissecting,’ McAllister whispered to James.
There was nothing unusual about this. McAllister had on several occasions gone to witness a dissection in the great theatre inside, but now the thought seemed to fill him with horror. They hurried past until they came to College Park.
McAllister, now full of urgency, made to run across the wide expanse of the park, but James pulled him back. ‘What if we should be seen racing across the park like a pair of thieves? We should move swiftly but normally, as if it wereour ordinary business to be here. That way, if we are observed, no note will be taken of it.’
McAllister seemed unconvinced, but agreed. They walked the tree-lined paths around the perimeter of the park. A faint light edged the trees as they walked down the avenue. They would soon reach the rear entrance gate, after which they could melt into the waking city. As they turned the corner at the bottom of the avenue, their spirits lifting at the prospect of escape from immediate danger, a figure suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, on the path in front of them. McAllister moaned with fright. James stood transfixed, not daring to move any further forward. The figure was brown and somewhat stooped and was making straight for them. It had a cane in its right hand, which it now began waving at them.
‘Who is it?’ James hissed.
McAllister looked dead ahead, his body slumped from fear and exhaustion. ‘It’s the provost,’ he managed to whisper from the side of his mouth.
Dr Baldwin! What was he doing here at this time of the morning? James had never met the provost but he had heard many fearsome stories about him, of parties broken up, students expelled for bad behaviour, terrible tongue-lashings, and even beatings, all administered by him. To meet him here, now, as the dawn began to come up over the college, was the worst possible fate that could befall two would-be escapees.
‘What, who goes there? What fellows are you and what is your business in the park at this hour?’ the shape shouted in a hoarse voice.
As the provost drew near, James made out a man of sixty or more years, his coat shabby, his stockings mud-spattered and clumps of thick grey hair sprouting from under his wig. The hand that held the cane was large and knobbly, and the arm looked strong enough to inflict a blow to remember.
‘Well, are you deaf?’ the provost raised his voice. ‘Who are you, sir?’
‘McAllister, sir, pensioner, Junior Sophister …’
How much more information did he want to give? James wondered despairingly. Did he want to lead him back to his rooms and up to the attics to search for the tell-tale sword in its cut scabbard?
‘And what are you doing here at this hour of the morning?’ the provost continued. ‘And with your portmanteau with you?’ He tapped it with his cane.
‘My father is taken ill, sir. I am summoned home.’
‘And where is home?’
This is the time to use your imagination, James thought. But McAllister was not someone to whom imagination came readily in times of need.
‘County Waterford, sir.’
There he goes, chapter and
McAllister fell into the rhythm James had set, bundling a few clothes and private papers into a portmanteau.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’
They had, James reckoned, about half an hour before dawn would begin to shift the college into its morning life and the square below would begin to clack with footsteps and chatter. James went out onto the landing to make sure no eyes or ears were near, then beckoned McAllister. They went down the stairs and out the back door, and then along by the Anatomy House. From inside that grey building came a sudden sharp laugh that chilled both to the bone. They stopped dead and waited, but no one came out. They could hear a faint murmur of voices from within, but whoever was there was intent on their own business and had no interest in who might be passing outside.
‘They must have a fresh body for dissecting,’ McAllister whispered to James.
There was nothing unusual about this. McAllister had on several occasions gone to witness a dissection in the great theatre inside, but now the thought seemed to fill him with horror. They hurried past until they came to College Park.
McAllister, now full of urgency, made to run across the wide expanse of the park, but James pulled him back. ‘What if we should be seen racing across the park like a pair of thieves? We should move swiftly but normally, as if it wereour ordinary business to be here. That way, if we are observed, no note will be taken of it.’
McAllister seemed unconvinced, but agreed. They walked the tree-lined paths around the perimeter of the park. A faint light edged the trees as they walked down the avenue. They would soon reach the rear entrance gate, after which they could melt into the waking city. As they turned the corner at the bottom of the avenue, their spirits lifting at the prospect of escape from immediate danger, a figure suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, on the path in front of them. McAllister moaned with fright. James stood transfixed, not daring to move any further forward. The figure was brown and somewhat stooped and was making straight for them. It had a cane in its right hand, which it now began waving at them.
‘Who is it?’ James hissed.
McAllister looked dead ahead, his body slumped from fear and exhaustion. ‘It’s the provost,’ he managed to whisper from the side of his mouth.
Dr Baldwin! What was he doing here at this time of the morning? James had never met the provost but he had heard many fearsome stories about him, of parties broken up, students expelled for bad behaviour, terrible tongue-lashings, and even beatings, all administered by him. To meet him here, now, as the dawn began to come up over the college, was the worst possible fate that could befall two would-be escapees.
‘What, who goes there? What fellows are you and what is your business in the park at this hour?’ the shape shouted in a hoarse voice.
As the provost drew near, James made out a man of sixty or more years, his coat shabby, his stockings mud-spattered and clumps of thick grey hair sprouting from under his wig. The hand that held the cane was large and knobbly, and the arm looked strong enough to inflict a blow to remember.
‘Well, are you deaf?’ the provost raised his voice. ‘Who are you, sir?’
‘McAllister, sir, pensioner, Junior Sophister …’
How much more information did he want to give? James wondered despairingly. Did he want to lead him back to his rooms and up to the attics to search for the tell-tale sword in its cut scabbard?
‘And what are you doing here at this hour of the morning?’ the provost continued. ‘And with your portmanteau with you?’ He tapped it with his cane.
‘My father is taken ill, sir. I am summoned home.’
‘And where is home?’
This is the time to use your imagination, James thought. But McAllister was not someone to whom imagination came readily in times of need.
‘County Waterford, sir.’
There he goes, chapter and
Similar Books
