Read Online Faust Among Equals by Tom Holt - Free Book Online Page A

leader felt, he had an inkling of what he was missing.
    â€˜All right,’ he said. ‘Listen carefully. There’s this bloke called George Faustus, right?’
    â€˜You mean Lucky George.’
    â€˜You got it. Now, shortly after he was arrested - very shortly, in fact - this nerd of a playwright called Christopher Marlowe wrote a play all about him. Lots of details in it that he couldn’t possibly have known unless he was privy to some pretty restricted stuff. Marlowe was a student here at the time. The idea is, perhaps there’s some papers or diaries of his lying about here somewhere which might put us in the right direction. Understood?’
    Number Two considered the proposition, and clearly found it counter-intuitive. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘that was years ago. Unless they’re really, you know, untidy...’
    â€˜My couthin Thimon’th very untidy. He keepth all hith old electrithity billth and gath billth and water billth and—’
    â€˜Not for over four hundred years he doesn’t, I bet.’
    â€˜That’th becauth he’th only thirty-thickth. Give him a chanthe.’
    â€˜No, listen,’ interrupted the leader, slightly desperate. ‘Marlowe’s a great playwright. When you’re a great playwright, they keep all your letters and papers and things. It’s called research.’
    â€˜My couthin Thimon’th not a playwright.’
    â€˜Vernon.’
    â€˜Yeth?’
    â€˜Shut up.’
    At twenty to twelve, the bar steward turned them out and they wandered about in the night air for a while, waiting for the college to go to sleep. At half past one, they crept noiselessly, or relatively noiselessly, to the library door, and the leader fumbled for his skeleton key.
    â€˜Keith.’
    â€˜Yes, skip?’
    â€˜Whose turn was it to bring the key?’
    â€˜Yours, skip.’
    â€˜Kick the door in, Keith.’
    â€˜Okay, skip.’
    It was, they realised, a big library. Big as in huge. There were, as Number Three percept ively remarked, books everywhere.
    â€˜All right,’ the leader said, raising his voice to a whimper. ‘Let’s make a start, anyway. Those shelves over there.’
    They hadn’t been at it for more than an hour, scrabbling aimlessly by the light of small dark torches, when all the lights suddenly went on. They turned, to see a small, bald man in a dressing gown bearing down on them.
    â€˜Thkip.’
    â€˜What is it now?’
    â€˜Can we do the thilent killing, thkip? It’th my turn to do the thilent killing, and you promithed.’
    â€˜It’s not really appropriate right now, Vern. Next time, I give you my word.’ The leader then straightened his back, smiled and said, ‘Can I help you?’
    The bald man stopped in his tracks for a moment. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked.
    The leader thought quickly. ‘Interloan,’ he replied. ‘We got here late, your librarian’s gone home for the night, we’re in a bit of a hurry, so . . .’
    The words dribbled away like a test-tube of water into the Gobi desert. The bald man shook his head.
    â€˜I know who you are all right,’ he said.
    â€˜Oh.’ The leader frowned. ‘I don’t want to sound facetious, but you don’t seem terribly frightened, in that case.’
    The bald man snorted. ‘Frightened?’ he replied. ‘Frightened of you? Don’t make me laugh. It’d take more than a cack-handed attempt at academic espionage to frighten me.’
    The leader felt a nudge at his elbow. ‘What’th academic ethpio—?’
    â€˜Well,’ the bald man went on, ‘you can jolly well think again, because it’s not here. I suppose that rat Amesbury sent you, didn’t he?’
    Why not? ‘That’s about it,’ the leader said. ‘Mind, we’re only obeying ord—’
    â€˜Appalling! Going about trying to steal