Even she had heard of him. But of course she had. Oldmanter was the instigator of the current campaign against the renegades.
‘If he finds out I went to your Retreat yesterday, it won’t take long for him to figure out who I came to visit.’
‘Then I might get to meet him as well?’
‘A few of his rougher people, more like.’
‘I see. I am beginning to wish I had never met you, Dr More.’
‘It would be best to make him lose interest in you. Are you sure you have had no contact with your mother?’
‘I’ve already told you. I’m not protecting her. It’s not as if I owe her anything.’
‘Can we go in? I’m freezing out here. How well do you know this place?’
‘Fairly well. I’ve been here often. Are you sure you don’t want to get some food or something? You really do look a fright.’
‘It’s not the first time.’
‘Hmm,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘What an unusual scientist you are, to be sure. Well, if you’re certain, let’s go in. It is a complete mess in there, and huge amounts of material get lost or destroyed, but what still exists is in there, somewhere. If I know where to look, I might find what you’re after. You will have to give me a hint.’
‘We found an electronic reference to what was supposedly an article published in 1959. The copy we obtained contained some script called the Devil’s Handwriting. It was in fact in something called the Tsou notation, which was only invented half a century ago. It appears to be a fragment of your mother’s work. The complete document is said to be in the papers of an academic who died in 1979, which were lodged in here.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes,’ he said, a little ruffled by her tone of disdain. ‘Why?’
‘It’s just that I have never heard such a ridiculous story in my life.’
‘It’s the best we have.’
‘You are desperate, then.’
‘What are the chances that this man’s papers are in there?’
‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘If they ever existed then I don’t imagine anyone has looked at them, and it’s the things which are consulted which get destroyed. Nobody can be bothered putting them back again. Finding them may take some time, but the only way to tell is to go and look.’
‘Then let us begin,’ he said.
They spent all day on it and despite Emily’s skill and knowledge they came up empty. Jack doubted whether anyone else could ever find it, even if they tore the place to bits. How she did it, by what process of logic she went from one underground level to another, marching what seemed like miles through anonymous, half-lit ranks of files, occasionally pulling out a flashlight, examining a shelf, then grunting and moving on, he did not know. Still, she gave the impression that she knew what she was doing, and the more he trailed after her, the more confident he became. There was something about her competence which reassured him.
Even when a deafening siren went off after many hours and she cursed noisily he did not feel too disheartened.
‘Chucking-out time,’ she said with a sniff of disapproval. ‘We’ll have to stop and come back tomorrow.’
‘Have you found anything?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have established that the papers still existed fifty years ago, which is pretty good. I have even narrowed down where they might be. So we have made progress. One thing puzzles me, though.’
‘And that is?’
They were walking swiftly towards the exit, feet clattering on the cold concrete floors. Jack was looking forward to being outside once more; the weather wasn’t good, but the clammy feeling inside the building was even worse.
‘There is no trace of anyone ever having consulted them. In order for someone to have hidden something among the papers, they would have had to find them first. In that case there would be a record that they had been looked at. It would really be a great help to know more,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid I...’
‘Great secrets, my renegade ears unsuited to hear?’
‘That sort of thing. Also, the less you know, the safer you are.’
There was a long pause, with each feeling offended at the way the other was speaking. Jack was the first to make amends.
‘Can I offer you some food? A meal? There must be somewhere round here.’
‘I thought you had no money,’ she pointed out.
‘True.’
‘We can offer you hospitality, if you wish to accept it. It will not be as comfortable or hygienic as you are used to, but you don’t look as if you can afford to be too fussy. You smell a bit, as well.’
He accepted the invitation; he had no real choice as he didn’t fancy the idea of another night sleeping in the open. In summer he might not have minded, but at this time of year it was far too cold. Besides, he was tired and worried. He felt half dead by the time he was led into a bare chamber furnished only with a rough bed, after a quick but surprisingly enjoyable meal. He collapsed onto the bed before Emily had even left him alone in the room. As he sank into oblivion, he was sure he heard a faint titter of amusement. He didn’t care, as long as everyone let him be.
When he did finally surface, he was bathed in sweat and couldn’t immediately remember where he was, why he was there. Only the smell from the pillow, used no doubt by many people before him and without even a sterilised cover, jolted him back to understanding. Slowly, desperately, he levered himself up and sat on the edge of the bed for a while before going to find the shower.
The bathing facilities were primitive beyond belief; just a tube with a nozzle which rained hot water down on him. At least it took his mind off his thoughts, forming and half-forming uncontrollably as he dried himself.
The clothes they had found for him were a different matter; they reminded him of his past too much. He had to dress like one of the people he was more used to watching and controlling. Trousers, cream top and a light blue jacket. There was a mirror in the washing room, and he examined himself thoughtfully when he was done. He had not shaved, and in the clothes he looked very different. No longer the sleek member of the elite, but not convincingly anything else yet either. He looked ridiculous.
Emily didn’t agree. ‘Much better. You don’t look quite so full of yourself.’
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
It was only six in the morning, but the trip back to the Depository was a long one, especially as Jack insisted on a roundabout route and walking the last mile. He wasn’t even entirely certain why he was bothering, but Emily seemed quite optimistic and he didn’t have any other ideas at the moment.
‘It was a long shot, you know,’ he said as he padded after her down yet another dimly lit corridor made of stacks of rotting cardboard boxes.
‘Thrill of the hunt,’ she said, craning her neck to stare up twenty feet into the gloom. ‘This place has never defeated me yet, and it is not going to today.’
So, when she finally gave a cry of triumph and clambered up a ladder, then pulled out an old box which cascaded dust onto his head, he was surprised, and relieved. Above all, he was quite proud of the fact that he had gone to the trouble of finding her. He doubted anyone else could have made their way through this hell-hole of antiquity so effectively.
She gently carried the box down and blew even more dust off the top. ‘Look.’
He could just make out the writing on an old label, nearly detached and yellow with age. ‘Lytten, Henry. Papers. 1982/3346.’
‘What are the numbers?’
‘An old and now entirely useless filing system. We’re lucky. If the label had fallen off I would never have found it.’
‘Well done. Now let’s have a look and leave.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, dear me, it’s not that easy.’