Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

At last, their train creaked into Oxford Station. Yawning and shivering, they lugged their trunks over bumpy cobblestones for the twenty minutes it took to walk back to the college – the girls would come to the porter’s lodge first to call a cab, they’d decided; it was too dark to walk so far up north alone. At last the austere stone face of University College emerged from the dark, and Robin felt a sharp pang of nostalgia at the sight of this magical and tainted place which, despite everything, still felt like home.

‘Hey there!’ It was the head porter, Billings, swinging a lantern before him. He looked them up and down and, upon recognition, cast them a broad smile. ‘Back from the Orient at last, are you?’

Robin wondered how they looked under the lamplight – panicked, ragged, and sweaty in yesterday’s clothes. Their exhaustion must have been obvious, for Billings’s expression changed to one of pity. ‘Oh, you poor dears.’ He turned and waved for them to follow. ‘Come with me.’

Fifteen minutes later they were seated around a table in the hall, huddled over cups of strong black tea while Billings fussed around in the kitchen. They’d protested they didn’t want to put him out of the way, but he’d insisted on cooking them a proper fry-up. Soon he emerged with plates of sizzling eggs, sausages, potatoes, and toast.

‘And something to lift the spirits.’ Billings set four mugs down in front of them. ‘Just some brandy and water. You’re not the first Babblers I’ve seen back from abroad. That’s always done the trick.’

The smell of food reminded them they were ravenous. They fell on the spread like wolves, chewing in frantic silence as Billings sat watching them, amused.

‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me about this exciting voyage, eh? Canton and Mauritius, was it? Did they feed you anything funny? See any local ceremonies?’

They glanced at each other, unsure of what to say. Letty began to cry.

‘Oh, come now.’ Billings nudged the mug of brandy closer to her. ‘It can’t have been that bad.’

Letty shook her head. She bit her lip, but a whining noise burst out. It was not a mere sniffle but a stormy, full-body cry. She clamped her hands over her face and sobbed heartily, shoulders quaking, incoherent words leaking through her fingers.

‘She was homesick,’ Victoire said lamely. ‘She was, ah, quite homesick.’

Billings reached out to pat Letty’s shoulder. ‘All’s well, child. You’re back home, you’re safe.’

He went out to wake the driver. Ten minutes later a cab pulled up to the hall, and the girls were off to their lodgings. Robin and Ramy dragged their trunks down to Magpie Lane and said their goodnights. Robin felt a fleeting anxiety when Ramy disappeared through the door into his room – he had grown used to Ramy’s company during all those nights on the voyage, and he was scared of being on his own for the first time in weeks, with no other voice to soften the dark.

But when he closed his own door behind him, he was surprised by how normal everything felt. His desk, bed, and bookshelves were exactly as he’d left them. Nothing had changed in his absence. The translation of the Shanhaijing he’d been working on for Professor Chakravarti still sat on his desk, half-finished in the middle of a sentence. The scout must have been in recently, because there wasn’t a speck of dust in sight. As he sat down on his lumpy mattress and breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of old books and mildew, Robin felt that if he only lay back and closed his eyes, he could get up in the morning and head to class like nothing had ever happened.

He woke to the sight of Ramy looming above him. ‘Good God.’ He bolted upright, breathing hard. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘You really should start locking your door.’ Ramy handed him a cup. ‘Now that we’re – you know. Tea?’

‘Thanks.’ He took the cup in both hands and sipped. It was their favourite blend of Assam, dark and heady and strong. For just a blissful moment there, sunlight streaming through the window and birds chirping softly outside, all that had transpired in Canton seemed like a terrible dream before cold, twisting memory sank in. He sighed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘The girls are here,’ said Ramy. ‘Time to get up.’

‘Here?’

‘In my sitting room. Come on.’

Robin washed his face and dressed. Across the hall, Victoire and Letty sat perched on Ramy’s sofa as Ramy passed around tea, a burlap sack of scones, and a small pot of clotted cream. ‘I assumed no one felt like going to hall, so that’s breakfast.’

‘These are very good,’ Victoire said, looking surprised. ‘Where—’

‘Vaults, just before they opened. They always have yesterday’s scones out for a fraction of the price.’ Ramy had no knife, so he scraped his scone directly against the cream. ‘Good, right?’

Robin sat down opposite the girls. ‘How’d you two sleep?’

‘All well, considered,’ said Letty. ‘Feels strange to be back.’

‘It’s too comfortable,’ Victoire agreed. ‘It feels like the world should be different now, but it’s . . . not.’