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

‘I think I’ll go and say hello to the Master now,’ said Professor De Vreese as if Robin hadn’t spoken. ‘Welcome back, Swift. Enjoy the party.’

‘So.’ Professor Playfair handed Robin a glass of claret. ‘Do you have any idea when Professor Lovell is back from London?’

‘I don’t know.’ Robin took a sip, doing his best to collect himself before he answered. ‘You’ve probably heard he’s holed up with something he contracted in Canton. He looked in a bad state when we left him, I’m not sure if he’ll even be back for the term.’

‘Interesting,’ said Professor Playfair. ‘It’s quite fortunate it didn’t spread to any of you.’

‘Oh, well – we took precautions when he started feeling out of sorts. Quarantine, face cloths, all of that – you know.’

‘Come now, Mr Swift.’ Professor Playfair’s voice became stern. ‘I know he’s not ill. I’ve sent three messengers to London since you lot have been back, and they’ve all reported the Hampstead house is presently empty.’

‘Really?’ Robin’s ears began to buzz. What was he supposed to do now? Was there any point in trying to maintain the lie? Should he just cut and run? ‘How very odd, that’s – I don’t know why he would . . .’

Professor Playfair took a step closer and bent his head conspiratorially towards Robin’s ear. ‘You know,’ he whispered, ‘our friends at Hermes would like very much to know where he is.’

Robin nearly spat out his claret. His throat caught the wine before he made a mess, but he then swallowed it up the wrong channel. Professor Playfair stood by calmly as he choked and gasped, spilling both his plate and glass in the process.

‘Quite all right, Swift?’

Robin’s eyes watered. ‘What did you—’

‘I’m with Hermes,’ Professor Playfair murmured pleasantly, eyes fixed on the string quartet. ‘Whatever you’re hiding, you’re safe telling me.’

Robin had no idea what to make of this. Certainly he felt no relief. Trust no one – Griffin had all but engraved this lesson in his bones. Professor Playfair could be easily lying – and this would be the simplest trick, too, if his goal was to coax Robin into spilling everything that he knew. Or Professor Playfair could be the ally, the saviour they’d been waiting for. He felt a pang of residual frustration. If only Griffin had ever told him more, if only Griffin hadn’t been so happy to leave him in the dark, cut off from others, and so utterly helpless.

He had no useful information to act on, only a gut instinct that something was badly wrong. ‘Thank the Lord,’ he said, mirroring Professor Playfair’s covert murmur. ‘So you know about Griffin’s Canton plot?’

‘Of course,’ Professor Playfair said, just a bit too eagerly. ‘Did it work?’

Robin paused. He had to play this next part very carefully. He had to reel out just enough to keep Professor Playfair on the line, curious but not quite ready to pounce. And he needed time – at least enough time to gather the others and run.

Professor Playfair slung his arm around Robin’s shoulders, drawing him in close. ‘Why don’t you and I go and have a chat?’

‘Not here.’ Robin’s eyes darted around the quad. Letty and Victoire were both staring at him over their shoulders. He blinked hard, glanced pointedly at the front exit, then back at them. ‘Not in front of the faculty, you never know who’s listening.’

‘Of course,’ said Professor Playfair.

‘The tunnels,’ said Robin, before Professor Playfair could suggest that they leave the party right then. ‘I’m meeting Griffin and the others tonight at the Taylorian tunnels at midnight, why don’t you come? I’ve got . . . I’ve got all those documents they’ve been waiting for.’

It worked. Professor Playfair let go of Robin’s shoulders and stepped away.

‘Very well.’ His eyes shone with glee; he looked one step away from rubbing his hands together like a villain on a stage. ‘Good work, Swift.’

Robin nodded, and only barely managed to keep a straight face until Professor Playfair moved on to chat with Professor Chakravarti across the green.

Then it took everything he had not to break into a run. He scanned the quad for Ramy, who was trapped in a conversation with Reverend Doctor Plumptre. Robin blinked frantically at him. Immediately Ramy spilled his wineglass all over his own front, exclaimed loudly in dismay, made his excuses, and beelined through the garden towards Robin.

‘Playfair knows,’ Robin told him.

‘What?’ Ramy glanced around. ‘Are you sure—’

‘We have to go.’ To his relief, Robin saw that Victoire and Letty were already moving towards the front gate. He wanted to follow, but too many faculty stood between them; he and Ramy would have to go out the back, by the kitchens. ‘Come on.’

‘How—’

‘Later.’ Robin hazarded a glimpse over his shoulder just before they left the garden. His stomach twisted – Playfair was saying something to Professor De Vreese, their heads bent close together. De Vreese glanced up and looked straight into Robin’s eyes. Robin looked away. ‘Just – come on.’

Victoire and Letty rushed towards them the moment they stepped outside.

‘What’s happened?’ Letty breathed. ‘Why—’