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

Theirs was a harrowing and impossible mission, yes, but Robin also found a certain exhilarating pleasure in this work. This creative problem-solving, this breaking up of a momentous mission into a dozen small tasks which, combined with enormous luck and possibly divine intervention, might carry them to victory – it all reminded him of how it felt to be in the library working on a thorny translation at four in the morning, laughing hysterically because they were so unbelievably tired but somehow thrumming with energy because it was such a thrill when a solution inevitably coalesced from their mess of scrawled notes and wild brainstorming.

Defying empire, it turned out, was fun.

For some reason they kept coming back to the polemikós match-pair, perhaps because it did in fact seem like they were fighting a war of ideas, a battle for Britain’s soul. Discursive metaphors, Letty observed, revolved around war imagery rather often. ‘Think about it,’ she said. ‘Their stance is indefensible. We must attack their weak points. We must shoot down their premises.’

‘We do that in French too,’ said Victoire. ‘Cheval de bataille.’^*

‘Warhorse,’ Letty said, smiling.

‘Well then,’ said Griffin, ‘as long as we’re talking about military solutions, I still think we should go with Operation Divine Fury.’

‘What’s Operation Divine Fury?’ asked Ramy.

‘Never mind,’ said Anthony. ‘It’s a stupid name, and a stupider idea.’

‘When God saw this, He did not permit them, but smote them with blindness and confusion of speech, and rendered them as thou seest,’^* Griffin said grandly. ‘Look, it’s a good idea. If we could just take out the tower—’

‘With what, Griffin?’ Anthony asked, exasperated. ‘With what army?’

‘We don’t need an army,’ said Griffin. ‘They’re scholars, not soldiers. You take a gun in there, wave it around and shout for a bit, and you’ve taken the whole tower hostage. And then you’ve taken the whole country hostage. Babel is the crux, Anthony; it’s the source of all the Empire’s power. We’ve only got to seize it.’

Robin stared at him, alarmed. In Chinese, the phrase huǒyàowèi^* meant literally ‘the taste of gunpowder’; figuratively, ‘belligerence, combativeness’. His brother smelled of gunpowder. He reeked of violence.

‘Wait,’ said Letty. ‘You want to storm the tower?’

‘I want to occupy the tower. It wouldn’t be so very difficult.’ Griffin shrugged. ‘And it’s a more direct solution to our problems, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to convince these fellows, but they’re too scared to pull it off.’

‘What would you need to pull it off?’ Victoire inquired.

‘Now that’s the right question.’ Griffin beamed. ‘Rope, two guns, perhaps not even that – some knives, at least—’

‘Guns?’ Letty repeated. ‘Knives?’

‘They’re just for intimidation, darling, we wouldn’t actually hurt anyone.’

Letty reeled. ‘Do you honestly—’

‘Don’t worry.’ Cathy glared at Griffin. ‘We’ve made our thoughts on this quite clear.’

‘But think of what would happen,’ Griffin insisted. ‘What does this country do without enchanted silver? Without the people to maintain it? Steam power, gone. Perpetual lamps, gone. Building reinforcements, gone. The roads would deteriorate, the carriages would malfunction – forget Oxford, the whole of England would fall apart in months. They’d be brought to their knees. Paralysed.’

‘And dozens of innocent people would die,’ said Anthony. ‘We are not entertaining this.’

‘Fine.’ Griffin sat back and folded his arms. ‘Have it your way. Let’s be lobbyists.’

They adjourned at three in the morning. Anthony showed them to a sink at the back of the library where they could wash – ‘No tub, sorry, so you’ll have to soap your armpits standing up –’ and then pulled a stack of quilts and pillows from a cupboard.

‘We only have three cots,’ he said apologetically. ‘We don’t often all spend the night here. Ladies, why don’t you follow Ilse to the Reading Room – and gents, you can bunk on your own between the stacks. Creates a bit of privacy.’

Robin was so exhausted then that a space of hardwood between the shelves sounded wonderful. It felt as if he had been awake for one long day ever since their arrival in Oxford; that he had experienced enough for one lifetime. He accepted a quilt from Anthony and made his way towards the stacks, but Griffin materialized by his side before he could settle down. ‘Have a moment?’

‘You’re not going to sleep?’ Robin asked. Griffin was fully dressed, buttoned up in that black overcoat.

‘No, I’m heading out early,’ said Griffin. ‘There’s no direct line to Glasgow – I’ll ride into London, then take the first train in the morning. Come out to the yard with me.’

‘Why?’

Griffin patted the gun at his belt. ‘I’m going to show you how to fire this.’

Robin hugged the quilt closer to his chest. ‘Absolutely not.’