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

‘It’s coming from here.’ Anthony showed them a wooden grandfather clock decorated with carved songbirds around the edges. ‘A gift from one of our Swedish associates. She translated gökatta to “rising at dawn”, only in Swedish, gökatta has the particular meaning of waking up early to listen to the birds sing. There’s some music box mechanism inside, but the silver really imitates true birdsong. It’s lovely, isn’t it?’

‘Could be a little quieter,’ said Ramy.

‘Ah, ours is a prototype. It’s getting old. You can get these in London boutiques now, you know. They’re very popular, the wealthy love them.’

One by one they took their turns at washing themselves with cold water in the sink. Then they joined the girls in the Reading Room around yesterday’s clustered notes to resume their work.

Letty looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink either. She had great dark shadows under her eyes, and she hugged her arms miserably against her chest as she yawned.

‘Are you all right?’ Robin asked.

‘It feels rather as if I’m dreaming.’ She blinked around the room, her gaze unfocused. ‘Everything’s upside down. Everything’s backwards.’

Fair enough, Robin thought. Letty was holding up rather well, all considered. He didn’t know how to politely phrase what he wanted to say next, so he asked obliquely, ‘What do you think?’

‘About what, Robin?’ she asked, exasperated. ‘The murder we’re covering up, the fall of the British Empire, or the fact that we’re fugitives now for the rest of our lives?’

‘All of it, I suppose.’

‘Justice is exhausting.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘That’s what I think.’

Cathy brought out a steaming pot of black tea, and they held their mugs forth in gratitude. Vimal stumbled yawning from the bathroom towards the kitchen. A few minutes later, the wonderful aroma of a fry-up seeped up through the Reading Room. ‘Masala eggs,’ he announced, heaping scrambled eggs in a tomatoey mess onto their plates. ‘There’s toast coming.’

‘Vimal,’ Cathy groaned. ‘I could marry you.’

They wolfed down their food in fast, mechanical silence. Minutes later the table was cleared, the dirty plates returned to the kitchenette. The front door screeched open. It was Ilse, back from the city centre with that morning’s newspapers.

‘Any word on the debates?’ Anthony asked.

‘They’re still at loggerheads,’ she said. ‘So we have some time yet. The Whigs are shaky on their numbers, and they won’t hold a vote until they’re confident. But we still want those pamphlets in London today or tomorrow. Get someone on the noon train, then get them printed on Fleet Street.’

‘Do we still know anyone in Fleet Street?’ Vimal asked.

‘Yes, Theresa’s still at the Standard. They go to print on Fridays. I can get in and use the machines, I’m sure, if you have something for me by tonight.’ She pulled a crumpled newspaper out of her messenger bag and slid it across the table. ‘Here’s the latest from London, by the way. Thought you’d like to see it.’

Robin craned his neck to read the upside-down text. OXFORD PROFESSOR MURDERED IN CANTON, it read. PERPETRATORS IN CONSPIRACY WITH CHINESE LOBBYISTS.

‘Well.’ He blinked. ‘I guess that’s got most of the details right.’

Ramy flipped the paper open. ‘Oh, look. It’s got drawings of our faces.’

‘That doesn’t look like you,’ said Victoire.

‘No, they haven’t quite captured my nose,’ Ramy agreed. ‘And they’ve made Robin’s eyes very small.’

‘Have they printed this in Oxford, too?’ Anthony asked Ilse.

‘Surprisingly, no. They’ve kept it all quiet.’

‘Interesting. Well, London’s still cancelled for you lot,’ said Anthony. They all began protesting at once, but he held up a hand. ‘Don’t be mad. It’s too dangerous, we’re not risking it. You’re hiding out in the Old Library until this is over. You can’t be recognized.’

‘Neither can you,’ Ramy retorted.

‘They think I’m dead. They think you’re a murderer. Those are very different things. No one’s printing my face in the papers.’

‘But I want to be out there,’ Ramy said, unhappy. ‘I want to do something, I want to help—’

‘You can help by not getting yourself thrown in gaol. This isn’t open war, as much as dear Griffin would like to pretend it is. These matters demand finesse.’ Anthony pointed to the blackboard. ‘Focus on the agenda. Let’s pick up where we left off. I think we tabled the issue of Lord Arsenault last night. Letty?’

Letty took a long draught of her tea, closed her eyes, then seemed to pull herself together. ‘Yes. I believe Lord Arsenault and my father are on rather good terms. I could write to him, try to set up a meeting—’

‘You don’t think your father’s going to be distracted by the news that you’re a murderer?’ asked Robin.

‘It doesn’t name Letty as a perpetrator.’ Victoire scanned the column. ‘It’s only the three of us. She’s not mentioned here at all.’

There was a brief, awkward silence.