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

Anthony gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done your part. You’ve been very brave, all of you. But it’s time to leave things to the professionals.’

‘You’ve barely got five years on us,’ said Robin. ‘How does that make you a professional?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Anthony. ‘It just does.’

‘And we’re supposed to just wait without knowing anything?’ Letty asked. ‘We can’t even get the papers here.’

‘We’ll all be back after the vote,’ said Anthony. ‘And we’ll come back occasionally to check on you – every other day, if you’re that nervous.’

‘But what if something happens?’ Letty persisted. ‘What if you need our help? What if we need your help?’

The graduate fellows all exchanged glances with each other. It looked like they were having a silent conversation – a repeat, Robin guessed, of a conversation they’d had many times before, for it was clear what everyone’s position was. Anthony raised his eyebrows. Cathy and Vimal both nodded. Ilse, lips pursed, seemed reluctant, but at last she sighed and shrugged.

‘Go ahead,’ she said.

‘Griffin would say no,’ said Anthony.

‘Well,’ said Cathy, ‘Griffin’s not here.’

Anthony stood up, disappeared for a moment into the stacks, and returned bearing a sealed envelope. ‘This,’ he said, placing it down on the table, ‘contains the contact information for a dozen Hermes associates across the globe.’

Robin was astonished. ‘You’re sure you should be showing us that?’

‘No,’ said Anthony. ‘We really shouldn’t. I see Griffin’s paranoia has rubbed off on you, and that’s not a bad thing. But suppose you lot are the only ones left. There are no names or addresses here – only drop points and contact instructions. If you end up on your own, you’ll have at least some means to keep Hermes alive.’

‘You’re talking like you might not come back,’ said Victoire.

‘Well, there’s a non-zero chance we don’t, isn’t there?’

The library felt silent.

Suddenly Robin felt so young, so childish. It had seemed like such a fun game, plotting into the deep hours with the Hermes Society, playing around with his older brother’s gun. Their situation was so bizarre, and the conditions of victory so unimaginable, it had felt more like an exercise than real life. It sank in now that the forces they were playing with were actually quite terrifying, that the trading companies and political lobbies they were attempting to manipulate were not the laughable bogeymen they’d made them out to be but incredibly powerful organizations with deep, entrenched interests in the colonial trade, interests they would murder to protect.

‘But you’ll be all right,’ said Ramy. ‘Won’t you? Babel’s never caught you before—’

‘They’ve caught us many times,’ Anthony said gently. ‘Hence the paranoia.’

‘Hence the attrition,’ Vimal said as he slid a pistol into his belt. ‘We know the risks.’

‘But you’ll be safe here even if we’re compromised,’ Cathy reassured them. ‘We won’t give you up.’

Ilse nodded. ‘We’ll bite our tongues and suffocate first.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Letty stood up abruptly. She looked very pale; she touched her fingers to her mouth, as if she might vomit. ‘I just – I just need some air.’

‘Do you want some water?’ Victoire asked, concerned.

‘No, I’ll be fine.’ Letty bustled past their crowded chairs to the door. ‘I just need to breathe for a moment, if that’s all right.’

Anthony pointed. ‘The yard is that way.’

‘I think I’ll take a stroll round the front,’ said Letty. ‘The yard feels a bit . . . a bit penned in.’

‘Keep to the block, then,’ said Anthony. ‘Don’t be seen.’

‘Yes – yes, of course.’ Letty seemed quite distressed; her breath came in such quick, shallow bursts that Robin was worried she might faint. Ramy pushed his chair back to give her space to break free. Letty paused by the doorway and glanced over her shoulder – her eyes lingered on Robin, and she seemed on the verge of saying something – but then she pursed her lips and hurried out the door.

In the last minutes before the postgraduates left, Anthony went over housekeeping matters with Robin, Ramy, and Victoire. The kitchenette stocked enough provisions to last a week, and longer if they were happy with gruel and salt-cured fish. Fresh drinking water was trickier to acquire – the Old Library did receive its water supply from the city pumps, but they couldn’t run the taps too late at night or for too long at any time, since drainage elsewhere might draw attention. Otherwise, there were more than enough books in the library to keep them occupied, though they had strict orders not to mess with any ongoing projects in the workshop.

‘And try to stay inside as much as you can,’ Anthony said as he finished packing his bag. ‘You can take turns in the yard if you like, but keep your voices down – the glamour acts up every now and then. If you must get some fresh air, do it after sunset. If you get scared, there’s a rifle in that broom cupboard – I do hope you’ll never have to do it, but if you do, can any of you—’

‘I can manage,’ said Robin. ‘I think. It’s the same principle as a pistol, right?’