Red, White and Blue (Book Two of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Twenty Five: Lily

And now, there was just Sam. Well, in fact, there was Sam and Alice, but he'd almost given up on Alice. There was no way to get at her. She didn't have any weaknesses – she had never done anything of which she was even remotely ashamed.

Ever since he'd seen Sam in the pews at the service of mourning, Jack had known that the key to having power over him lay in that freckly chief mourner – what she represented, and what she knew. But he didn't approach her right away. A lead like that had to be treated cautiously. It wouldn't do to go blundering in too soon and ruin everything. Instead, he found out everything he could from other sources – Sergei Petrescu Senior being one of his most useful informants.

The next morning, while trying to assemble demon bones into a complete skeleton on the floor of the jigsaw room, he elaborated on Sam's past.

"The story goes that, in his last year at university, he ruined a shop-girl, and she killed herself."

Jack, who had picked up a femur, and was smacking it absent-mindedly into the palm of his hand, said, "But that happens all the time, doesn't it?"

"Regrettably, yes," said Sergei. "What made this particular girl so different – at least, to Constable Hastings – was that she was subsequently revealed to be a genius."

"Subsequent to her death?"

"It seems so." Sergei gently took the femur from his hands, and laid it out on the floor. Apparently, it wasn't a femur at all, but some kind of arm-bone. There was a skull the size of a bucket too, and Jack couldn't help being glad that this particular ancestor was long-dead.

"Apparently, after she died, he recovered her letters from Miss Manda." Sergei glanced up from his work. "Have you met her? She usually gets called in to mourn when there's a death in the college, but I don't think there has been one since you arrived. In fact, the porter says we're long overdue."

Jack had never heard the name, but he knew instantly who this woman must be, and felt quite smug at having spotted her importance from a single look across a crowded church.

"She's the plump, freckly one, yes? Stands at the front during the services?"

"That's her," said Sergei. "She knew the unfortunate shop-girl. In fact, I think she was a shop-girl herself at the time. In any case, as soon as Constable Hastings read the young girl's letters and found out she was a genius, he fell in love with her, and repented of her death."

Jack winced. "That's pretty appalling."

"Ah," said Sergei, getting up from the floor and dusting off his hands. "Welcome to stage two of the Constable's problems. He knows it's appalling. He hates himself for it. Now, hating oneself is a relatively common Oxford problem, but what makes it unusual in the case of Constable Hastings is that what he hates about himself is the Oxford in him. In Oxford, you are only considered to be worthwhile if you're a genius, and, in true Oxford fashion, he only fell in love with this poor girl when it became apparent that her mind was extraordinary."

"Oh," said Jack, squinting down at the bones. There was something about their great, lumbering size that reminded him of Sam, now he came to think about it. "So that's why he hates Oxford. Why doesn't he leave?"

"Well, that would be no good. As far as he's concerned, he's the only one who sees what's wrong with the place – the only one who appreciates how dangerous all this emphasis on cleverness can be. Who's going to protect the not-so-clever people if he goes?"

"Are there any?" asked Jack.

Sergei tilted his head while he considered this. "Well, not many who are aware of the fact," he conceded. "But certainly, there are foolish people in this city. The problem is, Constable Hastings hates them too."