Academy of the Dead

by Christopher Wright

  Mrs. Smith looked from one to the other inquiringly. "Yes?"

  He decided to take the lead. "There's a brooch that belonged to ... the person we want to contact. It may have been her mother's as well. Does that matter?"

  "I don't think so." Then Mrs. Smith smiled again. "No, of course it doesn't matter. A strong family connection reinforces the vibrations. I'll need the brooch for several hours before the séance."

  "I'll try and arrange it," Matt said. "We asked you here this evening to see if you'd be able to help."

  "I'm sure I can. You both have very positive auras. There's nothing to be worried about. Nothing at all."

  Matt looked at Zoé. "What do you think?"

  "I think maybe we should try to make contact."

  "Maybe?"

  "All right," Zoé agreed. "Yes, as long as there is no danger."

  "No danger at all," Mrs. Smith said with a smile.

  *

  IT WAS nearly ten o'clock when Matt and Zoé arrived at the Academy. Blake hadn't objected to getting a phone call so late in the evening, and said it would be better if they came now rather than in the morning. He was already waiting on the doorstep of the main building when they parked the Mini.

  "Anything interesting to tell me?" he asked.

  Matt waited until they were in the impressive hallway before he spoke. "I need to have another look at the microfiche."

  On the way here he and Zoé had decided that an oblique approach was the best way to go about getting their hands on the brooch. Blake was an unpredictable man, and might need to be brought round to the idea gently.

  "I was hoping you'd have made more progress than that," Blake said when Matt asked to see the microfiche again. "Very well, wait here while I get the key to the library."

  Matt glanced around. On a large table someone had arranged several stacks of literature. He picked up a prospectus for the Academy and was just starting to flick through the high quality pages when Blake came back, out of breath, his nose whistling more noticeably than usual. Matt kept hold of the prospectus. There might be something useful in here, and Ken would probably be interested to see it.

  Once again the library lights came on with a loud clatter. As soon as they were all in, the dean put the key into the door on the inside and locked it. "No interruptions this time," he said without a trace of a smile, presumably referring to their last visit when Martin Smith had barged in.

  "Do you have the microfiche?" Matt asked.

  "Right here." Blake removed the envelope from his inside jacket pocket. "What exactly do want to see? It is all in Czech, remember. "

  Matt reached out to take the film from Blake's hand. "May I?"

  "Most certainly not." Blake moved the film away quickly. "You can't see anything unless we put it on the reader. I thought you knew that." He switched on the machine and pulled the glass tray forward, tutting in obvious annoyance when he saw that someone had left a film in the carrier.

  "Damn students." He placed the microfiche on the shelf above the reader. "They can sort out their own problems in the morning. If these things don't get filed away properly it takes forever to sort them out. One microfiche looks exactly like another."

  Matt had never thought of it before, but it was true. Each small sheet of film showed nothing but row upon row of miniature rectangles -- until they were magnified in the reader. It also gave him an idea. "Find the letter from Hana's father; the one asking if she can be enrolled in the Academy."

  Blake quickly found the page. "It's not important and it won't mean anything to you." He turned in surprise. "Is that what you came to see me about?"

  "If you want my help, Mr. Blake, you must let me decide what's important. Will you please translate it for me."

  "I am only doing this from memory," Blake warned. "My grasp of the Czech language is very poor."

  The dean stumbled through the wording. Matt wasn't really listening. The only reason for coming was to get the brooch.

  Blake frowned. "You're not involving anyone else on this job, are you?"

  "I'm following a lead," Matt said, trying to sound vague.

  "Which is?"

  "It's to do with Hana's brooch. My wife had a brilliant idea after tea today. Didn't you, Zoé?"

  Blake was looking at the screen again, and didn't notice Matt nodding anxiously to Zoé to agree with him.

  "Matt thought it was a good idea," Zoé said, frowning and shaking her head. She obviously had no idea of what was required of her.

  "Are you going to tell me?" Blake demanded after a pause.

  "It would be better if Matt told you." Zoé smiled at Blake as he turned round to look at her.

  "Mr. Rider?"

  "We have a friend who's a jeweler, and I want to get his opinion. Zoé thinks the stones could be valuable, and wonders why a young girl would wear an expensive brooch to the Academy, and then leave it there."

  "And you think the answer will help you find what Hana did with the music manuscripts?" Blake sounded scornful.

  "It's a stab in the dark," Matt said. "But if we could get a picture of it in the Czech newspapers it might make Hana contact us, to get it back."

  "Not if she's dead," said Blake.

  "You said you didn't know if she's alive or not," Matt said quickly.

  "You're right, but if Hana's alive, why hasn't she shown Vasek Tesar's music to the world?"

  "Maybe she hasn't got it. Anyway, even if she's dead, one of her family might see the picture and tell us," Matt added.

  "Hana has no family. They all died in 1942."

  Matt knew he had to borrow the brooch. No brooch -- no séance. "If Hana left a valuable brooch for anyone to find, maybe she left the music manuscripts lying around and someone simply threw them away."

  Blake nodded to himself. "Maybe they were thrown away," he repeated. "I hadn't even considered the possibility. My dear Mr. Rider, of course you may borrow the brooch. Hold on here and I'll fetch it for you."

  "Is it all right if I print this page?" Matt asked, surprised by the eagerness which Blake was now showing.

  Blake shook his head. "The printer is broken. Anyway, some of those pages on the microfiche are confidential." He turned and left the room.

  As soon as the door closed Zoé pressed the print button and the copier started up. "See, it works," she said in excitement. "Monsieur Blake, he was lying, Maybe there are things on there he does not want us to see."

  "I can guarantee it. But we can't print every page." Matt switched the printer off. "Keep an eye open for Blake." He quickly removed Blake's film from the glass carrier.

  "What are you doing?" Zoé asked in surprise.

  "A little conjuring trick. Pass me the microfiche that Blake put on the shelf. I'm going to swap them over."

  "Will Monsieur Blake mind?" Zoé passed the film.

  "Monsieur Blake won't know." Matt held the two films side by side. Rows of small dark rectangles that were impossible to tell apart. The only trouble was the header. The one in the microfiche reader when they arrived was titled Classical Music Magazine, March 1969. Blake's microfiche had no heading. He began to peel the header label from the magazine microfiche. It came away easily. Taking the film was the easy bit. Getting it back to Blake without him knowing would be trickier. The best plan would be to somehow put it back on the shelf in a day or two for Blake to find.

  Zoé put Blake's film into her purse. "Be quick, Monsieur Blake is coming," she warned in an urgent whisper.

  The dean reappeared, holding the small black jewelry box.

  Matt handed Blake the music magazine microfiche from which he'd removed the label. "I've finished with it now," he said. "I'll let you know if I need it again."

  Blake nodded and slipped the film back into the envelope and into his inside pocket. Then he opened the box, showed the brooch, and handed it to Zoé.

  "You do not mind if we take it away?" she asked.

  "Not at all," Blake said affably. "Look after it, that's all. I have to retu
rn it to Prague." He patted Matt on the shoulder. "I really hope you will be able to help me."

  The time had come to confront Blake. "What are we really after? Dvorak's Tenth Symphony -- or the music of Vasek Tesar?

  Blake stared back, his mouth wide. "Vasek Tesar?"

  "You lied to me about Dvorak." Matt felt bolder now. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

  "Of course not, Mr. Rider. When we first met I spotted you for go-getter, but I have no idea you were interested in classical music. It was a ruse. A ruse to guarantee your interest."

  "Okay, Mr. Blake, you've got my interest. But no more lies. Okay?"

  Blake grinned sheepishly. "It's a deal, Mr. Rider."

  Matt took an anxious glance at Zoé's purse. She'd not closed it fully and he could see a shiny corner of the microfiche sticking out. "Come on," he said. "We ought to be getting home." He turned to Blake. "I don't like Zoé having late nights now she's pregnant."

  As Blake went ahead to unlock the door Matt pointed nervously at Zoé's purse. She looked down, let out a small gasp, and snapped it shut.

  "Give me a phone call as soon as you know anything," Blake said.

  Matt nodded, his mind more on the microfiche in Zoé's purse. It was going to be a late night. The next port of call was Mac the Hack.

  *

  MAC THE HACK was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette in his shabby room at the back of the Internet Café, with two large mugs of murky coffee on the desk. Judging by the pale skin on top, they had both gone cold hours ago. Lines of code filled the computer monitor. Mac, in an old white sweatshirt, didn't attempt to hide it even though he was probably up to no good.

  Matt had only got to know Mac because of Ken's unreliable computer. Mac seemed able to fix anything, and cheaply. He'd even managed to crack an encrypted CD for them last year. Heavy Rock music blasted from two speakers on the wall. Matt pointed to them.

  "Can you turn it down?" he shouted.

  Mac the Hack couldn't have heard, but he must have guessed what was wanted from the way Zoé was pulling faces.

  The room went strangely quiet. Mac took a deep draw on his cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. "Trouble?"

  Matt produced the microfiche from Zoé's purse. "Can you do anything with this?"

  Another puff of smoke was followed by a gulp of cold coffee. Zoé said she'd wait in the café area, which was deserted -- and thankfully smoke-free.

  The computer expert held the microfiche to the light. "Such as?"

  "I need to be able to read it," Matt said.

  Mac handed it back. "Take it to the local library."

  "I don't want anyone to know I've got it."

  Mac tapped his nose and winked. "Say no more."

  "Can you scan it and put it on a CD?"

  Mac the Hack peered more closely at the film, but judging by the way his eyes were running from the smoke it was doubtful he could see much. "Old fashioned technology, this."

  "I can't change that. Just tell me if you can do anything."

  "What do you want me to scan? The whole microfiche?"

  "I suppose so. I need to be able to read every page."

  "Never touched anything like this before," Mac said with a cough.

  "Have to see how it goes. Call you at work tomorrow morning."

  Matt took Zoé out into the fresh air and looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty. And he'd promised her an early night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MATT GOT the promised phone call from Mac soon after arriving at work in the morning.

  "I've fixed it for you," the computer genius said, yawning as spoke. "Can you come round now?"

  Matt hoped Mac hadn't been up all night. With no advance payment from Blake this job could work out expensive. "I'll come now." He shouted out to Ken. "I'm just going round to Mac the Hack. He's got something for me."

  The Internet Café was only a block away. Ken always reckoned that the area where Mac worked wasn't as smart as the street he'd chosen for his office. But then nowhere round here was very special, which was why Ken could afford the rent.

  "Don't be long," Ken called.

  Matt was glad he'd been open with his boss about this job for Blake. It would be hopeless if he had to be furtive with every phone call. Ken would definitely suspect he was an unfaithful husband.

  Mac the Hack was still in his back room, the air still thick with smoke. But he was wearing a blue sweatshirt instead of the dirty white one from last night, so he must have been home to change at some time. Maybe it wasn't going to cost too much after all.

  Mac held up a CD in a jewel case. "Can you read JPEG files?" he asked.

  Matt nodded. "I'm about to go out to fix someone's computer." Mac got up from his desk. "Let me know if you have a problem reading the disc."

  "I'd better have the microfiche as well," Matt said. The sooner he could get it back to the Academy library the better.

  "Ah," Mac said.

  Matt felt his stomach sink. "What does that mean?"

  Mac pulled a see-through envelope from the desk drawer and tipped four strips of film onto the desk. "I had to put it in the film scanner. It was the only way I could get the resolution high enough."

  "And?"

  "And it didn't all fit in one piece. "

  For a moment Matt thought Mac might be joking, but the evidence was there on the desk. "You weren't meant to do that," was all he could say.

  "You wanted it in a hurry," Mac told him, as though that was sufficient authorization to commit an act of vandalism. "Is there a problem?"

  "You bet there's a problem. I'm supposed to return this without anyone knowing."

  Mac the Hack tapped his nose. "Got it. Sorry about that." He looked at his watch. "Can't stay. Hope there's something useful on the CD."

  Matt decided to go straight back to the office. Maybe Blake would never look in the envelope again. The main thing was not to ask for another viewing.

  "Everything okay?" Ken asked as Matt came back up the stairs to the office.

  Matt removed the CD from its case. "I'll show you. Open up the photo program on the computer."

  Ken stood up quickly. "You'd better do it."

  Matt smiled to himself. Ken was hopeless, even with something as basic as the programs in the office suite, such as the word processor. He opened the CD drawer and inserted Mac's disc. The photo program opened at a leisurely pace and Matt clicked on the CD file. He found fourteen separate images listed, so Mac must have put two pages on each scan to make twenty-eight in total. He clicked on the first one, and two pages appeared on the monitor side-by-side.

  Ken was obviously bursting with curiosity. He stared at the screen. "You're not going to be able to read that lot," he said. "It's too small."

  Matt clicked the magnification button several times and the thin black lines changed to rows of handwritten words.

  "That's clever," observed Ken. He leaned forward. "It's foreign."

  "Czechoslovakian. I think."

  "That's no good. You don't speak Czechoslovakian."

  Matt shook his head. "Not a single word. But I know a young lady who can."

  "You and your young ladies. I hope Zoé doesn't know what you're up to."

  "She knows everything. She was with me last night when I took this to Mac."

  "I hope you're telling me the truth." Ken almost certainly meant it as a joke.

  Matt pointed to the screen "Is it okay if I sit here for a few minutes and print these off? I want to take them round to Olga on my way home."

  "Olga? Is she pretty?" Ken made a low whistle.

  "No idea. She's one of Father Alban's crew, but I haven't met her yet."

  Matt's mobile rang.

  Ken smirked. "Another of your fancy women?"

  Matt had no idea who wanted him, but guessed it wasn't Zoé.

  "Is that Matt Rider?" the woman on the phone asked. "This is Mrs. Smith." Then she added, "Mrs. Smith the medium." Maybe she thought he knew so many Mrs. Smiths that she
needed to identify herself by her job.

  "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

  "I've had a cancellation for this evening. Now that you've got the brooch maybe we could ... "

  Alarm bells rang. "How do you know about the brooch?" Had Mrs. Smith met Zoé this morning -- or was she clairvoyant?

  Mrs. Smith laughed uneasily. "Maybe I'm being a little presumptive. It's just that last night you told me you could borrow a brooch that belonged to the deceased."

  "I'm sorry, I forgot." That was the penalty of being ultra cautious. It was also the penalty of not having the best memory. "Yes, I've got it."

  "Could you and your wife be round here about seven o'clock?"

  He'd not anticipated anything this sudden, but he couldn't complain. "We can manage seven. What about the brooch? You said you needed it for a few hours before the séance."

  Mrs. Smith hesitated. Her memory couldn't be all that hot either. "Yes, of course." There was a moment of silence. "I don't want you bringing it round during the day. I have several bookings and I never like it when one client meets another, even by accident. I can pick it up from you. I can be passing your office in the next few minutes."

  Again Matt felt uncomfortable. Did Mrs. Smith know where he worked? For all she knew he might have a job out of town. He was being wrong-footed. "You know where Habgood Securities is?"

  "Habgood Securities? No, you'd better tell me."

  He relaxed. Presumably Mrs. Smith would look after the brooch. He'd told Blake he was getting it valued. What if the woman lost it? She might have insurance, though probably not, but it would be impossible to make a claim without knowing the approximate price of a replacement.

  "Okay." He checked that she knew how to find Ken's office.

  When he'd hung up he noticed Ken looking inquiringly. "A date?" Ken asked.

  "Hold on a minute, I want to show you something." Matt fetched the brooch from his desk in the outer office and showed it to Ken. "What do you think? Is it valuable?"

  Ken held it to the window and then turned it slowly in his hands. "Glass," he said with the authority of an expert on an antiques show. "But it's well made. Where did you get it?"

  Matt replaced it in the box. "It's part of the job I'm doing for Blake. If it's glass, it shoots a good theory through the head. I was thinking maybe the girl was careless with her possessions. It looks like she knew it wasn't valuable, or she wouldn't have left it in her college locker."

  "So?"

  "So the music manuscripts are valuable, which means she was more careful where she left them. Hid them somewhere safe, probably. I'd better leave a message for Zoé at the hospital and tell her we're going to a séance this evening."