Academy of the Dead

by Christopher Wright

  The word would be the same in English or Czech. The farmer's wife probably thought he was talking about the academy in Prague. "Tell her there's a Helios Academy in England," he told Stanislav.

  Lenka Dusek seemed extremely puzzled to hear about the English Academy, apparently not believing that there could be one outside the Czech Republic. Matt remembered that he'd brought the English Academy prospectus. The way to convince the woman was to show it to her, as he'd already done to Stanislav on the train. As Lenka flicked through the pages she suddenly stopped and called to her husband.

  Tomas came over and sounded angry.

  "What's happened?" Matt asked.

  Stanislav seemed almost amused. "Tomas says that the man who came to buy his farm is the man in this picture, and he wants to know what you are doing here. He does not believe you are a private investigator."

  This didn't make sense. Perhaps Stanislav's translation into English was lacking something essential. He looked at the page in the prospectus that the Duseks were pointing at. It showed a group of the English Academy staff sitting by the side of the main building, surrounded by various musical instruments. The Mount was just visible in the background.

  Tomas Dusek jabbed a dirty forefinger on the photograph and let rip with what sounded like verbal abuse. Stanislav translated his words as, "That is the man."

  "That's Martin Smith."

  "And it was Mrs. Smith who told you to come here?" Stanislav asked, with a grin.

  Matt knew what Stanislav was thinking. And maybe he should have thought of it first. Tomas Dusek said he'd seen a stranger on the farm last month, but the timing didn't make sense. "Ask Tomas exactly when he saw this man," he said the Stanislav.

  "Tomas says it was four weeks ago," Stanislav translated. "It was when his farmhand disappeared, just when things were busy."

  "And when did Tomas stack the bales of hay in the barn?"

  "Tomas says it was five days ago."

  Five days ago was before the séance, and the placing of the bales in the barn must have been chance. Anyway, if the farmer had received a tip-off from England and filled the barn to stop anyone looking, he'd hardly have removed the bales today without making a fuss. "Is he absolutely sure?"

  The farmer went to a calendar hanging on the kitchen wall, ran his finger down it, and nodded. Yes, he was absolutely sure.

  Stanislav said something to Tomas, which met with the man's approval. "We would like you to go into the yard for a walk," said Stanislav. "Thomas wants to talk to me alone."

  Matt knew he had no choice but to comply. He wandered into the farmyard and across to the wooden barn which he'd not inspected yet. Everything up to now had been a little too neat. It seemed as though someone was taking him for a ride.

  The two dogs kept up a constant barking from behind an old cattle trough where they were tied. The chains rattled as they were tugged wildly, but they looked secure. He retreated as far as an ancient bicycle, propped vertically against a pile of timber. It was a woman's bike and probably Lenka's. It looked as though she used it regularly because the tires were pumped up and there was no dust on the saddle. Maybe he could take it into town and get some photocopies of the manuscripts. It would be a good idea for everyone to have a full set each, to save any arguments later.

  He sat on the saddle and gripped the handlebars, trying to decide exactly where Martin Smith fitted into the picture. It had to be something to do with his mother. Yes, here was a likely theory. Martin Smith's mother hadn't been in a trance. She'd remembered every detail of the séance and told her son. Martin Smith had jumped on a plane, got here within a few hours and started to search.

  When Tomas Dusek had challenged him, he'd made up a story about thinking the farm was for sale. But for some reason he'd been frightened off. He shook his head. Tomas Dusek was certain that he'd seen Martin Smith here a month ago.

  He heard Stanislav calling, and got off the bicycle. The three Czechs were waiting for him in the farmhouse kitchen.

  "What was that all about?" Matt asked.

  "We think the pages are fakes," Stanislav said bluntly. "We think your friend from England has put them here to trick us."

  Matt held one of the sheets of hand-written music and examined it closely. It not only looked old, it felt old, and the brownish-black ink used for the notation had faded just enough to look genuine. The large brown envelope in which the pages had been stored seemed newer, and that bothered him slightly. The others must have picked up his feelings.

  "You have suspicions?" Stanislav said.

  "I'm a private detective. It's my job to be suspicious of everything -- and everyone. But these pages are old. I can tell, just by looking at them."

  "We are not sure." Stanislav added something in Czech, and the Duseks both nodded grimly.

  Matt reached in his bag and pulled out the UV light source. "This will prove that the papers are as old as they look."

  "A flashlight? How will it do that?" Stanislav queried.

  Matt switched on the light. The short fluorescent tube glowed a pale purple. "Modern paper looks white because the paper mills add a fluorescing agent. Under ultraviolet light modern paper looks bright blue."

  "Like my shirt at the nightclub?" Stanislav translated for the benefit of the others, but neither Tomas or Lenka seemed to know what happened to shirts at a nightclub.

  "Exactly. But any paper made before the late 1950s stays dark. It's an easy way to check for fakes." He hoped Ken knew what he was talking about back at the office. And he hoped the batteries were fresh.

  "And that is an ultraviolet light?" Stanislav asked excitedly.

  Even here in the kitchen Matt could see blue light being reflected from his shirt. The others gathered round, gasping in surprise as their own clothes glowed brightly.

  "It's the washing powder," Matt explained. "There's an additive to make clothes look brighter and cleaner."

  "And the music pages?" Stanislav asked.

  Matt asked Lenka to close the shutters. From the start it was obvious that the manuscript pages were going to stay dark. He went through each one in turn. The three Czechs still didn't seem convinced. Maybe they thought he was doing some sort of conjuring trick. He pulled his copy of the agreement from his pocket and put it on the table. It glowed bright blue.

  After exchanging a few words with the Duseks, Stanislav said, "We believe you. So what do we do now?"

  "I want to get photocopies to share round, so we all have proof of exactly what's been found here. Ask Tomas if he'll take me to Ústí in his car."

  As Stanislav translated this request, Matt noticed small specks of fluorescence on the large brown envelope. He moved the light closer. There were faint flecks of blue light all over it. Could these be clumps of fluorescing fungus that sometimes lived on old glue?

  Stanislav listened to the farmer. "We are all pleased to know that these papers are genuine," he translated. "And, yes, we all need copies. Tomas is very happy to take us into Ústí."

  Matt placed the small UV light close to the envelope again. The tiny specks of fluorescence were still visible. They looked too miniscule and regular to be traces of fungus.

  "You seem very interested in the envelope," Stanislav observed. He said something to the Duseks, and both Tomas and Lenka answered, nodding rapidly.

  "We think you have some doubts," Stanislav explained. "Is that not so, my friend?"

  Matt looked up at the farming couple. He could understand how they felt. There was no need for the envelope to be as old as the manuscripts. Maybe Ken was wrong about the 1950s. Perhaps fluorescing agents were added in the '30s and '40s.

  At that moment the phone rang. Tomas Dusek answered it and held out for Matt. He took it.

  "Edward Blake here," the loud voice said on the other end. "I gather you've got a bit of a problem."

  Problem? The whole affair was becoming a nightmare. He just didn't know who to trust. Stanislav was listening, and would almost certainly pass on this side of the conv
ersation to the Duseks.

  "Mr. Blake," Matt demanded, "did you tell Martin Smith about this search?"

  "Of course not."

  "The farmer is convinced he saw Martin Smith on the farm a month ago."

  "Impossible."

  "If the farmer says he saw him, then I'm sure he saw him. It's as simple as that."

  "Martin Smith? Do you think he was after the manuscripts?"

  "I can't think of any other reason why he was here."

  "But he didn't get them, did he?"

  "We're looking at them at this moment, on the kitchen table." Surely Blake had grasped that by now.

  "We?"

  "The Duseks. The farmer and his wife. I'll explain what happened."

  "I don't want any explanations. Just bring everything straight back. It's what I'm paying you for."

  "You haven't paid me for anything yet, apart from some small expenses," Matt reminded him. "You might as well know it hasn't been entirely straightforward. The farmer filled the barn with bales of hay or straw at the beginning of the week, and he had to shift them before I could get to the hiding place."

  "So?"

  "So we did a deal. He gets thirty percent of whatever we sell the manuscripts for." Then after a pause he added, "And the guide who's been acting as my translator gets five percent." It was just as well to get all the bad news over in one go.

  "You're a fool," Blake snapped.

  "I didn't have any other options." He felt taken aback by the dean's response.

  "Of course you did. You could have come away without saying anything."

  "And leave the manuscripts hidden in the wall?" Was the man simple or something?

  "What's the hurry? You could have returned in the spring when all hay had been used."

  "The farmer knew there was something hidden. He'd have pulled the barn apart if necessary. Anyway, if the manuscripts are as valuable as you think, you'll still be doing all right."

  There was a silence on the other end. Then Blake said, "You needn't think you'll be getting your ten percent. More like five, I'd say."

  Matt saw red. "These manuscripts don't belong to you. I can do a deal right here with the Duseks. They get their thirty percent and the guide gets his five, and that's still leaves me with sixty-five. All to myself."

  Blake obviously saw the point. "I'm sorry, it's just that ... this has all come as rather a shock. All right, you can have your ten percent. Tell the others they can have their share, exactly as you've agreed. How soon can you be back in England?"

  "I'm booked on a flight Monday evening. I might be able to get an earlier plane, but right now we have to go into town and get photocopies of everything. I can't imagine the farmer will let me go back to England with the originals unless everything is copied. But there's a bit of a puzzle."

  "Yes?" Blake sounded wary.

  "I've done a simple ultraviolet test to check that the paper is old."

  Blake laughed. "I'd no idea it was possible to do such a test. I suppose I should have expected something like that from a detective. Was everything all right?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Yet you have a problem?"

  "I'm not worried about the paper that the scores are written on. They came out of the test fine. Anyway, they look absolutely genuine."

  "So what is the problem?"

  "I'm not too happy about the brown envelope. The one the music was in. It seems a bit too modern for my liking."

  "Look," Blake shouted, "stop messing about with your silly tests. We can get everything examined by real experts when you get back. Just get on the plane with those papers and bring them to me at the Academy."

  Blake's mask had suddenly slipped. Matt put the phone down without another word. He wasn't going to be spoken to like that. It reminded him of the outburst on the dean's first visit to the office when the man had been unable to keep his cool.

  Stanislav had been listening intently. "There is trouble?" he asked.

  "Tell Tomas I'm ready." Matt folded the bundle of sheets and replaced them carefully into the large envelope that bore Hana's name. He wasn't going to discuss the matter any more.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  1942

  Masaryk Railway Station

  Prague

  Czechoslovakia

  THE SOLDIERS have all gone now, and so has the train. Hana is still hiding in the toalety. The door opens and a woman stands there, looking surprised. She puts an arm on Hana's shoulder, calling her a poor, frightened kitten.

  Hana bursts into tears as the woman comforts her. The woman says that a girl in a blue coat shot the German captain in the stomach an hour ago. No, he is not dead, not yet, but he is badly wounded.

  "The girl ... " The woman stops and looks closely at Hana. "The girl was dressed like you." She says that the girl has been taken away. The soldiers found an address on the music case and some of them have gone there.

  Hana is sick on the floor. The soldiers have gone to Papa's house. She tells the woman about Uncle Libek and Aunty Vetka in Ústí. She asks how she can get to see them now that the train has gone.

  The woman tells Hana to take off her blue coat and push it behind the water cistern so she is not recognized. As Hana removes her coat the precious pages spill across the floor. She has forgotten she pushed them in there when she gave the leather music case to Kitty. The woman tries to pull Hana away as she bends down to retrieve the papers from the patch of vomit, but Hana is insistent. A voice inside her head urges her to keep them safe. Most of the pages are still dry. The others she tries to wipe clean on the wall as she is led onto the platform.

  The captain's blood has stained the ground. Nothing else remains of the visit by the Nazi soldiers. Hana begs the woman to let her see if Papa is safe. The woman shakes her head and tells Hana she is taking her to the protection of a church. Then she must leave Prague and go to Uncle Libek and Aunty Vetka's farm in Ústí nad Orlicí. Krkavčí farma. The woman says she knows the driver of a delivery truck who will get her there safely next week.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THOMAS DUSEK said he had a few things to do on the farm before he could drive Matt into town to get photocopies of the pages. Since Tomas was the only one with a car, an elderly Skoda estate in several shades of gray, Matt suggested that he ride into town using the bicycle in the barn.

  The farmer told Stanislav, and Stanislav told Matt, that there was no way Matt was going to leave the farm on his own with the manuscripts.

  "Tomas will not let you go anywhere, unless you leave all the pages here."

  "Tell him that's impossible."

  "Tomas says is it is impossible for you to leave," Stanislav translated the farmer's response. He was obviously giving the condensed version of the reply which not only sounded long, it also sounded heated. "But he is prepared to divide everything into three equal piles and let you take your share."

  Whether this was Stanislav's own idea or a delayed translation, Matt had no idea, but it wasn't an acceptable solution. "Tell Tomas to hurry up with his farm work or the shops will be closed."

  Tomas Dusek said most of the shops would be closed anyway, although he wasn't sure, as he never went to town on a Saturday afternoon.

  Matt wasn't going to waste time while he waited. He opened his bag and got out the A4 prints he'd made from Blake's microfiche of Hana's Academy records. He asked Stanislav to look at them. There might be something useful that Olga had missed.

  Stanislav pulled a chair up to the large kitchen table and put on his glasses. "Where did you get these?" he asked with interest.

  Matt told Stanislav enough of the background to guarantee his co-operation, but not enough to help him make a later claim to all the music.

  "Do you want me to read every page?" Stanislav asked in horror as he leafed through them. "It will take a long time."

  It would, too. No way could this be allowed to hold up the trip into Ústí. Matt pointed to the door. "I'm going out for another look round the farm. I'l
l give you a quarter of an hour to read them. Okay? See if you can find anything about Hana coming here."

  Stanislav sighed. "There are many pages. I will need another drink." Maybe reading didn't play as prominent a part in his life as alcohol.

  Matt knew he was losing his patience fast. He turned and stormed out through the low kitchen doorway into the farmyard without bothering to reply. He went into the wooden barn and checked out the bicycle once more: just to be sure it wasn't locked. It would get him to Ústí in an emergency. Ten minutes later Stanislav called out to say that he'd gone briefly through every page. What did Matt want to know?

  "I don't think Hana was here for very long. She was killed at the concentration camp in Terezín. Does it say anything about Terezín in these pages?" He wanted to test Stanislav.

  "There is a letter from a girl to her parents. She says that her friend Hana died in Terezín when she had a bad stomach."

  "Yes, I know about that. The girl's parents sent the letter on to the Academy for their records." That was good. Stanislav seemed to be reliable. "Is there anything on the other pages that says she was gassed in the showers?" If he could get independent corroboration of Hana's words at the séance, he'd feel happier. Dying of stomach wounds and being gassed to death didn't sound a likely combination.

  Stanislav looked surprised. "Hana was gassed in the showers at Terezín?"

  "That's what I've heard."

  "Then you have heard wrong, my friend. There were no gas chambers at Terezín."

  Matt sighed. "I don't know much about Nazi concentration camps, but I know the guards unloaded people from the trains and told them to undress and take a shower. The shower rooms were really gas chambers."

  "You certainly do not know much about Terezín," Stanislav said mockingly. "There is a famous story about Terezín. Some children were sent there from Auswich, where their parents had been gassed in the showers. When the guards told the children to take a shower when they arrived at Terezín they started to scream. They said they knew what was going to happen."

  "They were going to be gassed?" Matt said.

  "They were going to take a shower. It is as I said: there were no gas chambers at Terezín."

  "Definitely?"

  "Definitely, my friend."

  Matt wasn't going to mention the séance in Martin Smith's house. Now he came to think of it, Martin Smith had featured a little too prominently in the journey here. The woman pretending to be Martin Smith's mother should have made him more suspicious than he had been. Ken's suggestion that the woman was a stand-in, so as not disappoint them, had given him a false sense of security. "Maybe I heard it wrong."