The Very First Damned Thing

by Jodi Taylor

  A college porter appeared from a doorway. ‘Help you, sir?’

  ‘I am here to see either Dr Dowson or Professor Rapson. Or both. Whichever is easier.’

  The porter nodded back the way he had just come. ‘Up the stairs and to your left, sir. You might want to proceed with caution.’

  Thanking him, Dr Bairstow climbed the ancient staircase.

  In contrast to the rest of the building, which reflected the grave silence of academia, the corridor at the top of the stairs was witnessing a great deal of activity. A line of gossiping students stood along one panelled wall, all with identical expressions of sheepishness and clutching bottles containing a familiar golden fluid.

  Any doubts Dr Bairstow might have had over whether or not he was in the right place were immediately dispelled. At the exact moment he opened his mouth to make a polite enquiry of the nearest bottle-clutching student, there was a small, damp explosion and a cloud of evil-smelling, acrid smoke billowed from a doorway. Dr Bairstow closed his mouth, and waited for events to unfold.

  A door on the other side of the corridor was hurled open with some force. The students, obviously familiar with the signs and mindful that there was bound to be a pub open somewhere, made themselves scarce.

  A small, round man, spectacles balanced precariously on the end of his nose, bounced out into the corridor, waving his arms to dispel the evil vapours, and plunged into the fray.

  ‘Andrew, you old fool, I warned you. Didn’t I warn you?’ He turned his head, addressing someone unseen. ‘Mr Cameron, please telephone the Chancellor’s office for me and remind them – again – of my urgent requests to be rehoused. No one should be expected to have to work opposite … Andrew, what are you doing now? I demand you stop that at once. You’ll blow us all to kingdom come.’

  A furious pounding could be heard.

  A voice said excitedly, ‘I think I know where I went wrong.’

  ‘You always say that.’

  ‘Well, it’s usually true, Octavius. I think this time I used a little too much urine and not enough toadstool.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Andrew, it’s like a bloody witch’s den in here. What is this? And this? And don’t tell me what this is because I don’t want to know.’

  A quiet voice said patiently, ‘It’s touchwood, Occy. You soak it in urine – lots of urine – pound the mixture into a kind of felt, and it smoulders. Portable fire. The Vikings used it a lot.

  ‘You are not a Viking. And the 21st century has gifted us with matches. And this did not smoulder. It exploded.’

  ‘Yes, I think possibly the fault lies with poor quality urine. I blame the students, you know. It’s probably about 90% alcohol. Really, when you think about it, an explosion was quite inevitable. I wonder if I could persuade them to stop drinking for a week or two?’

  ‘Andrew, I sometimes think you’ve lost all touch with reality.’

  ‘Well really, that’s a little unkind. Actually, while you’re here, Occy, I wonder if you’d be kind enough to donate …’

  At this moment, Dr Bairstow judged it politic to intervene.

  Taking a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, he attached it to one end of his stick and gently waved it around the doorway.

  ‘Gentlemen, may I enter?’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Andrew, you’ve blown up a civilian. Come in, sir. Are you hurt?’

  ‘Not in any way, I assure you. May I enter?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Andrew, please find the gentleman a chair.’

  A tall and very thin man with Einstein hair, Professor Rapson looked vaguely around as if perhaps a chair could be found dangling from the ceiling. His hair was in disarray and the front of his white coat was speckled with something that should probably not be too closely examined.

  ‘I am looking for Professor Rapson.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. That’s me. How do you do?’ He began to move around the room, picking up shattered equipment and uttering small, distressed sounds. Pools of fluid dripped unhappily to the floor.

  ‘Andrew, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’m looking for the rest of the student donations and they don’t appear to have survived.’

  ‘Well thank God for that. Come and sit down for a moment, there’s a good chap. You have a guest.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. That was the last of … Oh, well, never mind, there are many more of them waiting outside.’

  ‘Alas, I fear that is no longer the case,’ interrupted Dr Bairstow.

  ‘Oh dear. Now what shall I do? I don’t suppose, Occy …’

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  He turned hopefully to Dr Bairstow. ‘I wonder, sir, if I could trouble you …’

  There was a short pause. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Oh well, I’ll just have to save up again, I suppose.’

  He drooped dejectedly over the remains of a complicated glass retort.

  Silence fell. And showed no signs of getting up again.

  Since both of them appeared to have forgotten his presence, Dr Bairstow felt compelled to speak.

  ‘I am looking for Professor Andrew Rapson and Dr Octavius Dowson. I suspect that I have found them.’

  ‘You have indeed, sir. How can we assist you?’

  ‘Gentlemen, I have travelled here today to ask you, personally, whether you would be interested in joining my project. I cannot enter into any great detail at the moment, suffice to say that the work will be hazardous, noisy, a little disorganised, and extremely secret.’

  It was as if a switch had been flicked. Both men stopped what they were doing and turned to fix him with stares of laser-like intensity. The two bickering academics might never have existed.

  ‘Why us?’

  ‘The University of Thirsk was the centre of resistance in this part of the country and, from reports I have read, the two of you were at the centre of the centre of resistance. The university suffered greatly because of its stand against the Fascist forces. I have in mind a scheme that will benefit everyone – me, you, and the university.’

  Professor Rapson folded his arms. ‘Does the Chancellor know about this?’

  ‘She does. There have been extensive discussions.’

  Dr Dowson smiled gently. ‘I imagine she couldn’t wait to be rid of us.’

  ‘Actually, no. She is greatly reluctant to lose either of you but she concedes the importance of my work and recognises your value to it.’

  ‘You haven’t told us yet what your project is.’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Or where it is.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, either. But it will be in this country.’

  ‘What will we be doing?

  ‘I’m not yet at liberty to divulge that information.’

  ‘Can you give us any details at all?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘So, just to sum up – you want us to work on an unknown project in an unknown location?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And the work is hazardous …?’

  ‘And noisy and disorganised.’

  They looked at each other. ‘Anything else we should know?’

  ‘Regular wages will probably not happen.’

  ‘Well in that case …’ They looked at each other and then back to Dr Bairstow, nodding enthusiastically. ‘We accept.’

  ‘Good.’ Dr Bairstow rose to his feet and retrieved his handkerchief. ‘I will contact you both shortly. Allow me to give you my card.’

  Dr Dowson turned it over. ‘It’s just your name.’

  ‘That is correct. Gentlemen, I will be in touch.’

  He turned and made his way back through the smoke and down the stairs. Pausing at the bottom to draw on his gloves, he groped for his notebook, made two ticks, and permitted himself a satisfied smile.

  ‘Four and five. Excellent progress.’

  Time passed – and who would know that better than the occupants of St Mary’s?

  The food impr
oved immeasurably. Although as Mr Randall remarked, Mrs Mack could serve up a dead dog sandwich and it would still be a huge improvement on Markham’s efforts. A slight scuffle followed this statement.

  A steady stream of vehicles weaved their way around the potholes, seeking to deliver their cargo under Mr Strong’s directions. Structural work began and was progressing well until the Society for the Protection of Historical Buildings turned up with their paperwork and put a stop to all that.

  The library slowly began to take shape. It was Dr Bairstow’s opinion that the library might have taken shape a little less slowly if Dr Dowson could refrain from exclaiming in excitement and sitting down, task forgotten, to read some long-forgotten treasure.

  Professor Rapson, for no good reason that anyone could see, had attempted the construction of an automated mangonel. The combination of a scale model and an old lawn mower engine proved too much for the internal walls of his laboratory, one of which collapsed under the bombardment. He was accused of attempting to demolish St Mary’s even before the cement had dried and, having been compelled to evacuate while the ceiling was propped up and other safety measures implemented, he retired, protesting, to assist Dr Dowson in the Library. The sounds of heated academic debate soon echoed around the building. As Major Guthrie said, however, it kept them both occupied and out of the way.

  Living conditions remained somewhat spartan. St Mary’s, while continuing to absorb money at an astonishing rate, had very little to spare for creature comforts.

  Dr Bairstow awoke late one night to hear vigorous whispering under his window. A moment later, a vehicle coughed into life and drove away. Silence fell. Dr Bairstow turned over and closed his eyes again.

  The next morning, two tables, half a dozen chairs, and a sofa appeared to have mysteriously materialised overnight. The next night saw the acquisition of three single beds. On the night after that, St Mary’s appeared to have enjoyed a visit from the wardrobe fairy. With some regret, Dr Bairstow requested the presence of Mr Markham at his earliest convenience.

  He bounced into Dr Bairstow’s office, wearing his usual sunny smile, and clutching a diver’s helmet in one hand and a lump hammer in the other. With true heroism, Dr Bairstow forbore to ask.

  ‘Good morning, sir. You wanted me.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Markham. There appear to be quantities of furniture appearing all over my unit.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘The paperwork for which I cannot trace.’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘Might I enquire as to the origins of this unexpected bounty?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Silence.

  ‘Please consider my request as an instruction to explain the origins of this unexpected bounty.’

  ‘Sorry sir. The municipal tip.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.’

  ‘They’ve got some great stuff there, sir. And it’s our duty to recycle,’ he added, virtue (among other things) oozing from every pore.

  ‘But, and correct me if I am wrong, the purpose of the municipal tip – wherever that might be – is for people to dispose of unwanted, worn out, and possibly infested household items?’

  ‘No, spot on, sir. Well done.’

  ‘I have two areas of concern, Mr Markham. The first is the almost certainly illegal removal of these household items and the consequences should you be apprehended; and second, the varied and no doubt difficult to eradicate wildlife living within it.’

  ‘Not a problem sir. Already dealt with. Professor Rapson has come up with some sort of spray and …’

  Dr Bairstow held up a hand. ‘Please say no more.’

  ‘OK. Was there anything else sir?’

  ‘If I could just refer you back to my previous comment concerning the illegal removal of …’

  ‘Of stuff no one wants, sir. It’s recycling. St Mary’s is going green.’

  ‘Of that I have no doubt, although possibly we are not referring to the same thing.’

  Mr Markham assumed an expression of stricken concern. Lifting anxious eyes to Dr Bairstow, he said piteously, ‘We’re not doing any harm, sir.’

  Dr Bairstow contemplated the guileless face before him. ‘While I am certain this works with elderly ladies, magistrates, and for all I know, Major Guthrie, it cuts no ice with me.’

  Markham resumed his normal expression. ‘No sir. Do you want us to stop?’

  Dr Bairstow shuffled some files from one mountainous pile to another. ‘I beg your pardon. I am sometimes afflicted with a little deafness. I did not hear your last question.’

  ‘I did not utter it, sir.’

  ‘I am so glad we understand each other.’

  St Mary’s first all-staff briefing was generally reckoned to be a bit of a landmark. Especially when it was made clear that an all-staff briefing was just that. A briefing for all staff.

  ‘We are all members of this unit. Decisions are made, actions taken, and policies agreed. Everyone is affected and everyone is involved. Physical absence from the unit, serious illness and, in some instances, death are the only excuses I am prepared to consider and only then if they are accompanied by the relevant paperwork. Mr Markham and Mr Randall, please would you present my compliments to the admin and kitchen staff and ask them if they would be good enough to join us. Thank you.’

  Some minutes later, with a larger audience, he continued.

  ‘As you know, we operate under the auspices of the University of Thirsk, and tomorrow, their new Chancellor, Dr Evelyn Chalfont, will be paying us a visit.’

  He paused, shifted his weight slightly, and continued. ‘I would be grateful if, just for once, the first impression of this unit could be a favourable one.

  ‘Mr Strong, I know the grounds will be immaculate. Mrs Mack, I understand you have already begun preparations for a special luncheon and Mrs Enderby is to give a tour of the Wardrobe Department.’

  He said no more and passed immediately to another topic, but not before he had caught Major Guthrie’s eye. No words were exchanged but it was clearly understood that Mr Markham and Professor Rapson, if not actually locked in the basement for the duration, would almost certainly be under twenty-four-hour supervision, because nothing must be allowed to interfere with St Mary’s presentation of itself as a sober, slightly dull establishment dedicated to the pursuit of historical research.

  At eleven thirty on the day in question, a battered Mini, painted in pink and yellow, and coughing fumes from every orifice, ground to a halt outside the front door of St Mary’s. The driver’s door creaked open, disgorging an astonishingly young, dark-haired woman, carrying a watering can.

  Mr Strong bustled forwards. ‘Good morning, Madam Chancellor.’

  She seemed somewhat flustered. ‘Oh, good morning. It’s Mr Strong, isn’t it?’

  ‘That is correct, ma’am. May I relieve you of your implement?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you very much. I wonder, when it’s cooled down a little, could you splash in some more water? Sadly, she drinks faster than a politician when someone else is picking up the tab. Is Edward around?’

  Dr Bairstow appeared.

  ‘Ah Edward. Good morning. As you can see, I made it. You said I wouldn’t and I did. Pay up.’

  Dr Bairstow regarded the small heap of metal currently lowering property values all over the parish.

  ‘Good heavens, Evelyn. You appear to have driven here in a slice of Battenberg cake.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, defensively. ‘It goes like a bomb.’

  ‘Not the happiest simile in this context. Can I offer you some coffee?’

  ‘God, yes.’

  She plunged up the steps and entered St Mary’s.

  Seated comfortably in Dr Bairstow’s office, she stirred her coffee and smiled at him. Dr Bairstow found he could not help smiling back.

  ‘Madam Chancellor …’

  ‘Evelyn …’

  ‘Evelyn. Please do not construe this as any form of criti
cism, but surely the need to disarm your political opponents with a display of irresponsible student behaviour is over now. You could perfectly easily have been driven here in your official car, surrounded by the Senior Faculty and enjoyed the status commensurate with that of Chancellor of the University of Thirsk.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about the Senior Faculty. Bunch of self-serving, political failures. You know the saying, “Those who can – do. Those who can’t – teach.” And those who never had any idea what it was in the first place are members of my Senior Faculty. Sorry, Edward, but this is in the nature of a day out for me. You surely wouldn’t deprive me of all the fun of getting back and finding what the bastards have been up to while my back’s been turned.’

  He stirred his coffee. ‘I was aware that yours was a somewhat controversial appointment, but are things really that bad?’

  ‘There are those who feel that organising the resistance actually renders me not only unsuitable for this position, but positively dangerous. Never mind that Thirsk was the rallying point for all those opposing the regime. Never mind that we inspired and protected and defended and …’ She stopped. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

  ‘I do indeed. I’m just astonished that your opponents watched you in action for all those years and still think they possess the ability to take you down. That you couldn’t deal with them with one hand behind your back while chairing the Finance Committee at the same time.’

  She laughed. ‘You must know that it’s far easier to deal with the enemy shooting at you from the front than the shadowy bastards trying to knife you in the back.’

  ‘I feel certain you are more than capable of dealing with these … er … shadowy bastards.’

  ‘They’re not going to cause me any problems. I know I’m a controversial appointment, but I think the feeling was new beginnings etc.. Besides, some of those shadowy bastards weren’t quite as … unambiguous … in their loyalties as they could have been. I know it and they know I know it. I’ll have them out. It’s only a matter of time.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Perhaps Professor Rapson could brew me something untraceable. How is he, by the way?’