by Sarah Kleck
When Professor Martin came over to give us the instructions, I had my first opportunity to see his ring up close. I was so fascinated by the jewel that I would have preferred to hold his hand and take a longer look. I resisted the impulse with difficulty and satisfied myself with casting a short look at the ring while the professor placed the worksheets on the table. As I’d suspected, there was an engraved symbol worked into the flat, dark-blue oval crystal. I recognized a sword and a sort of staff that crossed in the . . . It was as if lightning struck me! “The Calmburry crest!” I almost screamed. It was exactly the same symbol that decorated Madison’s wrist. I looked at Professor Martin, who held his ring hand behind his back when he noticed my stare. He looked at me equally shocked for a moment, then inhaled deeply, put on a nonchalant expression, and continued to distribute the worksheets as if nothing had happened. All this happened so fast Sally didn’t notice anything.
For the rest of the lecture, Professor Martin played it cool. At first, it was too much for me, and I didn’t know how to handle the situation. After all, Professor Martin knew as well as I did that he was trying to hide something from me. Nevertheless, I decided to play along for the time being and conscientiously worked on the assignment. Especially since I didn’t want to draw any more attention from my classmates than I already had. Still, I couldn’t keep my mind from desperately trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together to form a harmonious and logical whole. Jared, Karen Mayflower, Professor Martin, Aiden, Madison, Colin, the crest, the debriefing, the strange guy who had followed me here from Fleetwood . . . I feverishly tried to connect everything but soon reached my limits. What surprised me despite the rising frustration was that the feeling inside me was of wild determination. I would solve this riddle—no matter the cost.
Shortly after the start of the lecture, I dared to look at Professor Martin one more time and was surprised at what an outstanding actor he was. He didn’t show any sign of discomfort. Even when I looked directly at him and couldn’t help casting a challenging look his way, he only responded with a friendly smile and continued his lecture, not the slightest bit unsettled. If it weren’t for the fact that he hid the ring, I might have doubted myself because of his splendid performance. No. I was certain: whatever was happening, Irvin Martin was involved.
As Sally and I walked part of the way home together, I toyed with the idea of telling her about the ring. However, I decided against it since it still made little sense to me. She was about to meet Colin, and, after she had assured me that she’d keep me up to date as soon as she found out something new about Jared, I left it at that.
When I’d pulled the door shut behind me and put my bag in the corner, I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out my laptop. I placed it on my narrow desk, which it almost completely covered. Impatiently I tapped my fingertips on it until it booted up. I’d already decided during Martin’s lecture to start searching this way. After all, I’d found the crest for the first time on the Internet.
I typed Jared’s name into the search engine and found, as expected, the pictures and newspaper articles about the horrible plane crash that had killed his entire family. I swallowed hard and banished the approaching thoughts of his dead family members. I had no time for another meltdown. I scanned the other search results on the first page. As with the last time I googled Jared’s name, a Facebook notification and a link to the University of Oxford appeared. But what I was looking for was nowhere to be found. I ran through the second, third, and fourth pages and followed a few links only to abandon them a few minutes later. No sign of the Calmburry crest. Strange . . . I could remember that I had seen the engraved symbol pretty much right away when I searched last time. I hadn’t paid very close attention then, but I was pretty sure it had been there. About ten Google pages later I decided to try another search engine. It also produced no results. It was as if someone had deleted the Calmburry crest from the entire Internet.
How was this possible? I remembered a TV report I had watched about a year ago with Zara. It was about the traces information left behind on the Internet and how difficult it was to remove them. I remembered this so well because afterward we had talked about a case Zara had worked on. A girl who had been bullied by her peers had reported this to the police because some of her classmates had put some embarrassing pictures of her on the Internet and added nasty comments. Zara told me what a huge effort it had been to delete the pictures. And even when she and her colleagues had succeeded, the pictures reappeared on the Net over the following weeks and months. How, then, could the crest disappear so thoroughly if even the police could barely erase something? Did someone like Karen Mayflower have the means to do this? My head was starting to hurt. Instead of finding the desired answers, more questions had arisen, and it was maddening. After hours of fruitless searching, I finally fell on my bed, exhausted.
When the screaming of my alarm tore me from sleep the next morning, a tormenting feeling of frustration overcame me. I had to do something about this. I jumped out of bed and pulled my schedule out of my bag. Felix, as always, would accompany me to my four morning lectures. I hoped to see Jared in the afternoon in Psychology of Emotions—how fitting.
As expected, Felix saw me outside the lecture hall and greeted me from afar. When I approached him, I remembered him disappearing during lunch the previous day. He had to take care of something, Sally had said.
“Good morning, Felix,” I said when he was within earshot.
“Morning, Evelyn.”
“Hey, where did you disappear to yesterday during lunch?”
He shrugged. “You looked totally exhausted at lunch, absentminded, and not yourself. So I decided to get her,” he proudly stated.
“Get who?”
“Madison, of course! As you said, the business at the pool really got to you. Are you still having trouble concentrating today? You should have gone to the hospital right away on Sunday. You’ve probably got a concussion—I figured that’s what was wrong at lunch yesterday.”
“A concussion?” I said in a lowered voice as I finally grasped what Felix was driving at. He was blaming my absentmindedness on Madison’s attack in the shower and the head injury I sustained. But I had been racking my brain the whole time over Jared, the book, and Karen Mayflower. I couldn’t resist laughing. Felix didn’t have a clue how wrong his assumptions were. But since I didn’t feel like telling him why I had been so absentminded, I gratefully accepted the opening.
“You decided to get her?” I asked, anxious to find out what happened.
“Yeah,” he said, now almost looking downcast.
“And?”
“And nothing. I couldn’t find the bitch. And I looked everywhere for her. In the library, the lecture halls . . .” He breathed deeply. “I searched the whole damned college. But nothing.” He sounded frustrated.
I frowned. Madison was nowhere to be found? Strange. Now I was even more anxious to see Jared and wished he would show up for the afternoon lecture. But I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
“What would you have done to Madison if you’d found her?” I asked and tried to imagine how an encounter between the two of them might have gone. He shrugged. “No idea, I never thought it out. I just wanted to get her. Maybe I would have grabbed her by her shoulders and shaken her,” he said and smiled at the thought.
“Trust me, I would have liked to see that,” I confessed, laughing.
“Come on, let’s go in,” Felix said. “Let’s not make old Professor Warden wait too long. Any lecture could be his last!” he joked.
“You’re right. How old is he, really?”
“As far as I know,” Felix said, “he served in World War I. And he’s not getting any younger.”
The first three lectures passed quickly, thanks to Felix’s pleasant company. I let his good mood infect me, which helped me forget the damned puzzle that had kept me so preoccupied all this time. After the
lunch break, for which Sally did not show up because she now preferred to eat in town with Colin, I made my way to Psychology of Emotions with Professor Ginsburgh. I had pretty much resigned myself to not seeing Jared and trotted to the entrance. It was pointless to look for Jared among the other students, but since I couldn’t be sure I’d resist the temptation to look for him, I stared at the ground.
“Hi, Evelyn.”
I gasped and looked up. Jared was standing in front of me, looking into my eyes. The explosion I felt in my stomach at seeing him released a million butterflies. I was incapable of speaking.
“I heard you got hurt. How are you? Are you okay?” he asked with concern, and his voice had a slightly angry undertone.
“I . . . I’m just fine,” I managed to say.
“I heard you hurt your head,” he said and eyed my forehead. When he discovered the yellow-green shadows of the healing bruise, he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw muscles protruded. My hand wandered to the spot on my head where it had banged into the tiled wall of the shower.
“Not nearly as bad as it looks,” I assured him. “Almost healed.” He closed his eyes and breathed in—to try to control himself, it seemed. This gave me an opportunity to look at him closely. He was wearing sneakers and jeans with a broad, dark-brown belt that perfectly matched his leather jacket. He wore the jacket over a light-gray hoodie and looked breathtaking. It probably didn’t matter whether he was wearing a tailored suit or old, worn sweatpants—Jared always looked breathtaking. When he opened his eyes again, he caught me looking him over. I immediately turned away.
“Shall we go in?” I asked when I noticed that all the others had already disappeared into the lecture hall.
“No, I have to get going,” he said reluctantly.
I frowned. “But then why did you come here if you’re not going to the lecture?”
He shut his eyes and breathed deeply again as if he needed a moment to decide whether to tell me the truth or not. “To see you,” he finally said but quickly turned and left.
CHAPTER 10
The library!
I almost shouted it out loud when it dawned on me to look there one more time for clues. Even if the Calmburry book was in Mayflower’s office—unless she’d already hidden it somewhere else—I might find another book that would help me.
Since I’d arrived at Ginsburgh’s lecture—a few minutes late because I’d had to gather myself after my encounter with Jared—I’d been puzzling things over incessantly.
He had come just to see me and pulled the ground out from underneath me. If Sally was right and Jared was into me, why was he always running away when he saw me? Who could have such a strong influence over him that he would keep away from me against his will? I knew the answer: Professor Mayflower. But why?
Carefully trying to avoid Felix and Sally, with whom I was about to have Social Psychology, I took a detour to the library. I set aside my feelings of guilt by reminding myself I wouldn’t make a habit of skipping classes, but my curiosity was simply getting the better of me. When I arrived at the library, I stopped to consider where to begin my search. I decided it would be best to start where I’d come upon the Calmburry book and headed straight for the FE section. I inspected every weighty volume that resembled the chronicle. Most of these works, like the Calmburry book, stemmed from the deepest Middle Ages.
At the start of my search I came upon a number of horrible manifestos by the Catholic Church—cold-blooded, bestial instructions set down by the Inquisition for torturing and killing supposed heretics. Another book consisted exclusively of detailed, stomach-turning descriptions of the cruel witch hunts that occurred between 1450 and 1750. It included disgusting things, such as instructions for building a pyre large enough to burn a dozen supposed witches at once. Finally, I even laid hands on a copy of Heinrich Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum, commonly known as The Hammer of Witches. The discussion in the first few pages on the nature of women was despicable and made me want to throw up. This cleric called for the godless, inhumane murder of thousands and thousands of women and girls. But what was even worse, congealing in my gut as a mass of black anger and hatred, was that the death of these innocents was to be preceded by a humiliating and barbarous torture to extract a so-called confession from them. I forced myself to put The Hammer of Witches back onto the shelf before I lost focus out of sheer rage. The next book described the curative powers of various native herbs and their uses in medicine and healing. I would pull a book from a shelf, start reading, shut it in disappointment, and return it to its place, only to pull out another and then another. Although they were interesting and informative, none of the dusty folios contained even the slightest trace of the Calmburry family.
Two unsuccessful hours later, feeling morose, I brushed my fingers listlessly over the wooden shelves, which mostly held worn, leather-bound books that were carefully categorized, row by row. Suddenly I noticed something. Because I had been so fully occupied with the books, I hadn’t noticed at first that the bookcases in the FE section were not ordinary bookcases. I felt irregularities in the varnished wood under my fingertips and took a closer look. It appeared that not only were the books particularly old—the librarian had spoken of rare and extremely valuable manuscripts and first editions—but the shelves holding the numerous volumes also appeared to be priceless antiques. Fine, delicate carvings had been worked into the wood by a true master. Looking closer, I recognized symbols among the numerous engraved ornaments and intricate decorations, especially the sides of the broad bookcases facing the center aisle. I gently brushed several feet of one shelf’s side with my fingers.
Then I took a step back to appreciate the artwork as a whole. At first, I was slightly irritated that the artist let his masterpiece end so abruptly at the right wall without having his carvings run out as delicately as he had begun them and as I had expected them to. But then I realized the flourishes, lines, and ornaments continued on the side of the next case to the right. Although it was set up several feet from its neighbor, it was impossible to miss that the two bookcases somehow belonged together. I took another step back and recognized that the carvings on the sides of the third and fourth cases would also fit together into a single, seamless work of art.
Because this part of the FE section consisted of at least ten shelving units set up at regular distances and all appeared to be covered by the same carving, I took several steps back to get a better picture.
Unexpectedly, I bumped into the next row of shelves on the opposite side of the center aisle. Damn! From here I couldn’t see how the whole picture of the carved woodwork on the individual six-foot-wide, twelve-foot-tall sides fit together.
I had to get farther back. But how? I suddenly noticed a rolling ladder leaning against one of the shelves; it extended so far up that even books on the top shelf could be reached easily. The ladder could be pushed on its wheels to the end of the shelf on the side opposite the center aisle and parallel to the shelves in the FE section. That should do. I moved it over, climbed all the way up and, full of anticipation, looked over the center aisle to the shelf sides in the FE section.
I almost fell off the ladder, looking down from so high. I could see about seven of the ten shelves in total and, even though a quarter of the overall work was hidden from sight, I was certain the carving on the shelf sides could only be one thing: the woodworker had carved the Calmburry crest in painstaking detail into the wooden surface, and it was nearly the size of a movie screen. Unbelievable! I was astonished and held firmly to the ladder. I blinked and looked at the huge carving again. Yes, beyond any doubt, this truly was the Calmburry family crest. What the heck was it doing there? Was this the Calmburry wing of the library?
I knew from Sally that Jared’s family was one of the oldest in England. And I knew they’d accumulated a huge fortune over the course of time. But could it be that the Calmburrys donated an entire library section to Christ Church? All those
rare works must be worth a fortune. Not merely a few thousand pounds. No. A real fortune! Was this family really so rich it could simply give a treasure like that to the College? Was the explanation that simple? Just a donation from a filthy rich family?
Suddenly, I thought of the creepy nighttime encounter with Madison. She had shown me her tattoo. Her very special tattoo. She was wearing the crest on her wrist. Was she related to Jared? That would seem pretty improbable. After all, she had a crush on him. Unless . . . No, I didn’t even want to think it! So, assuming they were not related, why was Madison wearing the crest of the Calmburry family on her skin? Was it the symbol of the bond between Jared and her, as she claimed? Full of conviction. Full of pride.
Bond—what a strange word to use. And then there was Professor Martin. The crest stood out on his blue seal ring. And he had definitely wanted to hide it from me. Just like Professor Mayflower had wanted to hide the book from me. Deep inside, I felt all this—the carvings on the shelves, Madison’s tattoo, Professor Martin’s seal ring, and Karen Mayflower’s more-than-strange behavior regarding the book—was only the beginning. There was more. Much more.
I pulled my cell phone out of my bag as I left the library. I had felt it vibrate during my feverish search, but I hadn’t paid any attention since it could only have been Mrs. Prescott, Sally or, even more likely, Felix—and I didn’t want to be disturbed.
I had two missed calls from Sally, four from Felix, and several texts from Felix.
Where are you?
What’s going on? Everything okay?
Damn it, Evelyn, where the hell are you?!
With a deep sigh, I typed an answer.
Felix, everything’s okay. I had a headache and went to lie down.
Since he was making more of my injury than he needed to, I thought this was as good an excuse as any, and even though it was a lie, I didn’t feel guilty. After all, Felix wasn’t my dad or my boyfriend. I was a free person and could decide on my own what to do. I was slowly getting the feeling he wanted me to ask his permission to come and go. Felix’s answer arrived only two minutes after I had pressed “Send.”