Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals

by Dan Abnett

  Professor Cahalane did exactly what Lara hoped and expected he would do. He changed the subject.

  “Perhaps Professor Babbington might succeed where I’ve failed,” said Cahalane.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lara.

  “I don’t want you going off on a wild goose chase,” said the professor. “Stories, legends live on in the memories of men long after artifacts are lost. They act as lessons or as examples of greatness, but they aren’t real. You’re a romantic, Lara, just like your father. I admire it in a way, but it does no good. You might as well chase rainbows.”

  “Then, what should I do?” asked Lara.

  “You should trust the medical men and women,” said Cahalane. “You should trust science. The best archaeologists are scientists. At his best, your father was a scientist, and so are you. So am I, and so is Professor Babbington. That’s how we build our reputations and add to the world of knowledge.”

  “You don’t believe there’s anything in the legend of the Golden Fleece?” asked Lara.

  “On the contrary,” said Cahalane, “I believe there’s a very great deal in it. It tells us much about man and his beliefs, his imagination, his aspirations, his capacity for romance, his needs. It tells us a great deal about the era the story came from and the culture. As for the artifact? If such a thing exists at all, I have no doubt that it is utterly inert. Magic is in the mind of the beholder.”

  “You’re right,” said Lara. “Of course you’re right.”

  “Good then,” said the professor. He smiled slightly. “I suppose you’ll be off to Oxford anyway?”

  “I think I will,” said Lara, “just to put my mind at rest.”

  “But you’ll finish your dinner first,” said Cahalane. “Anxiety is an exhausting business. You must eat well and sleep well, Lara. Make sure of it.”

  “I will,” said Lara.

  “Now, where’s that damned waiter with my cheese?”

  Lara laughed.

  “Really, Professor,” she said. “You’re so very English. If you remember, you did ask him to wait before serving dessert.”

  “So I did,” said Cahalane. “Then, I suppose we must wait.”

  Chapter 6

  Two days later, Samantha was transferred to a psychiatric ward. Her physical health was good, but, as Lara anticipated, there were big questions hanging over her mental health. Samantha’s assessment was expected to take a minimum of seven days. Lara had been advised that her friend was in safe hands and would be supervised at all times. Lara decided to take the opportunity to go to Oxford.

  She took an aisle seat on the 10:22 from Paddington Station. The train started from the station, and Lara was one of the first passengers to get on. There were only a couple of dozen passengers waiting on the platform: several business types, all traveling singly, some younger people who might have been students, and several small groups of mostly women traveling in twos and threes.

  Lara had stood well back on the platform until the train was ready to leave, so that she could check out the other passengers. No one seemed out of the ordinary.

  Lara always took the aisle seat of a pair rather than sit at the window and leave a seat free for a stranger to sit next to her, even if the train was not busy. She never chose to sit alone where four or six seats faced each other.

  A couple of women were sitting opposite each other in a four-seat with their luggage occupying the other two seats, and a man in a suit and raincoat was sitting in a window seat further up the carriage.

  Five minutes after they left the station, the door between Lara’s carriage and the one in front opened, and a man walked through it. Lara looked up, expecting to see the guard. It wasn’t someone in the First Great Western livery. The man, in jeans and a blazer, caught Lara’s eye and looked quickly away, ducking into an aisle seat opposite her, half a dozen rows forward of her position towards the rear of the carriage.

  She didn’t like it.

  Only a few days before, Lara had encountered Magazine Man on the Tube, and now this. Why would someone switch carriages five minutes into a train journey? Why would anyone switch carriages on a virtually empty train? It was obvious he wasn’t looking for the loo.

  Lara thought about switching to the carriage behind hers, but decided against it. She was safe enough where she was. There were other people in the carriage. The guard would have to check tickets at some point.

  It’s paranoia. It’s the anxiety. Get a grip, Lara, she told herself. She checked her watch. It was less than ten minutes to Slough. She could switch carriages there. Nothing was going to happen in broad daylight on a train in front of total strangers. Except things have already happened, Lara, she reminded herself. Things happened on Yamatai, and Magazine Man followed me to the hotel. Just switch carriages.

  Lara didn’t telegraph her movements. She kept her eyes open and listened for the announcement and the slowing down of the train. There were people on the platform, and she was close to the exit behind her. She wouldn’t even have to pass the guy.

  Leaving it to the last moment, Lara ducked off the train as the doors opened for passengers to embark. She ran along the platform so that she didn’t have to pass the guy who’d joined her carriage, and got back on the train in the carriage behind the one she had stepped into at Paddington Station. She only just made it.

  That was risky, she thought, and probably stupid.

  She took a moment, messing about with her rucksack, to check the passengers. Two or three had got on at Slough. She’d followed them into the carriage. The other half-a-dozen were the kids she’d seen standing on the platform at Paddington. A tiny, mousey girl with shoulder-length hair and an upturned nose was sitting with five boys. They were a mixed bag: a jock, a nerd, a very tall boy who looked like a swimmer without the shoulders, and two boy-next-door types. They were sitting together in the six-section a few rows in front of where she was standing. No one was sitting in the four-section on the other side of the aisle from them.

  “Safety in numbers,” she said under her breath. She walked up the aisle towards them.

  “Hi,” she said. “We are going to Oxford, right?”

  “That’s right,” said the only girl in the group. “You’re on the right train. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

  “I was in a world of my own,” said Lara. “Stupid of me. I’m sure that voice must have read out the stations more than once, but somehow I managed to tune it out, and then… I don’t know.” She shrugged and smiled. She began to turn.

  “Join us,” said the girl, gesturing to the seats opposite.

  “I don’t want to...” began Lara.

  “Honestly, it’d be nice to talk about something other than last night’s football match. I’m Willow.”

  “Lara,” said Lara.

  “And the parental unit was a hippy, not a Buffy fan, before you ask.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask,” said Lara, smiling.

  “No one ever gets the chance,” said the tall boy. “It’s her opening conversational gambit. She thinks it makes her interesting.”

  “I’m sure she is interesting,” said Lara.

  “Thank you,” said Willow. “In fact, I am.”

  “I’m Ben,” said the boy who had spoken, “and that’s Josh, Elliot, Imran and Xander.”

  Lara couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I know,” said Xander, one of the boy-next-door types. “I promise you I was Xander long before I met Willow.”

  “It’s never not funny, though, is it?” said Imran, the other boy-next-door.

  “So, are you a student?” asked Ben.

  “Sometimes,” said Lara.

  “Ah,” said Ben, “post-grad. We’re undergrads. Teddy Hall. English, mostly.”

  “I’m a chemist,” said Josh, who looked like a jock.

  “History of Art,”
said Willow.

  “And I’m off to the loo,” said Xander.

  “Oh,” said Lara.

  “That a problem?” asked Xander. His smile was slightly quizzical.

  Lara smiled back. She felt foolish. She’d just realised that she hadn’t taken a shot of the man she thought had been following her, and now Xander would have to pass him on his way to the loo. It was too soon. She couldn’t possibly ask him to sneak a picture of the bloke in the blazer.

  “Coincidence,” said Lara, brushing it off. “I just remembered something.”

  “I’ll be off then,” said Xander.

  As Xander returned, the train pulled in at Reading station.

  “Who’s going to do me a favour?” asked Lara, pulling her phone out and approaching the carriage doors.

  “What do you need?” asked Imran, who was sitting closest to her.

  “Just hold the doors so I can get back on the train,” said Lara. “I won’t be a tick.”

  “No problem,” said Imran, following her out of the carriage.

  “What’s going on?” Willow called after them. But Lara was already on the platform.

  The shot she got of Blazer Bloke wasn’t great, but at least the platform was on the same side of the train that he was sitting. She could always clean the image up using Photoshop if he really was following her and she needed to identify him at a later date.

  Only two passengers got on at Reading, so Lara only had a few seconds. It was all she needed. Imran watched from the doors, and Lara was back in the carriage moments later.

  “So?” asked Willow when they returned to their seats.

  “It’s all deeply mysterious, and she can’t talk about it,” said Imran, winking at Lara.

  Willow’s eyes widened.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Imran leaned closer to her in order to whisper.

  “Well,” he said, “you know the ‘recruitment’ programs ‘They’ have at Oxbridge? Lara here is being vetted, and she has to perform certain ‘tasks’ before she can qualify for full ‘status.’”

  “As a spy!” said Willow.

  Imran burst out laughing.

  “You are so gullible,” he said. “The cleverest woman I know, and you fall for that stuff all the time.”

  “I am clever,” said Willow, blushing. “And you’re mean.”

  “And Willow just might not be as gullible as you think,” said Lara. It was her turn to wink, and Willow’s blush deepened with pleasure as the expression was aimed at her.

  “Seriously, though?” the girl asked.

  “It’s actually really stupid,” said Lara, “childish. It’s a game I used to play with a friend of mine when we were at boarding school together. Sam’s in hospital at the moment, and I thought it’d be a bit of fun the next time I visited.”

  “What sort of game?” asked Imran.

  “When we were separated during holidays, we collected photos of certain things to bring back to school and compare. On the list was a man in a blue blazer. I saw a guy like that get on the train, so I wanted to get a photo of him. Et voilà.” She held up her phone to show the picture.

  She hated to lie, but she’d had to work out some excuse when she’d realised she hadn’t taken a shot of the bloke in the blazer before she’d switched carriages. The game had been real, and Sam was in hospital, so it was at least a lie based on a truth.

  “I hope he feels better soon,” said Willow.

  “She,” said Lara. “Samantha.”

  “Are you in Oxford to study?” asked Josh. “What do you study? You didn’t say.”

  “It’s just a visit,” said Lara. “One meeting. I don’t plan to stay long. I’m an archaeologist. Mostly, I like to dig.”

  “I plan to specialise in ancient art when I get the chance,” said Willow. “It’s a fascinating subject.”

  “It is,” said Lara.

  The remaining fifteen minutes of the journey were mostly spent talking about art and archaeology. Lara liked Willow. She was drawn to the girl’s enthusiasm. She was bright and very aware, but she was also an innocent. Lara found Willow’s naïveté more than a little refreshing. The boys might have teased her, but they clearly respected her too, and she wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. There was something about her that reminded Lara of the girl she used to be, not so very long ago.

  As the train arrived at Oxford, Lara picked up her rucksack and turned to Willow.

  “Are you doing anything?” asked Lara.

  “Right now?” asked Willow. “No. I’m technically free until two.”

  “Good,” said Lara. “Come and have tea with me at the Randolph.”

  “The Randolph!”

  “What’s wrong with the Randolph?” asked Lara.

  “The Randolph’s fab,” said Willow. “I’ve never had tea at the Randolph. I’ve never had anything at the Randolph. Is that where you’re staying?”

  “No,” said Lara. “My meeting’s this afternoon. There’s plenty of time to get back to London. “I have stayed there, though. It was one of my father’s favourite hotels.”

  “It’s very grand,” said Willow. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for it.”

  “We can go somewhere else, if you want,” said Lara.

  “Not bloody likely,” said Willow.

  “The Randolph it is, then,” said Lara. “Now, let’s see if we can get a cab.”

  “Taxis and hotels,” said Willow. “I think I’m going to make you my new best friend.”

  The five boys and two girls left the station together. Lara made sure that she was in the middle of the group. She said good-bye to the guys at the taxi rank, and got in the cab first to avoid being seen by the other passengers leaving the train.

  She’d had a quick look around on the platform and outside the station, but she hadn’t seen Blazer Bloke again.

  Maybe I really am being paranoid, she thought. Try to relax, Lara. Just for a couple of hours, try to have some fun. It’s the anxiety getting to you. It’s different things for different people. For you, it’s Yamatai. It’s loud noises and being pursued. But this isn’t Yamatai. This is Oxford, and you’re safe here.

  Chapter 7

  When they had lingered long enough over what turned into a light lunch, rather than the morning tea they had planned, Lara and Willow walked through Oxford together. They crossed from town to gown, walking along Broad Street and around the Sheldonian Theatre before ducking down Queens Lane to drop Willow off at St. Edmund Hall.

  Another minute and Lara was crossing the High Street. Two minutes after that, she was walking into Front Quad at Merton College with its paving and cobbles and its ancient stone buildings, including the imposing chapel at the north end. She turned to take in the magnificence of the architecture and the immaculate surroundings. Everyone should have the good fortune to study in such a glorious place.

  She turned again, taking in the fine, stone mullioned windows and the grand, arched doorways. She found the door the porter had directed her to and took the staircase to St. John Babbington’s first-floor study.

  When she knocked, there was no answer. She checked her watch. She was a few minutes early. She thought about going back into the quad and having another look around. There might even be time to spend a few minutes in the chapel.

  As she turned, she heard someone climbing the stairs. A small, neat man soon appeared beside her. He was rather younger than she expected, probably no older than his early forties, and he was dressed in a highly patterned waistcoat with a mismatched but elegant bow tie.

  “Miss Croft, I presume,” he said, taking a key from his jacket pocket.

  “Lara,” said Lara.

  “I’ve been hearing things about you,” said Babbington. “Come in.” The door open, the professor ushered Lara into the study ahead of him.


  The room was not unlike its owner. It was neat, but somewhat fussy. There was too much of everything everywhere, but it was quite clear to Lara, as she glanced over the shelves and cabinets that adorned the walls, that there was a place for everything and that everything was in its place.

  “Sit,” said Babbington, taking a narrow, leather chair and gesturing to a second armchair that sat rather lower on the floor than his own.

  “Thank you,” said Lara. She sat, but continued to cast her eyes over the objects in Babbington’s study. Many of them appeared to be classical statues of one sort or another, mostly Greek, but some Roman, and one or two from northern Europe, from what Lara could tell. Most were almost entirely intact. There were other things, too. A low glass cabinet on legs, which stood under one window, appeared to be full of bladed weapons, and another, standing on the mantle, contained toga pins.

  “You have some wonderful things,” said Lara.

  “Thank you,” said Babbington. “Of course, I’ve collected some myself, but the core of the collection is my father’s legacy. We’re alike, you and I.”

  “I’m sorry...?” said Lara.

  “Archaeology is a family business for you and me,” said Babbington. “Professor Cahalane explained that he was a friend of your father, the intrepid archaeologist Richard Croft?”

  “Of course,” said Lara.

  “His reputation outlives him.”

  “Thank you,” said Lara.

  “You wanted to talk to me about the Golden Fleece?” asked Babbington.

  “I’m interested in the fleece, yes,” said Lara.

  “You know the story, of course,” said Babbington. “You wouldn’t come all the way out to Oxford to hear about that. You could just as easily rent the movie: Jason and the Argonauts. Mesmerising, but total rubbish.”