You Owe Me Five Farthings

by Jane Anstey

  “We’re sad to see you go, Simon,” she said. “I hope you enjoy yourself in Oxford. There’ll be good ringing, anyway, with all those churches and chapels.” She was a deanery bellringer herself and had rung at St Martin’s a few times.

  Simon wondered whether he would feel sociable enough to join a new tower, but he stifled this line of thought and tried to smile. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll have my hands full at my new school to start with, I expect. But as you say, there’s plenty of choice up there.”

  “You’ll find it different living in a city, I should think,” she went on, “after being out in the sticks like this.”

  He nodded. That was, after all, part of the point of the move. To live a different life, one that wouldn’t bring him into contact with Rose and would allow him to move on and forget. Whether the strategy would work, of course, remained to be seen.

  He turned to go and caught sight out of the corner of his eye of a backpack with a familiar tag on it. A keyring that he had bought in the Cairngorms and given to Mike as a small gift on his return.

  “Isn’t that Mike Swanson’s bag?” he asked curiously.

  “He left it with me for a while. I think he was going into town and coming back for it later, but so far he hasn’t.” She looked at her watch. “He’s been gone an hour or a bit more, so I guess perhaps he just hasn’t finished whatever he’s doing. I’ll be here for a while yet, so it’s not a problem––I told him he can pick it up tomorrow morning if he wants. Unless you want to drop it off for him?”

  Simon considered. “Won’t he have missed the bus?”

  “That bus doesn’t run until later–-it’s a service bus, not a special. He had his bike with him, anyway. I saw him take it from the racks after he left the bag with me. Come to think of it,” she added, “he didn’t set off in the direction I expected.”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “Well, he didn’t turn towards the cycleway that goes into town. He went off onto the road, as though he was going somewhere else. I don’t know which way he turned after that.”

  This was odd behaviour, Simon thought. Mike might have brought his bike if he thought there wouldn’t be a service bus at the right time, but in that case, he would have gone through Northchurch to pick up his route home. If he went to the road, that suggested he was planning to cycle somewhere else. The question was, where? He felt a vague sense of disquiet about this and also some sense of responsibility for Mike, even if technically the school term had finished and therefore college liability for its pupils was at an end.

  “Thanks, Julie,” he said. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket as he walked away from the office and called the St Martin’s rectory number. Hope I don’t get the answer phone, he thought. Not sure what message I could leave that won’t sound either stupid or alarmist or both.

  “Jeremy Swanson,” answered the familiar voice.

  “Remy, it’s Simon. I’m just leaving college. Is Mike home yet?”

  “No, he’s not. I’d think he’ll be along shortly, though, unless your final assembly ran on. He took his bike this morning, as he was late and there wasn’t a suitable bus. Did you want him for something?”

  “He left here just over an hour ago, I gather, but the odd thing is that he left his schoolbag with the admin office, saying he’d come back and collect it later. I just thought I’d check you knew where he was.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line for a moment. “That is a bit odd,” Jeremy agreed. “We’ve been at sixes and sevens here this morning. Liz had to go to a job interview, and I was called out to sit with George Warrendon in hospital. Mike got the twins off to school and then biked in, as far as I know.”

  “That fits,” Simon affirmed. “He was in my class this morning―I’m not suggesting he’s bunked off. But if he was on his way home, why leave his bag here? And if he wasn’t, why didn’t he tell you where he was going?”

  “I suppose he may just not have had the chance,” suggested Jeremy, fairly. “But I’d have expected him to text me if he wasn’t coming straight home. He’s not a small child any more, and I don’t mind him being independent on a free afternoon, but he and Lorna are always pretty good about keeping us in the picture as to their whereabouts.”

  “Which suggests,” said Simon slowly, “that he’s gone somewhere he doesn’t think you’ll approve of and is hoping he can get back before he’s missed.”

  Jeremy was silent for a moment. “The only thing I can think of that might remotely fit is that he’s gone off to Whitehill Abbey to look at that dratted book.”

  “The facsimile? The Middle English one?”

  “The very same. Liz thinks he’s a bit obsessed by it, though to my mind he hasn’t said very much to suggest that. I know he wanted to go over to look at it again––and Father Petrowski, the abbot, did say he could.”

  Simon privately thought the scenario unlikely, but it seemed the only lead they had. “Do you want me to go home that way and see if he’s turned up there? I’ll take his bag with me, and I’ll ask the school secretary to text you if Mike turns up here.”

  “That’s sounds good,” said Jeremy gratefully. “Thanks, Simon. I know it’s out of your way to go round via Whitehill.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Simon told him. “It’s a fine day, and I don’t need to rush back.” Packing up to move house was all that awaited him at home. “I’ll let you know either way when I get to Whitehill.”

  ~ * ~

  After Simon had rung off, Jeremy sat for a moment, thinking about Mike and about Whitehill Abbey. Something odd was going on there, but he was still at a loss to understand what. Nor did he have much idea what to do next. He had nothing in the diary for the afternoon, having cleared the day to go with Liz to Oxford. The call to visit George had been something of a false alarm, in the end. George had been pleased to see him and apologetic about all the trouble he felt he’d caused Jeremy. He had agreed to see the hospital’s mental health team with a view to some treatment for the depression that had led to his suicide attempt. But the doctors thought there was a good chance he was on the mend and therefore in no need of urgent preparation for a Christian death. It even looked as though he’d survived the anoxia with his brain functions intact. A miracle––but wasn’t that what he’d prayed for? In the end, he had given the old farmer communion and an hour’s companionship and had then come home.

  He decided to text Mike and find out what he was doing, rather than chasing all over the county looking for him. He told himself the boy was fifteen and perfectly capable of looking after himself in any normal situation. No doubt he would come home when he’d finished what he was doing.

  The text went unanswered, and Jeremy had to think again. If Mike was at a loose end after school, thinking the whole family otherwise occupied, and with the abbey within cycling reach, Jeremy supposed he might just have gone over there on impulse, as he had suggested to Simon. In which case he was safe enough, surely.

  But somewhere in Jeremy’s mind, there was a doubt about this. There was something about the old monk in the library, who had lied about the original of which Mike’s book was a copy, that made him feel uncomfortable. Something untoward, or at least underhand, was going on at the abbey, and he didn’t want Mike mixed up in it, whatever it was. He found it difficult to believe that Jan was involved in anything shady, though he didn’t know the abbot that well. But he hadn’t given the matter much thought in the last couple of weeks, what with George’s attempted suicide and Liz’s job application. Maybe he would just phone the abbey and let them know he was concerned. Jan would be able to reassure him, and then he could leave the rest to Simon.

  ~ * ~

  Jan was making himself a cup of coffee when the call came in. He had had a busy morning dealing with all kinds of administrative and pastoral matters, including an uncomfortable interview with Clive Althorpe, whose vocation he had yet to be convinced of, and who had not long left his office for his assigned cell with stric
t instructions to take nothing for granted. He was looking forward to a quiet afternoon in which there might be time for at least some reading and reflection.

  “Father, we have Reverend Swanson on the line,” the brother on the switchboard reported. “He is insisting that he speak with you. I know you asked not to be disturbed this afternoon—”

  “Put him through,” Jan replied at once. Jeremy would not have phoned, and certainly would not have insisted on speaking with him, if the matter were not important.

  “Jan, forgive my bothering you like this, but I’m concerned about Mike. He’s not answering his phone, and we’re not sure where he is. Has he turned up at Whitehill? I know he’s keen to take a look at that book of yours again, and his school term ended at lunchtime. It’s a bit of a longshot but—”

  Jan frowned. “I haven’t seen him, Remy. Of course, he may have come in while I was busy, or Brother Anselm, our doorkeeper, may not have told me he was here, but that would be unusual. I do generally ask to see any visitors, unless they have an appointment with a specific brother, that is. Would Mike have come on impulse, do you think, and not thought to let you know?”

  “It looks like that. He left his bag at the school office and set off somewhere on his bike, and that’s the last we’ve heard of him. Simon Hellyer, his English teacher, phoned me because he wanted to check whether I knew where Mike had gone. Simon may come by Whitehill on his way home and see if he needs a lift back here. I’ve tried texting Mike, though, and I’m not getting any reply. Calls are going straight to voicemail, which suggests he’s turned it off or is somewhere there isn’t any signal.” Jeremy paused. “It all seems a bit odd to me.”

  “Do you know the time of his arrival here, if he did come?”

  “He left Northchurch about one-thirty, I think.”

  Jan looked at his watch. “Then let’s not worry too much for the moment. I will find out whether he has been here and call you back. And if his teacher arrives, I will inform him, too.”

  “Thanks, Jan.”

  Jan sat for a moment in thought. Then he went out into the hallway to speak to the doorkeeper, who was the most likely person to have seen Mike if he had in fact come to visit the librarian. Unfortunately Brother Anselm was nowhere in sight.

  Jan hesitated. He wanted very much to get back to his office and that much-needed time of quiet. But he had promised to allay Jeremy’s fears and felt obligated to carry it through. The library was the most likely place for Mike to have gone, although it seemed most improbable that he would have found his own way there without reference to anyone. And if he had knocked at the front door, he would certainly have been greeted by the doorkeeper, whose job it was to do this. So where had he gone?

  He set off for the cloisters, meeting Brother Anselm in the doorway.

  “Brother, have you seen Mike Swanson, Reverend Swanson’s son? You remember, they came––”

  “Indeed, Father,” came the response before Jan had finished speaking. “I remember him well. He arrived a few minutes ago and has gone to speak with Brother Librarian. I knew you did not wish to be disturbed this afternoon, and as he has visited us before—” His voice trailed away in the face of the abbot’s stern countenance.

  “I believe, Brother, that it would have been appropriate for me to be informed, since the boy is a minor and had no appointment. I have had his father on the phone, asking whether he is here, for the boy had not told him his whereabouts.”

  “I ask your pardon, Father, for causing you embarrassment,” said the monk at once. “Would you like me to go back to the library and ask Mike to come and see you at once?”

  “No, no.” Jan waved a dismissive hand. “It is enough that I know where he is and can reassure his father. But please make sure that any other visitors are directed to my office, if they do not have an appointment.” He began to turn away, and then added more gently, “I apologise if my request to be undisturbed led to confusion over this.”

  The little doorkeeper bowed politely and scuttled off ahead of him. Jan followed more slowly and sat down in his office to finish his coffee before it got any colder. He picked up the phone to call Jeremy and then put it down again. It didn’t seem quite enough for him to have spoken to the doorkeeper and left it at that. Perhaps he should go back to the library and check on Mike himself, ask how long he planned to stay, for example. That way he could give Jeremy a more detailed report on his son’s whereabouts and how long he was likely to be out, which he felt, on balance, he should do.

  There was also the matter of Brother Andrew Lobola, whose mental stability had been causing him some anxiety recently, barely acknowledged even to himself until Clive had mentioned his own recent encounter with the librarian just then.

  “Something odd going on with that librarian,” was the way Clive had phrased it to him. “He’s hiding something in that library and doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Do you know about it, Father?”

  Jan had returned an equivocal answer, unwilling to admit that there might be secret goings-on in his abbey of which he knew nothing, but too truthful to deny that he was already concerned about Brother Andrew. The monk had said nothing more about leaving the abbey, it was true, but although Brother Luke had not seen it as anything untoward, to Jan he had seemed unsettled and restless recently, exhibiting signs of tension and a kind of mercurial hyperactivity that was unusual in him. His normal patrician calm and dignity seemed to be wearing thin, and Jan was not sure that Mike’s teenage enthusiasm, not to mention his arriving unannounced, would have gone down too well if Brother Andrew was in an irritable mood.

  All in all, he thought, it might be best if he went to defuse any possible awkward situation immediately, before he called Jeremy. He left his office swiftly, strode through the cloisters, up the steps to the library, and put his hand to the door.

  Twenty-eight

  Jan stopped dead on the threshold, his eyes taking in the terrible little tableau, frozen at the moment of the door opening. Mike was standing protectively beside a half-wrapped bundle on the desk while the librarian hovered close to him with a knife in his hand. The knife did not appear to be actively threatening Mike, but the situation clearly required prompt action. He walked into the room and locked the door behind him.

  “Brother Andrew,” he said in an authoritative voice. “Put your knife down. This is no place for weapons.”

  The librarian looked up, and Jan saw at once that his mental state had moved far beyond mild instability into active derangement. Brother Luke should have recognised the signs. And so should I.

  “Gabryjel,” he said, in a gentler, more conciliatory voice. “What are you doing, my friend?”

  “‘Get thou behind me, Satan,’” answered the librarian with a fierce glance. “This treasure is mine, and I am not to be tempted from it by soft words and blandishments, nor by commands. It is owed to me―the pearl beyond price that I have found―and I will give up everything, even the religious life––even my immortal soul––to keep it. It is my passport to a better life than this, to which I am entitled.”

  He took Mike by the shoulders and placed the knife to his throat. Jan had taken a step towards them, but at this he halted. Mike had not uttered a sound, though the boy was trembling a little. If Mike didn’t panic, they might yet resolve this without disaster.

  He addressed the librarian quietly. “Gabryjel, this is not the way. To threaten violence to a youth––an innocent―this is not how you taught me to resolve conflict in the old days.”

  “That was a different time,” the monk replied. “I was younger then, and so were you. That was a time for espionage, and both sides knew what to expect. We fenced with each other in a polarised world where for both sides there was only one enemy. Today is a time of terrorism, where there are many enemies, and surprise is the essence of attack.”

  “I’m not your enemy. I don’t want your treasure,” Mike said, his voice shaking slightly. “I won’t say anything about this. If Father Petrowski will
let you go―”

  The librarian tightened his grip on Mike, and the knife touched the boy’s neck. “Be quiet, boy,” he said. “You know nothing of my life––or his.”

  “It will be all right, Mike,” Jan reassured him. “We will resolve this, and I promise you will be safe.”

  He looked at Gabryjel. “Let him go, my friend. This will mean only the end for you, if you continue. You will have nothing, not even your liberty. Let him go, and we will talk about this treasure of yours. Is this the book Mike and his father brought back? Surely that is not worth these risks?”

  Gabryjel relaxed a fraction, and the knife withdrew. “No. That is wonderful, certainly―but this is immeasurably more so. Its value is incalculable.”

  “It’s the original, Father,” Mike told him, sounding calmer now. “The medieval version.”

  “A codex,” breathed Gabryjel. “A parchment codex, richly illustrated––even though it is in English, not Latin.” He sighed. “You have never seen anything so beautiful.”

  “Won’t you show it to me, Gabryjel?” purred Jan persuasively. “We will let you go, I promise, wherever you wish, but please show it to us before you take it away.” He moved a step closer.

  “You may look,” Gabryjel allowed, grudgingly. “Take your hand away from it, boy. Let Jan see.”

  Mike had not realised he was still touching the bundle. He lifted his hand, while the monk stood still, the knife in his hand but no longer at Mike’s throat, allowing Jan to unwrap the codex and lay it carefully on the desk.

  “My God!” Jan said, the exclamation full of literal reverence.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” agreed Mike, his enthusiasm rekindled by the sight of the manuscript.

  Jan turned a page or two and looked up at the librarian. “How long have you kept this a secret?” he asked, and his voice was stern. Even Mike, who had done nothing wrong, shivered slightly with apprehension.

  The old Pole was not so easily intimidated, however.

  “Years,” he snapped. “I had a hiding place, and no one ever saw it.”