by Peter Spokes
I then waited to see if the old bearded man would return.
Sadly, it was another rather boring week. I had reduced my lunchbreak to just ten minutes but again saw nothing untoward.
However, once the week was over, I again studied my camera’s video recording and there he was again… the old bearded gentleman from last week was, again, whispering into Miss Thomasa’s ear. But also, there was another old gentleman in similar attire with his mouth close to Mr Tarasios’ ear.
Using my camera enhancing software again, I studied the gentleman and deduced his looks were not dissimilar to the other one but for a narrower face and a head cowl.
Again, I felt some recognition to the man’s countenance but couldn’t place him…”
“Mr Sinjun?”
“Yes, m’lord… sir?” I said looking up from the notebook.
“This is a lovely story but can you not simply tell me why we can’t just get to the culprits so that they may be apprehended sooner rather than later?”
“Certainly; it is most endearing but I narrate it in the hope that your acceptance of the guilt of the miscreants might be better… understood… through Silas’ narrative.”
“Oh come, Mr St John; I’m open to whatever oddity you think is revealed by Mr Zacharias’ words. I’m certain you can skip ahead a few pages.”
“It’s still Sinjun, Your Honour, but okay… I’ll skip ahead,” I replied formally.
I flicked through several pages and started again.
“… and so there you have it; in some ways it makes no sense though in other ways it makes full sense, and try as I might, no matter how I analyse my findings, I am in no doubt of the guilt of these… gentlemen. However, I felt it could be ‘helpful’ in view of my findings…”
I heard a cough. “Erh… Mr Sinjun. I believe you may have ‘skipped’ a little too far.”
I stopped and stared at Sir Herbert Hubert for several seconds while reverse-flicking the pages of the notebook.
I looked down once again at my colleague’s words, and continued.
“I’m feeling I’m losing some hold on reality here,” I read. “It’s been three weeks since I’ve made entries to my notebook as little has made any sense; indeed, despite my honesty, I feel ridicule the likely result of my words.
Despite nothing apparently untoward in my scrutiny of several of the students, my camera tells me otherwise. On viewing, I now have several old gentlemen – in robes – whispering to the students – though only those of Greek origin.
But if that wasn’t enough, yesterday, it was I that was the recipient of a… visit.”
Scene 8: The Battle
I continued to read, “… one moment I was watching an ancient poetry student by the name of Castalia Ariadne who last week – according to my camera – had been the focus of another robe-attired gentleman, before, quite suddenly, I felt a shudder, and I started seeing in my mind… a battle.”
I stopped.
‘A shudder’ I thought reminded me of the sensation a little earlier.
“Can we continue?” I heard Sir Herbert Hubert.
I looked up. “Indeed, I am in full acquiescence to your proposal.”
Sir Herbert Hubert’s caterpillars met again.
I returned to the notebook and continued.
“I saw in my mind, a large group of Illyrian soldiers – perhaps several thousand – and they were massed near a lake. How I knew they were Illyrian, I know not.
They were huddled in a hollow square facing outwards. The Macedonian cavalry were to the Illyrians’ right flank while the rest of the Macedonian army were arranged – in echelon – someway off their left flank.
The Illyrian formation became stretched as they tried to engage their enemies’ left flank and once a weakness showed in the defence, the cavalry rode at full strength into it, followed by the Macedonians’ phalanx.
Three-quarters of the Illyrian army was slaughtered…”
“Arh, Mr Sinjun. May I suggest we return the focus to the matter in hand and skip the ‘Hollywood epic’?”
I smiled. “I’m sorry, sir, I will simplify things a bit as it is clear that your cerebral skills have missed that this actually is the ‘matter in hand.’”
I waved away his protests and raised my voice:
“Various proficient students gained knowledge from somewhere. How that came about is the reason why we are here; and now Mr Zacharias too is becoming knowledgeable in ancient warfare… If I may return… to the ‘matter in hand’?”
“It is difficult to explain,” I read aloud from the notebook, “but somehow, I ‘learned’, for by the time the vision had gone, I knew that the lake beside which the battle occurred was called ‘Ohrid’ and it is – or was – located in the south-west corner of Macedonia. I know that it was Alexander the Great’s father, Philip, that commanded the Macedonians while King Bardylis led the Illyrians; and I now know what the hell ‘in echelon formation’ means!
In the same way, I am now well versed in the conquest of Persia and the looting of Persepolis – and know more of the siege of Tyre in 332 BC than I would care to.
But it was while I was ‘learning’ of the Battle of Gaugamela, I decided to rotate the spine of my ancient warfare book to face me. I held it there for a minute or two before closing the book and leaving for the evening.
I scrutinised what I had recorded on a daily basis now and so looked through the day’s events.
Now there were several robed gentlemen in the library. I saw the man I had seen in last week’s video beside Miss Ariadne as well as those beside the others I had watched previously.
Then the view changed as the book was rotated and I jumped slightly at the sight of a man close beside me.
I saw a young though hardened visage and a surrounding mane of blonde hair.
I knew who he was from my childhood memories as he had been a hero of mine.
Alexander the Great: the ancient King of Macedonia was telling me of his experience of battles – and those of his father!
I grew hot and cold at the same time and despite the impossibleness of the situation…”
“Erh, Mr Sinjun,” Sir Herbert Hubert interjected smugly. “As you have brought up the need for us all to talk in a good way, I really don’t think that ‘impossibleness’ is a totally right word.”
After a pause, I looked up and smiled. “Actually, Your Exaltedness, ‘impossibleness’ is a correct and legitimate word although your use of the word ‘totally’ in your pronouncement is seriously and contextually… bollocks!”
The expected verbal explosion ensued from Sir Herbert Hubert. “Mr St John! I have had quite enough of your rudeness and – considering the level of my authority and vast importance – I would ask you to consider your attitude in belittling my presence.”
“Indeed, Your Elevatedness,” I responded, “you are quite right and I apologise as my attitude is quite unnecessary in belittling your presence.”
“Quite… so…” he said slowly.
I returned to the notes. “So, there you have it,” I continued, “in some ways it makes no sense though in other ways it makes full sense, and try as I might no matter how I analyse my findings, I am in no doubt of the guilt of these… gentlemen.
However, I feel it could be ‘helpful’ in view of my findings to find the nearest outlet selling alcohol and get myself so seriously inebriated…”
“Inebriated?” Sir Herbert Hubert’s dulcet tones once again echoed around the room.
“Yes, sir, it means wasted, plastered, wrecked, pickled, bladdered or legless…”
“I’m quite aware what…” he began.
“… mullered, blattered, rat-arsed…”
“Yes, thank you, Mr Sinjun!”
I returned to the notebook, “… despite the ‘impossibleness’ of the situation…” I repea
ted, “I can find no coherent alternative to my conclusion that ancient ‘masters’ such as Socrates, Aristotle, Euclid, Homer – and others I don’t recognise – have been committing a clear infringement of examination protocol with some of the Greek-speaking students. But I would like it known that you can be sure that my dedication to resolving this inexcusable breach of academic conduct is absolute and I shall proceed… now… to build myself a time machine so that I may return to a period of time covering 850 BC to AD 150. Then, have no doubt that I will indeed interrogate the arses off them.”
“Excuse me…” said Sir Herbert Hubert.
“I think, Your Bigness, that the colourful turn of phrase may simply be a reflection on how Mr Zacharias’ perspicacity was waning.”
“Excuse me… again…?”
“I’m sorry, Your Lordship. Mr Zacharias’ cheese was beginning to fall from his cracker.”
“Ah… I see… how did he think he recognised them?”
“Good question, Your Lordship, and may others trip over themselves in their hurry to be heard.
I will relate the last page of Silas Zacharias’ notebook:
… If I’m unsuccessful in creating a time machine, I will smash the busts in the library corridor – where it was I finally recognised the old men – in the hope that this will vanquish them and never more interfere with the students. Should this be deemed odd or in some way illegal and I’m arrested, I’m sure that once I tell them of my failure in building a time machine – they will understand, especially if I mention that I have been tutored by Alexander the Great.
Yours faithfully,
Your esteemed colleague,
Silas Zacharias
Ps. The King of Macedonia was… or is… much shorter than he is in the pictures and films – and looks nothing like Richard Burton or Colin Farrell.”
Scene 9: Summary
“So that’s it,” I said sitting down and looking up at the auditors and officials.
With some small feeling of ceremony, I closed the notebook and set it to one side. After an uncomfortable silence, Sir Herbert Hubert spoke;
“You mean to tell us that people that have been dead for…”
“… two millennia – that’s 2,000 years in a lesser syllabic intercourse… Your Largeness…” I interjected helpfully. “No, I don’t mean to tell you; Silas Zacharias means to tell you… and you can do as you will with his testimony, but his integrity is absolute and if he says Alexander the Great spoke to him… believe it.”
Then, on a whim, I picked up my mobile phone, set it to camera, and holding it at arm’s length, took a picture of myself.
Sir Herbert Hubert looked up. “What are you doing, Mr Sinjun?”
“A selfie,” I said.
Then I got up and left.
Scene 10: Demosthenes
Smiling, I left the reference room and walked happily along the corridor passing the busts on my way. Then I stopped and looked at my phone and the picture I had just taken.
Though I somehow expected it, it was still something of a shock that I saw not one, but two smiling faces looking at the camera. I then looked around at the busts… and there he was.
I looked at the words on the plinth below the bust.
‘Demosthenes the Orator’.
An Orator; that figures, I thought.
I looked closely at the bust and sighed. “Thank you,” I said.
Then I left passing Sir Herbert Hubert on the way.
“That was a very eloquent report, Mr Sinjun,” he said, rather reluctantly, I felt.
“Thank you, Sir Herb… b… b… bert Hub… b… b… bert. B… b… bugger,” I said and left the library.
Just One Dear Friend
Chapter 1: Prologue
Scene 1: A Policeman Calls
I sat hunched forward, my arms on my knees and simply stared down at my shoes wondering vaguely how long it had been since I last cleaned them.
“Hello, Mr Dane,” I heard from far away.
I looked up and saw a smiling man in a uniform crouching beside me.
“My name is Quincy Griggs and I’m a detective with the Boston precinct.”
After licking my lips for a few moments, I spoke. “I would really like to help you but…”
I returned my gaze to my shoes – I really needed to clean them and the right one had a scuff on it…
“Mr Dane – Robert – can you tell me what you remember?”
“Bobby,” I said to the smiling face. “Nobody calls me Robert.”
“Okay, Bobby, can you tell me what occurred when you arrived for the night shift yesterday evening?”
I looked around the room and noticed others; there was another officer holding a notebook and an elderly woman whom I recognised as the museum’s head curator, Miss Bujold.
They were all staring at me – I had the answers but not ones that I felt that they would be prepared to hear.
I looked at the detective – didn’t detectives normally go around in suits and coats rather than uniform? I remembered seeing them on TV when…
“Bobby!”
I looked up. “Al was very ill; we thought the new security cameras were faulty – but they weren’t – there really was something in the Hall of the Afterlife…”
“Whoa, one thing at a time, Rob… Bobby.” Griggs looked over at the head curator. “Hall of the Afterlife?”
“Yes,” she answered concerned but with a large element of pride. “It’s our latest exhibition; we’ve managed to gather a vast number of items and artefacts to represent what death means to a variety of cultures. We’ve incorporated beliefs in the hereafter and created models that exemplify superstitions around the world.”
“And that was where the body of…” he looked down at his notes, “… Alphonse DeMara was found,” he said.
“That’s Al,” I corrected. “He hates… hated to be called Alphonse.”
The detective pulled up a chair close to me and sat down. “Okay! Let’s start this last night and leave nothing out…”
“Al was such a nice guy. I loved him like a brother – we were so close,” I whispered suddenly finding my eyes welling up.
“Bobby, tell me what you remember; can you do that? Tell me what happened,” the detective prompted softly.
I looked up at him once again. He seemed a pleasant man with a nice smile and reminded me of Sidney Poitier in that film where he’s a teacher. I thought Lulu was in it…
“Bobby,” the man repeated a little firmer this time, “what happened?”
Closing my eyes, I took myself back to the evening before, when it all started.
Chapter 2: A New Security System
Scene 1: Frank
It was 8.00 pm when I arrived at the museum.
Once into my uniform I joined Frank in the security room. “Where’s Al?” I said.
“Where do you think? He’s up in that room again. You’d think in his condition that’s the last place he’d be,” he responded still looking at the surveillance instrumentation in front of him.
“What’s he doing up there?” I asked.
“Nothing at all as far as I can tell – look here – see for yourself.”
Frank moved his finger along the display in front of him and a plan view of several rooms was brought into view. There was a small white stationary mark in one of the rooms and Frank zoomed in.
“Looks like he’s just standing there at the entrance to the hall,” he said.
“Yep, and you know what’s there…” I added.
“I sure do and it creeps me out,” Frank continued. “Anyway, the system’s all set up now; it’s simple to operate – in fact, you’ve just about seen everything – just drag the map along the touch-sensitive display with your finger or select the room you want to view and press enter. Rotate this to zoom in or o
ut. I’ve got other places I need to be so give us a call if you get problems – it’s not the best system but I guess museums don’t have much money, and these models have been known to be a bit glitchy.”
“Okay, thanks, Frank,” I said.
At the door, Frank turned around. “Say hi to Al for me. My mother had MS and quite honestly, I don’t know how he keeps going considering the suffering he’s gonna go through.
Also,” he paused, “Bobby, keep a close eye on him; he said that he’d been spending more time looking at MS on the Internet and that’s not good reading. I think he may try and do something about his… condition.”
“Shit, Frank; you think he might be thinking of killing himself,” I said mystified.
Frank paused, “You’ve never seen anyone dying of MS, have you?”
Frank looked as if he was going to say more, but then turned and closed the door behind him.
Scene 2: Al
I looked back at the monitor but Al’s white mark had disappeared and a moment later he walked into the room.
“Christ knows how we’re supposed to operate this thing,” he announced looking at the new system. “Frank’s the geek – not us.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that,” I replied, “but it don’t look too bad from what he was showing me.”
“And what was that?” he asked.
“Well, you, for one thing. Al, why do you spend so much time in that room? It’s gotta bring you down.”
“You know,” Al said, “there is a lot of talk on life and death but what about the bit between. My normal life is coming to an end but I could have maybe another fifteen years in a world of hurt before I die.” Al shook his head. “It’s only when death comes a-knocking that we really start thinking about how we’re going to go into that great goodnight.”