Carver's Quest

by Rennison, Nick

  ‘He came to visit you in Cambridge?’

  ‘He arrived one evening just before dinner.’ The professor laughed bitterly. ‘The good Lord alone knows what my servant made of him. The man was half-drunk. He babbled to me of how we might work together to make our fortunes.’

  ‘Jinkinson was aware of the treasure?’

  ‘In some limited sense, I believe. He had succeeded in gathering little snippets of information from here and there. He knew of the Euphorion manuscript. He knew that it held the key to something of immense value.’

  ‘But a London enquiry agent with a fondness for the bottle was unlikely to have the means to travel to Greece in search of the treasure, if you refused to help him. Why was it necessary to kill him?’

  ‘He knew my name, Adam,’ Fields said, as if explaining some elementary proposition in logic to a singularly dense student. ‘He knew of the existence of the Euphorion manuscript and of my interest in it. And he was in contact with that man Garland. I feared that he would tell him of the gold.’

  ‘His only interest in Garland was as a victim to be blackmailed. He had carried on with the extortion that Creech had begun.’

  ‘Is that so?’ The professor looked surprised. ‘Ah, well, no matter. He knew enough that he could not live.’

  ‘How did you trail him to that wretched tavern by the river?’

  ‘It was not so difficult a task. You also found him, did you not? I had made an earlier attempt to dispose of him which had failed. He took fright and ran to his hiding-hole. I spoke to that ragged hetaira of his. What is her name?’

  ‘Ada.’

  ‘Ada was most forthcoming. I had taken it upon myself to offer money to the Polyphemus who guards the entrance to her place of work. Again, I have forgotten his name. If, indeed, I ever knew it.’

  ‘Fadge, you must mean Fadge.’

  ‘Well, whatever the one-eyed Cyclops is called, he proved very effective in persuading Ada that she should tell me where her ageing inamarato was lodged.’

  ‘You did not allow Fadge to hurt the poor girl?’

  ‘A little,’ Fields acknowledged. ‘She was surprisingly loyal to Jinkinson. But she was eventally persuaded that he was not worth the breaking of her arm.’

  ‘You scoundrel!’ Adam could contain his outrage no longer. How could he have been so mistaken in his judgement of the professor? Here was a man he had admired for his knowledge and his scholarship now revealed as little better than a common or garden brute.

  ‘It was unfortunately necessary to employ such methods. I had to find Jinkinson.’

  ‘So you went in search of him at the Cat and Salutation.’

  ‘By happy chance, I travelled to Wapping on the very night that you went there yourself. I arrived an hour earlier than you and was in time to see the man leave that dismal alehouse for the first time. I followed him for some time but he walked along busy streets. I could not make use of the pistol in my pocket. Then he returned to the pub. I thought I had lost my opportunity. I had not reckoned on your presence in the place driving him out into the night once more. And onto the darkest path by the river.’

  Fields ceased speaking, as if expecting Adam to make some contribution to the conversation. The young man was silent, contemplating the terrible truth that he had been indirectly responsible for the deaths of both Creech and Jinkinson. He had long realised that had Creech not sought him out, the man would have still been alive. Now it was clear that, in arriving at the Cat and Salutation in search of Jinkinson, he had inadvertently impelled the private investigator towards his nemesis.

  ‘I thought that the figure in the shadows was familiar,’ he said, after a pause. ‘It was you.’

  ‘For a while, I thought that you had recognised me,’ Fields admitted. ‘I returned to Cambridge on an early morning train, half-convinced that the police would soon be calling at the college to question me. When you wrote to me the following day, suggesting that you visit, I wondered whether it was part of a stratagem to unmask me. But, after your arrival in Cambridge, it was clear that you knew nothing. That you had not recognised me.’

  ‘And so you decided to use me.’

  ‘Creech had thought to recruit you. Why should not I? I knew from our travels in sixty-seven that you would make a good companion on any expedition to Greece. So I pretended to know nothing about Euphorion.’

  Throughout the time he had been speaking, Fields had continued to keep the revolver trained on Adam’s heart. The gun was still pointing there as he finished. Adam let out a long sigh of disillusion and disappointment.

  ‘But what of the deaths, Professor? How could you bring yourself to murder in pursuit of your goal?’

  ‘I have already explained,’ Fields said, almost complacently. ‘Creech and the sot were not worthy of the knowledge upon which they had stumbled.’

  ‘And what of yourself?’ Adam demanded. ‘Have your motives for action been so pure?’

  ‘I care for knowledge!’ Fields screamed, his face suddenly contorted with fury. ‘I care for scholarship! Why should my name not go down to posterity as one of the great archaeologists of the age? The chance had been offered to me. Why should I not take it? Why should a blackmailer and a drunk stand in my way?’

  The professor had stepped forwards in his agitation, the gun shaking in his hands. His face had reddened and blue veins in his temple stood out like rivers on a map. He made a heroic effort to regain his self-control. His breathing came in short, sharp pants.

  ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Adam,’ he said eventually, his voice now eerily calm. ‘I have long had your interests at heart. Since you were a schoolboy in Shrewsbury, I have seen you as, in some way, my successor. The son I have never had, perhaps. Is that too sentimental a thought? I would not harm you. Besides, I have not forgotten you saved my life that day in Athens. Had it not been for you, I would have been a mangled carcass beneath the wheels of that runaway cart.’

  ‘An unfortunate accident.’ Despite the professor’s words, Adam had no confidence that he would not shoot him if necessary. Had he not said as much only minutes before? Fields seemed so deranged by recent events and by his own demonic urge to gain the Macedonian gold that he could not be trusted.

  ‘I thought for a while it was no accident,’ the professor continued. ‘That some enemy in the city had attempted to kill me. Later, when my rooms at the Angleterre were rifled, I was sure of it. But I have since understood that the person responsible for upending my belongings was Rallis. And Rallis, whatever his other faults, was not a man to take another’s life. No, you are right. The cart crashing into the café was no more than chance.’

  * * * * *

  ‘Which way should we travel, Devlin?’ Lewis Garland, turning in his saddle, called back to Quint. Adam’s manservant was perched behind Giorgios on the latter’s bay horse as the party retraced the journey he had so recently made. The road before them divided. One fork of it continued to follow the bank of the small stream; the other headed into the hills. Quint waved an arm to indicate that the horses should begin to climb. Garland led the way as the small group of riders turned off the main path and made its way uphill. For an hour they climbed steadily if not steeply, the path rising ahead of them and the distant view of Mount Olympus permanently before them. The ground hereabouts was uncultivated and rough. On several occasions, the horses came close to stumbling on the rocks and loose stones that were strewn across the path. At one point, they heard the sounds of what might have been a shot coming from the countryside far ahead of them. They all turned to look at one another.

  ‘That was a gunshot, Lewis, was it not?’ Emily asked.

  ‘I cannot tell,’ Garland replied. ‘It is difficult to be certain in this terrain. Sounds carry for many miles. And they can be distorted in their journey.’

  ‘We must hasten on our way. Adam may be in danger.’

  ‘The shot – if it was a shot – could be from the gun of a villager out hunting, my dear. We should not risk the hor
ses by riding at too great a speed amongst these rocks.’

  The MP had reined in his horse and dropped back to join Emily. Quint and Giorgios were immediately behind them. Bringing up the rear were half a dozen young men hired by Garland in Salonika, all now looking as if they wished they were back in that city. In the vanguard, fifty yards beyond his master, was another of the Englishman’s servants. As he came to the top of a gentle rise in the land, the man cried out. Garland and Emily spurred their horses forward to join him. The young woman gasped and raised her hand to her mouth as she saw what had attracted the servant’s attention. On the path ahead was a body. Sprawled in the dirt was the huge form of Andros. He looked like one of the giants felled by Zeus in his battle with them.

  ‘Stay where you are, Emily,’ Garland ordered. He dismounted and approached the vast figure, its back reddened with blood. He knelt by its side and held his fingers to the side of Andros’s neck.

  ‘He is dead,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘He has been shot in the back.’

  ‘The sound we heard?’

  ‘No, he has been dead for some time. We shall have to carry him with us. We must give him a decent burial when we can.’

  Garland shouted instructions to his hired men, who reluctantly climbed down from their mounts.

  ‘Ain’t the only one we might have to bury,’ remarked Quint, who had slid down from behind Giorgios and was standing in the middle of the path, arms akimbo.

  ‘What the blazes do you mean, Devlin?’

  Quint pointed to a small knoll of earth a hundred yards away. Beneath the inadequate shade of a stunted tree was another figure. It was clearly that of a man.

  Garland began to walk rapidly towards it, followed at a more leisurely pace by Quint. As they did so, the figure suddenly raised itself on its arms.

  ‘He is still alive,’ Emily cried.

  The two men broke into a trot. As they did so, the figure sank into the earth again and remained motionless.

  ‘It’s Rallis,’ Garland called, as he neared the crumpled shape. He squatted on his haunches by the side of the Greek lawyer. ‘He has been shot in the back as well, but he is breathing.’

  * * * * *

  The rock was lying inches from Adam’s left foot. It was a tempting weapon if only he could reach down to pick it up. But how was he to do that with Fields’s revolver trained upon him?

  ‘Now I have told you all I wish to tell you, Adam,’ the professor said. ‘And I must leave you. Garland, I think, is within a few miles of us. Unlike Prometheus, you will not have to remain in your chains for long. Nor will an eagle devour your liver. Although it will be uncomfortable down there in the mud we have dug.’

  Fields nodded in the direction of the trench. Still pointing the gun at his young protégé’s heart, he motioned towards his horse.

  ‘There is strong rope enough to bind you, I believe. It is looped around the pommel of the saddle on this beast behind me.’

  ‘I can see it,’ Adam acknowledged.

  ‘I think it would be best if you took it off yourself. Then drop it at your feet.’

  Fields began to back and wheel slowly to his left, allowing Adam a path to walk towards the horse. The young man was about to move forward when he saw that the professor was edging in the direction of two mounds of earth, upturned from the trench earlier in the day. He chose to wait for a moment.

  ‘Come, Adam. We have not all day.’ Fields gestured impatiently. As he did so, his foot caught on one of the piles of earth and he stumbled slightly. Involuntarily, he swung the gun away from the young man’s body. Adam saw his chance. In one swift movement, he ducked to the ground, seized the rock and threw it at the professor. It struck the older man a glancing blow on the forehead and he stumbled still further. Adam, pushing up from his crouching position, hurled himself towards Fields and the gun. He collided with him just as the professor was recovering his balance and both men crashed to the ground. Winded, Adam still managed to seize the barrel of the revolver with one hand. Fields, spread-eagled beneath him, was clinging desperately to the gun as well. With a strength that belied his years, he succeeded in pushing Adam off him but the young man, realising that his life depended upon it, refused to let go of the gun barrel. The two of them rolled over one another, the weapon trapped between them. Both had their hands upon it but neither could claim possession of it.

  As they continued to grapple near the edge of the trench, clouds of dust rose about them. Both men began to cough. The revolver was still caught between their bodies. Adam felt his head and shoulders being forced over the lip of the trench and fought back as best he could but his opponent seemed to possess the vigour of a man decades younger than he was. The young man could sense that Fields was gaining the upper hand. He himself was slipping further and further into the earthwork they had dug. He clung desperately to the barrel of the gun as his feet scrabbled to keep a purchase on the upturned soil. Fields continued to push his upper body over the edge. Adam could feel his balance slowly going but he would not let go of the revolver. That was the only thought that still possessed him. Keep hold of the gun. For what seemed like long minutes, the two men swayed on the rim, spluttering and struggling.

  Then the professor, in his effort to hurl Adam into the pit, momentarily lost his own balance and involuntarily reached out a hand to steady himself. It was enough. The younger man was able to snatch the revolver wholly from the professor’s grasp, but as he did so, the world gave way beneath him. He tumbled backwards into the trench. His fall was accompanied by a deafening roar as the gun went off. There was a scream from Fields. Adam, plummeting backwards into the earthwork, struck his head against its solid floor. A black pool appeared before him and he dove gratefully into its depths.

  * * * * *

  When he came round, Adam was still sprawled in the trench like an upturned beetle. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He stared up at the cloudless blue sky. He attempted gingerly to move his arms and legs and found, to his relief, that he could do so. He reached a hand around to the back of his head and winced as he felt an egg-shaped lump on his scalp. Hearing a voice, he froze. Could Fields still be up there on the surface? Surely he would have fled the camp by now? Unless Adam was dead, and this was a poor version of the afterlife, the professor had clearly shown him mercy after his fall into the pit. But he would not have lingered long before departing, would he? The voice could be heard again. Certainly it sounded familiar. What was it shouting? Adam sought to sit up in the trench but he found that many of his muscles refused to obey him. He was obliged to remain where he was. The voice echoed in his head, evoking memories which he could not quite place. He knew the rhythms and timbre of it so well. It must be Fields. As he strove to gather his scattered wits, a dark figure appeared over the edge of the trench and looked down at him. Silhouetted against the light, it spoke.

  ‘You planning on being down there all day?’ the figure asked.

  It was Quint.

  Adam found that he could now move. He hauled himself to his feet and reached up his hand to his manservant.

  ‘Get me out of here, Quint. I feel like Hades in the Underworld.’

  Quint seized hold of him and, with his assistance, Adam was able to hoist himself out of the earthwork. Once again on the surface, he brushed as much of the soil from his clothing as he could and shook his hair free of the earth lodged in it.

  ‘We been shouting for the last five minutes,’ Quint said, in a tone of voice that suggested Adam had been deliberately concealing himself, like a child playing hide-and-seek.

  ‘We?’

  Quint nodded in the direction of the camp. Adam could see horses tethered to posts. Two figures were making their way towards them. Blinking in the fierce sunlight, he could just recognise Garland and Emily.

  ‘Where’s the professor?’ he asked. ‘Was he still here when you returned?’

  ‘You could say that,’ his servant said.

  ‘Well, where is he now? He must be apprehe
nded. His mind is overthrown. He is a danger to us all.’

  By way of reply, Quint inclined his head again, this time towards a pile of earth they had upturned when they had all first arrived at Koutles. Lying across it was what Adam at first thought was a pile of old clothes. He moved a step towards it and realised that it was Fields. His body lolled back across the ground as if it had been dropped from on high. The whole of his front was stained red with blood and innards. Adam could imagine only too well what had happened. In falling into the trench, while still clinging to the gun, he had inadvertently pulled the trigger. The full force of the shot had taken Fields in the midriff, virtually eviscerating him. He had staggered backwards to collapse and die on a mound of newly turned Greek earth.

  ‘He tried to kill me,’ Adam said, still scarcely believing the truth.

  ‘Tried to kill Rallis as well,’ Quint replied. ‘’E did kill the tall bugger. Poor old Andros.’

  ‘Where is Rallis?’

  ‘On the road back to Salonika. Garland told two of his men to get him to the Catholic sisters there. Fast as possible.’

  ‘Will he live?’

  Quint shrugged.

  ‘’E’s got an ’ole in him ’alf the size of an Essex Pippin. But ’e probably will. The professor here didn’t catch him full on like the tall cove.’

  Adam walked away from the sorry sight of Fields’s body. His manservant followed him, a pace behind.

  ‘ ’E ’ad you fooled as much as me,’ he said, managing to sound both truculent and plaintive at the same time.

  Adam made no reply.

  ‘ ’E’d ’ave got ’old of that Euphorion book with or without me.’

  ‘I have no doubt that he would.’

  ‘I don’t do what any old swaggering Bob tells me to do. But I thought ’e was the boss.’

  It was as near to an apology as Quint was ever likely to offer.

  ‘I do not blame you, Quint,’ Adam said. ‘The responsibility for all this lies with Fields. Let us bury all that has happened with him.’

  * * * * *

  ‘I cannot say how happy I am to see you unharmed, Mr Carver. Such terrible pictures filled my imagination as we approached the camp. Of you wounded. Or dead.’