Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals (4 page)

Lara didn’t walk her usual route.

She had wasted several minutes dodging Magazine Man on the Tube, so she was likely to be late. A few more minutes wouldn’t make much difference.

Lara normally walked along the Euston Road to the hotel. On this particular evening, she crossed it and walked north along Hampstead Road and then turned right to take the long route around Tolmer’s Square. At the junction with North Gower Street, Lara stopped and looked around. Everything seemed fine, normal. She turned left past a short parade of shops on her right and Speedy’s Sandwich bar on her left, and then turned right into Euston Street.

Lara very deliberately walked past the Wesley and around the corner onto Melton Street before doubling back. She did not see Magazine Man again, or anyone else acting suspiciously.

When she entered the restaurant, Professor Cahalane was already seated.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Professor,” said Lara, shrugging off her jacket, and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“What’s five minutes between friends?” said Cahalane. “Why don’t you sit down? There’s no rush… You look… harried.”

“I’m fine… Thank you,” said Lara, taking her seat.

A waiter poured Lara some water. She looked at him intently while he performed the task, and then she sipped at the glass, grateful for the distraction and for the opportunity to calm herself.

“Are you really all right?” asked Cahalane.

“I really am,” said Lara, breathing more easily. She cast her mind back fifteen or twenty minutes to the man on the Tube. It was the anxiety. It just got the better of her sometimes. She was just panicky about Sam. She was a little on edge. She could handle it.

“Honestly,” said Lara, smiling. She sat back a little in her chair.

“Let’s look at the menu then, shall we?” asked Cahalane.

“You say that as if you didn’t know every dish on it,” said Lara.

“I think you’ll find they’ve changed it since you were last here,” said Cahalane.

“Excellent,” said Lara, picking up her menu.

The real conversation began halfway through the main course: A braised ox cheek for him and a confit Gressingham duck leg for her.

“You know how foolish this is, don’t you?” asked the professor.

It wasn’t what Lara wanted to hear, but it was no less than she expected.

“Archaeology isn’t about the big prizes, Lara. You know that,” said Professor Cahalane. “It’s not about adventuring around the globe. You should learn from your father’s mistake. Archaeology is a meticulous pursuit, a science.”

“I do know that,” said Lara. “I also know that my friend’s in trouble. Sam needs my help.”

“It sounds to me as if Sam needs good medical attention, and from what you’ve told me, she’s already getting that.”

“She is,” said Lara. “But I’m not a doctor.”

“You’re not much of an archaeologist either, young lady,” said Professor Cahalane. “Why don’t you get back in a classroom? Why don’t you do some more study? You could be very good, you know.”

“Thank you,” said Lara, and she meant it.

Professor Cahalane was one of the foremost authorities in the world in his field. He was highly respected, and his breadth and depth of knowledge was second to none. What’s more, he was a great educator, popular with his students. His lectures were always well attended.

“I could put you in the way of a good research fellowship. You only have to say the word,” said Cahalane.

“Right now, I really need your help with this,” said Lara. “I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”

“It’s just a story, Lara,” said Cahalane, sighing. “It’s a very beautiful story, of course, but then, they all are.”

Lara said nothing as the waiter removed their empty plates and then brought the dessert menu.

Professor Cahalane sat back in his chair, his wine glass in his hand.

“I suppose a trip to Oxford doesn’t exactly qualify as gallivanting around the globe,” Cahalane finally said, putting down his wine glass and picking up the menu.

“You know you’ll have the cheese,” said Lara. She was keen to ask what was in Oxford, but she knew that the simplest, best option was to allow the professor to take his time and get to the point when he was good and ready.

“There might be a trifle on the menu,” said Cahalane.

“There isn’t,” said Lara. “But since you’re a fan of custard, there is a crème brûlée.”

“They do serve an awfully good port,” said Cahalane.

“And we can’t both order the brûlée,” said Lara. “That’d be terribly bad form. You’re not kidding anyone, Professor. You know it’s going to be the cheese, and so does that waiter. He’s only waiting for you to put down your menu. He’s practically hovering.”

“Let him hover,” said Cahalane.

“I don’t think you should,” said Lara, smiling. “After all, I never met an academic who knew how to tip.”

Cahalane dropped his menu onto the table and almost twinkled. A moment later he ordered the cheese and the crème brûlée.

“There’s a good man in Oxford, Professor of Antiquities at the School of Archaeology. Man by the name of—”

There was a crash in the kitchen. Cahalane turned to look as the dining room fell silent. The low murmur of chatter quickly resumed, but when the professor turned back to Lara, her face was pale and her fist was clenched around the handle of a knife, her knuckles white.

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” he asked.

“Quite,” said Lara, desperately trying to control the panic welling up in her.

Professor Cahalane glanced at the knife in her hand, and Lara let go of it and wiped her sweating palm on her napkin.

“You’re not all right though,” said Cahalane. “What can I do, dear girl?”

“Nothing,” said Lara, unable to speak more than a word at a time as her heart beat hard in her chest, and she tried to breathe through constricted airways.

“Get the girl a glass of water,” said Cahalane over his shoulder. He drew his chair a little closer to Lara’s and put a hand on her arm. “Someone dropped something in the kitchen. One of those large trays, I imagine. It gave you a fright. I quite understand.”

“Thank you,” said Lara.

The waiter poured Lara more water, and she began to sip at it.

Just breathe out, Lara
, she told herself.
It’ll pass. Just breathe
out.

“There’s a little too much adrenaline in your blood stream, my dear,” said Cahalane, “but it’ll work its way out of your system. Let’s just sit for a moment. Would you like me to tell you about my chap in Oxford?”

“Yes,” said Lara. “Please.”

“Where was I, before we were so rudely interrupted?” asked Cahalane. “Ah yes, Babbington. Professor St. John Babbington. Very knowledgeable chap when it comes to artifacts. This sort of thing is right up his street. The man knows antiquities. He knows what they are, and their stories. He knows the significance of the legends and how they came to be. If he doesn’t know a thing or two about your Golden Fleece, there isn’t a man alive who does.”

He reached out once more to touch Lara’s arm.

“That’s it. You’re doing wonderfully. Another breath or two, and you’ll be as right as rain.”

Lara was beginning to feel a little better. The professor’s calm presence made it easier. His pragmatic reassurance gave her the extra confidence she needed to get over the panic attack quickly. He was also giving her the first piece of her puzzle, the first step on her way to finding out more about the fleece, and the possibility of helping Sam.

“Oxford’s a marvelous place. You might consider it for the next step in your education. Take a look at a prospectus while you’re there, visit a college or two. Some of the older ones are particularly glorious.”

Lara sipped at her water a little more and then managed to take a long, deep breath.

“I might just do that,” she said. “About Professor Babbington?”

“He’s spent a long career tracking and locating artifacts. If anybody knows anything about the Golden Fleece, its history, where or what its alleged healing properties derive from, or how the legend came to be, it is Professor Babbington,” said Cahalane. “There, you see, you must be feeling better.”

“I think I am,” said Lara.

After a short pause, Professor Cahalane asked the waiter to hold off on the last course for ten or fifteen minutes. Then, he turned to Lara and asked, “Do you want to talk about this?”

“Thank you, but it’s fine,” she said. “I’m getting help. It’s silly.”

“It certainly isn’t silly,” said the Professor. “I had a research fellow once with the most awful anxiety disorder. It was a long time ago. She was afraid and embarrassed and… Well, never mind ‘and.’”

Lara took another deep breath and sipped some more water. She was pleased to be over the attack so quickly. It was hardly an attack at all.

“I’m very grateful. You helped enormously,” she said. “I have a problem with anxiety. I’ve been diagnosed. I have coping strategies. It was the noise.”

“I can see that,” said Cahalane. “But you
will
be all right. It will take a little time, but I’m sure that you’ll be all right.”

“So am I,” said Lara.

She spoke firmly, brightly. He had done what an English gentleman does. He had taken control while he needed to, and now he would back off. Lara knew she could rely on Professor Cahalane not to ask a lot of personal questions, not to pry. If he could see that she was recovered, if he was reassured that she was being looked after, nothing more need be said.

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

T
wo 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.