Page 127 of Babel

‘You’re sweating buckets.’ Professor Playfair scrutinized his face, looking concerned. ‘And you’ve got enormous shadows under your eyes, Swift. Have you been sleeping?’

‘Time lag,’ Robin blurted. ‘We didn’t – erm, we didn’t adjust our sleeping schedules on the return voyage as well as we should have. And besides we’re exhausted with, erm, with preterm reading.’

To his astonishment, Professor Playfair nodded in sympathy. ‘Ah, well. You know what they say. Student from studere, meaning “painstaking, dedicated application”. If you don’t feel like a nail struck constantly by a hammer, you’re doing it wrong.’

‘Indeed,’ said Robin. His strategy, he’d decided, was to come off as so boring that they lost interest and wandered off.

‘Did you have a good trip?’ inquired Professor De Vreese.

‘It was—’ Robin cleared his throat. ‘It was more than we bargained for, we think. We’re all very glad to be back.’

‘Don’t I know it. Those overseas affairs can be exhausting.’ Professor Playfair nodded to the plate in Robin’s hand. ‘Ah, I see you’ve found my inventions. Go on, have a bite.’

Robin, feeling pressured, bit into a tart.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ Professor Playfair watched him as he chewed. ‘Yes, it’s silver-enhanced. A fanciful little match-pair that I came up with on vacation in Rome. Pomodoro is a rather fanciful description for a tomato, you see – it literally means “apple of gold”. Now add the French intermediary, pomme d’amour, and you get a richness that the English doesn’t...’

Robin chewed, trying to look appreciative. All he could register was how slimy it was; how the salty juices bursting in his mouth made him think of blood and corpses.

‘You have pretoogjes,’ Professor De Vreese observed.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Pretoogjes.’ Professor De Vreese gestured at his face. ‘Fun eyes. A Dutch word. Twinkling eyes, shifting eyes. We use it to describe children who are up to no good.’

Robin had not the faintest idea what he was supposed to say in response to this. ‘I... how interesting.’

‘I think I’ll go and say hello to the Master now,’ said Professor De Vreese as if Robin hadn’t spoken. ‘Welcome back, Swift. Enjoy the party.’

‘So.’ Professor Playfair handed Robin a glass of claret. ‘Do you have any idea when Professor Lovell is back from London?’

‘I don’t know.’ Robin took a sip, doing his best to collect himself before he answered. ‘You’ve probably heard he’s holed up with something he contracted in Canton. He looked in a bad state when we left him, I’m not sure if he’ll even be back for the term.’

‘Interesting,’ said Professor Playfair. ‘It’s quite fortunate it didn’t spread to any of you.’

‘Oh, well – we took precautions when he started feeling out of sorts. Quarantine, face cloths, all of that – you know.’

‘Come now, Mr Swift.’ Professor Playfair’s voice became stern. ‘I know he’s not ill. I’ve sent three messengers to London since you lot have been back, and they’ve all reported the Hampstead house is presently empty.’

‘Really?’ Robin’s ears began to buzz. What was he supposed to do now? Was there any point in trying to maintain the lie? Should he just cut and run? ‘How very odd, that’s – I don’t know why he would...’

Professor Playfair took a step closer and bent his head conspiratorially towards Robin’s ear. ‘You know,’ he whispered, ‘our friends at Hermes would like very much to know where he is.’

Robin nearly spat out his claret. His throat caught the wine before he made a mess, but he then swallowed it up the wrong channel. Professor Playfair stood by calmly as he choked and gasped, spilling both his plate and glass in the process.

‘Quite all right, Swift?’

Robin’s eyes watered. ‘What did you—’

‘I’m with Hermes,’ Professor Playfair murmured pleasantly, eyes fixed on the string quartet. ‘Whatever you’re hiding, you’re safe telling me.’

Robin had no idea what to make of this. Certainly he felt no relief. Trust no one – Griffin had all but engraved this lesson in his bones. Professor Playfair could be easily lying – and this would be the simplest trick, too, if his goal was to coax Robin into spilling everything that he knew. Or Professor Playfair could be the ally, the saviour they’d been waiting for. He felt a pang of residual frustration. If only Griffin had ever told him more, if only Griffin hadn’t been so happy to leave him in the dark, cut off from others, and so utterly helpless.

He had no useful information to act on, only a gut instinct that something was badly wrong. ‘Thank the Lord,’ he said, mirroring Professor Playfair’s covert murmur. ‘So you know about Griffin’s Canton plot?’

‘Of course,’ Professor Playfair said, just a bit too eagerly. ‘Did it work?’

Robin paused. He had to play this next part very carefully. He had to reel out just enough to keep Professor Playfair on the line, curious but not quite ready to pounce. And he needed time – at least enough time to gather the others and run.