Page 141 of Babel

‘Well, there’s a non-zero chance we don’t, isn’t there?’

The library felt silent.

Suddenly Robin felt so young, so childish. It had seemed like such a fun game, plotting into the deep hours with the Hermes Society, playing around with his older brother’s gun. Their situation was so bizarre, and the conditions of victory so unimaginable, it had felt more like an exercise than real life. It sank in now that the forces they were playing with were actually quite terrifying, that the trading companies and political lobbies they were attempting to manipulate were not the laughable bogeymen they’d made them out to be but incredibly powerful organizations with deep, entrenched interests in the colonial trade, interests they would murder to protect.

‘But you’ll be all right,’ said Ramy. ‘Won’t you? Babel’s never caught you before—’

‘They’ve caught us many times,’ Anthony said gently. ‘Hence the paranoia.’

‘Hence the attrition,’ Vimal said as he slid a pistol into his belt. ‘We know the risks.’

‘But you’ll be safe here even if we’re compromised,’ Cathy reassured them. ‘We won’t give you up.’

Ilse nodded. ‘We’ll bite our tongues and suffocate first.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Letty stood up abruptly. She looked very pale; she touched her fingers to her mouth, as if she might vomit. ‘I just – I just need some air.’

‘Do you want some water?’ Victoire asked, concerned.

‘No, I’ll be fine.’ Letty bustled past their crowded chairs to the door. ‘I just need to breathe for a moment, if that’s all right.’

Anthony pointed. ‘The yard is that way.’

‘I think I’ll take a stroll round the front,’ said Letty. ‘The yard feels a bit... a bit penned in.’

‘Keep to the block, then,’ said Anthony. ‘Don’t be seen.’

‘Yes – yes, of course.’ Letty seemed quite distressed; her breath came in such quick, shallow bursts that Robin was worried she might faint. Ramy pushed his chair back to give her space to break free. Letty paused by the doorway and glanced over her shoulder – her eyes lingered on Robin, and she seemed on the verge of saying something – but then she pursed her lips and hurried out the door.

In the last minutes before the postgraduates left, Anthony went over housekeeping matters with Robin, Ramy, and Victoire. The kitchenette stocked enough provisions to last a week, and longer if they were happy with gruel and salt-cured fish. Fresh drinking water was trickier to acquire – the Old Library did receive its water supply from the city pumps, but they couldn’t run the taps too late at night or for too long at any time, since drainage elsewhere might draw attention. Otherwise, there were more than enough books in the library to keep them occupied, though they had strict orders not to mess with any ongoing projects in the workshop.

‘And try to stay inside as much as you can,’ Anthony said as he finished packing his bag. ‘You can take turns in the yard if you like, but keep your voices down – the glamour acts up every now and then. If you must get some fresh air, do it after sunset. If you get scared, there’s a rifle in that broom cupboard – I do hope you’ll never have to do it, but if you do, can any of you—’

‘I can manage,’ said Robin. ‘I think. It’s the same principle as a pistol, right?’

‘It’s close enough.’ Anthony laced up his boots. ‘Fiddle with it in your spare time; the weighting’s a bit different. As for comfort, you’ll find soaps and things in the bathroom cabinet. Make sure you rake the ashes out of the fireplace every morning, or it’ll get stuffy. Oh – we used to have a laundry tub, but Griffin destroyed it messing around with pipe bombs. You can go a few days without changing, can’t you?’

Ramy snorted. ‘That’s a question for Letty.’

There was a pause. Then Anthony asked, ‘Where is Letty?’

Robin glanced at the clock. He had not noticed the time slipping away; it was nearly a half hour since Letty stepped out of the house.

Victoire stood. ‘Perhaps I should—’

Something shrieked near the front door. The sound was so sharp and raw, so like a human scream, that it took Robin a moment to realize it was the kettle.

‘Damn it.’ Anthony pulled the rifle down. ‘Into the yard, quick, all of you—’

But it was too late. The shrieking grew louder and louder, until the walls to the library seemed to vibrate. Seconds later the front door crashed inwards, and Oxford policemen poured inside.

‘Hands up!’ someone shouted.

The postgraduates seemed to have drilled for this. Cathy and Vimal ran in from the workshop, each holding silver bars in hand. Ilse threw her weight at a towering shelf; it toppled forward, starting a chain reaction that collapsed the path in front of the police. Ramy started forward to help, but Anthony shouted, ‘No, hide – the Reading Room—’

They stumbled back. Anthony kicked the door shut behind them. Outside they heard booms and crashes – Anthony shouted something that sounded like ‘The beacon’, and Cathy screamed something in response – the postgraduates were fighting, fighting to defend them.

But what was the point? The Reading Room was a dead end. There were no other doors, no windows. They could only huddle behind the table, flinching at the gunshots outside. Ramy made a noise about barricading the door, but the moment they moved to push the chairs forward, the door swung open.