A Voyage With The Greeks

It shouldn’t have been there. Jed had taken books from that section before and he’d never seen a door. But there it was, at the end of the aisle, between Greek Philosophy on the left, and History of Europe on the right. A dusty old door, with peeling black paint – totally out of place in the modern library.

He was thinking of going to the desk to ask old Mrs Porter about it, but then he remembered what she was like. She’d take ages to come and check, and she’d insist that Jed stick around while she did. He really couldn’t spare the time: it was exam week and he just needed one book – Ellison’s ‘The Voyages of the Ancient Greeks’ – to complete his revision for the next day. Best to find the book, get it signed out, return to his room, make a pot of coffee, and get elbows on the table again.

Jed ran his eyes along the Greek Philosophy section, found the rainbow-colored spine of the Ellison book and slipped it out. It was weighty; Jed blanched at the similarly heavy task ahead of him. He turned to go, then turned back. A door. Which he’d never seen before. A quick peek wouldn’t do any harm, would it?

He moved to it and tried the handle. It was stiff. He forced it a little and heard a crack: he’d broken the lock! It must have been rusty or something. He looked over his shoulder to check that no one had heard before dragging the door open with an ominous creak. Against his better judgement, Jed stepped through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

It was a dark, dank space. He felt for a light switch and found one that he had to turn rather than flick. There was a dim lightbulb over his head, and another above a small archway opposite him, perhaps five meters away. Jed stood for several moments weighing up the wisdom of continuing; he really did need to get back to studying. But curiosity got the better of him and he stepped gingerly to the archway. It was an opening to a set of stone steps winding downwards, illuminated weakly by a string of light bulbs spaced at regular intervals.

Jed took a deep breath and began to descend, one hand gripping the book, the other a rusty handrail. The steps spiraled down for what seemed like an eternity but must have been only minutes. Finally, he reached the bottom to find another door, identcal to the first. He tried the handle of this one, which was also stiff and also gave with a little force.

The room he entered had nothing but a bed and a chair, but tied to them were two people, their mouths covered with duct tape. Jed hurried over to the person on the chair, who was shouting a muffled cry of help through the tape. It was Freddy Carstairs, a student-reporter for the university’s deadly-dull monthly magazine.

With the Ellison book tucked under one arm, Jed struggled to get the tape off Freddy’s mouth while the terrified young man continued yelling silently. When the tape was finally removed, Freddy let loose an almost incomprehensible torrent of words.

“Dr Bale … psycho … wanted to … Dr Jones…” Here he nodded towards the man on the bed. While he was gabbling, Jed began to untie him. “… grant … he wanted the … there was a research grant, you see … I saw them … Bale … knife, coming here … followed…”

Once released, instead of fleeing, Freddy stared uncomprehendingly at the floor and continued:

“… saw me … I tried to get away … slipped … steps … I … I …”

Jed patted him on the back and went over to Dr Jones on the bed. He seemed to be asleep. Jed shook him. The professor’s arm fell limply to one side.

“I see you’ve discovered my little secret!” came a booming voice from behind him.

Freddy yelped and jumped off the chair, scambling into the corner of the room. Jed backed away until he came up against the wall. Dr Bale held the knife Freddy had mentioned, hanging limply at his side. Jed kept his nerve; he’d seen enough detective shows on TV to know that you had to engage with the threat.

“Freddy’s told me all about it, Dr Bale,” he said.

“Has he?” Bale said, treating Freddy to a deadly stare. “Has he indeed?”

“I didn’t…” Freddy began before trailing off; in his present state of mind, any attempt at reasoning would have failed miserably.

“And what did he tell you exactly?” Bale asked Jed.

Jed paused, ostensibly to marshal his thoughts, but he had one eye on the only escape from the danger: the way he’d come.

“He told me that you and Dr …” He swallowed drily. “… Jones had a … a misunderstanding about a research grant.”

Bale snorted and did a little turn in the middle of the room, enjoying the understatement.

“You could put it like that,” he said.

“But I’m sure,” Jed continued, once again channeling detective shows, “that you didn’t mean to kill him.”

Bale scoffed.

“But I didn’t. He had a heart attack. They’ll see that.”

“Ah, then it’s okay,” Jed said, trying to keep the sarcastic tone he was feeling out of his words. He was sure Bale would know that he was in trouble, that he was facing jail time, that his career would be over. He had to guide Bale to some sense of resignation, before he burned his bridges, which at this moment took the form of Jed and Freddy.

“I can tell them you didn’t mean for it to happen, that you treated us well, that you allowed us to go free…”

As soon he’d said this, Jed wondered if he hadn’t laid it on a bit thick. But then he saw Bale’s shoulders slump. The professor shuffled over to the bed, flopping down to sit beside Dr Jones.

“Go, then,” he said finally, his voice strained now.

Jed took a moment to gauge how sincere Bale was being; would he attack Jed if he left his relatively strong position agaist the wall? When he decided it was safe, he moved quickly, grabbing Freddy from the corner, pulling him to the door and up the steps. As they were climbing, they heard a whimper from the room and the sound of a weight falling to the floor.

Back in the library, Jed made for the desk; despite the stress of the moment, he still had to take the book out and hurry to his room to study. But suddenly, Freddy had disappeared, and behind the desk was Compton, Jed’s roommate.

“What are you doing here, Compers?” Jed asked, bemused.

“What am I doing here? I live here, you doofus!” Compton laughed.

Now Compton wasn’t behind the library desk at all but at the dining table, grinning at Jed. Between them were two bottles of beer, two plates, and a half-eaten cheese and mushroom quiche.

Jed shook his head to clear it and gazed at the quiche in disbelief.

“You didn’t!” he said.

“It was only a couple,” Compton said in justification.

“Why would you…?!” Jed couldn’t even formulate the question, he was so incensed.

“I thought it would take the edge off, ol’ chum. You have been really stressed, you know. It’s not good for you! And that comment from old Dr Jones didn’t help, did it? Saying that you have to ‘knuckle down’.”

“But … but I’ve got an exam tomorrow, dickhead!”

“And you’ll sail through it, we both know that. You’ll thank me later.”

“You…” Jed began. Then he noticed the book by his right hand. He picked it up and read the title on the shiny black spine: ‘The Voyages of the Ancient Greeks’.

“But anyway,” Compton was saying. “Tell me … what was all that about Dr Bale? Sounded interesting.”