Chapter 15 - Librarians are Magical

This world might be lacking supernatural powers, but what Aline and Lorna had conjured up since late yesterday evening bordered on magic. Their lawyer friend had been cornered and badgered into an appointment next week. From what Gary understood, the bloke was "cautiously optimistic" and—like Adrian—believed, while the right to appeal might be granted, the case would go nowhere.

"It'll take a while for things to go through," Lorna said on the phone. "He was sure of that, the courts are totally overloaded. So, nothing is going to happen overnight, and you can relax."

Easier said than done, but it appeared he would have to wait. And check with his insurance if they would cover the costs of the lawsuit.

"Oh, and he pointed out we've all forgotten something, including your daddy-in-law," she added.

"Like what?"

"Come on, Gary, it's obvious. You're nobility. The courts will be a lot more hesitant to take custody away from a lord of the realm."

"Not much real estate left, I'm afraid. How I wish I were able to sell Nettlehole House and the ground, it crumbles on, but it's all entailed."

She sounded slightly exasperated when she responded. "Crikey, it doesn't matter what state your principal seat is in. It's there, and the title with it."

No point in telling her that his principal seat was also his only one, for she—or rather the lawyer—had a point, had realised something he should have spotted himself. In this supposedly egalitarian society, a nobleman still carried the clout Bill, with all his money, could never buy."Okay, I promise I'll calm down. How would you react if I told you I was about to head for Italy? With Jon. He returned yesterday evening. It's half-term, so I'm not taking him out of school or anything."

Delight rang in Lorna's voice. "Oh, that's a spiffing idea! Say hello to the ladies from us, will you? And don't worry about the pesky paperwork, we'll sort it all out."

"You're absolute stars."

She laughed. "Well, let's say we got a vested interest."

A question arose from the depths of his mind, hovered for a moment until it took the plunge from his tongue. "You wouldn't know any experts on the Sibylline books? Or scrolls, not sure what the exact term is?"

For a moment, Lorna fell quiet. "Not on the top of my head. I'm sure we can find out. May I ask why?"

"It appears, the tomb that tourist died in belonged to a Vestal who claims to have hidden the sibylline scrolls."

"Hidden? I thought they got lost somehow?"

"I haven't had time to check, but I believe they burned together with the temple of Jupiter at some point. Ike told me the poor Vestal down under the ministry left a message behind, claiming to have salvaged the prophecies."

Lorna's voice took on a breathless excitement. "Gary, seriously, that's . . . Oh my, if that were true, it really would be a fabulous discovery."

"Mrs Baxter would not agree with you."

"Mrs Who?"

"The dead tourist."

The excitement audibly dampened. "Oh dearie me, yes. Maybe, if the scrolls really are found, they're going to name them after her? Let me have a word with Aline. Hang on a sec."

The receiver clattered onto a desk, and Gary winced. He suspected neither Mrs Baxter nor her unfortunate husband was in any position to appreciate the recognition, but Lorna had been trying to be kind.

The clutter of crockery behind his back made him turn around. Jon was loading the dishwasher.

Gary was content to watch him carry out domestic duties and only spoke when the boy finished. "Great idea. Turn it on, we can always leave it open afterwards. Do me a favour and check the flights when you're done. And see if the neighbours are willing to look after Gladys?"

Jon saluted, a grin on his face. "Sure thing, Sir." He whistled something that, with a lot of goodwill, might be the "March of the Gladiators".

"Gary? Sorry, it took so long, but Aline had to call Professor Auger. You remember him?"

Oh yes, he did. A picture of a grey mop of hair and ruddy cheeks rose in his mind. Auger had been helpful when the German trip ran into trouble, and it appeared his proclivity for home-made gin had no yet addled his brain.

"Auger knows just the person for us. A Professore Manzini. Auger will contact him and call back. I'll send you a message once he's been in touch. Oh, and you'll love this, it's ever so convenient. Just imagine, Manzini is based in Tivoli! Just around the corner from Rome. So you can fly over and nip across."

A chuckle escaped Gary's throat. "You're amazing. No idea, how you pull these stunts. Anybody else would have located an expert in Outer Siberia. Or in Iceland. You find me somebody who's just forty kilometres or so from Rome."

Lorna sounded pleased. "All part of a librarian's work. We still got to do something, to keep our brains from rusting. To be honest, Auger named two others first. However, they weren't within reach. Apparently, this guy is a bit of a weirdo, but competent enough."

Gary wondered who Auger, an eccentric himself (albeit a charming specimen of its kind), would consider being "a weirdo".

He got his answer a second later. "He spends his days in the Villa d'Este, painting the fountains. Apparently, not very well. Auger thinks even his gin is superior to that chappie's art. Can be quite sensitive about it, mind you. The Roman expert, not Auger. That man is lovely."

"I know, right? I will make sure to refrain from critiquing Manzini's masterpieces."

"Yes. And you must not interrupt the professore when he's struck by the muse. He'll throw you out on your ear, apparently. Need to find a natural break or something along those lines. Auger hopes to catch him before he sails forth. Otherwise, he'll never get an answer. Chappie doesn't have a phone or something. He abhors the modern world. A real recluse. Not friendly either."

"I see. Looking forward to hearing from you. And thank you again."

"Always a pleasure, dear. So exciting!"

"Dad?"

Gary swished the call away. "Yes?"

"We need to get our—bums into gear. I found us a cheap flight, but it leaves in two hours. Return in four days. Should work, I dare say."

Gary took a deep breath and closed his mind to the flood of tasks that clamoured for his attention, allowing only one a time.

They would need a taxi willing to break the speed record.

The in-laws? He could call them from the taxi.

Luggage? The two rucksacks from the German trip still sat in the corridor where he dumped them.

Adrian? Would have to wait.

Dishwasher? Speed-cycle, to be turned off when the taxi arrived.

Keys? The neighbour had one set, Lorna and Aline another. Access was no problem.

They could do this. If they indeed rushed their backsides off.

Gary focussed on his son, waiting opposite him, quivering with excitement. "Gladys is sorted."

"We have enough cat food?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm going to book the flights now. You call a taxi, tell them we need a Batmobile. Then pack your rucksack. Underwear, socks, washkit, that sort of stuff."

Jon did a star eye-rolling performance. "Dad, I'm no kid."

"Just checking."

By the time they arrived at the airport, Gary was drenched in sweat. The perspiration wasn't caused by rapid packing, nor the driver's blatant disregard for the traffic regulations, but the phone call with Bill, which had been even worse than imagined. Gary had expected to be blamed for Jon's sudden disappearance, but it appeared he was also responsible for Jon's appalling manners and criminal disposition, Sandie's onset of the hysterics, the state of the guest bedroom where the boy had slept, the fog this morning, the persistent drizzle now and presumably the dent in Bill's shining Beemer, assuming there was one. World politics was not on the cards yet, but that would no doubt follow later.

Gary closed the call as politely as possible but felt like roadkill in the face of all this long-distance rage.

Jon fidgetted on his seat. "Was it very awful?"

"It'll be all right. Your grandfather is a bit upset. Let's forget him and enjoy the journey, shall we?"

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.

Picture is copyright Lukas Sankey from Unsplash