Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals (5 page)

“Honestly, it’d be nice to talk about something other than last night’s football match. I’m Willow.”

“Lara,” said Lara.

“And the parental unit was a hippy, not a
Buffy
fan, before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” said Lara, smiling.

“No one ever gets the chance,” said the tall boy. “It’s her opening conversational gambit. She thinks it makes her interesting.”

“I’m sure she is interesting,” said Lara.

“Thank you,” said Willow. “In fact, I am.”

“I’m Ben,” said the boy who had spoken, “and that’s Josh, Elliot, Imran and Xander.”

Lara couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know,” said Xander, one of the boy-next-door types. “I promise you I was Xander long before I met Willow.”

“It’s never not funny, though, is it?” said Imran, the other boy-next-door.

“So, are you a student?” asked Ben.

“Sometimes,” said Lara.

“Ah,” said Ben, “post-grad. We’re undergrads. Teddy Hall. English, mostly.”

“I’m a chemist,” said Josh, who looked like a jock.

“History of Art,” said Willow.

“And I’m off to the loo,” said Xander.

“Oh,” said Lara.

“That a problem?” asked Xander. His smile was slightly quizzical.

Lara smiled back. She felt foolish. She’d just realised that she hadn’t taken a shot of the man she thought had been following her, and now Xander would have to pass him on his way to the loo. It was too soon. She couldn’t possibly ask him to sneak a picture of the bloke in the blazer.

“Coincidence,” said Lara, brushing it off. “I just remembered something.”

“I’ll be off then,” said Xander.

As Xander returned, the train pulled in at Reading station.

“Who’s going to do me a favour?” asked Lara, pulling her phone out and approaching the carriage doors.

“What do you need?” asked Imran, who was sitting closest to her.

“Just hold the doors so I can get back on the train,” said Lara. “I won’t be a tick.”

“No problem,” said Imran, following her out of the carriage.

“What’s going on?” Willow called after them. But Lara was already on the platform.

The shot she got of Blazer Bloke wasn’t great, but at least the platform was on the same side of the train that he was sitting. She could always clean the image up using Photoshop if he really was following her and she needed to identify him at a later date.

Only two passengers got on at Reading, so Lara only had a few seconds. It was all she needed. Imran watched from the doors, and Lara was back in the carriage moments later.

“So?” asked Willow when they returned to their seats.

“It’s all deeply mysterious, and she can’t talk about it,” said Imran, winking at Lara.

Willow’s eyes widened.

“Why?” she asked.

Imran leaned closer to her in order to whisper.

“Well,” he said, “you know the ‘recruitment’ programs ‘They’ have at Oxbridge? Lara here is being vetted, and she has to perform certain ‘tasks’ before she can qualify for full ‘status.’”

“As a
spy!”
said Willow.

Imran burst out laughing.

“You are
so
gullible,” he said. “The cleverest woman I know, and you fall for that stuff all the time.”

“I
am
clever,” said Willow, blushing. “And you’re mean.”

“And Willow just might not be as gullible as you think,” said Lara. It was her turn to wink, and Willow’s blush deepened with pleasure as the expression was aimed at her.

“Seriously, though?” the girl asked.

“It’s actually really stupid,” said Lara, “childish. It’s a game I used to play with a friend of mine when we were at boarding school together. Sam’s in hospital at the moment, and I thought it’d be a bit of fun the next time I visited.”

“What sort of game?” asked Imran.

“When we were separated during holidays, we collected photos of certain things to bring back to school and compare. On the list was a man in a blue blazer. I saw a guy like that get on the train, so I wanted to get a photo of him.
Et voilà
.” She held up her phone to show the picture.

She hated to lie, but she’d had to work out some excuse when she’d realised she hadn’t taken a shot of the bloke in the blazer before she’d switched carriages. The game had been real, and Sam was in hospital, so it was at least a lie based on a truth.

“I hope he feels better soon,” said Willow.

“She,” said Lara. “Samantha.”

“Are you in Oxford to study?” asked Josh. “What do you study? You didn’t say.”

“It’s just a visit,” said Lara. “One meeting. I don’t plan to stay long. I’m an archaeologist. Mostly, I like to dig.”

“I plan to specialise in ancient art when I get the chance,” said Willow. “It’s a fascinating subject.”

“It is,” said Lara.

The remaining fifteen minutes of the journey were mostly spent talking about art and archaeology. Lara liked Willow. She was drawn to the girl’s enthusiasm. She was bright and very aware, but she was also an innocent. Lara found Willow’s naïveté more than a little refreshing. The boys might have teased her, but they clearly respected her too, and she wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. There was something about her that reminded Lara of the girl she used to be, not so very long ago.

As the train arrived at Oxford, Lara picked up her rucksack and turned to Willow.

“Are you doing anything?” asked Lara.

“Right now?” asked Willow. “No. I’m technically free until two.”

“Good,” said Lara. “Come and have tea with me at the Randolph.”

“The Randolph!”

“What’s wrong with the Randolph?” asked Lara.

“The Randolph’s fab,” said Willow. “I’ve never had tea at the Randolph. I’ve never had anything at the Randolph. Is that where you’re staying?”

“No,” said Lara. “My meeting’s this afternoon. There’s plenty of time to get back to London. “I
have
stayed there, though. It was one of my father’s favourite hotels.”

“It’s very grand,” said Willow. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for it.”

“We can go somewhere else, if you want,” said Lara.

“Not bloody likely,” said Willow.

“The Randolph it is, then,” said Lara. “Now, let’s see if we can get a cab.”

“Taxis and hotels,” said Willow. “I think I’m going to make you my new best friend.”

The five boys and two girls left the station together. Lara made sure that she was in the middle of the group. She said good-bye to the guys at the taxi rank, and got in the cab first to avoid being seen by the other passengers leaving the train.

She’d had a quick look around on the platform and outside the station, but she hadn’t seen Blazer Bloke again.

Maybe I really am being paranoid,
she thought.
Try to relax, Lara. Just for a couple of hours, try to have some fun. It’s the anxiety getting to you. It’s different things for different people. For you, it’s Yamatai. It’s loud noises and being pursued. But this isn’t Yamatai. This is Oxford, and you’re safe
here.

Chapter 7

W
hen they had lingered long enough over what turned into a light lunch, rather than the morning tea they had planned, Lara and Willow walked through Oxford together. They crossed from town to gown, walking along Broad Street and around the Sheldonian Theatre before ducking down Queens Lane to drop Willow off at St. Edmund Hall.

Another minute and Lara was crossing the High Street. Two minutes after that, she was walking into Front Quad at Merton College with its paving and cobbles and its ancient stone buildings, including the imposing chapel at the north end. She turned to take in the magnificence of the architecture and the immaculate surroundings. Everyone should have the good fortune to study in such a glorious place.

She turned again, taking in the fine, stone mullioned windows and the grand, arched doorways. She found the door the porter had directed her to and took the staircase to St. John Babbington’s first-floor study.

When she knocked, there was no answer. She checked her watch. She was a few minutes early. She thought about going back into the quad and having another look around. There might even be time to spend a few minutes in the chapel.

As she turned, she heard someone climbing the stairs. A small, neat man soon appeared beside her. He was rather younger than she expected, probably no older than his early forties, and he was dressed in a highly patterned waistcoat with a mismatched but elegant bow tie.

“Miss Croft, I presume,” he said, taking a key from his jacket pocket.

“Lara,” said Lara.

“I’ve been hearing things about you,” said Babbington. “Come in.” The door open, the professor ushered Lara into the study ahead of him.

The room was not unlike its owner. It was neat, but somewhat fussy. There was too much of everything everywhere, but it was quite clear to Lara, as she glanced over the shelves and cabinets that adorned the walls, that there was a place for everything and that everything was in its place.

“Sit,” said Babbington, taking a narrow, leather chair and gesturing to a second armchair that sat rather lower on the floor than his own.

“Thank you,” said Lara. She sat, but continued to cast her eyes over the objects in Babbington’s study. Many of them appeared to be classical statues of one sort or another, mostly Greek, but some Roman, and one or two from northern Europe, from what Lara could tell. Most were almost entirely intact. There were other things, too. A low glass cabinet on legs, which stood under one window, appeared to be full of bladed weapons, and another, standing on the mantle, contained toga pins.

“You have some wonderful things,” said Lara.

“Thank you,” said Babbington. “Of course, I’ve collected some myself, but the core of the collection is my father’s legacy. We’re alike, you and I.”

“I’m sorry...?” said Lara.

“Archaeology is a family business for you and me,” said Babbington. “Professor Cahalane explained that he was a friend of your father, the intrepid archaeologist Richard Croft?”

“Of course,” said Lara.

“His reputation outlives him.”

“Thank you,” said Lara.

“You wanted to talk to me about the Golden Fleece?” asked Babbington.

“I’m interested in the fleece, yes,” said Lara.

“You know the story, of course,” said Babbington. “You wouldn’t come all the way out to Oxford to hear about that. You could just as easily rent the movie:
Jason and the Argonauts
. Mesmerising, but total rubbish.”

“Yes, I know the story,” said Lara. “I’m interested in the artifact. I wondered if it’s possible there’s any substance to the myth, if it might even still exist somewhere.”

“It never existed at all,” said Babbington. He laughed. The sound was sudden and unexpected, and it made Lara tense for a moment. “That probably wasn’t what you wanted to hear, and I set aside an hour for this meeting. Let’s have a cup of tea and talk about it. It’s interesting stuff.”

“Thank you,” said Lara.

Lara also stood as Babbington got up to make the tea.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing at the shelves.

“Of course,” said Babbington. “There are some fine pieces, so I’d prefer you didn’t touch anything without asking first.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Lara.

“Go ahead,” said Babbington, waving the kettle.

Lara moved slowly around the room. The objects were meticulously grouped by culture and period, and then by materials and uses. Oddly, she thought, none of them were labeled.

“You specialise in the Ancient Greeks?” asked Lara.

“I do,” said Babbington, “like my father before me.”

“Then, you know the Golden Fleece well?”

“I believe I mentioned that there is no such artifact,” said Babbington. “There was never a golden fleece… Never one, but possibly many.”

“I don’t understand,” said Lara.

“Shall I be mother?” asked Babbington, picking up a small, impossibly ornate teapot from the tray he had placed on the table beside them.

“Thank you,” said Lara.

“Of course you don’t understand,” said Babbington. “The Golden Fleece is a myth, but like many myths it has its own prosaic explanation. Careful research generally sorts these things out. It’s a matter of education. Of course, the legends are far more attractive, and so they persist.”

“Go on,” said Lara, taking the offered teacup and saucer.

“You’ve no doubt seen films about the gold rush in modern America? You’ve seen men standing in streams with wide, shallow dishes, panning for gold?”

“Of course,” said Lara.

“Excellent,” said Babbington. “Did you know that panning is the most ancient method of mining for gold known to man?”

“I didn’t,” said Lara.

“Well, it is,” said Babbington. “It goes back to Roman times. It’s all about specific gravity. Gold is heavy, making it easy to extract by this very simple method. Of course, it isn’t terribly efficient, but where mineral deposits are substantial and individuals are keen… You get the picture.”

“Yes,” said Lara. “But what do ancient methods of gold mining have to do with the fleece?”

“I’m coming to that,” said Babbington. “Patience. Two thousand years ago, there were variations in gold mining methods. The Romans used panning. There were also significant gold deposits in parts of the Caucasus, notably Colchis.”

“Where the Golden Fleece originates in the legend?”

“That’s right,” said Babbington. He sipped from his teacup, and continued. “In Colchis, they did not pan for gold. They lay fleeces on the streambeds and allowed the running water to flow through them, taking the gold with it. The gold lodged in the wool fibres. When the fleeces were removed from the streams, the gold was combed out and collected.”

“And you believe that the myth of the Golden Fleece comes directly from this form of gold mining in Colchis?” asked Lara.

“I’m sure of it,” said Babbington. “There is no Golden Fleece, and there never was one. I suppose you might surmise that there were many golden fleeces, if you like to fill your head with romantic notions. I’m a professor of antiquities. As much as I enjoy the legends, I prefer to do solid research. This, Miss Croft, is solid research.”