NaNoWriMo 2006 novel. Writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Quality may suffer.
Chapter 4 ' A Dry Concern of Books.
The previous evening with Miss Willet and her mother, their friend Charlie Ward, and the curious and taciturn Howard Lovecraft, had been an extremely pleasant. Montague could see the attraction of New York night-life for the young people, he doubted he would stand up to much more of it and the proposed trip to the calmer rural climes of Massachusetts and Maine seemed very attractive. He was a rural lad at heart, the city, and he had often thought the same about London, was all very well in its place, but he grew tired of it quickly and began to feel oppressed by the noise and bustle. Give him a tree to sit quietly underneath and a vista of green field any day. The next best thing was academic work, the study of old books in places of quiet intellectual pursuit, the gentle shuffle of decrepit professors through stone halls, matters more important than dressing correctly weighing down their minds, glasses of port in the common room, the simple and pure joy of teaching young men who were smart and eager to learn. That was Montague's plan for the day, to take up Ted Shuman's invitation to join him and the University, and perhaps do a bit of research of his own on Frank Pabodie's mysterious papers.
Montague washed and went down for breakfast where there was a message waiting from Professor Shuman saying that he could pop down in the car at ten to pick him up if he liked. Montague asked the clerk to return the call and accept the invitation and settled down to an excellent breakfast of fried eggs, toast, and maple syrup, that would have been considered sufficient to feed a family of three in England.
Professor Shuman arrived precisely on time and had to wait for Montague who, still not feeling one hundred percent, had forgotten to bring Frank Pabodie's papers from his room. Once in the car he found himself again clutching at the handle as Shuman skidded away as fast as the little car could take them.
'We can stop off at a chemists if you like,' suggested Shuman after Montague explained why he was not on top form that morning.
'No thank you,' said Montague, 'I deserve to suffer, I should know better at my age.'
'Well even at my age,' said Shuman, 'I reckon I won't ever learn and may as well not suffer, but your the boss.'
They continued to the university where they dropped their bags in Shuman's office, a small, badly lit, book crammed room much like any academic office anywhere in the world. Shuman took Montague on a brief tour of the campus, pointing out parts that were almost as old as the most recent additions to Montague's own Kings College, and then to the common room where the rest of the history department were enjoying a mid-morning coffee. Montague was introduced, garnering much commiseration at his wasted journey and a brief interrogation of his own works and what he would have talked about at the conference if he had been given the chance.
Seeing that one of the men there was reading a newspaper Montague asked the man if there was anything in it about the murder on the Jeraboam.
'Yes there is,' replied the man, 'a big spread on page two, it all sounds rather lurid. Was that your ship then?'
'It was,' said Montague. 'The article does not mention me does it?'
'No it does not, any reason why it should?'
'I was just a bit worried it might. I was the only person to really talk to Mister Pabodie, the victim, during the voyage.'
'No,' said the man, turning over the paper, 'just says Frank Pabodie was murdered, some quotes from Detective Inspector McGarvey, he says it was robbery. Something about marks on the hull of the ship. What's that all about?'
'We suspected someone climbing either down or even up the side of the ship. We could not tell. Doubtlessly the police will get to the bottom of it.'
'Well hello,' said another man, 'you obviously know a lot more about this than the New York Times does.'
'Oh I should say so,' said Shuman, 'I had to wait for hours for that Insector McGarvey to let Mister James go.'
'You're not a suspect are you?'
'I certainly hope I'm not,' said Montague, 'but I did seem to end up having a lot to do with it. Actually I was hoping one of you gentleman might be able to help me with a connected matter.'
The assembled academics had all put down what they were reading and were paying rapt attention by now. 'Go on,' said one, 'what can we do?'
Montague leaned back in his seat, feeling thoroughly at home in the company of men with similar interests to himself. 'The item that was stolen was a small sacrificial dagger of unknown origin, I had been trying to help Mister Pabodie identify it, he had obtained it in the Congo but it seems unlikely that it came from there. He also had two accompanying documents in a script I did not recognise. I was hoping one of you might know it.'
'I suspect at least one of us will know it,' said one of the men. 'If nothing else, if there is a man in New York who will know it he will be sitting here.'
'I have copies of the documents in Professor Shuman's office,' said Montague, 'I shall fetch them if I may.'
'Of course,' said Shuman, 'do you need me to show you the way.'
'No thank you,' said Montague, 'but while I'm there might I be permitted to use your phone. A local call.'
'Be my guest,' said Shuman, and then, rubbing his hands together and turning to the rest of his department, 'well gentlemen, it seems we have been set a challenge.'
Montague walked back to Shuman's office and put in a call to the Willett residence. Lucy picked up.
'Lucy,' he said, 'has young Howard Lovecraft moved in yet.'
'He's just arrived,' she said, and then in a hushed voice, 'he was in a terrible place.'
'I wonder if I might be permitted to borrow him this afternoon, I have a matter I would appreciate his assistance with.'
'Of course,' she said, 'I think he'll be glad of the excuse to get away from Charlie, he's spent the entire morning avoiding him, and of course Charlie thinks it's hilarious. Boys! Shall I send him over for lunch with you?'
'Yes, that would be splendid,' said Montague, 'and would you care to join us for lunch?'
'I'd love to but I'm afraid I have plans, a girl can't just waltz back into New York after three months away and then waltz out again two days later without seeing anyone.'
'I can imagine,' said Montague laughing, 'besides I have a matter to discuss with him, and it will be a rather dry concern of books.'
'I am not entirely opposed to books,' said the girl laughing, 'I have after all read yours. But here is Howard now and you can talk to him yourself. Howard! It's Monty.'
'Monty?' said Montague to himself.
After he had explained to Lovecraft where and when to meet him Montague picked up his bag and walked back to the common room, he was thinking about the pale young man from Rhode Island, he seemed smart enough and Montage wondered if he might not arrange for young Lovecraft to receive a scholarship to study at the university. At the very least he would introduce the young man to a taste of university life, it was a life that suited Montague very well, and, in his experience, it suited many pale, quiet, intelligent young men. Lovecraft struck Montague as man at something of a loss for what to do with his life, men his age and obvious intelligence should not be known as penniless recluses to their old school friends.
Also he looked forward to finally unlocking the puzzle of the mysterious stolen dagger and deciphering the accompanying documents, perhaps it might even shed some light on the mystery of the murder.. Never, not for a second, did it cross his mind that the assembled experts of New York University would not be up to the challenge, which was in fact the case.
They struggled gamely for hours. Professors went back to their rooms for reference books, they pored over it, they wrote it backwards and did serious analysis comparing it to any similar language, they dragged in colleagues from the archaeology department to look but still got nowhere. By the time a slightly flustered receptionist found Montague to tell him there was a young man called Howard Lovecraft there to meet him for lunch, the few of them who could spare the time had decamped entirely to the library where they were reduced to pouring through any likely looking tome they could find.
