Influence (12 page)

‘Are they
brothers?’ Lizzie enquired.

‘No,
they’re Americans,’ Void said as if this was an obvious alternative. ‘They’re
over here for a year from college in the States, they share a flat; we just had
a tutorial and we’re on our way to lunch. Are you hungry?’

‘I’ve just
eaten, but thanks,’ he looked a little disappointed and he turned to his giant
companions.

‘Guys, I’ll
catch up, just be a few minutes okay,’ the Americans grunted, again in
immaculate unison, and left.

‘Wow, I’m
glad they’re gone,’ said Lizzie, ‘I could hardly get a word in edgeways.’ She
swung her legs off the bench and pulled herself back to a seated position
allowing Void to sit also.

‘You’re one
to talk, you were hardly loquacious the last time we met,’ said Void hoping it
sounded like a gentle enough dig.

‘Well, you
clearly loved the sound of your own voice so much I thought it would be rude to
deprive you of your sparkling repartee, so I left you to it. That’s just my
generous nature you see,’

‘Fair
enough,’ he mirrored with a chuckle. Void looked over his shoulder, then all
around the courtyard. This made Lizzie feel a little uncomfortable, and then he
slid along the bench toward her, inappropriately close, compounding her unease.
She was about to act, quickly running through her options of verbal abuse,
physical attack, or perhaps just standing up and walking off when he leaned in.
‘Small world. This is so cool, I see you’ve had an invite,’ Void whispered with
obvious excitement and baffling discretion.

‘Perhaps,’
Lizzie said, selecting the first option and not at all in a whisper, ‘you
should get your tongue out of my ear and explain what the fuck you’re on
about.’

‘It’s
alright,’ he said moving his hands back to arrest position as he slid back
along the bench increasing the personal space once more. He continued to lean
and whisper however.

‘I’m
in
the council. It’s cool, honestly.’

‘I’m happy
for you,’ she said having no clue what he meant, ‘but what’s that got to do
with me?’

‘Ah, I
see,’ said Void lowering his hands to his knees, with a look of dawning
understanding on his face. ‘You’re right of course, we really shouldn’t be
talking about the E.C. in public. It’s just that I saw your book and got a bit
over excited.’ Void motioned with a lowering of his eyes and a nod to Robe’s
journal still in Lizzie’s grasp. Seeing the look of confusion on Lizzie’s face,
Void reached forward and gently removed the journal from her. He looked around
quickly then turned the book over displaying the back to Lizzie. ‘You had the
book lying on your chest when you were sleeping and I saw.’ He pointed to the
top left corner where, drawn crudely, maybe three inches across was a strange
symbol. A pentacle but not a pentacle, at least not the five pointed star
Lizzie was used to seeing in horror movies. Still this star had creepy
similarities: criss-crossing lines within circles with some emblem in the centre
and strange writing within the outer circle. Lizzie leaned closer for a second,
squinting at the strange picture trying to make sense of it, but a second later
she caught herself suddenly realising her actions were a giveaway that she had
never noticed it before. She sat back with her best blank look wondering how
she could have missed the symbol until now. Void flipped the book back over and
gave Lizzie a sideways glance as he presented the book back to her. ‘You have
had
your invite, I take it?’ Lizzie’s pulse quickened and her palms suddenly felt
slick as she took hold of the book.

‘It’s just
as you say, we’re not supposed to talk about it are we?’ there was a pause as
Void considered her answer.

‘Yeah,
sorry I was the same when I first joined. I guess you get a little less strict
about these things the longer you’re in. But you are right. The Curate would be
pleased to hear you being so abiding to the rules. So you’ll be joining at the
next meeting I suppose?’ Lizzie, again adopting Pallister’s technique of
silence, gave Void a forced smile. This made him laugh ‘Okay, okay I won’t make
you talk about it. Look, the next one’s not for weeks but some of us get
together, sort of unofficially, now and again, and it would be great if you
wanted to come along. I could introduce you, show you how it works, and maybe
we could get a drink after, or before, whatever?’ Lizzie was absolutely stuck
for a response, she unconsciously wrung her hands, her fear starting to take on
physical manifestation.

‘Maybe
Void, I don’t know. It’s just…’ Void, misinterpreting her renitence, said:

‘Not a date
or anything, I’d just like to get to know you better, but no pressure or
anything,’ Void’s face turned a telling shade of scarlet and he began aping
Lizzie’s uncomfortable physical traits. ‘I better get going just now,’ he lied,
‘but if you do fancy it we’re meeting in the Turf next Tuesday about seven. You
know it? The Turf Tavern?’

‘Yeah
sure,’ Lizzie’s, turn to lie. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Great, see
you there I hope.’ Void rose, smiled, and walked off leaving Lizzie on her
bench staring at the symbol, her mind racing.

She got
home a little later than she would have had she been at school and was busy
concocting a suitable excuse for Janice only to find the house empty. A message
left on the machine for her explained that Janice was staying out in Oxford
with Maggie and told her not to wait up. Lizzie took one of Janice’s ready
meals from the fridge and tossed it in the microwave. She ran through the
strange events of the day in her head and tried to set it all in order, to make
some sense of it. She was dog tired and could have gone to bed but she tried to
focus. She sat on the kitchen surface studying Robe’s journal imagining him
writing it in the first place. She pictured in her mind a scruffy Robe sitting
in his contradictorily pristine room penning his thoughts in secret language
for reasons known only to him. She considered that had he hidden his journals
the police might have paid them more attention once discovered. The fact that
he had concealed his thoughts in plain sight had made them far more effectively
private. Very clever Robe, she mused.

The various
forms of coded and foreign text within remained an absolute mystery to her but
closer inspection of the star on the back, the one Void was so familiar with,
revealed some familiarity. Although roughly penned on the rear of the book it
was none the less intricate. Robe, she assumed, had taken the time to carefully
copy this thing onto his book, the question was where had he seen it? The two
outer circles of the symbol housed more indecipherable text, within the body was
a complex looking star with seven points, and at the centre was another symbol
which, to begin with, had appeared as arcane as the rest of it. But then, half
way home, it had come to her. An open book surrounded by three crowns. She had
indeed seen this before, many times in-fact. She had stared at it on the cover
of her prospectus - The University of Oxford Seal. What did that mean?

The ping of
the microwave brought Lizzie back to the kitchen from her reverie. She was
going to need help. She was going to need Vic she decided.

Lizzie
wasn’t sure whether her expulsion from Queen’s included visiting students in
the dorms, but then again did it matter? Would it have stopped her? Probably
not.

It was
eight in the evening and daylight was failing. She had stuck to the main roads
but had still felt uneasy, finding herself jogging more than walking the short
distance to the school, keeping a close watch over her shoulder at frequent
intervals. The dorm-room section of the school was the only part of Queen’s she
had no real knowledge of, but she knew enough to avoid going through the main
building to reach it to avoid bumping into staff working late.

The two
small dorms, one for girls, one for boys, had their own entrances secured by
magnetic fobs Lizzie had seen worn round the necks, or attached to key-rings,
of her fellow students. Which dorm was which was answered quickly as students
freely made their way in and out of the buildings. The period of evening
between dinner and bed was an opportunity for residents to socialise and burn
off energy with minimal supervision and Lizzie easily slipped in behind a group
of boys busy punching each other on the arm. They noticed her but paid her
little attention, evidently a certain amount of fraternisation was permitted
between the sexes as a few girls she recognised sat together on one of the
couches in the common room.

The
interior of this communal area, formed from a widening of the main corridor
running through the annexed building, was as out of character from the
traditional feel of Queen’s as these new buildings were to the main school.
Carpet tiles, harsh white walls and minimalist cubic furniture may have been
the current style but cosy it was not. The main focus of the living area was a
large television against one wall. Kids of all ages huddled on beanbags inches
from the screen waiting their turn on a video game they were competing over.
Lizzie was surprised at the sheer lack of attention her presence had aroused.
She sat nonchalantly on the arm of the sofa occupied by the other girls. ‘Hey,’
she said to neither one specifically.

‘Alright
Lizzie,’ came the response from one, barely registering her arrival.

‘Where’s
Vic’s room?’

‘Not sure.
Dave,’ one girl called to one of the joy pad jockeys. ‘What room’s Vic Adams
in?

‘Down the
hall last one on the left,’ said Dave mechanically, his tongue pointing out the
side of his mouth while he mashed buttons.

‘Thanks,’
said Lizzie, to Dave, and the girl, whose name might have been Stephanie, or
Sophie, definitely an S name. Lizzie stood to leave but was halted by an all of
a sudden excited tone from the girl.

‘Hey, did
you hear about Bitch Tits?’ Lizzie was suddenly proud that her pet name for him
seemed to now be universally adopted at Queen’s.

‘No, what?’

‘He got a
dislocated testicle,’ the girl giggled, the girl sitting next to her erupted into
spontaneous laughter. ‘He had to get his left nut pulled down from his
stomach,’ this last comment sent both girls rolling around the sofa. Lizzie
waited for the girls to compose themselves; ‘couldn’t have happened to a nicer
lad. You’re officially my hero Lizzie.’

‘Did they
really expel you?’ enquired the other girl, whose name escaped Lizzie
completely.

‘Yeah,
something like that,’ she replied, feeling guilty at the damage she’d done. The
humiliation had been enough; she hadn’t meant to send him to hospital. Lizzie
made her way down the too brightly lit corridor. Fake plants and badly framed
watercolour prints gave the place the feel of a cheap hotel. She knocked and
waited, she hadn’t asked the students, she realised, if Vic was actually
in
his room. Finally a call of ‘Come in.’ came from within. Lizzie opened the door
to a room far tidier than Vic’s room at home, but far less comfortable. The
cheap hotel theme continued here with beech effect plywood furniture, a single
bed and a study area equally devoid of expense. A small sink and wall mounted
mirror made up one corner of the room.

‘Hey Liz,
what are you doing here? Are you supposed to be here?’ said Vic, a little
flustered and out of breath.

‘Actually
I’m not sure, so we’ll just keep it between us,’ Lizzie noticed that Vic was a
little flushed around the face. ‘What were you doing when I knocked, what took
you so long to answer?’

‘Oh I was
just um... I wanted to tidy a bit, place is a mess,’ Vic’s flush deepened.
Lizzie suspected an alternative reason, especially since Vic had never cared in
the slightest about mess, but she decided not to push it and embarrass the poor
lad.

‘Are you
settling in okay?’

‘I’ve
boarded here a few times. In fact they keep this room free now, so yeah you
don’t have to worry Liz, I’m fine, really.’ He didn’t look fine, he still
seemed deflated, but a little less so than the last time she’d seen him and she
was thankful for that. If he’d still been the mess she had been met with before
she could never have asked this of him.

 ‘Listen
Vic, there’s something we need to talk about. But if you want we can stop at
any time; it’s about Robe and I don’t want to upset you.’ Vic was taken aback
by the sincerity in Lizzie’s voice. He turned to her and looked her in the eye
mirroring her sober tone.

‘You better
sit down then Liz, what’s up?’ Lizzie produced the journal from her bag and
handed it to him.

‘I took
this when I was round at your house, completely accidentally of course. There’s
a symbol on the back sleeve, have you ever seen it before?’ Vic flipped the
book over.

‘This?’ he
said pointing to the pentacle, Lizzie nodded. He studied it briefly. ‘I don’t
think so-‘

‘Do you
ever remember Robe mentioning anything about a council? Or something called the
E.C?

‘None of it
rings a bell, why do you ask?’ Lizzie ran through the events of the previous
day, the strange, and slightly frightening, conversation with Void in Oxford.
Vic listened intently but failed to share Lizzie’s alarm. ‘Rob was interested
in all sorts of strange stuff Liz, but it was always just academic interest,
and since you were slap bang in the middle of academia when these guys showed
up, it kinda makes sense doesn’t it? It’s probably nothing to worry about,’ Lizzie
was far from placated.

‘What if it
is though? I mean how is the Police investigation going? Do they have any
proper leads yet?’

‘I don’t
know,’ replied Vic ‘but they’ve stopped coming round and asking questions,
haven’t heard from any of them in ages.’

‘I think,’
said Lizzie getting to the point, ‘That if there is something to this then
there will be more in Robe’s journals.’ Vic paused and thought for a moment. This
talk of his brother threatened to pull him back under the surface of emotion he
had fought so hard to breach. But the look in Lizzie’s eyes was compelling.

 ‘If you
think it’s important Liz,’ said Vic standing and removing his coat hung on a
bed post, ‘let’s check it out.’

‘I, I
didn’t mean right now, I mean we could-’

‘No, no, if
there
is
something to this Liz then let’s get it done.’

Vic turned
the key slowly and silently in the lock. He had instructed Lizzie, on the taxi
ride over, to follow him quietly into the house and to walk where he walked
along a squeakless path over informant floorboards he and his brother had
perfected over years of practice avoiding their parents.

The house
had been in darkness, much like Lizzie’s previous visits, but Vic entered with
stealthy confidence as if seeing through supernatural eyes. Lizzie took his
hand and allowed him to guide her through the stifling dark and up the stairs.
Soft noises from downstairs, the only indication the house was occupied, faded
away as Vic lead her up the curving staircase, keeping all the time to the wall
on the left. Once onto the upstairs hall Vic let go of Lizzie hand and
hurriedly found Robe’s room opening the door and turning on the light allowing
it to spill out to the hall for Lizzie to see. Lizzie entered, placed her bag
on the bed and tried, and failed, to relax, all the time she felt she was just
waiting for another terrifying scream to pierce the silence.

‘Won’t your
folks hear us up here?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘Yeah, they
might, but they won’t think anything of it. Rob and I used to sneak back to the
house when we were boarded at school all the time. The trick is to make it
upstairs, after that they just seem to think it’s normal, like they’ve
forgotten we shouldn’t have been here,’ he replied at normal volume, apparently
unconcerned. ‘So where do we start?’ he asked.

‘I guess
with the journals, unless you can think of anything else?’

‘If I’m
honest Liz, I don’t really buy into your concerns, so I don’t have any
suggestions, so journals it is. I’ll start this end.’ They set about scanning
through the thin books; a more thorough search would have taken them weeks to
complete so a cursory examination was all they could afford. Vic started with
the oldest of the books while Lizzie snatched up the most recent with a sense
of expectation. She hoped some dramatic clue would jump out at her, however as
she leafed through the book she was met only with more scribbles, foreign
looking text and apparently indiscriminate writing. The entries were seldom
dated so it was impossible to determine when they had been written. She did
note that the journal was completed to the last page, which suggested it
probably wasn’t, in fact, the most recent at all. How likely was it Robe would
have stopped coincidentally on the last line of this book?

She set it
aside and moved on. Five journals later she had made no progress. She searched
particularly for further examples of the Oxford symbol or anything resembling
it, but to no avail. An hour came and went and Lizzie grew increasingly
concerned at how late it was getting.

‘Any luck?’
Lizzie enquired, Vic lay on the bed with a small pile of the jotters on his
stomach and another pile discarded to the floor.

‘Not
really. I told you it’s mostly nonsense,’ Vic had been pointing out various
little drawings he had come across to see if they meant anything to Lizzie as
he progressed, they had not.

‘How late
can you return to Queen’s?’ she asked. Vic shook his head.

‘That
time’s come and gone, but it’s fine, I’ll just sleep here.’

‘Won’t they
miss you?’

‘No, there
is a well established practice for going A.W.O.L. One of the sixth formers is
doing the rounds tonight. I left a note and a fiver, standard bribe. As long as
I show up for breakfast no-one will bat an eyelid.

‘We’ll
probably have to call it a night, if I’m not home when my aunt gets back from
her night out she’ll flip, and then call the police, and the army. I’m so sorry
to have wasted your time,’ she said gathering the journals together.

‘Don’t be
silly, it’s nice to see you. I’ve missed spending time together. I sort of got
used to seeing you every day you know,’ Lizzie suddenly realised just how
lonely Vic must be. Friends for both brothers had been few and far between, but
that never seemed to bother them, after all they had each other. ‘I’m still not
entirely sure what it was you wanted to find. I mean it would take a team of
people who spoke all these different languages ages to translate, not to
mention the stuff that doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.’

‘I’m not
really sure either,’ admitted Lizzie. She pulled the journal with the pentacle
drawn on its back out of the pile. ‘I had hoped to see more of this,’ she said
pointing the symbol at Vic reminding him of how it looked. ‘Or even get further
with the stuff that is in English.’

‘That’s
just my point,’ said Vic. ‘Even the pages you
can
read in English either
don’t make much sense or they’re just boring stuff.’

‘What do
you mean the stuff you can read?’ Lizzie suddenly halted putting her coat on.
She again lifted the pentacle emblazoned journal and flicked to the page she
had found full of writing without any gaps. ‘You mean this sort of stuff?’ Vic
took the book from her.

‘Yeah, this
stuff,’ – a pause as he read – ‘boring stuff’.

‘You mean
you can read it?’

‘Sure I can
read it, you mean you can’t?’

‘Vic,’
started Lizzie, part excited, part exasperated.

‘There
isn’t a single space on that whole page, how in God’s name can you read it?’
Vic looked back down at the page in front of him as if the strangeness of the
composition had never occurred to him. He began to read to Lizzie.

“
Tuesday
school was a bore, ubiquitously tedious in every respect. Necessary are the
tediums of youth, how I yearn for new challenges new walls, new endeavours. Is
there no remedy to the pestilence of ignorance?
”

 Vic paused,
hearing his brother’s voice given life in his own. He scanned ahead and turned
to Lizzie. ‘It just goes on like that, not really in proper English, just Robe
thinking on paper, getting his frustration out I guess. But nothing interesting
I’m afraid. Lizzie set her disappointment aside to marvel at Vic.