Chapter 14

UNAWARE OF THE impending threat to the universe, Clare Keightley checked her hair in one of the porthole windows of the physics lab’s double doors, then knocked.

‘Come in,’ called Chris, sounding oddly preoccupied.

Clare went in. She was puzzled. She was used to Chris being hesitant and nervous where she was concerned. In fact she was used to most people at Cambridge being hesitant and nervous where she was concerned.

When she’d first arrived at Cambridge five years earlier as an undergraduate, fresh from a sixth-form comp in Manchester, she’d been surprised at how nervous and hesitant everyone in the faculty seemed to be. She formulated a theory that they had stumbled upon some massive discovery that would change the world for ever and were keeping it a closely guarded secret. It had taken her a few weeks to realise that the hushed voices, sweaty palms and nervous glances of her fellow students were actually because she was female. Most of them knew women only as mothers, matrons and chums’ sisters.

As they’d got to know her, the ice had thawed. All of them had come to relax around her at least a little, apart from Chris, whose face could not hide a micro-expression of terror whenever he first encountered her. And that was, peculiarly, one of the reasons why Clare liked him so much. He was clumsy and gauche. You weren’t supposed to find that sexy. But Clare loved doing things you weren’t supposed to, like coming from a council flat and becoming a top scientist. So she did.

This time was different. Irritatingly different, given the circumstances. She was leaving in three days, for goodness’ sakes. If Chris was going to make his move, he should be down on one knee, or at least hovering hesitantly and nervously as per. Instead he was sat at a desk, boggling – that was the only word for it – boggling at a small red book, five by seven inches. He didn’t even look up as she came in.

‘Chris?’

‘Ssh,’ he said, turning the little book over and over in his hands and continuing to boggle.

‘What do you mean, “Ssh”?’ said Clare. ‘You told me to drop everything and come running. So I did!’

Chris turned the pages of the book, shaking his head and tutting to himself.

‘I can easily go away again,’ said Clare.

At last Chris looked up. ‘Then you’ll miss something extraordinary!’

Clare sighed. ‘What?’

‘Something quite extraordinary,’ said Chris.

Clare had had enough. ‘Why are you being so pompous and odd?’ she asked.

Chris waved the book at her. ‘This book, Keightley! This book will do to the world of science what the Japanese did to Pearl Harbour!’

‘What, dive-bomb it?’ She sat down. ‘I didn’t know you were writing a book.’

‘I didn’t write it!’ cried Chris excitedly, as if it were the most obvious thing. ‘I found it.’

‘What, just lying about?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Sort of. This book…’ He weighed it in his hand. ‘It’s… it’s staggering.’

‘Right,’ said Clare perfunctorily. ‘What’s it called?’

‘Called?’ Chris laughed. ‘Called? How should I know what it’s called?’

Clare fought down another wave of irritation. ‘Please get to the point, I’ve got lots to do.’

Chris opened the book and handed it over to her, gently, as if it was a bomb. ‘Feel that paper. Go on, feel it. Feel it! What does it feel like?’

Clare did as instructed. ‘I’m afraid it feels rather like paper, Chris.’

‘Aha!’ cried Chris.

Clare made an impatient noise. ‘Aha, what?’

‘Tear it! Go on. Tear it, try to tear it!’

‘That’s no way to treat a book,’ said Clare. ‘A book that isn’t even yours. Who does it belong to?’

Chris batted her objections aside. ‘Old Chronotis. Professor at St Cedd’s. Barmy. Or senile. Or both. Doesn’t matter. Tear it!’

Clare decided that the quickest way to stop Chris being so irritating was to let him have his moment. She tried to tear a corner off a page. It resisted.

Despite herself, she flinched. That was odd.

Chris nodded at her like a hungry puppy. ‘Aha!’

‘All right, so it’s made of strong paper,’ said Clare.

Chris handed her a knife. ‘Aha! Cut it, then! Go on, cut it!’

‘Presumably I won’t be able to,’ said Clare, handing back the knife along with the book. ‘OK, so it’s a wonderful new kind of paper. Hurrah for super-paper. Hardly constitutes a dive-bomb attack on the world of science, or whatever you said.’

Chris raised a finger and opened his mouth to form a vowel sound.

‘Don’t say aha!’ Clare warned him. ‘Really, don’t say aha! I will kill you if you say aha.’

Chris swallowed. ‘Right then. Tell me what you think it’s made of then, this new kind of paper.’

Clare shrugged. ‘I dunno. Plastic.’

Chris raised a finger and opened his mouth to form a vowel sound.

‘I will kill you,’ Clare warned again.

‘I checked,’ said Chris. ‘Not plastic. Not a polymer in sight.’

‘All right then.’ Despite Chris’s incredible irritatingness, Clare was beginning to get intrigued. ‘Is it metal?’

‘There’s no crystalline structure,’ said Chris. ‘At all!

Clare thought. ‘A single crystal then?’

Chris huffed. ‘If it is, our Mr Dalton’s got a lot of explaining to do.’ He hunched forward, getting closer to Clare than he ever had before. That was more like it, thought Clare. ‘That’s the fascinating thing,’ he went on. ‘Yes, I think it is a crystal – but no, it can’t be a crystal. Half of it’s stable all the time, half of it none of the time. There is absolutely no way of telling what it’s made of.’

Clare coughed and looked meaningfully over at a machine in the corner, which was now covered up by a big tea towel for some reason. ‘Er, spectrographic analysis?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Chris, crossing to the spectrograph with an irritating saunter. ‘Oh yes, I got a positive result from the spectrograph all right. Oh yes, ho-ho.’

‘Please, the point!’ Clare insisted.

Chris whipped off the tea towel with a flourish, revealing a large black stain. ‘It blew up!’

‘OK, all right. That is very weird.’ Clare considered for a moment. ‘What’s it about?’

‘What’s what about?’

‘The book. What’s it about?’

‘Well, I don’t know, do I?’ Chris flicked the book open and flicked the pages at her. ‘Looks like a cross between Chinese and algebra.’ He put the book into her hands again. ‘Actually – try and read it. Go on.’

Clare flicked through the book. The contents were gibberish. ‘Not getting anything, sorry.’

‘No – flashes?’ prompted Chris, looking slightly disappointed. ‘No – visions?’ He rubbed his hands together, looking almost as hesitant and nervous as normal.

‘Flashes and visions?’ Clare frowned.

Chris took the book from her. ‘No, of course not, that would be ridiculous. I mean, even more ridiculous.’

‘Why don’t you ask old Whatsisname?’ suggested Clare. ‘The professor you nicked it from.’

‘I didn’t nick it, I accidentally borrowed it,’ blustered Chris. He looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, ask Chronotis, that’s the obvious thing to do, I suppose.’

Clare sighed. ‘Is that why you haven’t done it yet?’

Chris picked up his jacket. ‘You’re a genius! Er – look after the book, make yourself at home, I’ll be back in half an hour.’

‘I’ve got things to do,’ Clare started to protest – but then she stopped herself and smiled as Chris bustled out.

He hadn’t thought of doing the obvious thing. He’d made an incredible discovery, and the first thing he’d thought of was getting her over and impressing her. And he’d just failed to do the other obvious thing and take the book with him, instead entrusting it to her. That was almost worth his incredibly irritating excitability.

Clare tried to make herself at home. A cup of tea would be nice.

While she waited for the kettle to boil, she wandered over to where the book sat and idly opened it at a random page.

And then she jumped back. Because for just a second, surging up in her mind’s eye, she’d seen a face. A malignant face. A face made out of rock, with twin furnaces for its eyes.