Newton was several yards away and picking up speed. I said to Eddie, ‘Stay here. Don’t move.’
Too late. The professor had already started after him in a kind of lurching hobble that still wasn’t bad for someone his age. So I set off after the pair of them.
Isaac Newton, looking over his shoulder and seeing us racing towards him, did what anyone would have done, shouted for help and broke into a run.
I muttered some dreadful curse, hurtled past Professor Penrose, and, before he knew what was happening, tried to snatch the mirror back from an astonished Newton. Who wouldn’t let go. For long seconds we tugged back and forth, both determined not to relinquish our hold.
People were turning to watch. I cursed again, offered up a silent apology to the greatest mathematician the world had ever known, and kicked him hard on the shin. I think he let go of the mirror out of sheer surprise. I turned, grabbed the professor’s arm, shouted, ‘Run!’ and we set off for the gate.
I heard a voice behind us shout, ‘Stop. Stop them. Thieves.’
Oh, shit. Our little incident had been witnessed by others in the Great Court, wrong conclusions drawn, and now we were in trouble.
It’s that easy.
The cry was taken up by other voices and the next moment half a dozen burly young men were on our trail.
Bloody bollocking hell! How could so much go so wrong so quickly?
I cast caution to the winds, shouted, ‘Come on, Eddie. Move!’ and we shot out of the gate and into the busy street.
If I’d had Peterson with me, we would both have slowed down so as not to attract attention, split up, and discreetly made our way back to the pod. But I had Professor Penrose, so that was out of the question. We put our heads down and buffeted our way through the crowds. Cries of protest marked our progress. We apologised and excused ourselves as best we could, but the young men pursuing us showed no such restraint, pushing people aside in their eagerness to get to us. They were gaining.
Help came from an unexpected source.
I didn’t notice, to begin with, but our progress became easier. People stepped aside to let us pass and then closed again behind us. I thought I was imagining it to begin with, but, no, the noise behind us increased as the crowds hampered our pursuers.
I knew there was no love between town and gown. In 1630 the colleges had refused to give aid to victims of the plague, even going so far as to lock their doors against the sick. Maybe relations between them were still a bit iffy.
For whatever reason, we were drawing away from them and slowed down. What a pleasant change to have someone on our side for once. I began to regret my possibly too-hasty opinion of beautiful Cambridge and its lovely inhabitants.
I could still hear uproar behind us. A familiar sound. People shouted at us, at the pursuing students, at the barking dogs. The pursuing students and the dogs barked back. You never heard such a racket.
Definitely time to go.
I picked up my skirts and ran again. Beside me, Professor Penrose ran quite nimbly for someone his age. I fumbled inside my cloak for my pepper spray, just in case.
A group of scruffy young men lounging outside The Black Bear, alerted by the shouts behind us, turned and, seeing us running, spread out across the road to prevent our escape.
Avoiding this bunch of alcohol-soaked ne’er-do-wells – or students, as they’re generically known – we turned right. Bloody students. Why were they always hanging around pubs when they should be at their studies? I never did that. We swerved down an alleyway, fortunately going in the right direction. Because I knew where we were. We were behind Holy Trinity church, somewhere in the maze between Sidney Street and Trinity Street and luckily hurtling the right way. A hand grabbed my cloak. I turned, closed my eyes, and squirted. He fell back with a cry, both hands to his face. The shouting intensified.
At the bottom of the alleyway, we should go right. I could see a corner of the pod, just to the left of an archway.
Someone seized me again. The professor spun around and delivered a left hook that sent him reeling. My assailant fell sideways onto three stacked boxes of fruit. They and he fell across the alleyway.
‘College boxing champion in my day,’ panted the professor.
The alleyway was full of people, all shouting at us. But our way ahead was clear. I pulled over two barrels, fortunately empty, and sent them rolling down the alley.
‘Go, Professor, go.’
He didn’t argue, he knew he was the slower. I could catch him up later. The alleyway was lined with all sorts of useful detritus. Broken chairs, crates, piles of rubbish, the odd dead dog … I threw everything I could in my wake. Anything to slow them down. I’m not a bad sprinter and all I had to do was stay ahead of them.