‘As were we all,’ she said, dryly. ‘However, they are the people who should supervise our repairs, so I’ll contact them immediately. When would be convenient?’
‘Two weeks. We’ll get our flying machines built – please emphasise they are to be unmanned – and then we’re ready for anything.’
‘Surely there must be a simpler way.’
‘Yes, probably, but there’s a certain symmetry to this. And, it’s more fun, I think. Don’t you?’
One lovely sunny afternoon, Guthrie took teams from each section up on to the roof, for our Flying Machine Competition. He was there to ensure fair play. And that no one fell off the roof. Peterson was with me on the ground to ensure things went according to plan. Wings of various shapes and sizes had been cobbled together by the different sections, including a monstrosity from R&D, which looked to be about as aerodynamic as the Isle of Wight.
‘That’ll never fly,’ said Evan scathingly, stroking the history department’s offering, lovingly constructed and painted in shades of blue and purple.
‘It had better not bloody fly,’ muttered Peterson. ‘If it does, you’re in trouble, Max.’
It didn’t. Accompanied by cheers from R&D and jeers from everyone else, it slid down the roof like public confidence in the banking system and crashed heavily onto the steps below. St Mary’s personnel scattered. Large lumps of stone and wooden shrapnel shot in all directions, and two of the steps were badly damaged.
‘You’re up, Max,’ murmured Peterson.
I moved smoothly into Irate Director Mode, shouting up at the roof.
‘What is the point of me knocking myself out putting this bloody unit back together if you lot are wrecking it even before the bloody glue’s dry? Someone get down here and check out the damage. Now, please.’
Members of R&D hung over the edge of the roof. Laughing historians inspected the steps. Someone pointed. Others bent over and peered. Someone else shouted and waved an arm. The doctor strolled over.
‘Oh! My goodness! Has something occurred?’
‘Jesus,’ muttered Tim.
‘Good heavens, whatever could it be?’
‘Kill me now,’ said Tim. ‘Max, stop laughing and get going.’
I joined the crowd on the steps. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Never mind that, Director,’ said someone. ‘There’s something under there.’
I stepped back and made way for the Regalia and Monuments lady, who was actually very sweet and certainly deserved better than she got from us.
‘Perhaps, Miss … um … you would like to see …’
She knelt, tilted her head and peered. ‘Yes, there’s certainly something there. This is most exciting. This won’t be the first time something remarkable has been found here at St Mary’s.’
‘Goodness gracious,’ said Peterson. ‘How remarkable. I had no idea.’
‘Yes, yes and I believe a member of our organisation was present on that day too. We were SPOHB then, of course, the Society for the Protection of Historical Buildings. I think it only fair to say that then, as now, the Institute of Historical Research was not always as careful with the fabric of this wonderful old building as it might have been.’
‘Wouldn’t it be exciting,’ said Peterson, clasping his hands to his chest like a Victorian heroine, ‘if something similar occurred on this occasion? Although now, you are in your … Regalia and Monuments … incarnation, rather than SPOHB, of course.’
I shot him a look.
‘Well, yes, it would,’ she said, wistfully, polishing her glasses. ‘It would certainly be one in the eye for our critics. It’s hard to believe, but there are many who question our relevance and importance.’
I suddenly felt quite sorry for her. It can’t have been much of a job, arriving regularly at St Mary’s to view the results of our latest careless … incident.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘we certainly hope you’ll stay around for this one. Imagine the additional prestige if this artefact can be witnessed and verified by such a reputable organisation as …’ my voice wobbled.
Peterson moved smoothly up a gear. ‘Yes, indeed. An important body such as SP … yours … can only enhance the reputation of this artefact, whatever it is. I am hoping very much that you will supervise its removal and assist in conveying the artefact to a safe place, pending inspection and verification.’ He smiled down at her and she blushed.
Guthrie turned up. ‘Oh! Goodness me! It would appear the apparatus slipped from their grasp, Director, and rolled down the roof, generating enough velocity and mass to shatter the third and fourth steps thusly. Oh! Is that a hole? Could something perhaps be concealed beneath?’
‘It would appear so,’ said Peterson, quickly, before I could take Guthrie away and shoot him. ‘Fortunately for us, the lady from … the monument society is present and has agreed to supervise the extraction, so we really have no need to keep any of you from the rest of your day. I believe you may safely leave this to us. We will report as soon as we can.’
He took her arm, she blushed again, and we were home and dry.
I went to see Mrs Partridge.