The next morning John heard Hardacre
moving around at about eight o’clock. He hadn’t been consciously aware of
Laurence’s return from Ponwy, but something had made him wake up early and
hurry downstairs. He was worried – he’d assumed that his servant would stay in
Eth overnight.
Hardacre was in the
kitchen, preparing breakfast. He looked
up sharply when John entered. John’s heart sank – he knew exactly what that
look meant
‘Have I set the
clocks incorrectly, sir? I can think of no other explanation for your sudden appearance
this early in the morning’
John frowned.
‘I was concerned
about you’ he said, ‘that’s why I got up as soon as I woke’
Hardacre looked back
at the eggs that he was poaching. John sighed to himself – he hadn’t seen
Laurence in such a bad mood for a long time. The eggs, however, looked
wonderful and John felt immediately hungry.
‘I have left my
report in your office, sir – perhaps you could read it before I serve the food?
I believe that it contains some important information’
John nodded and
retreated rapidly into his study. He hoped that the report would explain
Laurence’s foul temper.
The report was short and to the point. It
laid out what had happened: it described Macrocephalos’s lecture as far as
Hardacre could remember it and then the interventions of Vala and Braith. John read it through twice and then put it
back on his desk. There were a lot of questions that needed answering.
Hardacre appeared, as
if by magic. He hovered in the doorway with the breakfast tray, showing no sign
of giving it to John quite yet. John’
heart continued to sink.
‘Who on earth are the
Radical Numerologists?’ he asked, wondering if he’d get a straight answer.
Hardacre’s face was
set in impassivity.
‘I have no idea, sir.
All I know is that the woman who claims to lead them, Braith, saved my life,
and so I am very grateful to her. Everything else pales rather into
insignificance’
‘Yes, of course… but nonetheless…’ continued
John, ‘we will need to address the question, later’
‘Perhaps sir, but not
at this moment, if you don’t mind…’
John tried another
tack.
‘What about the
lecture, Laurence? From your notes I can’t make much sense of what
Macrocephalos said beyond that he has a thing about prime numbers. Did you have
any ideas?’
Hardacre allowed
himself a small moment of visible irritation.
He clearly didn’t feel that this was the most important part of what had
happened.
‘I think that’s a
question for finer minds than ours, sir. I suggest that you pass my report on
to Dr Mannings or Dr Protheroe… or, perhaps, most appositely, Mr Buckwhistle…’
John bridled slightly
at this remark, but he knew that it had been expressed by someone at the end of
his tether. It was time to swallow his
pride.
‘I’ll make sure that
it is copied and sent to all the council members. Perhaps you could do a quick
run round the most likely ones, have a poke around…’
His suggestion
dropped dead from his lips. The look in Hardacre’s eyes had killed it.
‘I have something
important to say, sir’
John could only nod
and wait.
‘As you will have
seen’ said Hardacre, ‘things were rather difficult in Ponwy and that difficulty
was not an isolated incident.’
John struggled to
combine a look of seriousness and concern.
He had no intention of saying anything else for quite a while.
‘Overall, I am becoming
concerned…’ said Hardacre, very slowly, ‘…about the nature of the tasks that
the council has been assigning me. This concern is not personal, as I am happy
to endure danger and hardship for our cause in which I believe so very
strongly’
John nodded
emphatically – he knew that all this was true.
‘However, I am rather
wondering sir, exactly what your domestic plans are for when you finally send
me to my death, as it seems so likely that you will. I ask merely for forward
planning purposes’
John felt guilt
surging through him like an electric shock.
He had known for a long time that the council’s use of poor Laurence was
not only dangerous but also grossly unfair, but events had always overtaken
them. He was so well organised, so
resourceful.
Hardacre waited a second, as if reading his
master’s mind. He continued in a much softer voice.
‘About this time last
year, President Ismay, you promised me a break from my diplomatic missions so
that I could deal with some of the more pressing household tasks…’
This was very bad –
Hardacre only used formal council titles when he was exceptionally vexed.
‘Do you remember
that, sir?’
John nodded pathetically.
‘…Since then I have been asked to assume an
unusually burdensome set of diplomatic activities, travelling far and wide and
undertaking very varied tasks. Consequently, and through no fault of mine, we
have periodically been left here in this house with what can only be described
as utter domestic chaos’
Hardacre paused for
effect. His face suggested the most
severe possible consequences.
‘I have seen inside your wardrobe, sir – and at
present there are at least three unstarched shirts hanging there. ’
‘I know, I know…’
said John, hanging his head. He couldn’t help but laugh inside, however.
‘In addition, the
gardener has taken it upon himself to undertake “independent” activities in the
shrubberies. I can scarcely pass into the garden without fearing for my entire
landscape plan’
John shook his head.
He’d long ago learned that however petty and strange Hardacre’s obsessions
might appear, they really had to be taken seriously. Also, there was a kernel
of truth hidden here – John couldn’t afford to let his household standards slip
– they were part of his status in Kinspit.
‘I’m so sorry,
Laurence. I will have words with him’
‘Good’ said Hardacre, ‘but, in fact, that
isn’t my main point’
‘I know’ said John,
wearily.
Hardacre straightened
to his full height.
‘So… I am informing
you that from this day forward and for an indefinite period, I will be
undertaking no diplomatic activities outside the boundary of Kinspit,
regardless of how important my intervention appears to be to others. I plan to
get the house and garden in order. In addition, I intend, with your permission,
to find an apprentice to work under me and train him here in domestic service
to a high standard. If then I am required to undertake any diplomatic missions,
should any arise subsequently, I can perform them without constant fear of
imminent catastrophe’
‘What about Simkins?’
asked John
Hardacre shook his
head to indicate that this suggestion was unworthy of any words. He finally put
John’s breakfast tray on the desk. ‘There are many other much younger and far
better qualified witches who can do these ‘diplomatic’ jobs, sir. I’m sure that
they are queuing up for the opportunity’
‘But…’ began John
Laurence raised a
hand to stop him.
‘My mind is made up,
sir. You will have to make alternative arrangements’
He turned and walked
briskly out of the door.
‘If you need me I will
be cobwebbing the billiards room’, he said, as he disappeared from view.
John looked down at
the beautifully poached eggs on his plate. He no longer felt very hungry at
all.
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