‘We only have three cots,’ he said apologetically. ‘We don’t often all spend the night here. Ladies, why don’t you follow Ilse to the Reading Room – and gents, you can bunk on your own between the stacks. Creates a bit of privacy.’
Robin was so exhausted then that a space of hardwood between the shelves sounded wonderful. It felt as if he had been awake for one long day ever since their arrival in Oxford; that he had experienced enough for one lifetime. He accepted a quilt from Anthony and made his way towards the stacks, but Griffin materialized by his side before he could settle down. ‘Have a moment?’
‘You’re not going to sleep?’ Robin asked. Griffin was fully dressed, buttoned up in that black overcoat.
‘No, I’m heading out early,’ said Griffin. ‘There’s no direct line to Glasgow – I’ll ride into London, then take the first train in the morning. Come out to the yard with me.’
‘Why?’
Griffin patted the gun at his belt. ‘I’m going to show you how to fire this.’
Robin hugged the quilt closer to his chest. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Then you’re going to watch me fire a gun,’ said Griffin. ‘I think we’re long overdue for a chat, don’t you?’
Robin sighed, set the quilt down, and followed Griffin out the door. The yard was very bright under the full moon. Griffin must have used it for shooting practice often, for Robin could see that the trees across the yard were riddled with bullet holes.
‘Aren’t you afraid someone will hear?’
‘This whole area’s protected by the glamour,’ said Griffin. ‘Very clever work. No one can see or hear much who doesn’t already know we’re here. Do you know anything about guns?’
‘Not even a little bit.’
‘Well, it’s never too late to learn.’ Griffin placed the gun in Robin’s hands. Like silver bars, it was heavier than it looked, and very cool to the touch. There was a certain inarguable elegance to the curve of the wooden handle, how easily it fitted into his hand. Still, Robin felt a wave of revulsion as he held it. It felt mean, like the metal was trying to bite him. He wanted very much to fling it to the ground, but was afraid of accidentally setting it off.
‘This is a pepperbox revolver,’ said Griffin. ‘Very popular with civilians. It uses a caplock mechanism, which means it can fire when it’s wet – don’t look down the barrel, you idiot, never look straight down the barrel. Try aiming it.’
‘I don’t see the point,’ said Robin. ‘I’m never going to fire this.’
‘It doesn’t matter that you’ll fire it. It matters that someone thinks you will. You see, my colleagues in there are still holding on to this unbelievable faith in human goodness.’ Griffin cocked the gun and pointed it at a birch tree across the yard. ‘But I’m a sceptic. I think decolonization must be a violent process.’
He pulled the trigger. The blast was very loud. Robin jumped back, but Griffin was unfazed. ‘It’s not double action,’ he said, adjusting the barrels. ‘You’ve got to cock the hammer after each shot.’
His aim was quite good. Robin squinted and saw a notch in the centre of the birch that hadn’t been there before.
‘See, a gun changes everything. It’s not just about the impact, it’s about what it signals.’ Griffin ran his fingers over the barrel, then spun around to point the gun at Robin.
Robin jumped back. ‘Jesus—’
‘Scary, isn’t it? Think, why is this more frightening than a knife?’ Griffin did not move his arm. ‘It says I’m willing to kill you, and all I have to do is pull this trigger. I can kill at a distance, without effort. A gun takes all the hard work out of murder and makes it elegant. It shrinks the distance between resolve and action, you see?’
‘Have you ever shot at someone?’ Robin asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Did you hit them?’
Griffin didn’t answer the question. ‘You have to understand where I’ve been. It’s not all libraries and debating theatres out there, brother. Things look different on a battlefield.’
‘Is Babel a battlefield?’ Robin asked. ‘Was Evie Brooke an enemy combatant?’
Griffin lowered the gun. ‘So that’s what we’re hung up on?’
‘You killed an innocent girl.’
‘Innocent? Is that what our father told you? That I killed Evie in cold blood?’
‘I’ve seen that bar,’ said Robin. ‘It’s in my pocket, Griffin.’
‘Evie wasn’t some innocent bystander,’ Griffin sneered. ‘We’d been trying to recruit her for months. It was tricky, see, because she and Sterling Jones were so close, but if either of them had a conscience it was bound to be her. Or so we thought. I spent months and months talking things over with her at the Twisted Root until one night she decided she was ready, she was in. Only it was all a set-up – she’d been talking to the constables and the professors the whole time, and they’d hatched this plan to catch me in the act.
‘She was a brilliant actor, you see. She had this way of looking at you, eyes wide, nodding like you had all of her sympathy. Of course, I didn’t know it was all a performance. I thought I’d made an ally – I was thrilled when she seemed to be coming around – and with everyone we lost in Burma, I felt very alone. And Evie was so clever about it. Asked all these questions, far more than you did – made it sound like she just wanted to know because she was so thrilled to join the cause, because she wanted to learn all the ways she could help.’
‘Then how’d you find out?’
‘Well, she wasn’t that clever. If she were smarter, she wouldn’t have dropped her cover until she was safe.’
‘But she told you.’ Robin’s stomach twisted. ‘She wanted to gloat.’
‘She smiled at me,’ said Griffin. ‘When the siren sounded, she grinned at me and told me it was all over. And so I killed her. I didn’t mean to. You won’t believe me, but it’s the truth. I meant to frighten her. But I was angry and scared – and Evie was vicious, you know. If I’d given her an opening, I still think she might have hurt me first.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Robin whispered. ‘Or is it a lie you conjure so you can sleep at night?’
‘I sleep just fine.’ Griffin sneered. ‘But you need your lies, don’t you? Let me guess – you’re telling yourself it was an accident? That you didn’t mean it?’
‘I didn’t,’ Robin insisted. ‘It just happened – and it wasn’t on purpose, I never wanted—’
‘Don’t,’ said Griffin. ‘Don’t hide, don’t pretend – that’s so cowardly. Say how you feel. It felt good, admit it. The sheer power felt so good—’
‘I’d take it all back if I could,’ Robin insisted. He didn’t know why it felt so important that Griffin believe him, but this seemed like the last line he had to hold, the last truth he had to maintain about his identity. Otherwise he didn’t recognize himself. ‘I wish he’d lived—’
‘You don’t mean that. He deserved what he got.’
‘He didn’t deserve to die.’
‘Our father,’ Griffin said loudly, ‘was a cruel, selfish man who thought anyone who wasn’t white and English was less than human. Our father destroyed my mother’s life, and let yours perish. Our father is one of the principal engineers of a war on our motherland. If he’d come back from Canton alive, Parliament wouldn’t be debating right now. They’d have voted already. You’ve bought us days, perhaps weeks. So what if you’re a killer, brother? The world’s better off without the professor in it. Stop shrivelling under the weight of your conscience and take the damned credit.’ He turned the gun around and offered it handle-first to Robin. ‘Take it.’
‘I said no.’
‘You still don’t understand.’ Impatiently, Griffin grabbed Robin’s fingers and forced them around the handle. ‘We’ve moved out of the realm of ideas now, brother. We’re at war.’