# interlude 3
The following text conversation was retrieved, doing a sweep of the ghost files of the Q Zone security system. It has been added to the evidence report for Case No: 234530/H. As yet neither correspondent has been identified.
- What the bollocky fuck was that?
- That wasn’t us. We assumed you had somehow screwed up.
- What? Are you insane? Do you think we would tamper with the golden goose?
- So it wasn’t you either. This is alarming. I await your update and I will report to the others that this isn’t your screw up that you are aware of.
- This isn’t our scre —
-Conversation terminated.
- Bollocks.
# 27 Julius – Beta Earth
The sound of footsteps disturbed Julius and he looked up from the screen where he was cataloguing new acquisitions. An archivist walked past, offering a warm smile as they went about their business. Julius felt the disappointment and loneliness. Those were not Charlie’s footsteps. He would never be interrupted or annoyed by his footsteps again. Yesterday they’d held his memorial service, and he had become involved in a fight and then practically kidnapped by a group of four suspicious individuals. He was pretty certain they weren’t involved in Charlie’s death, but they were all over the retrieval of the Fabergé egg. He wished he could help them and get them out of his life. He’d had enough “excitement” to last a lifetime.
He checked his phone. He was due to have lunch with Rebecca in half an hour and he was determined not to be late; the distraction would be welcome. Plus, he didn’t want to let her down again. He could tell she was fed up and ready to give him the old heave-ho. He couldn’t blame her, and if he was honest, his heart wasn’t in the relationship anyway. They had nothing in common, but as long as she seemed to want to date him he had gone along with it. Now he felt their time was coming to an end.
So much was changing. It had only been a couple of weeks ago when Charlie had burst in here full of excitement on the brink of a historic discovery. And where were they now? Charlie was dead, Julius was being pursued by strangers and the egg was nowhere to be found. What had Charlie done with it? Was it here in Cambridge? A Fabergé egg hiding in some dusty corner, lost for another hundred years? Maybe it was tucked away somewhere and a fastidious cleaner would knock it out of its cubby hole. Julius smiled at the image. Would that make it theirs? Was it finders’ keepers?
In his will, Charlie had left his house and worldly goods to Julius, with a silly note saying that he’d never be able to afford his own place if he insisted on never leaving the stacks. Charlie’s parents had smiled and agreed it was a good decision. They didn’t need the money, but they did come and collect a few of his possessions to take back to the US. As Julius hugged them, he thought that they would never live in the UK again. Maybe the egg was in the house? He was fairly confident it wasn’t. The police had searched it, as had Neith, and whilst he was uncertain about the police’s search skills he was under no illusions as to Neith’s skill sets. So where was it?
Another set of footsteps stopped at his desk, and he saw one of the clerks standing quietly and waiting for Julius to notice him. A parcel had arrived at the main desk for him. Julius’ heart quickened. Was it possible? Thanking the clerk, he moved quickly through the vaults, running up the last flight of steps and bursting through the doors to the front reception.
‘There’s a parcel for me?’
The staff at the desk first glared, then modified their expressions. They had been ready to scold a noisy undergraduate, but here stood Julius Strathclyde, one of their favourite and usually respectful professors, panting heavily and all but dancing on the spot.
Jane went to the pigeonhole to collect his parcel, and returned with a clip board for him to sign. Julius was easily her favourite researcher, and she had no idea why he was dating that dreadful girl with the perfect make-up and excessive opinions. She knew Julius wasn’t into appearance. Many’s the time she had to point out his jumper was back to front or inside out. Now, as she handed him the heavy box, he gave her a huge smile and she couldn’t help but grin back. How lovely to have a man so excited by his research.
As Julius headed back to his desk, his excitement began to slip. This parcel was book shaped and book heavy. He had a terrible feeling it was a book. Not the egg. As he unwrapped it, he saw it was from the University of Harvard and was a dictionary of one of the early native languages that he had asked to look at a few months ago. He had seen it online and thought he recognised the penmanship. It was a doodle in the margin that had caught his eye. However, whoever and whatever it was, it wasn’t a priceless Fabergé egg, and it wasn’t a clue from Charlie.
He flicked through the pages and realised he was right. This appeared to be written in the same hand as the one he had been tracking down through some English letters. A month ago this
