Suddenly, there was a loud bang that almost perforated his ears and echoed around the chamber. He turned to see Holroyd holding a smoking gun and a cobra just feet away with its head blown off.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Don’t mention it, but those pages. We’ll be searched as soon as we get out,’ said Holroyd.
Bastian screwed them up and threw them to the ground before he followed Holroyd and his trailing fuse back to the top.
Outside with the door to hell shut, Holroyd pushed the plunger and the wooden door to the mine flew off and hit the nearest tree. A long python hanging from the branches fell to the ground severed in half.
‘Well done, men,’ said a commissar from his camel. ‘And don’t take this personal but we have to search each of you.’
There was another commissar behind him pulling on a pair of latex gloves that weren’t on any banned list.
‘Medicines kill,’ he said.
* * *
That evening, Bastian couldn’t get the register out of his head. Why wouldn’t the first retirees need their pills in Scotland? There was one place that might know the answer, the University of Holistic Medicine, and he already had an appointment to see the Dean. He lit a spliff on his porch and sat down, rocking in his chair like an old-timer until the sun went down.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
They were in the middle of another heatwave as Bastian pushed the buzzer on the side of the locked gate to the University of Holistic Medicine. Jambit was with him. There was a motto screwed to the high brick wall, ‘Dignity in Death.’
‘State your business,’ said the solemn voice over the intercom.
‘It’s Bastian and Jambit, we have an appointment to see Klara Johnson Dean of...’
‘There’s only one Klara here!’
Someone was watching them from a lens no bigger than a button above the speaker before they heard a click. Bastian pushed the gate open. It had a hinge that travelled the length of the spine, like the one at Nabulus’s headquarters.
A tall man with ginger hair approached. He wore a string vest as thick as chainmail and his skin was tanned red rust. His neatly combed beard surrounded a perfect set of teeth that pushed out his lips in an amiable fashion.
‘May I help you?’ he asked.
‘Klara’s expecting us,’ said Bastian, removing the police armband from his pocket.
It was too uncomfortable to wear most of the time and left a mark where his tan should be.
‘That well may be, but she’s lecturing this morning.’
‘Then we’ll wait,’ said Bastian.
The University was an old stately home, the grounds a redundant safari park.
‘Come with me,’ said the man, and they followed him to an old electric golf buggy.
After a short ride to the main entrance, he led them to the empty student cafeteria.
‘I’ll make sure the Dean knows you’re here,’ he said.
After he had left, Bastian and Jambit sneaked into the lecture theatre next door. They sat at the back as everyone turned around to stare.
‘As I was saying,’ said the lecturer, a curvaceous woman in her mid-twenties with blue eyes. ‘Dislike of the elderly arises from our own fear of growing old, for they are a reminder of our own brief mortality. Therefore, to truly care for those in their golden years, you must be comfortable with death.’
She looked at Bastian and then Jambit a little longer, both of whom returned an uncomfortable smile.
‘Class dismissed,’ she said.
The youngsters racing for the doors crowded the steps and blocked Bastian and Jambit in their seats.
‘May I help you?’ asked the lecturer, leaning over.
‘We’re looking for Klara Johnson,’ replied Bastian.
‘Then congratulations, you’ve found her. You must be the policemen desperate to interview me.’
‘Just tying up a few loose ends,’ said Bastian.
‘Well, I’m not sure I can be of any help,’ she said.
‘Then we won’t take much of your time,’ said Bastian.
‘He doesn’t say much does he,’ she said looking down her nose at Jambit. ‘Still, have it your way. Follow me, and which one are you?’
‘Bastian.’
‘And, Jambit, do you like protein snacks?’
‘I love them.’
‘Then I have the perfect assortment to loosen your tongue, dried caterpillar and fried locust.’
‘Now those are the kind of insect bites I like,’ he said.
They followed her up the grand marble staircase to the offices. With a wave of her hand she pointed to an open bowl of insects on the table between the two seats facing her desk. She slumped into one of the last chairs made from badger skin stuffed with raccoon hair and removed her long blonde curly wig, her head shaven. She placed the wig in a drawer and slammed it shut.
With Jambit’s hand still in the bowl but his eyes all over her, Klara asked, ‘Well spit it out, what can I do for you?’
Jambit offered the bowl to Bastian whom shook his head.
‘Nora,’ replied Bastian. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Suicide I’m told, but I suppose you mean what drove her to it. I wish I could say a sense of duty, to free up space, leave more resources for those of us that battle on.’
‘But?’ asked Jambit, having swallowed the last caterpillar.
‘The poor girl failed her final exams. Naturally, I tried to reassure her and even suggested she become a cleaner.’
Cleaners held an elevated position in a society that appreciated those that did the dirtiest jobs.
‘Was that possible?’ asked Bastian.
‘Of course not, their exams are even harder than ours. She had more chance of becoming an MHCA. But at least she finally got to shine, Malthus has added her name to the Book of Commendation.’
‘Anyone care for a drink? Fruit juice only, I’m afraid, but we do have an ice cellar,’ said Klara.
‘Pineapple juice, please, with ice,’ said Jambit.
‘Make that two.’
Klara pressed the bell on her desk and in walked Harriet.
‘I believe you know each other. Nabulus has loaned her out for the day,’ said Klara. ‘Three pineapple juices, please, my dear, with ice. You know your way to the ice-cellar.’
Bastian sighed and not because Nabulus would learn every detail of his
