Date: Mon, 11 May 2009 23:03:00 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mystery and Mayhem at St Mark's:  Sequel 16

		      Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
				 A Sequel

				    by

				   Joel


Seq 16:

             Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:
Mark Henry Foster                   The story-teller: Newly graduated.
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams   His well-proportioned boyfriend.  Trainee Solicitor
Francis Michael Foster             Alias Toad/Gobbo   Mark's younger brother
Adam Benjamin Carr               Mark's cousin: History don
Ivo Richie Carr                         Ditto, as his twin: safely married diplomat
Sophia Carr                               Their mother in Dorset
George Carr                              Their father: A farmer
Victoria ['Tory] Carr                Ivo's wife
Lady Mary Machin                   'Tory's mother
Mr James Marriott                    Head of Legation
Andrei zu Glottenberh               Rothenian Army Officer [Special Services]
Lucasz Voynovich                     Rothenian Army Officer [Signals Division]
Professor zum Adamszberh       Rector, Rodolfer University
Dr Schreiber                               Music Faculty staff: Rodolfer U.
Frau Schreiber                            His wife
Yniold Schreiber                        Their son: 17
Father Artur    [Dr Wendel]     Archbishop's Secretary
Dr Valentin                                Organist: St Vitalis Cathedral Strelzen
Fraser (Fido) Doggett                 Plant hunter and 'Yogger Stag'
Brett Baldry                                Ditto
Ignasz Zendener                         The hotel manager in Strelzen
Alistair Ross                               Scottish student at the Rodolfer U.


                                         Thursday

     I woke seemingly quite early then realised Rothenian time was European
time and an hour on from England.  It was just on seven by my little alarm
clock.  Tris was in his bed and snoring quietly.  There was silence from
the next room - the thin walls had given us an easily imagined scenario of
pleasurable coupling the previous night - Fraser and Brett were now
sleeping soundly and soundless.

     I crept out and had a shower.  The shower head was firmly bolted to
the wall but the temperature was just right as I soaped and lathered and
had the inevitable morning response.  That would have to keep.  As it was
quite warm I slipped on just a pair of boxers and went to the study and
looked over my notes for my second presentation.  No, I wouldn't do the one
based on my tooth, that could be Friday's.  I would do one James had chosen
from my own notes.  I had filched two sheets of transparent film yesterday
so I carefully wrote out the first part of the initial problem and the
first couple of lines of possible deductions which followed.  Writing up
the rest would take up time and I could expound on it.  The second piece I
would use to set out Mike Maples' query and I had ideas how to make that
presentation a little bit different but I would have to discuss that with
Tris.

     A stealthy footstep brought me back to earth as that was accompanied
by the most delicate flutterings of a tongue between my shoulder blades.
My boxers tented even more as the tongue ran down my spine and back again.
I let out the breath I had been holding in a whoosh.

     "Gotcha, you sexy monster," came a whisper in my ear as a hand delved
below my waistband and fixed on my erection.  The tongue then gyrated in my
ear.  Too much for this sexy monster to resist.  In fact, two sexy monsters
rushed to the bedroom and a pair of tongues lapped and licked until two
early morning pre-breakfasts were consumed.

     "I've already had a shower," I complained, not at all bitterly.

     "If I hadn't captured that purple-headed monster of yours I would have
had quite a different shower!" said Tris, and as he hugged me we both
giggled.  Both knew why.  As just pubescent altos in the St Barnabas choir
we had been instructed, by a slightly older middle- pubescent tenor, that
instead of the lines in 'All things bright and beautiful' which were given
as 'The purple-headed mountain, the river running by' we should sing 'The
purple-headed monster that's peeping from your fly', not too loud to
disturb the others, but to remind Tris especially of the joys of Scout
camp.

     We decided we'd better get moving as the protein intake might not be
sufficient for us until lunch-time.  I had a second, less leisurely, shower
and was smartly attired well before Tris.  I'd sniffed the shirt I'd worn
the day before and decided I'd better wear a clean one.  I wondered if
there was a laundrette nearby.  Must be something as even students needed
clean shirts occasionally.  Anyway, we strolled round to the caf‚ a bit
later than yesterday and found our pair of plantsmen already ensconced with
plates of ham, cheese and large crusty rolls.

     We were greeted cheerily and had the 'continental'.  The same waitress
even poured our first cup of coffee and, I noticed, placed a steadying hand
on Tris's shoulder.

     This had been observed by the pair as well.  "Pity we're not
interested and we're not footballers," whispered Fraser nudging me, "We
could have sold a five in a bed story to the Sundays.  She did the same to
me and I swear she squeezed as well."

     As, from the sounds emanating from their bedroom last night, he and
Brett were seasoned shaggers the young lady wouldn't have been
disappointed.  Tris whispered back, "Bet she does it to all."

     True.  Just keeping an eye on her progress round the tables, I noted
that with the younger men, there was a definite touchy-feely act going on.
I decided it was an act.  "She's just stroking their egos," I said, as I
saw Fraser also glancing at her actions.

     "The way some of them are squirming they're wishing she was stroking
something else," he said.

     "Good for business," said Brett, "I'd be here every morning for a bit
of a touch-up."  He took a bite of the tasty looking ham-packed roll.  "In
fact, I'd be here anyway."  He looked at Fraser.  "We could do with one of
these in the village, especially if Jimmy Durrant was the waiter."

     "Keep off him," growled Fraser, "He touches you and your arse is
grass."

     Brett gave a quiet laugh.  "He's jealous.  Jimmy's been after me since
his balls began to drop.  I always get a bit extra when he serves me in his
dad's corner shop."

     "You're not getting any extra from that quarter I'm telling you.  That
boy's lethal.  He's had more squaddies from Colchester Barracks porking him
since he was sixteen than I've had hot dinners.  The two of them even
joined the Army Cadets until I made this one leave."

     "Needn't have done that," said Tris very confidentially across the
table to Fraser, "You should've just had Sergeant's stripes tattooed on
your cock."

     A rather startled Fraser stared at Tris, "Why?"

     "You could have pulled rank instead!"

     At least the pair had a sense of humour.  Brett nearly choked on the
roll and Fraser guffawed.  The waitress came over beaming and deposited
another pot of coffee.  "For the very happy Englishmen.  Sehr stattlich."

     Brett smiled.  "Vielen danke das Sie ein Engel sind."

     She smiled sweetly and as she went off scattering goodwill to other
tables Fraser nudged me.  "Showing off his bloody A Level.  Good job he
doesn't want to show off anything else to her."

     Our second breakfast over Tris said to the lads we had a busy day.
Fraser said they would just see if Yogger and his lot had recovered, but
they also intended going to the Botanic Gardens to suss out where exactly
gingko plants might be found.

     Tris said he would beetle back to the hotel after we'd been to the
Legation as he wanted to change into something more comfortable and he
would then explore the city while I wallowed in mathematics.  As I had been
rather hooked on the presentations yesterday I was quite happy.  We agreed
whatever we did individually he would come and collect me after my session,
at five o'clock sharp, and we could plan for an evening meal then.

     I said he should have a wander and look for a suitable restaurant, not
too expensive but with a bit of class!  He did a Toad sneer and said that
as I would eat anything that crept or crawled the classification wasn't
important.  Ignasz was in his usual place and greeted us warmly as we
entered the hotel to brush any crumbs off before walking to the North part
of Wenzelgasse where the Legation was. "A special letter," he said handing
me a parchment style envelope with the crest of the University on the back.
It was an invitation to both of us to dinner on Friday evening at the
Rector's house.  The Rector apologised that Jerzy would not be there but
his wife and daughter, Father Artur, Mr Marriott and his wife, and Drs
Valentin and Schreiber and their wives would be present.  A taxi would
collect us at seven-thirtyfive.  Eight o'clock and it was not formal.

     That meant I would be meeting the cathedral organist again, plus Ivo's
neighbour on the Music Faculty.  I said to Tris that he shouldn't feel left
out.  He just laughed and said if the grub's good that would be interesting
enough for him.  And there would be plenty of conversation with a dozen
round the table.

     We idled a bit in the Bila Palacz Park almost opposite the hotel and
then strolled along tree-lined streets to the Legation and were there in
good time.  One of the soldiers had been primed and marched us smartly to
the imposing side entrance under the porte-cochere built when carriages and
horses were the means of travel.  A lady secretary took us through to Ivo's
very tidy office hung with maps and charts.

     "Good morning, young sirs," he said, rising from his chair behind the
large polished oak desk.  "Mr Marriott has just arrived and he said to
bring you up to his office as soon as you got here.  Ready?"

     We followed him up the ornate carved wooden staircase.  He patted the
dark polished banister-rail.  "This wasn't imported from B & Q last year I
can tell you."

     "Home Base I think," said Tris, "And your desk from IKEA I guess."

     "Don't interrupt, serf, or you'll be set to polishing it," he said,
"Prince Andrew, bless his cotton socks, is set to visit sometime and all
the lowly fingermarks will have to be removed."

     "You miss Adam don't you for the badinage," I said.

     He turned and there was a tinge of sadness in his look as he shook his
head.  "I miss the old bugger more than you can say.  It's odd being a
twin."

     "Sorry," I said, "But I know he misses you, too."

     We reached the landing.  He put a hand out and took mine.  "We phone
each other nearly every day but it's great you and Tris are here.  A bit of
the family in person!"  He squeezed my hand.  "OK, look lively, Her
Majesty's representative awaits you."

     He knocked on the door and there was an immediate "Come in".

     Mr Marriott was standing by his desk with a pot of coffee and four
good-sized mugs on a tray.  He started to pour steaming coffee into the
first one.  "Can't stand those piddling small things they think are
suitable for diplomatic discussions.  Here you are Tristan, number one."
He pointed at the milk and sugar as Tristan stepped forward and picked his
mug up.  Mr Marriott continued and poured the other three.  "Cheers.  Have
a slurp and then I'll hand over the Brigadier's forgotten largesse for you.
Must say I know him quite well.  Played a round or two with him but not at
his handicap."  He laughed.  "I mean his golf handicap, not after he's been
to the nineteenth hole!"

     No one commented but we all knew.  His reputation went before him!  Mr
Marriott went over to his desk and picked up a fairly thick envelope.  He
held it up.  "St Mark's thinks you should not suffer from lack of cash.
There's half in krone and half in euros.  If you travel out of town you'll
need the krone and Dr Mays has told me about the hunt for herbs.  I may be
able to help and I hope my reward will be a taste of that liqueur." He held
up a second envelope.  "An introduction to the Keeper of the Botanic
Gardens for next week.  They know you are coming and I hear you have a
contact anyway."

     What was interesting was how so much was known.  But of course,
Tadeusz was a student who must work at the Botanic Garden here as part of
his Botany studies.  We thanked him and finished our coffee and he shook
hands and said he hoped to see us again.

     We trundled down to Ivo's office and while he watched I opened the
envelope.  There were two hundred and fifty euros in twenties and tens and
the equivalent in krone.  I had noted on a web site that there were about
eleven krone to the pound.  There were also three twenty euro notes held
together with a paper clip and a note 'For any travel expenses'. "We'll
have to eat carefully," I said, "And there's museums and other things to
visit."  Ivo held up an envelope he'd just opened.

     "Two complimentary tickets here for the main Art Gallery.  There's an
exhibition opening on Saturday morning.  You'd better have them." He
snickered.  "It's Mapplethorpe so there'll be plenty to interest you!"  He
opened a drawer and pulled out various bits of paper.  "Here you are, sort
through this lot.  We get invited to all sorts of functions and openings
and there's always snacks and I can't go to anything at the moment with
'Tory.  You've had the invite from the Rector?"  We nodded.  "We were sorry
but had to refuse, 'Tory's much too close to venture out.  Anyway, I'll
give you both a little badge, too, to wear when you go anywhere else so you
won't be chucked out with the riff raff."  He opened another drawer.  "More
here.  Free entrance for a week to the Zoo and the Spa."  He laughed.
"You'll like that.  No clothes!"

     "The Zoo?" asked Tris, "Naked Ape I suppose?"

     Ivo pointed at me.  "Take that hairy bugger along and they'll keep him
chained."

     He then explained that the Spa had hot springs and clothes were not
essential even in the grounds.  He and 'Tory hadn't been there yet so he
would be interested in any comments.  I saw Tris perk up as he took the
offered bunch of tokens.  Well he might as well explore first, but...

     I looked at my watch.  I didn't have much time to get to the Maths
Faculty to hear the final doctoral student of the morning if I didn't
hurry.  I said cheerio to the pair and went off on my own.  I'd memorised
the route exactly so got to the lecture hall just as the candidate was
being introduced.  From the material already on the board I guessed he was
looking at aspects of linear analysis and the first statement was one I'd
seen at a more or less concluding lecture at Cambridge.  Not understanding
Rothenian I missed some of the subtleties I guessed, but copied down the
workings through.  Ouch.  If this was the standard I would have to reach in
the future I had plenty of work to do.  However, I was pleased I could
grasp the general tenor of his thesis and the hour passed very quickly.
Again, a successful candidate.

     As I went through the door I met the Scottish lad.  He was probably
around twenty-three, a couple of years older than me and was not smiling.
"Come to gloat, eh?" The greeting was curt and rough.

     "Sorry," I said, "What do you mean?"

     "I've just found an error in one of my fucking arguments and I've only
got until two to get the bugger right!"

     He was quite distraught.  Could I help?  "I don't know what you've
been doing but I could have a look with you.  A second eye might help."

     "Second brain more like it.  I'm desperate.  Fucking hell, I never
thought it'd come to this!"

     I more or less dragged him into an empty lecture room.  "Show me."

     He'd calmed down a bit and pulled out a wad of paper from his bag.
"The bastard's here.  I can't ignore it as I use the result to help prove
the main conclusion later."

     At least his handwriting was very legible.  And, he was like the lad
who sat in front of us who used different colours for his various ideas.
Oh hell.  This was quite different from anything I was used to.  But was
it?  When I'd worked with Fiona and Dina we often had hangups and it was
usually one of us who would spot it was a matter of technique.  James had
pointed out to me on numerous occasions that most of the undergraduate work
was getting to grips with techniques of solving problems.  The extra was
when new problems arose when thinking 'sideways' as he put it.  The lad had
set out the problem very clearly.  He wanted to take about four steps to
provide a new result and at one point had 'It follows that..'.

     "It's here," he said pointed at those words and the next couple of
lines of working.  "There's a fucking flaw!  I assumed it follows.  I'm
sure it does.  But I need a subsidiary proof in here to back it up."

     I had never come across that problem but I knew exactly what he meant.
"Why not go back and see whether you could use a previous result.  Or find
a parallel argument."  I had spotted he was using the Hamilton-Jacobi
equation but the arguments he was using must be taking the dynamics much
further.

     "I know the bugger's right...." he muttered as he leafed back.  "I've
proved all the stages down to that OK.  I checked those with Professor
Minkowicz yesterday.  He said I should go and see where the next step got
me and it's got me in a fucking tangle.  I should have stuck with what I'd
already got."

     He was mouthing more or less incomprehensible strings of symbols and
such like.  Then went back and looked at half a page of steps to a result.

     "Fuck me," he breathed, "I think I've got it.  It must have been in my
head all the time."  He jabbed a blunt, nail-bitten finger at the line,
underlined in blue.  "I can use this."  He turned to me.  The smile was of
genuine pleasure and friendliness.  "You've saved my fucking life.  If I'd
made a ball's up of this presentation I wouldn't be accepted at Edinburgh
for next year."

     "Well, sit down and set the argument out.  See if it does follow."

     He grinned and gave me a mock salute.  "Will do."

     I left him to it.  I didn't even know his name but if he was
presenting this afternoon I'd better go to his session.  I made my way to
the Students' Dining Room and took a tray and chose a rather succulent
looking sausage dish.  The young lady behind the cash desk waved me away as
I tried to present her with a five euro note.  "No," she said, in English,
"You do not have to pay."  She waved a dismissive finger.  Oh.  Was I
known?  I wandered over to a table with four other young people on it.  Two
male, two female.  "Sit here, please," one of the girls said, "I heard you
speak yesterday, very interesting."

     "Thank you," I said and sat.

     "You spoke again today?" the young man next to her asked.

     The young lady nudged him.  "Speak."

     He smiled and shook his head.  "I am sorry.  You speak again today?"
He articulated the words carefully.

     "Yes," I said.  "And I am sorry I cannot speak Rothenian."

     "No problem," the other young man said, "We all wish to speak English.
I wish to visit London."

     Over a rather slow lunch I found they were all Maths students who were
presenting results or were in the middle of writing up their dissertations
and also gave several impromptu English lessons.  The other girl wanted to
know when to use 'wish' or 'want'.  It's only when confronted with such
questions you realise you say so much without thinking.  I had to think!

     We had just about finished eating when the Scots lad came over to the
table with his tray of food.  "Hello Alistair," the first girl said
carefully, "You look happy."

     Alistair said something in Rothenian.  The girl held up a finger.
"You speak in English," she commanded.

     He said he was happy because I had helped him with a possible false
conclusion in his presentation.  I found his name was Alistair Ross.  He
came from Edinburgh where he'd done his first degree and his father was a
civil engineer who had been in Rothenia on contract the year before.  He
had visited Strelzen one vacation and had signed up for a Master's as he
liked the sound of the course.  Yes, he knew Logan Henderson as he had been
to the same school but a couple of years apart and he lived in the same
area.  Actually he seemed to thaw a lot and I changed my view of him from
that first impression.

     His was the second presentation of the afternoon, before mine which
was to be the third.  He spoke in a mixture of Rothenian and English and
did say, in clear English, he had been rescued from possible error by me.
I think the group listening warmed to him because of that little vote of
thanks.  I had been aware at the lunch table there was a certain coolness
towards him though the Rothenians had been polite in speaking to him.

     I thought my session went well.  Father Artur had made an unobtrusive
entrance and was standing at the end of the podium as I went to the desk.
I said a few words about my so-called help for Alistair and wished him well
for his further studies at Edinburgh.  I launched into my exposition and
was surprised when I glanced at the clock at the back of room and found I
had just four minutes to go.  I managed to gabble through to a conclusion
and got another round of applause.  What was gratifying was there were at
least a dozen more listeners than the day before.

     I thanked Father Artur again and he just look enigmatic and said he
was glad he only dealt with the exploits of medieval tyrants rather than
having to think about such odd squiggles I was using.  'Squiggles'?  His
English was certainly good.  He said he would meet me at the Cathedral in
the morning at nine o'clock and there would be a taxi to collect us at
half-past eight.  "Come to the side entrance," I was instructed.  He
declined my offer of tea as he said he had to hurry back to the cathedral
to check the arrangements for the funeral in the morning.  "It will be a
three-hour Requiem Mass," he said with a wry smile, "When they list all the
things I have to do I think mine will have to be four hours!  More likely
I'll just be tipped into the crypt!"

     I went to the front entrance after shaking hands with several
well-wishers and what should I find but a laughing Tris in conversation
with a most handsome young lad who seemed to be looking at Tris with
adoring eyes.  Like Tris the lad was dressed in a tight-fitting tee-shirt
and baggy cargoes.  He was dark haired, tanned and had those clear features
which many late adolescents have before the ravages of time coarsen their
looks.  Needless to say, this had happened to neither Tris or myself,
though I say it myself!  But!  What was Tris doing?  Had he picked up some
wayward youth, intending, I hoped, to share him with me?  He spotted me and
waved.  He pointed me out to the lad and the pair stood up from the low
wall they had been sitting on and walked briskly over to me.

     "Let me introduce Yniold," Tris said looking most pleased.  'Yniold'?
I had to think.  That name sounded familiar.  'Pelleas and Melisande'.  The
young son who spies through the window.  The lad put a hand out and I shook
it.  He didn't speak but looked rather shyly at me.  The laughing youth was
gone.  Was he bashful having played games with my Tris?

     Tris was laughing.  Probably sensing the mixed emotions which I had
difficulty in suppressing.  "Let me explain.  First, though, we're in need
of tea, aren't we Yniold?"  The lad smiled and nodded.  Seduction in a
tea-room.  Blast!  I knew the connotations of 'tea-room' in the American
context!  They led the way past the main University building to an open-air
caf‚.  Tris indicated a vacant table and signalled a waiter.  He looked
at Yniold and winked.  Yniold said something in rapid Rothenian to the
waiter who wrote on his pad and hurried off.  I was still none the wiser.
"First things first," he said, "Did your session go OK?"  I said it did.
"Secondly, Yniold has seen you before." I must have looked puzzled and Tris
tapped the lad on his arm.  "Spying like his namesake but from behind his
mother's curtains, eh?"  The boy smiled.  "Yniold lives below Ivo and
'Tory.  Let me introduce Yniold Schreiber."  Oh, the Music Faculty man.  No
wonder the name.

     "Pelleas and Melisande," I said.  Another of Tris's father's
obsessions so both of us had had crash courses on the opera.  We supposed
Auntie Dil had been adamant that Shelley should be Shelley and not
Melisande!  The rude boy stuck a pink tongue out a little way between
pursed ruby-red lips and wrinkled his nose.  "Sorry, but he's told you his
name, I suppose?"  I pointed at Tristan.

     "He has, and I know why," he said very composedly, "I have my name
because my father conducted that other opera here when I was born."  He did
smile then.

     I said my grandfather had also conducted operas here but before the
War.  He was immediately transfixed.  "You will meet my father tonight.
Please tell him.  My sister Isolde plays the cello in the orchestra at the
Opera.  I am learning, too."  Oh dear!  I looked at Tristan.  He smiled
wanly.  No doubt some little joke would be made at his, or their, expense.

     In fact, if Dr Schreiber had contacts at the Opera this would be an
opening as we had brought two of Grandfather's scores, Puccini's La Boheme
and Verdi's Othello to give to the Opera House.  But I was still curious.

     "Where did you meet each other?" I asked.

     Tris replied with an absolutely straight face.  "In the nude at the
Spa."

     Yniold giggled.

     "Tell me," I said.

     "Quite above board," Tris said but waited as the waiter brought a tray
with tea-pot, cups, milk, sugar and an assortment of delectable looking
pastries.  A further wait as Tris played 'Mum' and poured the tea and we
selected a pastry each.  "I went to the Natural History Museum this morning
then had a snack at the buffet there for lunch.  It was hot so I went to
the Spa and used my ticket.  I had a swim then joined the sun-worshippers."
He winked at me.  "No clothes and I was lying there all quiet and peaceful
when I was accosted."  He smiled at Yniold who was following the narration
very carefully.  Another nose wrinkle.  "He just said he'd seen me before
and had recognised me."

     "Without clothes on?"  I asked looking at Yniold.  He giggled again.

     "No," he said.  "Mrs Carr said Mr Carr's cousin and his friend were
coming for dinner."  The nose wrinkle again.  "So I watched.  So I saw him
and you."  He looked at me.  "You look like Mr Carr..," He waved a finger.
"...but no beard.."  A sotto voce 'Thank goodness' from Tris.  "And he has
hair like mein freund,,,," He stopped, realising he had lapsed into German.
"...My friend Pyotor.  I see him lying and I see his hair.  I recognise."

     "And did you have no clothes?" I asked Yniold.

     He blushed a little and nodded.  "My father does not like me to go to
the Spa.  He says I am too young and there are men who...."  He stopped.

     "...And boys who speak to men?"  I said and smiled at him.  The blush
was evident then.

     "I was happy when I saw him as there was a man who was looking at all
on their towels.  He was near.  I told Tristan and he lifted up and the man
went.  If I am there with my friend Pyotor they do not come near.  He is
bigger, I mean, taller than me.  He plays basketball at the Gymno."

     Of course, this led to Tris explaining he had played basketball at
school and College.  This elicited an appraising look and "You are tall
like Pyotor.  He is very handsome as well as you."  Tris gave him a most
radiant smile.  I thought, OK, sweetheart, little Yniold is definitely out
of bounds!

     We lapsed into small talk then.  Yes, he knew Tomas who was at the
Gymno but in the Technik classes.  He was in Klassica.  He wanted to study
languages at the Rodolfer but he had one more year to go.  He would tell
his father we had met and tell him about my grandfather.  He then became a
little shy.  At last he said he would like to visit the Spa again with us
as his friend Pyotor was away until Tuesday of next week with the
basketball team.  He scribbled down his mobile number - he used the German
designation 'Handy' for the phone - and I said we would let him know and I
wrote my number on half the paper and gave it to him.  He was obviously
smitten with Tris and he smiled coyly when we shook hands and said 'Auf
Wiedersehen' as if we were quite fluent in German!

     As we walked back to the hotel Tris was grinning.  "He's a sweet lad,
isn't he?"  He nudged me.  "And he's got the cutest little cock."  He
laughed.  "At least it was little when he first spoke to me but he got very
flustered when he got an erection.  He couldn't get up and run away so I
told him just to lie on his stomach."  A snigger.  "Had to think hard of
sour lemons and cold showers to stop mine rising in sympathy!"  Yes, young
Yniold clothed as he was, seemed a very tasty dish.  Nude, I could imagine
he could be even tastier.

     "If we do go, he'd better be off limits.  I don't think Pyotor would
be pleased we were playing away with his friend."

     "Yep, I'm sure there's a very close friendship there."

     When we got to the hotel Ignasz was not in a good mood.  He was
shaking his fist and Tomas was getting the brunt of some very vehement
Rothenian.  He stopped when he saw us.

     "Good afternoon," he said, but rather curtly.  "Is your television
working?" he asked without further ado.

     Tris said it was but we had only tried it and found all the programs
were either in German or Rothenian.

     "You have not complained?  I have asked Tomas and he says 'No' and not
the other ones."

     Tris shook his head.  "No.  And I don't think the other English have
complained."  As the only sound from their room had been exuberantly sexual
I agreed as there had been no covering sound from their television.

     "There was this man who said there was a complaint from the English
and he had televisions to sell," Ignasz explained.  "I sent him away but he
said bad words I couldn't understand and said my hotel would be in
trouble."  He calmed down a bit.  "Tomas says I should tell my cousin who
is in the police.  Tomas says the words he used were from Albania.  There
are boys at the Gymno from that country and they cause trouble."

     "Tell your cousin," advised Tris, "The televisions are probably
stolen."

     Ignasz nodded.  "I will."

     When we got up to our room I checked to see that Tris hadn't sunburnt
one vital piece of his anatomy.  Just in case, I anointed it, as it
stiffened, with Foster's Saliva Balm on the tip of my tongue.  He squirmed
rather under that ministration but not from the effects of any sunburn and
gave me a portion of Price-Williams Elixir of Life.  My own Elixir was
sprayed across those muscly pecs as he gripped me while in his state of
ecstasy.  We lay together and regained our normal breathing rate.

     "You've got the cutest little cock," I whispered in his ear as his
now-limp monster had reduced to its usual hanging dimensions.  "How does it
compare with your latest admirer's?"

     A tongue made it's way into my ear.  "Don't ask.  Shan't tell.  Wait."

     Yes, we would meet up with Yniold.

     But, I had work to do before setting out for dinner.  I'd already
decided my third and last talk would deal with the Mike Maples' problem,
but the first presenter this afternoon had used a projector with the
material on a laptop.  I thought I could do the same and introduce the talk
by saying about my recital and breaking a tooth.  I knew Tris had the
PowerPoint Program downloaded and also had photos of the College, the
Chapel, the organ, me playing the organ and also shots of the exhibition in
the cellars.  I thought I might just give them a couple of those at the end
of the lecture.  Oh, dear, I hoped Father Artur wouldn't be offended with
the sight of Her Majesty's Commercial Attache apparently feeling a boy's
genitalia.  Too bad.  I'd noted the postcard was discreetly displayed on a
cork-board in Ivo's office at the Legation.

     Tris fired up the program and very quickly had a sequence for me.  He
decided that the shot of the left hand side of the big wall with the
cavorting nudes, us, and Charles playing the tambourine should be included
at the end of the introduction.  Cleverclogs then used his digi camera for
a shot of the Mike Maples' statement.  He then downloaded that and said I
was on my own after that.  But, just in case I was too cackhanded to work
the laptop properly he would be on hand to deal with that and would see my
performance, too.  OK, OK, I said and made careful notes of the sequence.

     There was no sign of the two lads when we were ready to find a
reasonably-priced restaurant about eight o'clock.  But Tris was a bit
agitated, I thought, until we were sitting and studying the menu in the one
we found.

     He looked over at me as I was mouthing through the items listed in
Rothenian.  Luckily they were also in German and a rather dubious English.
'Fresh boil pig leg and sour cabbage' sounded rather odd but we'd heard a
couple on the next table order it in German and the succulent-looking
steaming pink flesh on a bed of sauerkraut looked yummy.  We ordered it and
in the wait I asked him what was troubling him.

     "I'm not quite sure," he said.  "You remember Yniold mentioned a man
looking at everyone this afternoon."  I nodded.  "Well, I think I saw him
again on the pavement along from the hotel when we came out.  That's why I
pointed out those bottles of wine in that shop when we stopped.  I'm sure
he stopped, too, and looked in a shop a bit further back."

     "Do you think we're being followed?"

     "I don't know, but I'm quite sure it's the same man."

     I felt a bit uneasy knowing our bags had been searched and my
pencil-case had been taken but we did enjoy the ham on the bone and had an
equally yummy portion of 'obsttorte' for pud.  As we relaxed over a cup of
coffee, feeling replete, Tris went to the lav.  When he returned he was
smiling.

     "There's another way out," he said.  "When we've paid you say you must
go to the loo and I'll follow you.  There's a door which leads into a back
alley.  I guess it's open as it's a hot night."

     Tris was clearly worried so I followed his suggestion.  We thanked the
lady at the cash desk and I did as I was told and we were soon in the alley
which led into a parallel road.  There was no one about and we took the
second road along back to the busier road towards the hotel.  We did a stop
and Tris mouthed that he didn't think anyone was following us.  We walked
past the hotel uphill towards the Spa complex but didn't quite reach it
then strolled back enjoying the warm night air as were the couples or small
groups also walking or sitting at the outside terraces of the numerous
cafes.

     Tomas was on duty again.  He smiled when he saw us and held up his
comic book.  "Wham, kabam!!" he said, "Get him Robin!"

     I wondered how juvenile literature was going to help him cope with
engineering texts?  At least his accent wasn't bad.  Tris as ever played to
the audience.

     "Hi, Batman, who are the baddies around here?" he asked, leaning on
the reception desk.

     "I do not know, Commissioner, but there is a strange person out
there."  Tomas grinned as he acted his role.

     "A strange person?"

     "He looks in the door and walks away and then he looks again.  Times
and times.  Then he goes."

     "You think he is looking for someone?"

     "Yes, Commissioner, we must warn the people of Gotham."  Tomas said
this dramatically then stared at the door.  "The evil man has looked and
gone again!  He is the Joker!"

     Oh, bugger!  I'd missed him as I was watching the pair hamming it up.
Should I rush to the door.  Better not.  If it was someone watching us it
would alert him that he'd been spotted.

     I broke the spell.  "Perhaps it's someone who wants a room."

     Tomas shook his head.  "There is a notice saying we have no rooms." He
paused.  "I can say 'We are full'?"

     "Yes", said Tris, "In English we also say 'No Vacancies'.  Let me
write it down for you."

     Tomas passed him a piece of paper and a biro.  "I will give that to
Uncle Ignasz and he can have the notice in English also."  Oh, so Tomas was
Ignasz's nephew.  He waited while Tris wrote it down then studied it
carefully.  "The English boys have gone to the Wejg tonight.  One said my
English was good."

     "You should read other books," Tris said.  "Do you have any English
books?"

     Tomas shook his head.  "I have the Gymno books and I have read ..." He
screwed his face up.  "...Sherlock 'Ol-mez.  About a big dog.  Very
difficult."

     Good old Tris.  For the next quarter of an hour or so he explained the
correct pronunciation and also found that Tomas had understood more of the
book than he had thought.  I knew why Tris was staying in the reception
area, so I kept an eye on the door.  Disappointment, no one peered in
though one young couple did stop, but only to have a slight snog.  Tris
promised to find another book for him to read.  We waved goodnight and went
upstairs to bed.

     Having two single beds was a bit limiting.  However, we did manage to
release our third loads for the day and Tris was certainly a lot more
relaxed after that.  The noises off in the next room after Brett and Fraser
returned much later didn't keep us awake but we knew two lively lads there
were enjoying each other's company!

                         Friday

     Luckily I'd remembered to set my little alarm clock to wake us
earlier.  After a quick breakfast in the nearby caf‚ I got my things
ready for my presentation.  I took Tris's laptop out of it's carrying case
and it fitted nicely into my shoulder bag together with my notes and pads
of paper.  Tris said I had to make sure I didn't drop it or bang it as he
knew how clumsy I was.  An almost Toad-like sneer was his reward for that
kind statement.

     The lads next door were still not stirring when we stood on the
pavement at eight twenty- five.  At eight thirty a taxi drew up and the
driver handed Tris a card signed by Father Artur.  The drive to the
Cathedral took us on a route we hadn't explored.  We crossed the
Rodolferplaz and travelled quite slowly along the busy Domstrasse and
crossed the river by what looked like a rebuilt bridge.  I knew from my
guide book we would now be in the old city, again much rebuilt since
medieval times but still with a grandeur.  The road rose upwards towards
the Cathedral which stood in splendour, its triple spires soaring, on one
side of a fine cobbled square.  It was flanked by two imposing buildings.
The one to the right I assumed was the Archbishop's Palace and the other
opposite could only be a monastic precinct.  We stopped well back as the
square had already been cordoned off in part ready, I imagined, for the
funeral procession later.

     Our driver wouldn't take the tip that Tris offered him but handed him
his card.

     "That is my number," he said in English, "I will take you to the
Rodolfer when you are ready."

     Oh, had Father Artur told him about my involvement with the
University?  We thanked him and walked over to the Abbey and looked at the
gatehouse and the stone balcony.

     I pointed to it.  "That must be where Rudi was proclaimed.  I remember
seeing a picture of it in the Times."

     "Somewhere to explore if we have time," said Tris pointing to the
imposing door in the gateway.

     "That's if they allow visitors," I said.

     We negotiated the barriers and a policeman stopped us.  I fished Dr
Valentin's letter out and showed him.  I don't know if he could read
English but must have seen the name printed at the top.  He gave a half
salute and pointed to the side of the cathedral.  The side entrance to the
cathedral was another very ornate door which was propped open as two
sweating figures were taking in stacks of chairs.  We slipped inside as
they came out for another load.  Father Artur was just inside the door with
a clipboard and talking to another priest and a stocky, late middle- aged
bearded man.  Beards seemed to be the thing in Rothenia!

     Father Artur spotted us.  "Ah, good," He handed his clipboard to the
other priest who hurried off.  "We are expecting many this morning.  The
Monsignor was very loved and was here from choirboy until he died."  He
turned to the bearded gentleman.  "Doctor Valentin, may I introduce Mark
Foster and Tristan Price-Williams." He had our names off pat!

     Dr Valentin had twinkling dark eyes behind thick-lensed glasses.  "My
boys, I have pleasure in meeting you!"  He had a deep, almost fruity voice
with a marked French accent.  "Artur, I will take them as you are busy.  I
can tell you the music for Father Bonifasz will be grand.."  He turned to
us.  "Please to follow me."

     He led the way to the West end of the huge building where there was a
magnificently decorated organ with pipes spread all over its frontage up on
a balcony.

     "You know this organ?" he asked.

     I said I had read the description and I had heard a recording which
had been lent to me.  He smiled and held a finger up.  "You will hear it
and play it."

     The way up was a rather winding well-worn stone staircase with a rope
held by rings in lieu of a handrail.  It was also rather dimly lit.  This
gave into quite a wide organ loft with the console in the middle.  Four
manuals and rows of stop knobs either side of them.  Oh!  Something I was
not familiar with was the straight pedal board, not the radiating concave
one found on most British organs.  I'd only played one of these before and
knew my feet would have to be careful!

     He pressed a couple of buttons and I heard the unmistakable sound of
the bellows being filled.  He smiled as he turned to me.  "You can see we
do not have help for the player."  I could see there were no buttons under
the manuals to draw groups of stops.  "There is a tutti pedal and three
coupler pedals each side for the manuals and pedals.  That's all!"  He
laughed.  "I am lucky I have four students who act as my assistants.  They
are my combination buttons!  Unfortunately two are on vacation so I have to
rely on Georg and Anton today.  Georg has his Diplom but Anton is Second
Year but good.  They will come later."  He slid onto the organ bench and
drew some stops.  I noticed another difference.  On British organs the
stops with the higher sounding ranks started at the top and ran down to the
longer and lower sounding pipes at the bottom.  Here it was the opposite.
I would also have to translate.  I knew the organ had been originally built
in about 1750 by a German.  He began to play on the lowest manual.  I
realised another difference, this was the equivalent of the English Great,
our second manual.  As he improvised he drew other stops without looking.
The sound grew and then he added the pedals and ended on a magnificent C
major chord.

     I was captivated.  This was the largest organ I had ever been let
loose on.  It was my turn.  He slid off the bench and pushed in all the
stops he had drawn.  "You are puzzled," he said, "I will help.  What will
you play."

     "Manuals only first, please," I said thinking I would try a memorised
Voluntary by Maurice Greene.  "Diapason eight foot and a four foot."

     "On here Prinzipals."  He drew two stops.

     I lost myself in the glorious sound.  As I played so he drew more
stops when I started the Vivace which added further richness.  He nodded
benignly as I finished.  I thought I'd better keep to the manuals before
trying the strange pedal board.  "I would like to try the Wesley Air and
Gavotte."

     "I know that," he turned and opened a cupboard door and found a book
of pieces including that one.  He put it on the desk.  "We have no Swell.
This is the Brustwerk..." He indicated the second manual.  "And these the
Oberwerk and Echo."  These were the top two manuals.  "I will help.  Let us
start."  He drew stops for the top three manuals.  I was in Heaven.  I had
never experienced such sounds and played my very best.  "The Gavotte," he
said and drew stops for the bottom manual and more for the Brustwerk.  I
think Wesley would have been proud of this English lad!  In fact he drew
some pedal stops and for the last few bars I managed to deal with the
straight pedal bars without any errors.  I'd kicked off my shoes to begin
with so played in stockinged feet.

     I mentioned two of my favourite pieces, the Alain and the Rheinberger
Sonata number Four.  Both were immediately found and he drew stops for the
Rheinberger and as I played, including the pedals which I was becoming used
to, he whispered which manual to use.  After changing manuals upwards, as
the sounds got quieter in the first movement, the Tonus Peregrinus played
on the Echo was so sweet and ethereal I had great difficulty in not slowing
down and savouring the timbre.  But then the gradual crescendo towards the
end of the first movement to a full-blooded final three chords over the
pedal A was a real work of art.  Even with careful programming of
combinations I would never have had achieved it.  The same with the Alain
Deuxieme Fantaisie.  It sounded so different, but so right.  But, all too
soon the hour was up.  We had to go but as I turned to get off the bench
there were two other lads sitting listening.

     We were introduced to Georg and Anton.  Georg was about my age but
Anton was much younger.  Both were very friendly and congratulated me on my
playing.  But we had to hurry off as the cathedral was beginning to fill
even though it wasn't yet ten o'clock.  I thanked Doctor Valentin who just
smiled and said 'My pleasure' and said he would see us again this evening
and if I wanted to play again we could make arrangements.

     I felt quite euphoric as we exited the building and had to avoid the
constant flow of people coming in, all in dark clothes but smiling and
greeting each other.  In fact we didn't have to phone for a taxi because
waiting just the other side of the barrier with the other taxis all
disgorging their passengers was our driver who waved when he saw us.  "To
the Rodolfer," he said as he opened the door for us.  I saw Tris stare at
him as he closed the door before opening his own and getting in the
driver's seat.

     I was keen to get back to the University as the final doctoral
candidate was going to deal with the geometry of particular minimal
structures.  One of James' PhD students was also exploring something on
these lines and I thought if I made notes I could pass them on.  Tris left
me at the entrance and said he was going to explore back in the old town.
The taxi driver must have overheard and motioned Tris back into the cab
saying he had to go back that way.  Tris said to me not to worry he would
be there at four to hear my gobbledegook .
     The candidate had prepared all his presentation on his laptop and I
took copious notes without understanding a great deal.  I hoped Taki would.
He was Greek and all this was Greek to me!!  Anyway the young man was
successful and while he was being congratulated a man, I assumed to be a
Porter, came over to where I was sitting and handed me a note.  It was from
Professor zum Adamszberh.  Would I mind giving my presentation at three
o'clock as the scheduled student had met with a bicycle accident.  I
scribbled 'Yes' on the note, signed it and gave it back.  I quickly texted
Tris to say I would be on at three instead and went down the steps to the
exit.

     The Scots lad, Alistair, came over to me and said he was just going in
to lunch would I join him?  We sat at a table for two and he unburdened
himself.  He said he wasn't too popular as he'd dropped himself in the shit
from the first week he'd been in residence.  The general student
accommodation was in old Soviet style concrete dormitories and he'd started
off by complaining which didn't go down well with the other suffering
students.  Then when he thought he was well away with a girl in the next
dorm he found her brother, being old-style Rothenian, objected to his
rather forthright advances and he would have got beaten up if the other
students hadn't intervened.  As he was pissed at the time his remarks about
'Fucking Rothenians' hadn't gone down well with his rescuers either.  He
said the other Maths students tolerated him as he had helped a couple who
were struggling but... He was fucking glad he'd got his Master's and could
get back to Edinburgh and fucking civilisation.

     I asked him what he'd seen and done otherwise since being here.
"Bugger all to see," was his comment.  No, he hadn't been to the Opera, or
to concerts, he'd been to the Zoo once, never been to the old city so
hadn't seen the splendours inside the St Vitalis Cathedral, one visit to
the Spa and he'd been accosted by an 'old poof', as he put it, who asked if
he was interested in being a model, no bloody rugger and only handball and
who wanted to see nude kids at the Spa playing it.  I came to the
conclusion he was a doleful character and nothing like young Curt or Logan
or any of the Scots I'd met so far.  I remembered Curt had said half of
them seemed to have no sense of humour and were homophobic.  I left him in
no doubt about Tris and me and he looked a bit wistful.  I didn't out Logan
but did say he earned his pocket-money serving drinks at a gay club.  He
did seem a bit interested at that and said he'd been taken to a gay bar on
the Wejg his first week but didn't remember anything much about it as the
schnapps had been flowing freely.  I had the feeling that Alistair hadn't,
say, 'made up his mind'.  The girl episode I felt was to establish his
macho credentials.  But..  I came to the conclusion he was rather like Pete
Padmore so there were more questing beasts than I had realised.

     Anyway, Agony Uncle Mark was rather more concerned to check his notes
and see if the cables fitted Tris's laptop, so made his excuses and left
Alistair as soon as lunch was consumed.  There was a technician in the
lecture hall preparing the ordinary overhead projector and he smilingly
hooked up the laptop and I ran through the presentation.  He stared rather
goggle-eyed at the end at the huge image of Ivo/Adam and Francis, and even
more so at the cavorting figures.  He laughed and clapped his hands when I
nodded and said 'thank-you'.  I bet he wondered what those two pictures had
to do with maths!

     The student at two o'clock was so hesitant and fumbling I just
wondered if the lad really knew what he was trying to do and say.  The
material seemed very elementary even to me.  Big- head!  There was a polite
murmur as he finished and then it was my turn.  Again there was an
appreciable audience.  Father Artur must have been primed as he appeared
dead on time.  I scanned the audience but didn't spot Tris.  I started by
saying I had enjoyed being here so far and I would like to introduce this
afternoon's topic by telling them a bit about how I came to solve the
problem I would be presenting and it was all part of my life at St Mark's.

     I explained I was the Pennefather Organ Scholar and showed the first
few pictures of the College, the Chapel and me seated at the organ.  I said
that another thing I'd solved was a sixteenth century code which resulted
in the discovery of hidden treasures. I showed pictures of the brilliant
page from the Book of the Hours and of the coin and then I said about the
discovery of the wall paintings and their renovation.  Those two pictures
nearly caused a riot.  The seemingly staid audience erupted with shouts and
whistles as the first image appeared.  I glanced at Father Artur who was
laughing his head off and the four faculty members in the front row were
hooting with mirth.  The cavorting dancers just about took the roof off.
As they quietened down I pointed out the Captain of Boats, Charles with his
tambourine and then Tris and me.  I don't know what was shouted out but
even Father Artur doubled up and had to mop his eyes with a large
handkerchief.  There were renewed guffaws as I explained about the broken
tooth and the crucial words of the preacher.  I said that all were welcome
to visit the College and there were postcards for sale there.  I got
through the proof OK and at the end the applause was tremendous.  As I
stood there the faculty members came up and shook my hand and the middle-
aged lady among them hugged me and I got three very motherly kisses from
her.

     Father Artur came over, too.  He was still laughing.  "I think you
must tell the Cardinal that story.  He will need cheering up.  I hear the
Vatican is not pleased about something at the moment.  A matter of doctrine
over things that have happened here, I expect, and His Eminence has very
forthright views.  See you tonight!"

     I hadn't realised but Tris had been there for the whole lecture.  He
was now surrounded by a crowd of students who had recognised him from the
picture.  We stood together with the picture of the dancers behind us on
the screen - the technician had flipped through the presentation again -
and several students took photos on cameras or mobiles.  We managed to
escape unscathed and made our way back to the hotel.  I was rather too
euphoric to say much but he said he'd had an interesting day including a
quick look inside the Cathedral after the service and had seen members of
the royal party, but not Rudi, come out.  He hadn't managed to find the
chapel for St Guthlac as they were busy clearing the extra chairs and other
things.  He'd bought a baguette for lunch and had a glass of Pivo beer but
was very hungry and was looking forward to tonight's meal.  I did note he
kept glancing in shop windows as we passed.

     At the hotel Ignasz was not happy again.  Telephones this time.  An
engineer had been and had said the telephones in the hotel were faulty and
guests were complaining.  He had to check the lines and would see if there
were problems.  "He would not let Magda go with him."  Magda was the lady
who cleaned so Tomas had told us the first night as she went out.  "I hope
he did not steal.  He was foreign and I do not trust them.  Please to check
your room he was in there."

     Tris said nothing but he looked thoughtful as we trudged up the
stairs.  I needed a pee so had that first then went straight into the study
to replace the laptop in its usual case.  The case wasn't on the desk where
I'd left it but was lying open on the floor by the window.  I went to the
door to tell Tris.  He was standing by his bed quite rigid, his eyes
darting around and looking pensive.  Just as I was going to say about the
open case he put his finger to his lips.

     "Igpay Atinlay," he said very plainly, "Uy-shay upway!  Uggedbay!"  He
motioned to the door with his thumb.  "Et-gay out-way!"


To be continued: