1 RIVERBANKS
The nameless man walked unchallenged through the archway of the gatehouse of Durham Castle. This unchallenged entry into the grounds of the main college of the University of Durham City, would, on any other term time day of 1900, have no doubt proved impossible; but today was Convocation Day. Proud parents and guardians had travelled from all over England and beyond, to attend the degree-awarding ceremony which had just got underway in the great hall of the castle; and so the daytime porter - who was seated within the gatehouse, reading a book - was resigned to the impracticality of currently challenging any unfamiliar figure who passed outside the open window nevertheless under his charge.
In the courtyard beyond the gatehouse, tables were being set for the afternoon tea that would follow Convocation. A gentle breeze was toying with the edges of the tablecloths, but this was no sign of impending bad weather - in fact conditions were breathtakingly blue skied, making it difficult to believe that just over an hour ago, a thunder storm had seemed imminent. Now - across the cobbles of the courtyard, there rolled a crumpled handbill for the wild west show that was camped upon land partly surrounded by what had been the city racecourse; and coincidentally, cheering was faintly carrying up to the courtyard and to the rest of the castle grounds, from the large crowd of people who were lined along part of the old racecourse itself, and who were watching two four-man-boats race towards the finishing line of the annual regatta upon the River Wear. But the nameless man had no thoughts about anything as innocent as the regatta, as he stepped into the great hall of the castle.
A round of applause erupted from the capacity audience that was seated within the huge chamber in question, although not because of the arrival of the nameless man. A young woman graduate had just been summoned to the rostrum at the back of the great hall, and she was making her way along the central aisle between the rows of chairs, unaware that the nameless man was moving to take up a position of standing against one of the side walls. He was gratified at the preoccupation of both the capacity audience, and of the row of academics who were seated upon the platform behind the rostrum; and after he came to a halt, he took out and opened a pocket-watch that was attached to a silver chain. The time was just after ten-past-three.
Reading the time, however, was not the reason for the nameless man having just taken out and opened his pocket-watch - what was of interest to him now, was the face that was depicted upon the photographic fragment which was jammed inside the pocket-watch lid; and although he had already thoroughly familiarized himself with the face, the nameless man wanted to make no error in connection with it. Steadily, he scanned the row of academics who were seated upon the platform, until his gaze settled onto the man whose face seemingly peered from the photographic fragment: Professor Henry James Rainford. Sixty-one years of age, Professor Rainford was twelve years older than the nameless man; and whilst the latter was six-foot tall and of athletic build - his hair the colour to match the steely look of his eyes, the professor, ginger haired and bewhiskered, was of medium height and of rather fragile frame. But with regards to the professor, only his presence within the great hall, was what now concerned the nameless man. He closed his pocket-watch and put it away.
Upon the rostrum, an imposing figure wearing an academic gown, gave the young woman graduate a congratulatory handshake - accompanied by a smile and a dozen or so words, and then presented her with her degree certificate. Again, a round of applause erupted from the capacity audience; and whilst the graduate - still being applauded - made her way back to her seat, the nameless man took of an opportunity to inconspicuously leave the great hall. Once back outside in the courtyard, he came to a standstill in an area of shadow within the lee of a wall; and having established that he was not under observation, he took out a small map of the castle.
Momentarily, the nameless man traced his right index-finger along a pencilled line that showed a route which could lead him to the keep. Located on a large grassy mound, this irregularly octagonal, three-storied construction stared beyond the castle grounds - over Palace Green - to where Durham Cathedral was standing aglow in the afternoon sunlight; the gigantic, spiritual building effortlessly overshadowing its militaristic neighbour. Triple towered - the central tower taller than its western companions, the cathedral could have easily and understandably been construed as disapproving of the current business of the nameless man; and regardless of that possible interpretation, the intruder slid the map back into a pocket, and just over a minute later, was ascending a gloomy staircase within the castle keep.
Soon, a further gloomy staircase had brought the nameless man up onto the third-storey passage. He was alone in this musty and somewhat claustrophobic hallway; and without his feet making any noise upon the carpet, he steadily advanced - glancing at the brass plates affixed to the doors that were seemingly gliding past him to either side - until a name etched upon one of the brass plates, caused him to arrest his progress. Predictably, the name was that of Professor Henry James Rainford.
The nameless man tried the handle of the door in front of which he had just halted, but unsurprisingly the door was locked; and so the intruder removed a bunch of skeleton-keys, from a pocket of his coat, and irrespectively succeeded in pushing the second key that he then attempted to use, into the lock of the door. One rightward twist of the key, and then of the handle, and the nameless man had access to the bedroom-cum-study which was the private domain of Professor Rainford; and without further delay, the intruder stepped out of the third-storey passage, and closed and relocked the door. He dropped the skeleton-keys back into a pocket of his coat, and commenced to survey the room in which he was standing.
Possessing walls that were whitewashed as if to intensify the reflection from the sunlight which was now entering through its window, the room was remarkably both spacious and comfortable; and amongst its major items of furniture, were a single four-poster bed, an old wardrobe, a huge bookcase and a writing-desk made of oak. Positioned between this piece of furniture and the window - and facing away from the window itself, was a large, leather chair; and after walking over to the chair and sitting down upon it, the nameless man unhesitatingly opened the top drawer of the desk, and withdrew a sheaf of documents. Having glanced at each of these to ascertain their content, he somewhat angrily threw the documents onto the floor; and indeed he had soon duplicated this entire performance, in connection with the documents that he had just withdrawn from the three other drawers of the desk. Quite clearly, the intruder had not found what he was looking for.
The nameless man got out of the chair, and strode over to in front of the bookcase. The top half of the literary cabinet, was graced by a pair of leaded glass doors; and as the intruder peered through the glass doors themselves, it became evident to him that what he was seeking was not upon the shelving inside, neither openly nor tucked behind any of the books. He lowered himself into a crouching position, opened the roomy cupboard of which the lower half of the bookcase consisted, and pulled the cupboard contents out onto the floor - but none of the contents were what he was seeking either; and so he stood up and again surveyed the room, and decided that he would next search the wardrobe. However, this search - and his checking beneath the four-poster bed, his removal of the bed covers, and his subsequent emptying of the pillowcases, all failed to bring his hunt to its desired conclusion.
For about half-a-minute, the nameless man stood and considered his next course of action, in the light of his current lack of success; and as he did so, he took several deep breaths as a measure to quell the desperation that was rising within him. Feeling somewhat calmed, he walked over to beside the window. The windowsill was over two feet deep and constructed of stone, and the nameless man seated himself upon it; and shielding his eyes against the sunlight, he stared down into the courtyard - where the tables were still to be laden with the food and drink for afternoon tea following Convocation, and then beyond to the doorway by which he had both entered and left the great hall of the castle. From an inside pocket of his coat, he removed a small pair of binoculars; and after he had raised them to his eyes, he again stared down towards the courtyard doorway of the great hall, and then adjusted the wheel between the binocular barrels, until the doorway was perfectly in focus.
Knowing that it would be quite some time yet before Convocation was over, the nameless man placed the binoculars onto the windowsill.
*
Approximately an hour-and-three-quarters after the nameless man had entered the grounds of the castle, Emma Evangeline Anderson walked from the direction of Durham Cathedral, into the archway of the castle gatehouse. Enjoying the respite from the afternoon sunlight, which was to be found within the shade of the archway, she halted beside a window of the porter’s lodge; and in spite of the fact that the window was standing open, Emma tapped upon the glass. The daytime porter put down his book, arose from the desk seat that was positioned with its back towards the window, and then - smiling - crossed to just behind the window itself.
‘How can I help you, Miss?’
‘I wonder if you can tell me where I could find Professor Rainford?’
‘I believe he’s somewhere out there in the courtyard - he’d be at Convocation this afternoon, and that’s Convocation Tea’.
‘Thank you’.
Emma stepped out of the archway, and became stood upon the southern edge of the courtyard. Twenty-seven years of age, she was just over medium height, and was wearing a cream blouse and a coffee-coloured skirt; long and ash-blonde, her hair was gathered up and pinned beneath a straw boater hat - and in her right hand, she was carrying a slim briefcase. Holding her hat to counter a tug of the breeze, she began to scan the almost three hundred people who were partaking of the celebration tea; and seconds later, she and Professor Rainford caught sight of each other, as he turned away from one of the tables. Smiling, he beckoned Emma towards him; and smiling back, she strolled the short distance which led her to now join the professor himself.
‘Miss Anderson, a most unexpected pleasure - I imagined that I wouldn’t be seeing you at least until sometime tomorrow’.
‘I finished the work earlier than I thought I would, professor, and there was no reason for me to delay bringing it to you’. Emma lifted the briefcase forwards. ‘Your handwritten original, and a typed copy - each in a separate folder’.
‘Thank you very much indeed’. His left hand holding a small plate with a slice of cake upon it, the professor accepted the briefcase, and then momentarily turned about, to place the briefcase onto a table. ‘Now, my dear, may I tempt you with a cup of tea - and perhaps something to eat? There’s still plenty of sandwiches, scones and cakes’.
‘Just a cup of tea would be fine, thank you’.
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Yes, please’.
Professor Rainford turned back towards the table, placed his plate beside the briefcase, and then picked up a clean cup and saucer; and after he did so - and for no specific reason, he looked up in the direction of the castle keep. Sunlight was reflecting from something just behind the window of his room; and almost immediately, he saw the reflection disappear, and a figure hurriedly withdraw into the room itself. The professor looked down at the briefcase, and then again up towards the window - there was no reflection and no figure; but for several seconds or more, the academic continued looking towards the window of his room, and then he remembered Emma. His actions like those of an automaton, he poured a cupful of tea, added milk and sugar, faced back towards the young woman, and handed her the cup and saucer.
‘Thank you, professor’.
‘You’re welcome’. Despite that being such a brief response, Emma noted a distracted quality to the voice of Professor Rainford; and so when he spoke a few moments later, the initial content of his words, came as little surprise to her. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave of you, my dear - there’s something I have to do in the town; but please stay as long as you wish, and feel free to help yourself to more tea when you’ve finished that cupful’.
Professor Rainford retrieved the briefcase from the table, gave Emma a nod of farewell, and set off towards the archway of the gatehouse; and shortly afterwards, Emma watched as the archway provided the professor with a coincidental route out of her view. She shrugged, took a sip of tea, and began to leisurely survey the courtyard and its other occupants; and as she took a further sip of tea, the cathedral bells commenced to peal what was in fact a prelude to the tolling of five o’clock. Barely aware of the pealing of the bells, Professor Rainford - upon the western pavement bordering Palace Green - briskly walked past the university library, in the direction of the main doorway of the cathedral; but seconds later, he bore rightward into a lane which ran between the library and another university building that was constructed of stone.
The professor came to a halt, and pressed his back against a wall facing from the direction in which the castle lay mostly beyond the view from the lane. He felt that his heart was beating louder than the cathedral bell which had just begun to toll the hour of five; and in an attempt to calm himself, he concentrated upon listening to the bell. Less than a minute later, however, the bell had completed its announcement of what was, arguably, the final hour of the afternoon; and the professor heard the cathedral bell fall silent, and its sound be seemingly replaced by the beating of his heart.
He took a deep breath, shifted slightly to the left, and peered round a buttress of the wall that was behind him. Approximately a hundred yards away - and standing just outside the castle grounds, was a figure whom the professor at once assumed to be the one he had recently seen hurriedly withdraw from behind a window; and indeed, the figure was that of the nameless man. Somewhat desperately, he was looking about the perimeter of Palace Green, predictably in search of Professor Rainford; and the nameless man now caught sight of his quarry peering from round a buttress of a wall of the university library.
For several seconds, the two men stared at one another; and then - much to the consternation of the professor - the nameless man broke into a run. The professor hurled himself rightward, and started to dash down the lane. It was fairly short, and covered in a fresh layer of yellowish gravel; and his speed, in connection with the gravel itself, almost caused the professor to lose his balance, when - without thinking - he headed leftward, where the lane led onto a path whose surface was that of shale pressed into earth hardened by the summer sun.
Immediately, Professor Rainford regretted having headed leftward. Heading rightward from the lane, would have guided him towards a street of the city centre, and probable safety amongst people; but there was no point in him now turning back and going in the opposite direction - the inevitable retracing of his steps, would of course give considerable advantage to his pursuer. Understandably thinking of this nameless man, the professor began to run even faster, despite the breathless feeling taking hold in his chest, and the weariness already telling in his legs. Nevertheless, he glanced upwards directly to his left, and saw the western towers of the cathedral, seemingly reaching towards the blueness of the late afternoon sky; and momentarily, his thoughts turned into a wish that he was now within the Galilee Chapel - which was nestled at the base of the western towers, and that he was praying, though not whilst the fox of some terrifying chase, at the altar beside the tomb of the Venerable Bede.
As Professor Rainford wishfully thought about praying within the Galilee Chapel, the nameless man arrived upon the shale and earthen path; and after pausing for just long enough to regain sight of the professor, he commenced to again run swiftly after him. Immediately to the right of the two men, a precipitous, wooded slope led down to a bank of the River Wear; and about a quarter-of-a-mile ahead of where the professor now was, lay the river bend that had ensured the formation of the peninsula upon which the cathedral and the castle were built. Forthwith, the professor would have the option of not continuing directly to the bend in the river, thanks to the path that ran forwards down the wooded slope, to beside the disused building which was known as the Fulling Mill. The professor knew that just beyond the old mill, there stood a boathouse which would no doubt be in use upon this regatta day; and that beyond the boathouse itself, was a large, grassy area graced with willow trees - an area within whose bounds, a good number of people would surely be gathered upon a June afternoon as sunny as the present one.
Unsurprisingly, Professor Rainford took the path down the slope. The path was divided by steps lying at various distances apart, and as he descended the first of the dozen or more steps, he realized that they would considerably slow his progress; and perhaps because of this realization, the professor felt that the old mill - which was visible to him, between bushes and the trunks of deciduous trees - was much further below him than it actually was. Without stopping - and after having reached about a third of the way down the slope, Professor Rainford looked back towards the top of the steps, where the nameless man was in fact standing watching the professor himself, apparently having abandoned pursuing him; and so it was with a feeling of mild elation, that the professor returned his attention to the steps which were still separating him from the path passing alongside the old mill.
The nameless man reached beneath his coat, and pulled a revolver from a shoulder-holster; and after swiftly taking aim, he unhesitatingly fired what was most definitely not a warning shot. Thankfully, however, the shot only blew apart a section of the wooden handrail which, to the right of the intended target, was offering assistance in negotiating the slope; and showered with splinters, Professor Rainford - stumbling onwards - glanced over a shoulder, his feeling of mild elation having just been replaced by its predecessor of bewilderment and terror. He saw that the nameless man had just begun to run down the steps; and seconds later, the professor reached the bottom of the steps themselves, crossed a path, dashed down the few steps immediately to the left of the old mill, and ran round an end of the adjacent boathouse.
Professor Rainford came to a halt, and peered into the gloom which was visible through the doorway in the boathouse front; but the only evidence that he could discern about the boathouse being occupied, was the sound of voices and of a hammer being used to break up an old piece of wood. The professor knew that the sound of the hammering, could have easily covered the noise of the gunshot; and indeed the twenty or so people sitting upon the grass beyond the boathouse, showed no signs of having heard the revolver being fired - moreover, he was sure that none of the people had even vaguely noticed his presence. Without hesitation, Professor Rainford turned his mind from thoughts about the people upon the grass, and about whoever was inside the boathouse. He was of course well aware that he had hardly any time to plan his next move; and then he spotted the single-seat scull which was moored alongside the nearby wooden landing-stage, and facing downstream. Almost immediately, the professor was hurriedly untying the loose knot at one end of the rope which was securing the long, slender boat; and then he clambered onboard and lowered himself into the seat - his undergraduate rowing days at Oxford University, resulting in him doing so with a competence that belied the usually sedentary nature of his present life.
The briefcase having just been slid to reside within the hull, Professor Rainford reached for the pair of oars which were laid upon the landing-stage; and just before the professor fitted one of the oars into the port rowlock, the nameless man appeared round the northern end of the boathouse. He halted in front of the boathouse itself, caught sight of the people who were sitting upon the grass, and then - unseen by any of those people, but under the gaze of the professor - the nameless man replaced his revolver into its shoulder-holster, and directed his attention towards the scull. For a few seconds, his face registered surprise at the fact that Professor Rainford had just climbed into a boat; and then the nameless man continued to watch the professor, as the academic fitted an oar into the starboard rowlock, and subsequently used the oar to push the boat away from the landing-stage.
Two strong pulls upon the oars, sent the boat gliding diagonally backward towards the middle of the river; and somehow feeling as if it had only been days instead of decades, since he had last rowed a single-seat scull, Professor Rainford moreover felt that for the first time since shortly after his recent departure from the castle, he was not in any immediate danger. Nevertheless, he presumed that the nameless man had been sent to obtain the documents which were inside the briefcase; and the professor knew that if the nameless man shot him now, apart from it being a decidedly public act, it would of course render the documents extremely difficult to retrieve - the boat then surely to be carried by the river, over the weir stretching between the Fulling Mill and the similar disused building upon the opposite bank.
Professor Rainford began to steadily row upstream. Since pushing off from the landing-stage, he had kept the nameless man under almost constant surveillance; and now the professor watched him walk to beside the southern wall of the boathouse, against which was leaning the bicycle whose front wheel the nameless man had just noticed jutting from behind the wall itself. Irrespective of the fact that the professor had been previously unaware of the bicycle, the nameless man - observed only by the academic whom he was pursuing - climbed onto the two-wheeled vehicle, and then commenced to pedal it a little unsteadily along a path, inevitably in the direction in which the boat was being rowed.
Forthwith, Professor Rainford stared over his right shoulder, and saw the graceful stone structure which was Prebends’ Bridge, apparently advancing towards him; and having aimed for the central arch, he had soon skillfully steered through this huge opening, without having even brushed an oar-tip against the stonework. Still staring over his right shoulder, the professor noted that the river was beginning to curve away to the left of his view; and so he knew that he had reached where the River Wear swept round the south of the peninsula lying at the very heart of Durham City. Conscious that the nameless cyclist was easily matching the speed of the scull, Professor Rainford - although realizing the unlikelihood of a lone rower outpacing someone riding a bicycle - pulled harder upon the oars.
Curiously, the river bend which the professor was in the midst of negotiating, was known as the Count’s Corner - as a consequence of the mistaken belief that the summerhouse standing beside the path there, had been the home of an historic celebrated citizen, the Polish dwarf Joseph Boruwlaski; and as the professor now rowed upstream out of the river bend, he spotted that the nameless man had already cycled past the summerhouse. Nevertheless - and because the professor’s arms and legs and back, had begun to ache quite badly, the man in the boat slackened the pace of his rowing; but a minute or so later, he was approaching - to his right, as he faced upstream - a remarkably high, rock and earthen cliff which was overgrown by vegetation.
Climbing the cliff would have been extremely difficult even with the help of mountaineering equipment; but of course pulling ashore upon the opposite bank, was effectively ruled out for Professor Rainford, by the presence of the nameless cyclist. Obviously, the only real option for the professor at present, was to continue rowing between the wooded riverbanks of the city; and regardless, he momentarily veered the scull towards the base of the cliff, in order to avoid some buoys which were moored midstream to direct boats participating in the regatta. However, the professor knew that the regatta’s last race for the day, would have been held an hour or so earlier, and that there was no danger of collision with ordinary rowing-boats - such craft were banned from the city section of the River Wear, until the day after tomorrow.
Having not allowed the aching of his arms and legs and back, to further cause him to slacken the pace of his rowing, Professor Rainford presently neared the upstream end of the river section which stretched between the Count’s Corner, and the eastern side of the landward end of the peninsula. Nearby, the cliff had given way to low-lying ground cluttered by houses and commercial buildings; and the path - from which the nameless man was predictably still shadowing the scull - was running alongside a stone wall that had been built to contain the river even during the dry times of a summer. Irrespectively, Professor Rainford now looked behind him, and saw the picturesque, medieval construction which was known as Elvet Bridge; and having pointed the boat towards the third archway from the path, he pulled the oars close in beside the hull, and passed - without incident - beneath the bridge itself, and into the major part of a rightward bend. Here, the riverbank opposite the one along which the path was running, provided a natural landing-stage; but the professor had a plan for a little further upstream, where - beyond the lattice-sided structure that formed Baths’ Bridge - the river lay between the old racecourse and the hillside boasting the colleges of St. Hild and St. Bede.
Trees and hedges obscuring the colleges from his view, soon, Professor Rainford was rowing underneath Baths’ Bridge itself; and then he watched the nameless man pass by one of the bridge ends, and continue - unaware that the bridge was the last opportunity to cross the river for a considerable distance upstream - to cycle along the path. The professor, however, was fully aware of the strategic significance of Baths’ Bridge; and several times in quick succession, he pulled as hard as he could upon the oars, to the consequence of the boat skimming to over thirty yards ahead of alongside the nameless cyclist - but then, deliberately, the professor steered the boat towards the riverbank along whose path his pursuer was furiously pedalling. The intention of Professor Rainford - as well as to lure the nameless man onwards from Baths’ Bridge, was to leave undisclosed for as long as possible, where the scull was to be actually landed; and so just in time to prevent the boat bumping into the college riverbank, he used an oar to push the scull diagonally back towards midstream. The professor again pulled upon the oars; and only a handful of seconds later, the boat was halted by a grassy bank which led up to a section of the old racecourse.
As the nameless man, having just stopped the bicycle, angrily and hurriedly turned it back in the direction of Baths’ Bridge, Professor Rainford clambered out of the scull and onto the grassy riverbank. He removed the briefcase from inside the hull, scrambled a few feet up the slope, and arrived upon the path which in fact followed what had been the track of the old racecourse. Hundreds of people who had attended the regatta, were still sitting beside - or strolling along - the old racecourse itself, enjoying the last of the afternoon sunshine; and so the professor was the object of more than a few curious stares, as he now crossed to the waist-high wooden fence which separated the old racecourse from a large playing-field.
Shaking as a consequence of having just been rowing, Professor Rainford stood and looked over the fence. Pitched at the centre of the playing-field, was a huge saddleback tent - its front painted with a colourful panorama of horse-riding American Indians pursuing a number of bison. The front entrance of the tent, was in possession of an awning; and to the outside and to the left of the entrance, was a table from behind which a young Comanche woman was in the process of selling tickets to a small queue of people. A makeshift corral, containing over half-a-dozen horses of various colours, was located by the tent side that was nearest the young woman; whilst pitched along the opposite side, were two smaller tents - one containing a display of native American artefacts, the other a menagerie of small wildlife from the American southern plains. Parked a few yards in front of the artefact display tent, was a large, enclosed wooden wagon which was currently unhitched from its team of horses; and a circular encampment of six tepees, was to be found to the left of the corral. The entire scene had a decidedly surreal air about it; but this was surely increased by the fact that emblazoned upon the roof of the saddleback tent - in the lettering style used for the covers of western novels, was William Shakespeare’s Wild West Show.
The latter five words having caused Professor Rainford to momentarily smile, he glanced towards Baths’ Bridge, and saw that the nameless man was already cycling across it; and so the professor desperately began to look along the fence. A short distance to his left, was a gap that had been created by the wanton destruction of several vertical planks; and almost immediately after he had dashed towards the gap in the fence, a large splinter ripped a sleeve of his jacket, as - stooping to avoid bumping his head against a horizontal timber - he squeezed through into the playing-field.
Professor Rainford began to run as fast as he could. Feeling as if his heart was beating in time with his feet pounding upon the grass, he was soon heading round the back of the enclosed wagon, which was facing in the direction of the peninsula; and then the professor came to an abrupt standstill - out of the view, coincidentally, of the handful of people whom he had just spotted waiting to buy tickets for the teatime show in the saddleback tent. Now, peering round a corner of the wagon, the professor discovered that the nameless man was slowly cycling along the old racecourse, and casting a gaze which was surely intended to reveal the whereabouts of the professor himself.
In order to monitor the progress of his pursuer, from a slightly more discreet location, Professor Rainford retraced his steps to beside the wagon back; and seconds later, the nameless man stopped the bicycle, and commenced to thoroughly scan the crowd of people who were nearby around him upon the riverbank. For no particular reason, the professor glanced towards the back of the wagon, which consisted of a door that could be lowered to form a ramp; and suddenly, an idea concerning hiding the documents contained by the briefcase, occurred to Professor Rainford. Without hesitation - and whilst standing upon an iron step jutting out from close to an axle, he slid open the four large bolts which had just been securing the door; and then, with a little difficulty, he lowered the door until its top was resting upon grass, and yet without him having bothered to look inside the gloomy interior that was thus revealed.
When he did look inside the wagon, however, Professor Rainford experienced a considerable shock, for he found himself face-to-face with an extremely large bison which was slumbering upon a bed of straw. The professor felt suffocated by the bovine smell which was escaping from the wagon; but he managed to hold his ground, and noticed that there was a grey cast to the mane of the huge animal before him. Perhaps as emboldened by the obvious elderliness of the bison, as by the state of slumber of the animal, Professor Rainford decided to continue with his plan of hiding the documents; and so he removed these two items from the briefcase, and slid them beneath straw at the top of the ramp - and as an afterthought, shoved several handfuls of straw into the briefcase, to prevent this item from appearing empty. The professor refastened the briefcase, looked back towards the bison, and became aware that the creature was watching him.
Professor Rainford’s intention to re-close the wagon door, was abandoned as understandably as it was recklessly; and forcing himself to appear calm, he quickly wended his way between the wagon and one of the two smaller tents, round towards where the young woman ticket-seller was about to serve a couple who were students at one of the colleges across the river. The couple’s regatta attire making seemingly incongruous their visit to the wild west show, the professor began to queue behind them; and then he looked towards the old racecourse, and once more caught sight of the nameless man. He had just dismounted from the bicycle, and - steadying the contraption by its handlebar - was rather frantically casting a sweeping gaze amongst the people who were near enough for him to now clearly discern. Irrespectively, the young woman ticket-seller soon distracted Professor Rainford, by speaking politely to him.
‘Admission is sixpence, sir - and would you like a programme?’
‘No - thank you. Just a ticket, please’.
Predictably in search of some money, Professor Rainford reached into a pocket of his waistcoat; and after he had handed the young woman - who was wearing Comanche costume - a mint-condition sixpence, she deftly tore a ticket from a depleted roll, and handed the ticket to him. The professor smiled as he thanked the young woman, just before turning his attention back towards the riverbank section of the old racecourse; and then Professor Rainford and the nameless found themselves distantly looking at one another, the former only moments before the latter. Watched by the professor, the nameless man discarded the bicycle, and commenced to run towards the northern gate that led into the playing-field; and regardless of the young woman having just begun to sense fear from Professor Rainford, this man moved away from the table behind which the young woman was standing, and disappeared into the saddleback tent.
Seconds later, the professor felt his spirits rise considerably, for somehow-reassuring and expectant chatter was emanating from amongst the nearly three hundred people who were already gathered within the tent in question. They were seated upon a pair of U-shaped and tiered scaffolding structures, which were arranged one to either end of a large oval space that was almost fully bounded by a low wall of plywood blocks, and that was covered with an inches-deep layer of sawdust. A big, curtained entrance that led into a sizeable annexe of canvas, stood opposite the gangway in which Professor Rainford had just arrived; and the tent’s illumination was partly provided by a score of lime-lights that were set along the plywood block wall. Perhaps because of the possible fire hazard that was posed by the location of the lime-lights, the front rows contained the majority of seating which had not been taken up for the impending show; and absorbing the details of the layout of the saddleback tent, the professor sat down - several places inwards - upon the planking that formed the front row to the right of the gangway. Twisting round, he commenced to stare towards the opening at one end of the gangway itself, inevitably in anticipation of the arrival of the nameless man.
Professor Rainford did not have long to wait before the arrival took place; and almost immediately afterwards, the nameless man spotted the academic, and gave a chilling, thin smile of acknowledgement. The professor gave no response to the smile, but watched the nameless man become seated at the gangway end of the row directly behind the professor himself; and correctly sensing that the nameless man was now content to remain sitting as long as he himself did, Professor Rainford faced towards the oval area which - despite its contrary shape - constituted the ring of the wild west show.
Forthwith and of course coincidentally, there began to emanate from somewhere behind the curtained entrance - and to the result of much applause, the loud and steady beating of drums. The haunting sound of a lone voice wailing, was added to the atmospheric drumming; and presently, more drums and wailing voices joined in to swell the traditional Comanche music to its crescendo. Suddenly, the wailing and the drumming ceased, as the pair of curtains began to slowly and dramatically open, to reveal - to a clapping and whistling and cheering audience - a stationary team of four horses, which was harnessed to a Wells-Fargo stagecoach.
Perched upon the double seat that was projecting from the front of the stagecoach roof, was the namesake operator of the wild west show, John William Shakespeare. Thirty-four years of age, Shakespeare was approximately the correct weight for his height of six-foot one-and-a-half inches; and his frame somehow suited his current attire of buckskin trousers and a matching jacket. A white stetson hat obscuring Shakespeare’s light brown hair, his left hand was tightly holding the reins of the horses; and as soon as the curtains had fully opened, he released the brake of the stagecoach, and transferred his right hand to provide assistance in holding the reins.
A ripple deliberately sent along the reins themselves, started the horses slowly walking; and immediately, Shakespeare pulled the reins leftward, inevitably to make the equine team turn in that direction. The carriage body swaying in a characteristically alarming manner, the showman waited until the Wells-Fargo stagecoach had undergone a manoeuvre of ninety degrees, before he firmly pulled upon the reins in order to bring the horses to a standstill; and as soon as the horses had complied to his latter command, he slid the free rein-ends through the iron hoop which was affixed beneath the seat, and secured the reins by means of a loose knot. Having just re-applied the brake, Shakespeare used the rail between the brake-handle and the adjacent seat edge, to swing himself out into a position of clinging to a side of the stagecoach; and then he let himself drop, and landed upright - amidst a tiny cloud of sawdust - to tremendous applause from the audience.
He turned his back towards the stagecoach, flipped open the right side of his jacket, and pulled from the holster strapped to his corresponding leg, a colt .45 revolver. For several seconds - and to continuing tremendous applause, Shakespeare twirled the revolver around the index-finger of his right hand; and then he turned in the direction in which the team of horses were facing. Approximately twenty feet ahead of him - and roughly the same distance above the ring of the wild west show, a rolled banner was suspended from a L-shaped, tubular object that was in turn suspended, widthways to the ring, from the framework of the tent roof; and aiming towards the fastening which was keeping the banner rolled, Shakespeare fired the colt .45. The noise of the gunshot, was sharp and loud, and smoke billowed from the barrel of the weapon; but aside from the smoke, there was no visible evidence of the gunshot having had any consequence.
The showman shrugged, briefly mimed a state of thoughtfulness, and then tapped a side of his hat, in suggestion that an idea had just occurred to him. From a pocket of his jacket, he removed a small mirror with a handle; and upon turning about, he assumed a position of semi-crouching - his right knee resting in the sawdust. The mirror tilted so that he could see the fastening around the banner, Shakespeare aimed the colt .45 - over his left shoulder - towards the fastening itself; and then he pressed shut his left ear, with his hand which was holding the mirror. He again fired the colt .45. Immediately, he turned his head round just in time for him to witness the fastening fall away; and then - to an extremely enthusiastic response from the audience - the banner unfurled to reveal upon both of its sides, “Welcome to William Shakespeare’s Wild West Show”.
Smiling, Shakespeare looked away from the direction of the banner, and with the intention of returning the mirror to the pocket from which he had latterly taken it - but this intention failed to be translated into action; and indeed without the showman now having further thoughts about the mirror, a puzzled expression suddenly took the place of his smile. Walking towards him - and from only a few feet away, was the ginger haired and bewhiskered figure who was Professor Henry James Rainford; and without an opportunity for Shakespeare to query the presence of the professor, this man - albeit to his great distress - used the briefcase which he was carrying, to strike the showman across the face. Shakespeare predictably lost his balance, fell sideways - bereft of his hat - to accidentally hit his head against the front right wheel of the stagecoach, and unconsciously slumped into the sawdust; and as the audience then applauded what they clearly thought to be an incident enacted for their entertainment, the professor hurriedly picked up the colt .45 from where it had fallen to beside the stagecoach wheel.
Having transferred the gun to his right hand - and the briefcase to his left, Professor Rainford turned about, just in time to see the nameless man clamber over the plywood block wall and into the ring of the wild west show. Somewhat unsteadily, the professor aimed the colt .45 towards his pursuer, who nevertheless - although with hands raised to shoulder height - began to slowly walk towards the academic.
‘You might as well throw that gun away, because - although as emboldened as you’ve just become - you’re not the kind of person who’s capable of shooting anyone’. The voice of the nameless man, now possessed a decidedly chilling edge, in spite of a feigned tone of reasonableness. ‘And even if you were capable of shooting me, it would hardly be sensible to do so in front of these hundreds of witnesses’.
‘Not even one step further!’
‘Okay, okay, professor - I accept that you’re in command of the situation’. The nameless man halted, and raised his hands slightly higher. ‘So what next?’
‘Your revolver. I want you to take it out very, very slowly - fingers nowhere near the trigger, and to then throw the weapon onto the ground’.
The nameless man momentarily bowed his head, in a gesture of acquiescence; and subsequently, he used his right hand to gingerly reach inside his coat, and ease his revolver from its shoulder-holster. His left hand still raised, the nameless man held the weapon towards Professor Rainford, as the academic nodded towards the ground between the two men, in indication that the nameless man should throw down the revolver as instructed; and taking advantage of the professor’s momentary shift of attention, the nameless man let go of the weapon, caught it so that he had a finger within the trigger guard, and pulled the trigger itself. In a split second, Professor Rainford heard the crack of the gunshot, and felt a searing pain within his chest; and then he fell backwards and dead, onto the sawdust - the briefcase and the colt .45, relinquished from his lifeless hands.
Remorseless about the murder which he had just committed, the nameless man moved forwards, in order to retrieve the briefcase - some of the audience members commencing to boo, as if the nameless man were a comic villain who would perhaps be better suited to an appearance in a pantomime; and as the nameless man tucked the briefcase beneath his left arm, he realized that the audience members were still of the belief that they were watching a wild west show. Inevitably aware that this mistaken belief could never prove to be anything more than transitory, the nameless man ran towards where the plywood block wall separated the ring from the gangway leading out of the saddleback tent; and indeed as he clambered back over the wall itself, some of the members of the audience, had already begun to wonder why Shakespeare was still slumped beside a wheel of the stagecoach. The nameless man dashed along the gangway, and then completed his escape from the saddleback tent; and for approximately the next ten seconds, the audience members - the level of their conversation, steadily rising - confusedly surveyed the crime scene which was contained by the wild west show ring.
Suddenly, a young woman who was seated upon one of the front rows, started to scream hysterically.
Copyright © 2011 Anne-Marie Neil
All rights reserved.
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William Shakespeare's Wild West Show is available to purchase as a Kindle E-Book, and as a mass-market paperback, on www.amazon.com, www.amazon.ca, www.amazon.co.uk, www.amazon.fr, www.amazon.de, www.amazon.at, www.amazon.it, www.amazon.es, www.amazon.co.jp, and www.junglee.com; and as a Kindle E-Book only, on www.amazon.com.br.
A search on Google, will reveal many other worldwide internet outlets for the paperback.
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