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Gibson was waiting impatiently. Freya had replaced her boots with light loafers and was wearing gypsy earrings.
    Gibson took them back down to the entrance area and they spread themselves around the semi-circular settee. He clasped his hands together and forced a brief smile. ‘First things first. I apologise for the clandestine stuff.’
    ‘I rather enjoyed it,’ Freya said.
    Petrie said, ‘Especially the warning.’
    Gibson looked blank. ‘The warning?’
    Petrie said, ‘It told me to watch my back. Didn’t you send it?’
    Gibson stood up, and paced up and down, looking at the marble floor. Finally he turned to them, a worried look on his face. ‘Christ.’
    ‘I suggest that you start at the beginning,’ Petrie said gently.
    ‘What? Oh yes, Tom, yes of course.’ Gibson sat down again. ‘But before we go any further I need one thing more from both of you.’
    ‘And if you don’t get it?’ Petrie wanted to know.
    ‘Your air tickets are open returns.’
    Freya gave an apprehensive little laugh. ‘I can’t wait to hear this.’
    ‘For the next four days I want you to remain within the grounds of the castle. You are to have no communication with the outside world without my authorisation. After that, we review the situation.’
    Freya and Petrie exchanged glances. Petrie said, ‘Tell us more.’
    Gibson looked worried. ‘I can’t. Not without your promise of confidentiality. If you knew what this was about you’d understand.’
    Petrie turned to Freya. ‘What do you think?’
    She looked doubtful. ‘It sounds military. Maybe a Star Wars thing that I wouldn’t want to touch.’
    Gibson’s eyeballs rolled with alarm. ‘I need you. There’s no time to get anyone else.’
    Freya smiled happily. ‘You need us. We don’t need you. It looks as if we’re in a strong bargaining position.’
    Gibson sat down across from Freya, and sighed. ‘I hate all women.’

6
    Patterns
    Having just sat down, Gibson jumped up again. ‘Follow me.’
    He led the way round the bend of the left-hand corridor. At its end was an ornate door. He waved them dramatically through it.
    The room was about fifty metres long. On its high barrelled roof was a fresco of cherubim. The little creatures were on a hillside, reading maps or turning hour-glasses. One, its wings an aerodynamic impossibility, was flying through a star-spangled sky, holding a pennant bearing the words Sapientissimi Opus. The room was lined with books on either side and antique globes were scattered around.
    ‘This is the theological library, folks. Take a look at this.’ A single strip of perforated paper was laid along the full length of its polished floor and back up the other side. The numbers were upside down and the scientists bent double over them, walking slowly backwards.
    ‘There’s this big cave complex a few hours north of here, see? It has a deep lake half a mile across and we’ve built an aluminium scaffolding under it to hold light detectors. We have fifty thousand photocells, laid out in a cubic lattice. The numbers in the left column go from one to fifty thousand. They’re just labels. The next column records light intensity picked up from each detector. As you see, there’s nothing but zeros.’
    ‘I’m not surprised,’ Petrie said, moving backwards. ‘How can you expect to record underwater light in a pitch black cave?’
    Freya said, ‘GUTS decay has been ruled out for ten years now. You have to be talking Çerenkov.’
    Gibson gave her a look of open admiration. ‘Ten out of ten. Funny things happen when you go faster than light. Çerenkov radiation is one of them.’
    ‘I thought you couldn’t travel faster than light,’ Petrie said.
    ‘Only schoolboys think that,’ Gibson said smugly.
    Petrie bristled, then decided the man was too absurd to be taken seriously. ‘Thank you, Charlie, for treating me like an idiot.’
    ‘Light moves slower in water,’ Freya explained. ‘In principle you could swim through water faster