Lena Jones - Agatha Oddly

It takes less than ten minutes to reach the massive door that marks the main entrance to the Gatekeepers’ Guild. Two armed guards check my pass and let me through. Leaving my hired bike in a set of racks provided for the purpose, I make my way through the various passages on foot, until I reach Professor D’Oliveira’s office.

She calls ‘Enter!’ in answer to my knock, and I step inside. ‘Good morning, Agatha. Please take a seat.’

She’s sitting at her carved desk in her wood-panelled office, where everything is plush and ornate. The only clue that we’re underground is the lack of windows.

I sit and she slides a folder across the desk towards me. ‘Your first case for the Gatekeepers’ Guild,’ she says. As I reach to pick it up, there’s another knock at the door … and who should enter but the boy from the National Gallery.

Arthur! My brain struggles to compute. There’s a word, incongruous , which means something that looks completely out of place. This is not his territory, but mine. What on earth is he doing here?

‘Ah!’ says the professor. ‘Arthur – thank you for joining us. Agatha, this is Arthur Fitzwilliam. Arthur, Agatha Oddlow. The two of you will be working on the case together.’

He grins sheepishly at me. ‘Sorry – I looked on your school calendar and found out your class were visiting the gallery yesterday, so I couldn’t resist popping in, in the hope we’d get a chance to meet.’

My brain feels foggy. ‘But … you didn’t say you had anything to do with the Guild!’

‘Not really the place, was it?’ he points out. ‘I couldn’t start blurting out about a top-secret organisation in public.’

The professor looks from me to Arthur and back. ‘Have you two met already?’ she asks, with a frown.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Arthur faked a “chance encounter” with me at the National Gallery yesterday afternoon.’

‘I see …’ she says slowly. ‘Arthur, please take a seat.’

As he sits, his face is full of happy mischief.

‘Sorry, Professor D,’ he says. But he’s smiling.

‘That was totally unprofessional conduct,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t fair to Agatha – and it was in blatant breach of Guild rules.’

‘Sorry, Professor,’ he says again. ‘But you told me I was going to be working with Agatha and—’

She holds up a hand to silence him – a gesture I’ve seen too many times directed at me. ‘That will do.’

‘But it’s not like I told her anything!’ he protests.

I can’t help smiling. There was no malice in Arthur’s actions, after all, and I had enjoyed meeting him. I reckon we’ll have fun working together.

The professor shakes her head. ‘I despair, I really do,’ she says. But her eyes are twinkling and the corners of her mouth are twitching.

‘So you knew we were going to be working together?’ I say, turning to Arthur. ‘When we met at the gallery, I mean.’

He nods. ‘The professor told me yesterday morning.’

Professor D’Oliveira shakes her head. She turns to me. ‘So, Agatha,’ she says, ‘you see what you have to deal with … Keep him on a tight leash, won’t you?’ But she’s smiling indulgently, as if he’s a favourite child.

‘I will,’ I promise.

‘This is a sensitive investigation,’ she says, looking from one of us to the other. ‘But I’m sure you’ll make an excellent team. Arthur, who has good art knowledge and more Guild experience, is the lead on this case, but I do expect you, Arthur, to listen to Agatha – she has good instincts and is a natural codebreaker. Right – I think that’s everything for now. I need to get on with my own work.’ She looks at Arthur. ‘Take Agatha to the induction room and bring her up to speed with the case so far, would you?’

‘Certainly, Professor,’ he says. He picks up the folder and the pair of us stand up and move towards the door.

‘Oh,’ she says, ‘just one more thing. Agatha, stay behind a moment, will you? We won’t be long, Arthur.’ Arthur nods and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

‘Now, Agatha,’ she says, ‘don’t let this young man take over completely. There’s a case to be solved, and he needs a firm hand at times. He may have been an agent for a couple of years longer than you, but don’t be afraid to contradict him, if you feel it’s required.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Thank you for trusting me with this.’

‘You’ve already proven your worth, with the two cases you conducted outside of the Guild. Don’t forget, though – it’s not only Arthur who needs to toe the line. Now you’re working for us, you can’t be going off on your own. There are safeguarding issues at stake here – and I don’t want to have to suspend you again.’

I feel myself flush with embarrassment and frustration. What do I have to do to make her trust me? ‘I won’t – I promise,’ I say, biting back the urge to defend myself.

Arthur is waiting for me outside the office. He nods towards the corridor we need to take to the induction room, and we begin walking side by side. As we pass door after door, part of my mind marvels, as always, at the scale of this underground community.

‘So, you’re Clara Oddlow’s daughter?’ he says.

‘How did you know that?’ I ask.

He shrugs. ‘Common knowledge within the Guild.’

‘Oh.’ I take that in. ‘So, what do you know about her?’

‘Well, she’s a bit of a legend around here, isn’t she? Something to live up to. Must be hard for you, as her daughter.’

‘Well, if I let myself think too hard about it, I’d be paralysed with fears of inadequacy and failure!’ I laugh to show I’m not entirely serious.

‘I believe it’s best not to dwell on the negatives,’ says Arthur. ‘Life’s hard enough at times, without setting yourself up to fail.’

‘That’s exactly what I think!’ We smile at each other. ‘What’s the case?’ I ask him. ‘Professor D’Oliveira said you’re an art expert, so I’m guessing it’s about art?’

‘It is indeed,’ said Arthur. ‘Let’s go in here and then I’ll fill you in.’ He opens the door to the induction room. Unlike the previous times I’ve visited this space, now there are a number of other people sitting at tables, mainly sifting through files. We take seats on the far side, near the radiator. The cold wind doesn’t reach these offices, but it’s still distinctly chilly underground.

I glance around. One man is studying something that looks like a photo, but he’s using his phone to examine it.

‘What’s he doing?’ I whisper to Arthur.

‘It’s a special app. The thing he’s examining is a bit like a microfiche – do you know about those?’

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment as I summon up my mental filing cabinet and flick through the imaginary, hand-written cards until I reach the right one:

‘ A flat piece of film containing microphotographs of the pages of a document ,’ I say, reading the text inside my mind.

‘That’s right – tiny images, which you have to view through a special machine that magnifies them. Well, this is a thing called a nanofiche. It was invented by someone at the Guild and can only be viewed using the organisation’s own app.’

‘Wow, that’s cool.’

He points to another person, a woman apparently staring straight ahead of her. The only thing odd about her – apart from this behaviour – is her glasses, which are larger and more clunky than normal. They remind me of the ones an optician uses to test your eyes.