Sleepwalker Read Free Page A

impossible. The room flickered in his vision. He was beginning to feel the way he had felt during his bad years as a very young man, when his temper had been so terrible. Everyone remembered those bad times. They were on his record. They all wanted him to slip so they could find someone else to do his job.
    Langton remembered. It was in his eyes, in his too careful smile. “You’ve done such good work, Peter. Really fine work.”
    Peter still could not speak.
    â€œBut it’s all been a bit much, hasn’t it? You’ve learned to master that temper of yours, and I admire that, actually. A man who can improve himself. Very admirable. But the pressure is getting to you, Peter, don’t you think?”
    It was really impossible. Peter was a professional, widely published—a scientist. And here he was a puppet, manipulated by bureaucrats. Worse than that. Stupid bureaucrats.
    â€œI was going to have a good long chat with you, sooner or later, so we may as well have it now.” Langton seemed more than unruffled. He seemed cheered.
    Peter fell into a chair. He could not bear to look at Langton.
    â€œGood. A little chat,” said Langton. “The finds department has been lagging a good bit, hasn’t it?”
    â€œI’m working twenty hours a day—”
    â€œExactly. That’s it. Overworked, and all in a good cause, and we do appreciate it. You’ve been the best man for the job, Peter. The best.”
    Through his anger, Peter could sense that he should pay close attention to what Langton was about to say. He clasped his hands together.
    â€œI’ve just had a word with Dr. Higg,” Langton continued. “Or, rather, he’s had a word with me. He rang me from London. He was especially concerned when he heard of this business with the mud.”
    Peter closed his eyes. The near disaster which had nearly killed two men would be forever trivialized in Langton’s mind as “this business with the mud.” And, eventually, “that muddy business we had at one point.” Higg, though, was an important man, and Peter had respect for him. He was a former barrister turned archaeologist, an adviser to several governments. His list of honors was a long train of abbreviations after his name, and just three months before he had been made a papal knight. Higg was the sole bureaucrat who had any knowledge of what it was like to wield a mattock.
    â€œHe was so concerned, and so proud of you, Peter. So very proud. ‘That Chambers is a quick thinker,’ is what he said when I told him what had happened. And I certainly second that. But he said, and I quite agree, that it’s about time you had some help here in York. With the finds, with the paperwork, all the nasty bits, while you get on with the business in the field.”
    Peter was expected to make some sort of response. He grunted, and looked away. He had to admit that he liked working with his hands. He enjoyed getting dirty in the name of archaeology, and did not especially like entering finds numbers into a computer, although he knew this was essential.
    â€œWe don’t want this sort of thing to recur. Not that we blame you—”
    â€œMe!”
    â€œNot a bit. But to make the entire effort go more smoothly. London does provide the money, you know. York is a mere appendage, and we must bow to their wiser counsel.”
    â€œNaturally,” said Peter, with some bitterness. He had calmed himself, however. Just stay quiet, he told himself. Don’t talk, and you won’t say anything you regret.
    â€œAnd I think you’ll like Dr. Higg’s suggestion. He has put forward the name of a man I believe you know, a really gifted scientist, and an expert at finds. Quite an author, as well, of the more technical sort of book. An old colleague—Davis Lowry.”
    Langton smiled expectantly.
    Peter stood and paced. Davis was the last person in the world he could work with.