The Invisible Assassin(50)

‘I don’t drink,’ said Jake.

‘In that case you’ll be OK with this,’ said Johnson, thrusting one of the glasses into his hand. ‘Tonic water.’

Jake took the glass and followed her through the crowd to a bench pushed up against one wall. She sat down, and Jake dropped down beside her. The bench was small and it was a tight squeeze, but he was relieved not to be getting on that bike again for another nightmare journey.

‘So you’re going to tell me where you fit in with all this stuff?’ he asked.

‘With the hidden library of the Order of Malichea.’ Johnson nodded.

Once again, as he heard the words, Jake felt a weird sensation. Did everyone know about this organisation and talk about it so matter-of-factly? Alex Munro had. And now Penny Johnson was talking about it in the same casual tone, as if it was common knowledge. Yet just a few days ago, Jake had never heard of them. And, according to Lauren, their existence was a secret, denied by the scientific establishment. It was certainly covered up by Gareth, if the business in the archives was anything to go by.

‘There’s an organisation called the Watchers,’ said Johnson. Her voice was low, and Jake had to strain to hear what she was saying, especially over the music. ‘It was set up originally when the books were buried by the monks in 1497. It was a secret organisation, because the books themselves were secret. I’m sure you know that?’

‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘With the threat of the books being burned as heretical.’

‘Not just the books, the monks as well,’ said Johnson.

He leant forward, his face close to hers, as he strained to hear her words.

‘The Watchers were composed of people who were trusted by the monks at Glastonbury who hid the books. So – cooks, servants, carpenters, stonemasons, tradespeople. People who worked in the background. The sort no one notices. Their job was to keep watch over the hidden books and make sure no one discovered them by accident, or on purpose. No one except the monks who’d hidden them, that is.’

‘Sort of security?’ asked Jake.

‘Yes. The idea was that they would keep the books safe until the time was right for them to be revealed.’

‘But that time never came,’ said Jake. ‘The plague wiped out the monks.’

‘And then came Henry VIII, and then other kings, all of whom wouldn’t be sympathetic to these heretical ideas coming out into the open,’ said Johnson. ‘Even in the twentieth century there were organisations like the Catholic Church with their list of banned books, and others. And all the time the Watchers kept watch over the books, making sure their hiding places remained undisturbed. The job was handed down from generation to generation. Parents to their children. Uncles and aunts to nieces and nephews. They were still ordinary people doing ordinary jobs – nurses, teachers, railway workers, taxi drivers, carpenters, journalists . . .’

‘You’re a Watcher!’ exclaimed Jake, startled. Then hastily he snapped his mouth shut, looking around in alarm in case he’d been overheard. But the thud thud thud of the music was too loud for anyone to have heard what they were speaking about.

‘Yes.’

‘How does it work?’ he asked. ‘How many of you are there?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Johnson. ‘That’s how the Watchers have remained secret for so long. Each book is protected by a small cell of about four people. They don’t know the identities of any of the people in the other cells who are guarding the other books. That way, they can’t reveal anything other than about their own book.’

‘But they know what their particular book is about?’ asked Jake.

‘No,’ said Johnson. ‘In those first days, all these people knew was that the books were being hidden to keep them safe, because what was written in them was considered dangerous by the enemies of the abbey. Remember, most of the original Watchers were simple tradespeople who couldn’t read or write. Their job was simply to guard them. I inherited the job of watching over the book that was hidden at the fairy-ring site. I was never told what the book was about, only that it had to be protected. Once I heard there were plans to build that new university science block at the site, our cell set to work: raising planning objections, all the usual stuff. When those failed we stirred up the protestors.’

‘How?’

‘Articles in the paper and features on the local TV and radio. Letters of protest. People can be stirred up if you know which buttons to push.’

‘And when that failed . . .’

‘Then it was a case of keeping a close watch on the site, and – if the book was found – trying to find out where it went, and recover it so it could be hidden again.’