The Undercollege, Part 5: Plans

Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 30th December 2007

It had been a bad day for Rudolf. He'd dragged himself out of a river, covered in muddy weeds and with gashes in his one-piece lycra rowing kit, and found himself in the grounds of an underground college. He'd followed the two young people he'd come across because he couldn't think of anything better to do about his situation. When they'd disappeared into a tunnel barely wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders, he'd had his doubts, but eventually he'd followed them both rather than be left out in the open on his own. Now the shorter man was lunging at him with what appeared to be some sort of knife. Rudolf instinctively drew himself backwards and upwards, and in the process the crown of his head made involuntary contact with the ceiling of the tunnel. He swore in a way that could only be interpreted as human.

The boy with the knife halted momentarily, confusion etched into his features, and Rudolf took the opportunity to press forward. "Bloody hell," he murmured, raising a hand to his injured pate. As he did so, he dislodged a particularly slithery frond of pondweed from his mop of russet brown hair. "Put that thing away before you take someone's eye out."

"I'm sorry," the assailant replied sheepishly, tucking the multitool away. "We... I thought you were some sort of... monster." The girl, whose face was in shadow behind the light from the small torch, nodded.

Rudolf considered this. "Huh," he responded after a few seconds and smiled broadly. "Well, you're not exactly picture perfect yourself, you know." Mike frowned at this, but Rudolf pressed on. "Although since I've just crawled out of a river, I'll forgive you this once. And it's understandable that you were a bit jumpy, given your encounter with Mr. Bones back there. Looks like you smashed him up pretty good, incidentally."

Cat and Mike exchanged glances, but neither spoke, so Rudolf continued as he crawled forward out of the tunnel mouth into the chamber. "Nice place you have here. This your love nest?"

"Sorry, what?" Mike replied, but was cut off by Cat. "No, no. We're not... together."

Rudolf laughed. "Oh. Sorry. In that case we'd better do the Freshers' Week thing." He cleared his throat. "I'm Rudolf, and I'm a second-year historian at Trinity."

It was the girl who responded first. "I'm Cat, and I'm a first year studying maths at Clare." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Although I'm thinking of switching to Philosophy."

"Mike," Mike replied tersely after a few seconds' silence. "Fourth year engineer at Emma. You say you fell into a river. Was that how you ended up down here?"

Rudolf wagged a finger at him. "I said that I crawled out of a river," he corrected, "not that I fell in. But as a matter of fact I did fall in. I was rowing on the Cam with my crew, and my boat tipped over. Felt myself being dragged down..." He took a deep breath. The memories weren't pleasant ones. "I must have lost consciousness. Anyway, later, I woke up on the bank of a river. But it was a different river. An underground one. That's how I got here." He turned his dark eyes, which had been roving the ceiling of the chamber, on Mike. "What about you?"

"I was trying to fix some electrics at the ADC," Mike replied. "Something short-circuited - I think the sheathing on a cable must have been damaged. Anyway, I blacked out, and when I came round I was down here." He sighed. "Wherever here is."

"Well, I was in the UL, and something hit me on the back of the head," Cat added. "You can guess the rest. I think I've only been conscious for half an hour or so. I was running, and then I came across the skeleton..."

"He knew that much," Mike interrupted. "He saw it, remember?" The engineer turned his gaze, along with a healthy dose of sarcasm, on Rudolf. "Thank you ever so much for intervening and bravely helping us out, by the way."

Rudolf threw up his hands, which he only just had space to do in the low-ceilinged cave. "Hey!" he protested. "I only saw what was left of it, and then you two, scooting guiltily off into the distance. At least I came to the right conclusion. Although I'm sure you'll plead self-defence."

"It was a walking skeleton!" Mike burst out. "It didn't look like it was going to listen to reason."

"Even if it did resemble a College porter," Cat added absently.

Rudolf nodded. Things were starting to come together now. "That makes sense," he mused.

"Sense?" Mike was virtually screeching now, and his knuckles were white. "We're somewhere underground in a mysterious tunnel, we have no idea how we got here, and we've just been attacked by the living dead. How can any of this be making any sense to you?"

Rudolf clenched a fist, too. The engineer's self-righteous manner was starting to irritate him. Inwardly he forced himself to remain calm and continue. "Because I think I've seen some things you haven't," he replied, perhaps a little bluntly. "The river's in a massive cavern, and when I washed up on the shore I saw a building. A massive one, built in some sort of black stone. It looked a bit like Clare's Old Court," he added to Cat, who nodded. "I only caught a brief glimpse through the gates, but I think there was an open quadrant inside, and lawns of some kind. The sign on the gate said... Midwinter College."

"Right," Cat answered slowly. "I see what you mean."

There was another uncomfortable silence, during which Mike sighed frustratedly. "So, now that we have this wonderful new information, what do you propose we do?"

"I know what I'd suggest," Rudolf replied immediately, with enthusiasm. "We want to get out of here, right? Well, I've spent an hour wandering around down here myself without finding a way to the surface, and I guess you've both done the same." Mike nodded reluctantly, and the tall historian continued. "Then you'll have seen that it's like a maze, or another world. We could bugger about until we all die of starvation down here before we even get close to finding an exit. But the best way to find an answer is to look in that building. The College."

Cat's eyes widened, and Mike's face was set into a disbelieving grimace.

"They write in English," Rudolf persisted, "and they use flashlights." He indicated the device at Mike's side. "So they must know a way out of here. If they're friendly - which I doubt - we can ask them. If not, we can sneak or fight our way in, because there must be a map somewhere, or someone we can ask. And I've already told you the alternative."

The looming rower lowered himself to the ground, sitting with his legs crossed, and directed a winning smile at Cat. "So. Who's with me?"

The Undercollege, Part 4: Encounters

 Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 24th December 2007

The skeleton's clawlike hand tightened around Cat's coat, lifting with enough force that her heels lost contact with the ground and she was left semi-dangling before him. "A fleshie, in the Fellows' Garden after dark? Strictly against regulations... and foolish too..."

"Hey!"

Cat almost jumped as a third voice made itself heard. It came from further down the long passageway, although the blinding glare of the flashlight in the skeleton's hand made it difficult to see who was calling. A rasping hiss seemed to emanate from the skeleton's jaws, and he turned to look for the newcomer... and as he did so he released its grip on Cat, who took advantage of the moment by doing what she'd always been told to do as a last resort when assaulted by men. She kicked out forcefully at its groin. Since skeletons didn't have a groin as such, however, her blow passed through its intended target and her foot made crashing contact with the base of his spine.

With a hollow crack, the skeleton snapped in half, clattering to the ground in two pieces. Cat herself, overbalanced, fell heavily backwards to the floor. The flashlight hit the ground and flickered out. In the sudden comparative darkness, Cat could hear the two parts of the skeleton scrabbling about, its legs flailing helplessly and its torso pulling itself along the ground towards her. A chill of fear struck her and she scrambled away from it, but her worry was unfounded, as a few seconds later the skeleton's movement ceased and it was nothing more than a pile of bones.

The newcomer, though, was advancing, and as her eyes became once again accustomed to the blue gloom of the caves she could make out his features. It was a man, or a boy, not much older than Cat herself, and not much taller. He was wiry in build, with sparse spiked hair and a gaunt, angular face that could have been pleasant if he were smiling. Bony shoulders defined a plain black T-shirt over a slim torso, and he wore a pair of faded blue jeans with a few rips and tears here and there that didn't look like designer creations. His thin lips were pursed and his spiky eyebrows set into a frown as he regarded her.

"Good kick," he said.

Cat, who was now crawling forward to examine the skeleton's remains, looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Good kick," the young man repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You got him right above the pelvis. Weakest spot in the human body. Except possibly the base of the neck. But you couldn't very well have kicked him there." He glanced at her briefly. "Do you play for your College football team?"

"Um," Cat responded, "no. I'm Cat, by the way." Without getting up, she extended a hand to him, which he stooped slightly to shake.

"Mike," the young man responded distractedly, as if a new thought had occurred to him. "Are you okay? You looked like you fell quite hard. I'm a First Aider, if you need it."

Cat shook her head. "I'm fine," she replied, and frowned. "As fine as it's possible to be in a place like this."

Mike frowned. "I guess you're not a local, then. Damn. I have no idea where the hell I am." The admission evidently pained him.

Cat's heart sank. "Me neither. I just... found myself here. Not long ago. And then... he found me." She gestured to the skeleton, which was now as lifeless as it should have been, and then glanced back up at Mike as the situation finally sunk in. "Thanks for distracting his attention. I mean, really, thanks."

The young man blushed. "It was nothing, honestly. I couldn't..." He trailed off, and then began anew, more firmly. "We need to get out of these passages before another one of... another of those comes along. I'd been following it for a while before it spotted you. It seemed to be on some sort of patrol round." He produced a small torch from his pocket and flicked it into life. Cat immediately warmed at the sight of it. "There's a narrow passage back there I don't think they go down. We should hide there while we figure out what to do next."

It wasn't much of a plan, but Cat was glad of it. She reached over to where the skeleton's black bowler hat had rolled away, and placed it upon her head as she got to her feet, an impish, impulsive grin making its way onto her face. "Yeah, alright."

*

Mike watched the girl as she advanced up the tunnel in front of him. He judged that she was a good few years younger than he was, still in her late teens. Her long mousey hair was tied back in a ponytail, although a few wisps remained free to frame an inquisitive face with pale blue eyes. The details of her form were mostly obscured by the long black coat she wore, but Mike could see that she had a slender figure. Aside from the bowler hat, she wore a dull green pullover, a denim skirt that in Mike's estimation was long enough not to be slutty but too short to be practical, and black leggings that revealed the shape of her long legs, especially when she was crawling on all fours up the low-ceilinged tunnel in front of him. Cat had been dubious about going first, but Mike had been adamant that danger was most likely to come from behind, and refused to let her be more exposed to it than he was.

It wasn't long before they reached the area where Mike had first regained consciousness. Cat stood, stretching her limbs, and then turned to face him, sitting gingerly down on the mulch-packed floor. "This place is weird," she said wonderingly. "Like some strange burrowing creature's lair. How did you find it?"

"The same way I found anything down here," Mike replied, shrugging and fiddling with the skeleton's broken torch. "I just stumbled across it. Actually, this was the first place I... saw. After I arrived here. It was where I woke up."

"I woke up back down there," Cat mused, jerking her thumb in the direction they'd come. "The skeleton said it was the... Fellows' Garden, I think. But which college has an underground garden? And, you know, that skeleton reminded me of the porters at Clare." She fell silent, adjusting the hat on her head.

"Mm," Mike responded noncommittally. "There was a set of keys on his flashlight," he added, jangling them, then went back to poking at the large torch with his multitool. "I hope I can get this to work again. It has a much broader beam than my Maglite." Then he too was silent - for a similar reason to Cat, he imagined. What they'd just experienced, and what they were still experiencing, couldn't be rationalised in terms of anything he'd ever heard of, and it scared him. A lot.

"What do you think happened to us?" Cat ventured eventually.

Mike opened his mouth to answer, but nothing but silence came out as he looked up at the entrance to the tunnel they'd emerged from. Something was making its way up the tunnel towards them. In the low light it was difficult to make out many distinguishing features, but floppy, slimy tendrils dangled in front of it and it stank of filth and decay. As it advanced it emitted a low, doleful groan. Cat shrieked.

Mike's fingers fumbled for the knife attachment on his multitool. He wasn't going down without a fight.

The Undercollege, Part 3: The Garden

 Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 21st November 2007

Mike groaned and realised that he was awake. He deduced from this that he was alive, which meant that he hadn't been electrocuted.

Whatever had happened, in fact, it didn't seem to bear any resemblance to the results of an electric shock at all; in his time as a lighting technician, Mike had experienced no small number of minor zaps, so he knew the common symptoms. Most common were burns caused by the arc-flash, and his skin felt fine as he flexed all his limbs gently to make sure that he was intact.

His next realisation was that he couldn't see those limbs. In fact, he couldn't see anything at all. For a second he considered the possibility that he had been blinded by the flash he'd experienced, but then his environment began to solidify around him. Walls, of sorts, became visible to either side. The place he was in was simply very, very dark. Mike was well aware that the claimed correlation between consumption of carrots and improved night vision was an urban myth, a rumour fostered by the British military during World War II to provide a plausible non-technological explanation for the effectiveness of their new Airborne Interception Radar. This being the case, he didn't spend long reflecting on the number of carrots his parents had fed him in his youth. Instead he reached down to his waist and unhooked his Maglite from his belt. Torch versus carrots = no contest.

He was quickly able to get an idea of the room he was in - if it could be called a room. It was certainly very different to anything to be found in the ADC Theatre. The floor on which he lay was moist and brown, thickly carpeted with some sort of plant mulch. The walls of the room rose in an oval around him, rudely cut from packed earth. Although nothing appeared to be supporting the ceiling, a few tentative pokes sufficed to convince Mike that the structure was firm enough not to collapse on a whim. Firmer than some sets I've built, anyway, he thought, and smiled gently, attempting to brush aside the panic that threatened to rise within him.

Three uniform tunnels branched out from the chamber, each circular in cross-section and with a diameter of about a metre. Although too narrow for a man to pass standing, they were as structurally sound as the "room" itself. After some hesitation, he made for the only one of the three that seemed to head upwards. Mike was a practical soul by nature, and once he'd decided upon a course of action he gave little thought to his predicament as he got down on hands and knees and began to crawl. Management will be interested to hear about this place...

*

Pain lanced through her skull, jolting Cat back to consciousness. Her first thought was that she'd once again banged her head against the enormously venerable beam in her attic room in college that hung obtrusively over her bed. Opening her eyes, she quickly dismissed the idea. Her room certainly didn't have patches of luminous blue mould on the rough-hewn rock ceiling five metres above. Nor did it have a rock floor, and nor was that rock floor littered with strange stone protrusions.

Stalagmites, she seemed to remember they were called. But these were no ordinary stalagmites. Ordinary stalagmites started at the bottom and rose upwards. They certainly didn't branch out into several twisted limbs, extending at all angles. Appearing all of one piece and sprouting quite naturally out of the ground, these rock formations resembled nothing so much as stunted, barren trees in winter. Some were clumped together, and others artfully arranged in lines and spirals. On the nearest, a green parrot was strutting along one of the branches. Its beak was black, but the fluffy feathers around its eyes were yellow, and on each of its wings was a flash of red. When it noticed Cat watching it, it stretched its wings, emitted a high-pitched squawk, and flew off.

Cat scrambled to her feet, straightening out her skirt and coat and reaching under her long hair to feel the injury to her head. A bruised, bloody lump rose on her scalp.

What...? I was in the library. Where on earth am I? The details slowly trickled back to her. I was picking up a book. Then something hit me from behind... She instinctively cast around for the book, but it was nowhere to be found. Unsure whether to regard the situation as a result of a kidnapping, an unfunny practical joke, or something much stranger, she took stock of her surroundings.

The level, orderly plantation of stalagmites stretched out before and behind her. On either side was a sheer rock face that owed as much to artifice as to nature. Every ten paces or so was a stalagmite that had been allowed to grow to the ceiling and merge with a stalactite there to form a column that stretched the full height of the gallery. What little light there was came from the ultramarine mould that grew liberally on the cavern ceiling and the higher branches of the taller stalagmite-plants. The only sound was a concatenation of drops falling at regular intervals from above into puddles on the ground. "Hello?" she called, three times in total; but, other than a mocking reverberation, there was no response. Cat gathered her long coat around her and began to run.

*

She'd been running for less than a minute when she saw it. Up ahead, the gallery came to an end and split into two, with one of the passages curving sharply round to the right. From this passageway emanated the welcome glow of torchlight.

"Over here! I'm over here!" Cat cried, picking up her pace, and the torch-bearer seemed to speed up, too, as the beam began to wobble. Finally. A sign of life! At worst, it's someone like me who's lost down here in this weird place.

She wasn't prepared for what faced her when she rounded the corner, almost colliding with the torch-holder. The sight caused her to stop in her tracks.

A bony hand grasped the broad-beamed torch, and another shot out to clamp down on Cat's lapels in a vicelike grip, drawing her in so close that she would have been able to feel the torch-bearer's breath... if he were the type of creature that breathed. Cat's green eyes made empty contact with the hollow eye-sockets of a skull, on top of which rested an immaculate black bowler hat.

"Well, now," rasped the skeleton through non-existent, malevolent vocal cords. "What have we here?"

The Undercollege, Part 2: Holes

Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 22nd October 2007

The day was beautiful, at least for the onlookers. Rudolf rarely had the chance to look up at the cloudless blue sky, where the sun beat down relentlessly. He had a job to do, and to do it well required keeping his head down and his muscles pumping.

It was the last day of May Bumps, an ancient rowing race in which the crews raced one behind the other, the object being to catch and 'bump' the boat in front. The race took place over four days, and a crew that bumped the boat in front would start the next day one place higher up the order, with the crew that finished the last day in first place being the overall winner. Third Trinity Boat Club had started that day in first position, and for the first time in years they had a real chance at finishing head of the river. As a rower, Rudolf's job wasn't particularly complex, but his strokes needed to be powerful and precise. The exhortations of the cox washed over him and spurred him on, although he didn't need much spurring. The joking wager of a lissom town girl, who had foolishly promised to do unspeakable things to him should he achieve the impossible and be a part of the winning crew, gave him all the motivation he needed.

Deep thought, while rowing, was a waste of valuable energy, so Rudolf kept his mind mostly blank. He was thinking about nothing in particular when it happened.

The boat suddenly slewed around, lurching wildly to the left. As Rudolf looked up, scanning the river ahead for the cause of the disturbance, the shaft of an oar swung out of nowhere and slammed into his forehead. Already a little disoriented, the tall rower temporarily lost his balance. It was only for a split second - but it was enough to allow another violent jerk to pitch him bodily out of the boat. The murky waters of the River Cam rushed up to meet him.

Rudolf hardly registered the cries of the spectators before his eyes and ears were filled with the green-brown liquid. He was a strong swimmer, so he wasn't worried, but the blow to his head had slowed him, and in the few seconds that he floundered something seemed to grab hold of his ankle from below and pull. And then, despite his best efforts, he found himself sinking, the scorching sunlight above rapidly becoming a distant memory.

Down he was dragged, past discarded prams, the bent spokes of spidery bicycle wheels and a forgotten mountain of tins that had once held beans. Down there, near the riverbed, liquid and solid merged together into a hideous brown conglomeration that sucked and clawed at its victims. Time wound out, and the rower's breath grew short as he was engulfed completely, tiny stars flickering at the periphery of his vision. Then they were gone, and he was left alone in the darkness.

*

Mike was unimpressed. He'd been following the cable for what seemed like hours.

The task was simple enough. The new term high-jinks of a few actors had caused some plaster to come away from the wall in one of the dressing rooms, and behind it a cable had been found. Since Mike was known to be a reliable and responsible techie, the theatre's Technical Director had asked him to dig out the rest of the cable and to find out where it went and what it did. In Cambridge's student-owned ADC Theatre, bewildering electrical weirdness was not exactly uncommon. But this particular cable looked set to break all previous records.

From the dressing rooms, it had proceeded to the kitchen and clubroom at just above head height, then along the corridor, bypassing the management offices, and into the gents' toilets, where it ran along inside the ceiling until suddenly deciding to rise up into the theatre bar above. After charting an erratic course up the west wall of the bar, it found itself in the roof void above the auditorium, where Mike had had to untangle several coils of it from an ancient and filthy piece of truss. It didn't stop there, however. It continued on through the patch room and along the counterweight gallery, then gradually down and around the back of the stage. Eventually it sank down into the empty space below the stage manager's desk, only a short way, in absolute terms, from where Mike had originally found it.

The SM floor void, as it was known, was a strange place. Devoid of any useful function, it was accessed only by means of a trapdoor from the stage, and inside it remnants of the theatre's hundred-and-fifty-year history abounded. In one corner was a pile of beige sheets, stinking of that strange chemical that stage managers sprayed on props to make them flame-retardant, and resting upon them was a tarnished silver tray holding sherry glasses wrapped in cling film. A rugby ball, six shovels, some mouldy chocolate muffins, some dusty white feathers, a box full of microphones and a number of black and white umbrellas held together by cork and paperclips completed the collection. The cable, however, pointedly ignored all of this. It made its meandering way across the floor to a wall, into which it disappeared.

Mike swore. That's a structural wall. At least two feet of something extremely solid separated the void from anything else. And yet the cable seemed to plunge rather effortlessly into a narrow hole through it. For Mike, enough was enough. He'd only come to the theatre in the first place to have a drink in the bar and chat to friends, and now it was nearing one a.m. and for all he knew he was no closer to finding the source of the mysterious cable. Worse, in the process he'd got himself covered in a layer of the ADC's omnipresent theatrical grime. What he was about to do was uncharacteristically stupid, but for once he was past caring. Gritting his teeth, he braced one steel-capped boot against the structural wall and gave the cable an almighty tug.

Something gave. There was a sudden, explosive crackle, accompanied by a flash of brilliant white light, and Mike was sent sprawling backwards. He briefly reflected that he seemed to be falling through the floor of the void... and then darkness came over him, and he knew no more.

*

Cat flopped against the bookcase and concentrated on holding back the tears.

She'd been in Cambridge for a week now, and already most of her hopes were in tatters. At school, her intelligence had always set her apart from any of her peers. The only downside had been that those peers had always felt extremely intimidated by her for that very reason, for all that she'd tried to instigate friendships. So she'd fantasised about going to university and meeting people who she could relate to, and who, more importantly, could relate to her. It had only taken a few days for that particular dream to be shattered. She'd been assigned a room on a staircase upon which only one other student was living, a gifted netball player and all-round sportswoman who was never in and who didn't seem to need sleep. Her fellow maths students were no better, soullessly calculating automatons with no interest in anything but the course they were doing, and her Director of Studies was a stern, upright old man who always seemed slightly bemused by the fact that she had breasts. In the bar after her matriculation dinner she'd been cornered by a smooth-talking Londoner who'd virtually force-fed her red wine; she'd thrown up the contents of her stomach (mostly red wine) and spent the rest of the evening in bed in a drunken haze, but it'd been worth it to escape his attentions. After wandering around the terrifyingly hectic University Societies Fair being handed free trinkets left, right and centre, she'd gone along to a meeting of the University Nordic Society in the hope of finding someone to practise her Norwegian with, but to her dismay they all turned out to be statuesque ice-blondes wearing viking helmets, swilling ale, singing songs about spam and laughing at their own jokes. Now Cat was seriously considering changing course, if not dropping out entirely. The cavernously huge University Library wasn't the best place to find solace, but at least it was quiet, everyone busily going about their business with as little regard for the life stories of others as for the many millions of volumes not intended for their knowledge.

Perhaps I'll switch to Philosophy. I've always wanted to try to find the answers.

Even as she thought this, her attention was drawn to a book on the wall opposite her. It was small (irregularly small, Cat thought, to be classed as 'b' with the other books in the bookcase) and bound in what looked like black leather. Its title was printed in neat capitals on the spine: The Answers. Intrigued, Cat stepped forward, reached out and slid the book from the shelf into her hands, opening it at the first page, which turned out to be blank.

She never noticed the tall bookcase against which she had been leaning as it detached itself from its fastenings on the wall and toppled forward, one shelf making savage contact with the back of her head. In fact, it all happened mercifully quickly. One moment she was leafing through the book; the next, darkness.

*

In the room at the top of the Library's great tower, a red light began to flash insistently. Meldreth reached over to the board and flicked a switch, and the light died. Two incidents in as many weeks. Bad. The first incident he'd glossed over as a one-off, despite its implications, but this had to be more than just coincidence. Time to get to work. Standing, the stocky man pulled his dull brown greatcoat from its peg and swept out of the room.

The Undercollege, Part 1: Flight

Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 14th October 2007

A new serial, hopefully with a new post every week. Hope you like it!
____________________________

The white van swerved to avoid the dark figure on the bicycle, nearly slamming headlong into a tree by the road. Its driver, a short, stocky man whose balding pate gave him a monastic appearance, uttered a curse in the direction of the retreating figure. "Bloody cyclists!"

Dr. Delia Mainwaring barely registered the vehicle's presence. Her black gown streamed out behind her as she disappeared into the night, frantically pedalling down Garrett Hostel Lane. Must make it to the bridge. If I can get to the bridge, I'll be safe.

A long sequence of events had led to this moment. It had been tricky enough, in the first place, to gain Visiting Scholar status and then to be granted access to the University Library. Then she'd needed to strike up enough of a friendship with a young caretaker to be allowed access to the holiest of holies, the inner sanctum where the University's most precious books and manuscripts were stored in top security. Through all of this she'd tried to maintain as low a profile as possible, right up until it came to stealing the book and making away with it. But somehow her enemies had been following her every move, and now she was fleeing from a truly fiendish creature, the book tucked away in a satchel under her gown.

Orgasm Bridge, the students called it. The name referred to the ever more belaboured sounds made by cyclists attempting to reach its peak, and the exhilarating relief of cresting it. But orgasm was the furthest thing from Delia Mainwaring's mind as she powered up its western slope. Relief she did feel as she reached the top... and safety... but it was swiftly replaced by horror as she saw what awaited her on the other side.

Three human skeletons were standing there, waiting. The orange gleam of the street lamps was reflected in the smooth contours of their clean-polished bones. Each hefted a mace or other such crushing weapon, and each wore a black bowler hat atop the crown of their skull. Mainwaring briefly considered trying to ride them down and press through, but she knew that the risk was too great. She could not chance damage to the book. Reluctantly she slipped off her bike at the summit of the bridge and dared a glance behind her.

At the foot of the bridge on the western side, the form of her pursuer resolved itself: a tall, rake-thin man. He sported a narrow moustache and was dressed in immaculate black tie. The skin of his face and hands was every bit as pale as the crisp white shirt he wore, but the irises of his eyes were blood-red. When he spoke, there was only a slight hint of a foreign accent in his otherwise perfect newsreader English.

"Caught between a rock and a hard place, Dr. Mainwaring," he said with a toothy smile. "I am... truly sorry it had to come to this, but you have led us a merry chase. And now you have something that belongs to us, so I offer you a choice." Another grin. "Surrender the book to me and you can depart from here unharmed."

"I doubt that," Mainwaring shot back. "And it doesn't belong to you. Any more than it belongs to me."

The pale man shook his head. "Foolish," he whispered. "Well, you leave me no choice. We'll just have to do this the hard way." He extended a slender finger and beckoned, and behind her the three skeletal minions began their advance up the slope of the bridge.

You leave me no choice. Mainwaring considered her options, and knew that he was right. No choice. She'd really been hoping not to have to resort to what she was about to resort to. "I'm sorry," she breathed as her gown slipped from her shoulders and a warm golden light began to envelop her.

The arrogant smirk of the tall man slowly transformed into an astonished grimace as the aura gained in intensity. On the other side of the bridge, the skeletons' inexorable advance faltered and they drew back. "Crush her!" the pale man screeched, but his order went unheeded. It was too late.

As the corona reached its zenith, the skeletons turned away, scrabbling with skinless fingers at their empty eye-sockets. Only the pale man did not look away, and through the glare he fancied he saw broad white wings emerging from Mainwaring's upper back before the light became blinding and his vision momentarily obscured.

When his sight returned, all that was left at the apex of the bridge was an abandoned bicycle, a discarded gown... and a few white pinion feathers fluttering to the floor.

Glancing upward into the night sky, the vampire muttered an ancient obscenity under his breath. The Master will not be pleased. His red eyes roved the scene for a few moments more, then he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Winter is still coming

And before lockdown began I managed to snag two new varieties – not seasonal ones, though the second is only available for a short time.

Cranberry Nuss: 9/10

Fantastic combination of crunch, sweetness and acidity! It only misses out on the top spot because it's not quite identical to the ultimate dream combo of my own creation. But it does come close. Might be better with dark chocolate?

Don Schoko: 7.5/10

Limited edition, with the same colorful packaging as the summer varieties this year. I have no idea why it has a picture of a sloth on it, or why it's called Don Schoko. Points deducted for confusion. But it's a chunky 40% milk chocolate variety that is very satisfying to munch.

Winter is coming

Three new Ritter Sport flavours! Two of them are old favourites: Spekulatius (mmm) and Gebrannte Mandel, both of which have been consistent winter features since 2017. I sampled all of them (you know, just to check whether standards were being upheld...) but the most interesting for present purposes is the new kid on the block, Kokosmakrone (coconut macaroon).

Kokosmakrone: 7/10

Anyone who knows me will know that coconut is something I don't like. So I don't know whether it's a change in me, or an inexplicable surfeit of goodwill, but I enjoyed this one surprisingly much. It's got that crunchy macaroon texture that helps to offset just how cloying coconut tends to be, and none of the mushy coconut texture. I wouldn't mind seeing this one again in future winters (perhaps as opposed to Gebrannte Mandel, which I could take or leave).

Open letter to the ERC Scientific Council

This one's over on Medium.com: a letter about the ERC Scientific Council's weird decision to withdraw from Plan S.

The ERC and Plan S: an open letter

New new Ritter Sport 2020

Some new flavours for the spring of 2020, just in time for social distancing.

“Marhaba” Joghurt Honig Nuss: 6/10
Yawn... The best thing about this one is its beautifully coloured packaging. The treat inside is fine, but just consists of existing Ritter ingredients thrown together, of which the yoghurt is not a favourite of mine and the honey is barely detectable. I’m not complaining, but neither has my world been rocked.

“Buenos Días” Weisse Mango Maracuja: 7.5/10
I’m generally a fan of the white plus citrus combos, and this one is no exception. It’s a bit less tart than many of this kind, a very rounded, thoroughly sweet experience, but still flavoursome enough to make one sit up and pay attention. More like this, please!

“Hula Hula” Kokoswaffel: 2/10
Nnnghh. My least favourite texture, waffle, combined with my least favourite flavour, coconut. I’m sure that “objectively” this one deserves a better grade, but I can’t bring myself to countenance it.