Alchemy

‘It wasn’t just the material I distributed. That should have been harmless enough. After all I’m not a complete fool. I know about the duty of care and in loco parentis. I’ll give you copies of course but the real damage, the evidence used against me, came from what I didn’t circulate, that was stolen from my briefcase when I left it, carelessly I now realise, lying on a desk during a coffee break. Someone must have photocopied the lot and put the original back.’

‘Then it wasn’t stolen?’

‘The theft of intellectual property by illegal copying is a crime.’

‘Yes of course but one that’s hard to prove. What exactly was copied?”

‘Stolen. It’s a manuscript.’

‘By you?’

‘No, no. It dates back to the early seventeenth century.’

‘Then it’s no longer in copyright.’

‘But it’s mine. I am the owner.’

‘I think we would find it difficult to make much of a case out of that. I’m sorry, we’ll need something better, stronger.’

‘But the use to which it was put, to discredit me, blacken my reputation.’

‘I shall need to see it before I can go any further, decide whether to take your case, whether I think you indeed have a case.’ I see him wilt but I’m determined to get back the initiative in this interview.

‘Surely I qualify as a lost cause.’

‘Even with a cause that seems lost I have to see at least a chance of winning, otherwise I wouldn’t make a living.’ There’s no need to tell him about the night job. ‘I work on a no win no fee basis you see.’

‘I’m willing to pay you a retainer, just for your advice and…and support. Since this began I’ve felt very isolated, alone.’

‘You’re not married?’

‘No, and you?’

I hold up my ringless left hand. ‘When can you let me have the material?’

He opens his briefcase and takes out a thick wad, bound in a blue plastic cover. ‘I have a copy here.’

‘How do I know it’s the same as the original?’

“You’ll have to trust me. The original is in cipher. This is a kind of translation.’

‘You know the one thing you must never do is lie to your lawyer.’

‘I’m well aware of that. And in any case where would be the point?’

‘And this is the same document as was stolen from your briefcase, copied and returned?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Who do you believe stole it?’

‘Oh I know. It was the secretary of the Temple of the Latent Christ.’

‘The Temple of Christ?’

‘The Latent Christ. That’s what they call themselves.’

‘The name of the secretary?’

‘Mary-Ann Molders.’ He spells it out for me.

‘And she went to the dean and made the allegations against you that led to your being suspended? Were they of a sexual nature?’

‘She alleged that I was encouraging students to take part in rituals that had a sexual element.’

‘Did you?’

‘I told them about allegations in which alchemists were lumped together with witches. Both were prepared to predict the future, like present-day newspaper astrologers. Both made their living by supplying potions, love philtres, the Viagra of the day. All substances were permissible in providing what we would now call pharmaceuticals. Poppy, mandragora, meadowsweet, St John’s wort, sedatives, hallucinogens were all perfectly legal. Substances and procedures for affecting the minds and bodies of people and animals were sold all the time. Some of them were harmless, some to us would be disgusting, others are now outlawed.’

‘Did Mary-Ann Molders accuse you of encouraging the use of illegal substances as well?’

‘She did.’

‘Do you yourself use drugs?’

‘Like many people, I have used them. I’ve smoked some pot.’

‘And did you advocate their use?’

‘I might have been, shall we say, a little iconoclastic in my approach. I wanted my students to think, not just to accept what they were told.’

‘Would you say your style inclines to the satirical? That you like to provoke? That perhaps you are anti-authority?’

‘I believe a university education shouldn’t be a matter of spoon-feeding material into students’ heads. Life is more complex than that.’

I sense a certain arrogance in Dr Adrian Gilbert. ‘At the moment I can’t see that you have a legal leg to stand on to take an action to a tribunal.’ I watch him sag a little. Why am I saying this? There’s nothing in the in-tray. I need the money and I need to practise my profession, my craft. I pick up the plastic folder. ‘I’ll look at this and consider what you’ve told me and be in touch. I may make some enquiries of my own.’

‘Thank you, Ms Green. I am most grateful. How much do I owe you so far?’ He’s taking out his cheque-book.

I hesitate. But the rent is due at the end of the month.

‘The Law Society recommends standard minimum fees. I think we should stick to those.’

‘Of course.’

I tell him the rate per hour for a practising solicitor of four years’ standing. He writes the cheque without a quibble. Now he has me signed up, he thinks. We’ll see.

As soon as he’s out of the door, I open the typed document and read: The Memorial of Amyntas Boston.