Chapter Nine
“COULD I get some help?” Elliot asked.
The librarian – a woman with short messy hair and the distracted air of a daydreamer – looked round from where she was putting books back on the shelves. “What are you trying to find?” she asked.
“Where are the books on Neans?” He had come here on impulse after his last class of the week on Friday morning.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Nean history, Nean culture, anything.”
“Our history section includes facts about the Neans’ role in the past.”
“It says they were pacifists, so Sapiens found it easy to conquer them.” He had heard that idea plenty of times in History lessons in school and, having got to know a bit about Neans, he knew there had to be an entirely different viewpoint on everything that had happened. “I just want to learn more about them.”
“Neans have been slaves in most countries since the beginning of civilisation. They haven’t had a chance until now to form any kind of culture.”
That was clearly complete rubbish, so why the secrecy? Were Sapiens preventing the Neans from having any kind of voice in books or were Neans deliberately hiding things? There was clearly nothing to be learned here so he nodded to the librarian. “Thanks for your help.”
He went into the computer room and got his laptop out to do some more of the three essays he’d been given this week, losing himself in the work until it was time to meet his friends. He enjoyed this life. Parts of it weren’t perfect, like the constant noise, day and night, in his halls of residence that made it difficult to study or sleep and the attitude many showed towards Barve and Farlden, but he had found more students he got along with and he enjoyed academic work. Perhaps as his future career he could become a teacher.
He headed through corridors that were now growing familiar, to the canteen. Callie was already sitting there eating so he waved as he got into the queue for food. The quiche looked less unpleasant than anything else and the rice salad seemed safer than the chips, which he’d discovered on two previous occasions tended to be badly cooked. He grabbed a bottle of something pink and fizzy to drink that his mother never would have let him have, in the belief that it would make him hyperactive. Someone in his halls had a birthday party there tonight so he doubted he’d go to sleep remotely early and, if his mother was right, the extra energy might be useful.
He paid for the meal and joined Callie, dusting some crumbs off the wooden chair opposite hers before sitting in it.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Regretting my food choice,” she said. Her thick black hair was tied in at least fifty plaits and she was wearing brown trousers and a smart cream jumper in honour of the recent temperature plummet.
He looked dubiously at her plate. “Yes, those chips are tempting but they do seem designed to lead us to our doom. How are you getting on with the essay for History of English Language?”
“I’ve written out quotes to include in it and I should get most of it done this weekend. You?”
“I think I’m about halfway through it. I’ve got a couple of other essays too so I’ll probably come and use the library and computer room over the weekend.”
“I might see you here then,” she said with a smile.
Farlden and Barve appeared together and said hello as they put their plates of food down on the table. They had gone with quiche like him but had sadly made the error of adding chips.
“What are you two talking about?” Barve asked as he dumped his backpack on the floor and sat down.
“Essays,” Elliot said.
“Okay. Do you know anything about this party at our hall tonight? Apparently everyone’s invited, but I don’t know if that includes us.”
“It’s Barb. The crying girl.” Farlden added the description for Elliot’s benefit and he nodded in understanding, and then had to explain to the others that the crying had been no fault of his or Farlden’s. “She’s said hello to me a couple of times,” Farlden went on, startling Elliot who wasn’t used to hearing him speak this much without sarcasm, “so I don’t think she’d mind us going. I want to get drunk.”
“Then we should take a couple of bottles of wine and some beer,” Elliot suggested. “My classes are finished so I can buy them. Callie, do you want to join us? I’m sure Barb wouldn’t know or care that you don’t live at our halls.”
“Okay. Great.”
Elliot caught sight of a familiar figure and nudged Callie. “There’s our English professor.” The bearded man paying for a plate of food at the till before heading towards the door.
“That’s the creep who told a Nean that she didn’t belong at the university,” Farlden said.
Elliot had quite liked him, not used to teachers telling jokes. “Perhaps he was having a bad day.”
“Funny how often that happens to Saps when they encounter Neans.”
“I meant that perhaps he didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” he said, enunciating his words clearly because sometimes it was fun to wind up the other boy.
Farlden glared at him, eyes promising retribution, and he didn’t answer.
“Are you going to dress smartly?” Callie asked them and Elliot looked blankly at her, so she added, “For the party?”
“I suppose so,” he said.
“We don’t really have anything except jeans,” Barve said. “Does that matter?”
“No,” Elliot said. “I think girls like to dress up more than boys for parties, but I’m sure it’s fine whatever anyone wants to wear.”
“Ughh!” Farlden put his fork down with a clatter. “These chips are revolting.”
Elliot nodded with the wisdom of bitter experience. “I could have told you that.”
Farlden threw him a sour look.
* * *
At 8pm Elliot walked down the corridor to the two brothers’ rooms, a selection of alcohol in a party bag under one arm. He reached Farlden’s room first and, hearing voices, assumed they were both there. He knocked on the door. Silence fell inside the room and, after a minute, Farlden opened the door. His eyes took in Elliot’s form-fitting blue polo shirt and tight black jeans, then he swallowed and lifted his gaze. He and Elliot stared at each other, close enough that Elliot could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes and the darker brown shade of eyeliner around them.
Elliot, suddenly feeling too warm but refusing to think why, said, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah.” Farlden walked back inside to get his keys and a container of bite-sized cheese pastries Elliot had seen him making earlier. He was wearing a red T-shirt and brown jeans that showed off strong, broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms. The blond wavy hair that fell halfway down his neck was curlier than normal.
Elliot realised he was staring and belatedly took in what was missing from the room: “Isn’t Barve here? I heard talking.”
Farlden went still and opened his mouth but no words immediately came out. Eventually he said, “I had the radio on.”
Elliot glanced round, seeing no sign of a radio and the room was too sparse for him to miss it. Farlden had probably been talking to himself and was too embarrassed to admit it, he decided and dropped the subject. “Come on then. Let’s go and have some fun.”
Farlden gave a startlingly infectious grin that transformed his expression and made Elliot smile in return. “About time.”