Stone Cold by Andrew Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

bookcases. Other doors led off to other rooms – presumably a bedroom and perhaps a dining room, although Sherlock was fairly sure, from what his brother had told him, that the students and
lecturers all ate together in some large refectory on the college site.
    Dodgson gestured to a chair. ‘Please, sit down.’
    Sherlock noticed a book open and upside down on a side table. ‘My apologies, sir.’ He said politely. ‘I am disturbing you.’
    ‘I was merely reading a b-b-book,’ Dodgson replied. ‘It is an activity which can be easily interrupted and then be restarted, unlike the activity of b-b-beading a rook, of
course. Once you have started beading a rook you have to keep on going to the end, if only because rooks are such impatient c-c-creatures. Once they start shaking their wings the beads go
everywhere, and you have no option but to start again.’
    Sherlock stared at him. Giraffes and hippopotamuses for dinner, and rooks covered with beads? What was going on in this man’s mind?
    Dodgson folded himself up into a chair that was far too small for him and gazed at Sherlock.
    ‘Where have you been living?’ he asked, normally but seemingly randomly. ‘Not at the family home, I suspect. Your brother has told me a little about your
circumstances.’
    ‘Recently I have been living in London, and before that China. Before
that
I was with my aunt and uncle in Farnham.’
    ‘Ah, Farnham. Yes, I have recently purchased a house in Guildford for my own family.’ He glanced sideways, out of the window. ‘My father died a few months ago. Your father is
in India, is he not?’
    ‘Yes, he is.’
    Dodgson considered for a moment. ‘China? What took you there, might I ask.’
    Sherlock couldn’t help himself. ‘A three-masted schooner,’ he said.
    He had judged Dodgson’s attitude perfectly. The mathematician let out a sudden sharp laugh. ‘Oh, very good!’ he said. ‘Very quick.’ He stared at Sherlock for a
moment, seemingly re-evaluating him. ‘So you’ve been to China. Where else in the world have you travelled?’
    ‘France, America and Russia,’ Sherlock replied, remembering briefly his various adventures in those countries.
    ‘Ah, Russia. I too have been there. A fascinating country, but the local population seems to have so little imagination. All of their books are t-t-turgidly long t-t-tomes about what
people do and say from day to day.’ He shrugged. ‘It is interesting to compare their literature with their folklore. Look at the legend of Baba Yaga, for instance. An old witch who
lives in a hut that stands on chicken legs! What whimsy! Why do we not have anything like that in British folklore?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps there is a correlation between the harshness of people’s lives and the stories they tell each other at
night. In Britain our lives are generally pretty pleasant, but in Russia the winters can be harsh and the food scarce.’ He had said all that off the top of his head, without thinking it
through, but he made a mental note to come back to that thought. Perhaps he could write an essay about it, or something similar.
    ‘An interesting point, and possibly a valid one,’ Dodgson said. ‘But we digress from the point of your visit. You wish to study m-m-mathematics here at Cambridge.’ It was
more of a statement than a question.
    ‘Ye-es,’ Sherlock said, hoping that Dodgson had not noticed the hesitation.
    ‘And you have missed some schooling recently, for reasons that your brother is hesitant to describe.’
    ‘That is so.’
    ‘And, given those two postulates, the conclusion is that your brother wishes me to prepare you for the rigours of university life by tutoring you privately for a period of time, until I
feel you are ready.’
    ‘That,’ Sherlock said carefully, ‘is, I believe, my brother’s intent.’
    ‘Very well. Can I presume that you have studied at least a
little
m-m-mathematics during your