Oscar paid little attention to the journey down to see Doctor
Phoebus. He was too preoccupied with worrying about his parents. He replayed
the exchange with Lady Amelia over and over in his head as the lift descended.
She looked so serious, more and more so the more he imagined her saying the
words “very tragic”. He was relieved when the lift bounced to a stop and the
doors opened, presenting him with something new to look at to take his mind off
things.
The corridor was quite different to those on the floors he
had already visited. Here the bare bricks were painted a pale yellow, giving
the underground level a cheery feel without being too in-your-face. At the end
of the corridor, Daphne knocked on a door and opened it to reveal a small
office-cum-laboratory. Oscar followed her over the threshold.
“Doctor Phoebus?” she called. There was no reply. “Doctor
Phoebus!” she said a little louder. Was it Oscar’s imagination or did she sound
a little exasperated? It was only the second time she’d called his name: she couldn’t
start getting exasperated already.
This time, however, a man appeared from behind the desk. He
stood up so suddenly that he made Oscar jump. Once he’d recovered himself,
Oscar took in the man as he put down what he’d been holding and crossed the
room to greet Daphne. Oscar looked at what he’d put on the desk: a short cable
and a screwdriver. Oscar watched as the lightly-tanned, long-haired Doctor
Phoebus gave Daphne a friendly hug, exchanged a few pleasantries with her then
extended a hand to Oscar.
“And you must be Oscar,” Doctor Phoebus said with a smile.
Oscar was surprised to hear an American twang in his accent as everything and
everyone had been very English so far.
“Yes, Oscar Thornton,” Oscar said as he allowed his hand to
be shaken.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you at last,” Doctor Phoebus said
amicably. “Shall we get to work?”
Oscar followed Doctor Phoebus uncertainly over to the desk.
Daphne hovered behind them, then said “I’ll be off then. See you later,” and
walked out the door before either of the men had a chance to respond. Oscar
blinked at the closed door for a couple of seconds, surprised at how rude she
had been, then Doctor Phoebus interrupted his thoughts.
“Let me just finish putting this computer together, then I’ll
be a much better host.” Doctor Phoebus muttered something about not having been
given much warning of Oscar’s arrival as he got down on his hands and knees
behind the desk, reached up for the screwdriver and took his computer apart
ready to put in the cable he’d also set on the desk. Oscar didn’t know much
about the insides of computers so he wasn’t sure what he was doing. He stood uncertainly
next to the desk, watching because he thought he should, but not really paying
attention. Again, he wasn’t sure where he was or why, and Doctor Phoebus seemed
to know more about what was going on that he did.
The office was very tidy despite the rough-and-ready impression
the bare bricks and flagged-stoned floor gave. Books were neatly stacked in
colour-coordinated bookcases; two cups, a cafetière and a kettle had been set
neatly in a row on top of a cabinet Oscar assumed held coffee, sugar and
biscuits; the desk looked worked-at but not messy, with papers spread out next
the computer monitor, keyboard and mouse. Most out of place was the work bench,
which held some kind of science experiment. The apparatus had been set up to
create a clear path-way along the middle of the desk, length-ways; with a
mirror at one end, about the size of a computer screen, and an empty photo
frame at the other. Along the side were some technical instruments and some
everyday objects that would otherwise be out of place in this kind of office: a
football, an iron and small Christmas tree, for example. The workbench wasn’t
much larger than the average desk or dining table so Oscar didn’t think it could
be a very serious experiment.
“Just something I’ve been working on in my spare time,”
Doctor Phoebus confirmed when he had stood up again and found Oscar staring curiously
at the experiment. “I thought I’d investigate how different objects are
affected by the power of Friarr.” When he said ‘Friarr’, he did a very curious
movement: he put his arms at his sides, elbows bent so that he hands were at
shoulder height, stuck he hands out flat to the sides, palms down (as Delta had
done on the bus the day before) and stuck one leg briefly out to the side in a
small kick (like when someone’s foot pops when they are kissed in a film). He
did this so matter-of-factly and as though it were part of the word itself that
Oscar was quite taken aback. Doctor Phoebus didn’t seem to notice, though, and
went to fill the kettle from a room leading off the office.
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