Fortis Est Veritas
Truth Is Strength
Chapter 1
The weather, as usual was fairly grim in its outlook, and the clouds had already started to accumulate around the spires of Trinity College. The air was clammy and the pressure from the impending storm closed in on the chests of all that attempted a deep breath in the main city of Dublin. The streets around the college were much quieter now with most of the students having left for the obligatory summer break. All the fellow men who were reading subjects had disappeared within a day after their lectures had finished, leaving an empty cathedral like institute to gather dust over the coming months.
But, this was an exaggeration. It was nearly empty.
2 weeks after the end of term and still a handful of students had remained to wait for certain arrangements to be made before their departure. Ten young men were in the main common room, all having taken a spot as their own, eying the perimeters of their makeshift territories ready to pounce on the one man foolish enough to invade their personal space. All were waiting expectantly for their tutor to say whether the dean had decided they could stay on to continue their studies for doctorates and possible fellowship at the college. Nervously, they all took their predicament in their stride and waited, not necessarily patiently.
Michael Hamilton's unofficial spot was one of the few that commanded more than an armchair. He had a walkway straight down the middle of the common room. With a slow long stride, he would stop at the far end of the large room, turn slowly with one hand behind his back and the other tapping the side of his thigh, and walk back down with a nervous deliberation. His height was enhanced with the slow movement of his wandering, yet his broad shoulders made him seem very imposing, causing the lack of comment from the other men if he were to tread over enemy lines.
Hamilton's was about to turn again to head back the other way when a singular melody emanated from the far corner behind him. A long slow drone that, if he were in a better mood, he would have praised the culprit for. But today, his nerves were shredded and a melancholic tune played on a violin was not going to be a good thing for his mental constitution.
"Holmes, will you knock it off?" he said spinning around, jaw clenched.
The perpetrator looked languidly from his armchair near the empty fireplace. The man had long spidery limbs that seemed to gracefully set themselves awkwardly like a praying mantis; purposely placed in their angularity. Set back in the chair, the man had placed the violin under his chin and had deftly rested the bow on the strings, his hand holding it delicately and ready to play another note. He was a picture of relaxation, which annoyed Hamilton no end.
"I'm sorry Hamilton, knock what off?" the man spoke with an air of nonchalance and his voice was resounding, even in so short a sentence.
"The bloody violin. Put it down for god's sake!" Hamilton said pointing at the fiddle.
Holmes smiled coldly. "I shall, as you say, 'knock it off'. But there is no need to use such a vulgar colloquialism. Especially when one is waiting to see if one is to further one's education with the faculty of the languages."
"Holmes, don't antagonise me. Or you may not be able to play the instrument for much longer."
Holmes sat forward in his chair and sat up straight. "Well, I had better get in as much playing as I can then…" he was about to play another note when Hamilton started to storm over.
"Ey, ey, ey, Mike! Calm down!" a sandy haired young man jumped up from his own seat to get between the two. He spoke with a soft Irish accent which had an instant calming effect on Hamilton. "He's trying to rile you. He's safe in the knowledge that he's guaranteed to stay on."
Holmes stood up abruptly, placing his violin on the chair and stared at the blond man next to Hamilton. "I am not purposely trying to rile anyone. If I were, I wouldn't be so reserved." His steely grey eyes flicked between the two in front of him, regarding them with an erudite gaze. "And why am I guaranteed to stay on, Davies?"
Hamilton snorted in contempt and stormed out of the common room, sending a side table flying across the lap on an unsuspecting graduate who was trying to pass the time reading a large tome.
Davies sighed and turned back to Holmes, who was standing with his weight on one foot, arms folded, staring through his eyebrows at him like a hawk.
"Your finals were ridiculously good, Holmes. They'd be insane not to keep you on." Davies smiled as sweetly as his nervous state would let him. "Just be a bit more considerate towards those of us," he discreetly panned his arms across and behind him "who aren't so fortunately to be as smart as you."
Holmes' features stayed in their stone-like fashion, but his voice softened slightly. "I thought you said you weren't going to stroke my ego."
Davies shrugged slightly. "I'm not. I'm stating fact. And I'm amazed you got that."
Holmes turned around picked up the violin and sat it down on the floor next to the chair and then sat himself down. Setting himself back in the seat, he perched his elbows on the arms of the chair and clasped his pale hands elegantly in front of his aquiline featured face. "I'm not completely oblivious to comments playing off the emotions."
"Forgive me for suggesting you had no ability to feel emotion. But you haven't helped yourself."
"Forgive me for ignoring the fact that your accent makes you sound less intelligent than your finals score suggests. And that was markedly low."
Davies looked visibly injured at this remark and he made his way towards the upturned side table to right it. "That was unnecessary Sherlock Holmes."
"If you don't want a retort about you, don't make a comment about me."
Davies allowed himself to laugh at this ludicrous young man. A man he had known for 2 years during their studies at Trinity. They were in the same halls and he passed Holmes in the atrium for the duration of their stay. Holmes was a bit of a lone wolf, to be truthful and it seemed an effort to engage conversation with him. Initially, he thought Holmes was isolated due to starting alone at college. Being a sociable creature himself, Davies felt an innate urge to spark a verbal communication with him but it turned out that the young man was naturally a recluse and had a strange habit of knowing exactly where you had been and whether you had been waiting. Which was disconcerting, to say the least.
The door to the common room opened slowly and the room, though already silent, seemed to hold its breath as the dean himself swept in. His small deep set eyes scanned the room of suddenly incredibly alert students from behind thick rimmed spectacles.
"I have come to my deci - where's Hamilton?"
"Most likely in the quad sir."
"Well! Someone fetch him for god's sake."
Having been found by Davies, Hamilton skulked in and scowled at Holmes before setting himself down on an arm of a chair.
"Well, now that we're all here." The dean frowned slightly. "I can tell you who is staying on in the final post graduate positions working with the various faculties and who will be sent on to find jobs with their recent qualifications."
The students' hearts stopped.
"Hamilton, O'Reilly, Davies, Marks, Tarrant and Hamilton."
"Sir" came a rippling reply. Holmes smirked to himself.
The dean stood silent for a second, letting the dramatic effect take its toll.
"Congratulations. You are returning for Michaelmas term."
Holmes' couldn't help it but his jaw dropped. The whole room went into a sort of slow motion as the 6 successful post- graduates were congratulated with pats on the back and their hands shaken. His mind whirred to find an answer as to why.
I know for certain the dean is in the masonic order and Tarrant and Marks' fathers were both freemasons, as are they from the way they have shaken the dean's hand. So that is why those two have managed it; the only way with their academic records. There was only one applicant for the engineering fellowship, so that explains Davies. I'm sure O'reilly is related to the main biology tutor's wife and...
Oh good lord, father's going to have my hide for this.
"Many condolences for those of you who I'm sad to say we are losing from our institution. May you continue to have success in your future careers."
The more gracious of the unsuccessful applicants were congratulating their successful peers, one even laughing jovially at his rejection. Davies and Hamilton walked over to Holmes, who had not moved an inch since the dean had made his announcement. Hamilton spoke "Sorry old chap. Hard luck."
"Hard luck…" Holmes said quietly. "Luck does not exist. It is not a tangible thing."
"Just saying commiserations old boy. No hard feelings, eh?" Hamilton was beaming. Holmes seethed.
"I just don't understand Holmes. You were a dead cert'." Davies' fairly cheerful demeanour had quelled in this new revelation.
Holmes feigned an uncaring shrug, though his insides were wrenching at his guts at the prospect of telling his father he had been unsuccessful. "Means nothing, does it really. Unforeseen circumstances can change any events probability."
"Mr Holmes. May I see you for a minute." The dean beckoned him over.
Holmes got up and tried to mask the fact his lower limbs had ceased to function normally. So this is the effect of shock… interesting. They headed just outside the door and the dean closed the oak panel behind them.
"Probably going to tell him commiserations personally." Davies' said, thrusting his hands in his pockets.
"Probably. Ah well." Hamilton's smile was threatening to split his face. "How about a celebratory drink, eh?"
"Yes Professor Hanslope?" Holmes said with as much bonhomie as he could muster considering he felt he could hit the man.
"Sorry about not being able to give you a place here for next year." The dean peered over the rim of his glasses. "But there were only 6 places."
"Indeed sir" Holmes replied curtly.
"And I had to give the places to those I deemed would benefit from further study here at trinity."
"Of course sir." Holmes' throat was beginning to get fairly dry with all the anger he was suppressing.
"So you were pretty much off my list."
Holmes didn't even acknowledge this with a murmur.
"I received a letter this morning. A reply to a communication I sent regarding your finals result, which were excellent by the by."
Then why didn't you take me on you sanctimonious-
"And the letter was fantastic news, my boy. Fantastic news."
Holmes blinked. "For who, sir? You haven't mentioned who you sent the initial correspondence to."
"Why, my dear boy! Oxford, Holmes. The great institution!"
"Oxford?" Holmes' face was set in one of slight disapproval, but the slight twitch of his left brow was the only thing to suggest his inner excitement.
"They have not only offered you a place to study applied chemistry, but a scholarship!"
"You suggested me to Oxford?" Holmes said in an even tone. "And they've accepted me, purely on my finals score?"
"And the entire faculty's recommendation, I can assure you." The dean was grinning.
"But I thought-" Holmes stopped himself and took a deep breath.
The dean looked perplexed for a second before the realisation dawned on him. "You didn't think that I was not giving you a place here for that little formaldehyde incident? Come, come, dear boy! That was sorted. And besides," he put his hand on Holmes' shoulder. "That doesn't change the fact you are a phenomenal chemist."
Holmes shook his head as if to clear his head of what he thought was unreal. "I'm going to Oxford?"
"Yes. Congratulations. Though I am not glad to see your immense capabilities be taken away from trinity, but…"
"Thank you very much sir." Holmes said tersely. "I am also glad to hear I have been forgiven for that laboratory incident."
"Well, by me you have been. Not too sure about Professor Mallard. His eyebrows have still not grown back yet."
"I honestly thought he'd be a dead cert'! Honest to god I did!" Davies said in amongst the successful group.
"I think we all did. Shows that natural intelligence just isn't enough!" Hamilton smiled and clenched his fist in front of his face "Hard graft is what pays off, gentlemen."
"Surely his finals were an obvious show of hard graft."
"But I rarely saw him writing any reports!"
"Maybe he peeved someone down in the chemistry faculty?" O'reilly piped up.
They all looked at each other. "Mallard." They all stated matter-of-factly.
The door opened and Holmes walked in, shoulders rounded and a look on his face resembling that of someone whose world had just come to an abrupt end. Slowly and morosely, he made his way over to his violin, picked it up with its bow and headed back towards the door.
"Congratulations." He said in a monotone.
"Thank you Holmes." O'reilly smiled sympathetically.
"Can't win them all can you Holmes?" Hamilton said
Holmes turned to go, when he twisted back as if he just realised something. "Oh yes, there was something I wanted to say to you Hamilton." He held up his hand for the man to shake, and grinned a sly grin. "You should come visit me in Oxford sometime."
Hamilton's face visibly contorted into a picture of confusion as he shook Holmes' hand limply. "I thought you lived in Galway?"
Davies' eyes widened as he realised what Holmes' was inferring.
Holmes stood upright, shoulders regaining their poise, and sighed. "It appears Davies has worked it out. I'll let him explain, shall I?"
He shook the hand of the other's in the group and gave a curt nod. "Good day gentlemen." And with a flick of his coat tails, he wheeled round and sauntered out of the room.
