Many Moons Ago, Harrow School, London.
"You're a bloody menace, Plastow!"
The Principal was not a happy man. But that's what happens when you get caught triggering the sprinklers to disrupt a class for which you haven't done your assignment so as to buy a bit more time. Teachers and Principals tend to get a little irked by such behaviour.
"And as for you, Clifton, I expected you to know better! You're not in this college to muck about. This is a place of education, established with the sole purpose of shaping the finest British minds into something worthy of representing this great nation and its interests at home and abroad."
Winston Churchill loomed large and ominous above them, a portrait reminder of the former pupils that had once wandered the grounds of Harrow School, hanging silent but all the more present in the Principal's office.
" Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm," said Plastow smoothly, "to quote a former pupil of this illustrious establishment."
Oh God, Arthur thought to himself. What's he doing? Trying to get us expelled?
The briefest look of thunder passed over the Principal's face as he rested an intent look on Plastow. What that intent was had yet to be revealed but Arthur was sure it wouldn't be pretty.
"Why thank you for those pearls of wisdom, Mr Plastow. I can only assume that you define your failure in this particular case as getting caught and despite that fact you will continue in unabated enthusiasm regardless of the consequences for your actions."
Arthur had to force himself not to roll his eyes and risk incurring further wrath. Well done, Phillip.
"You will both stay late after school every day this week and assist the librarian with his duties," he said, straight to the point. Arthur almost breathed a sigh of relief. Being surrounded by books for a week didn't sound like much of a punishment. He'd take it. Gladly.
Phillip began to protest. "You can't do that! Once my Father hears—"
The Principal stepped close to Plastow and loomed above the boy, despite the fact that Phillip was quite tall himself, the Principal had the added benefit of, well, being the Principal of the most prestigious school in London. Arthur kept his eyes trained dead ahead.
"It may interest you to know, Mr Plastow," interrupted the Principal, "that your Father and I have had a few meetings about you and your behaviour. And while we cannot ignore the fact that he is one of our most generous benefactors, we also cannot be held to ransom by pupils who think they can run roughshod over a system that has stood us in fine stead for over 400 years!"
He circled his table as he spoke before coming to stand in front of them again, almost daring either of them to speak out of turn again. Both refrained.
"We have enough challenges without unruly boys who need to learn their place in this world and that for respect to be earned it must first be given. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now. Go check in with the librarian. I'll let him know you're coming and let him decide what best use to which to put you both. Dismissed."
Present Day
Q looked with affection at the scene currently being broadcast from Bond's lapel cam. The British Library had to be one of his favourite places in the world. All that knowledge from across time gathered in one place. When he stood inside the walls, he imagined he could feel the words permeate his skin and his mind, the air was so incredibly thick with all that condensed information, roaming the space, looking for minds to process, understand and use their offerings, and translate that knowledge into something good, useful, wholesome.
"You know, people underestimate the power of books as weapons," Q found himself saying almost absent-mindedly, not really expecting Bond to acknowledge the observation.
"I certainly don't," replied Bond.
"Really, 007? You don't strike me as much of a reader. More a man of action, not words."
"I'm not. I meant as an actual weapon. Quite effective I've found, if nothing else is to hand, in the act of fending off the amorous advances of a Double O."
Q had to stifle a laugh at the memory conjured. "Well, yes, there is that as well."
"There she is," Q said, "11 O'Clock."
The woman in question headed towards Bond without acknowledging him, and walked close enough to graze his arm and drop her book. He picked it up casually and handed it back to her.
"Thank you," she said, unable to keep the demure from her voice.
"A pleasure." Q watched her face literally light up and rolled his eyes. The words "charm" and "offensive" did not belong in the same breath where 007 was concerned.
Bond carried on walking towards the exit and opened the book at an angle Q could see the contents.
"Perfect," Q said. "Now we have the location of your contact. I'll send up word so you're good to go first thing in the morning," he continued, tapping away a message on his keyboard.
"Q…"
"Yes, Bond?"
"Have you ever…?" It may have been less a month, but Q had quickly picked up on the changing nuances of Bond's tone when he was talking about certain subjects. He switched to an alternate channel as the conversation no longer needed to be monitored.
"I swear to God, Bond, you're the Devil in disguise. No I've never… in a library of all places. It's a place of quiet and learning in case that fact had passed you by."
"I'm sure if we looked hard enough we could find a copy of the Kama Sutra round here somewhere."
Q ignored him. "Right. All set. You fly to Tel Aviv tomorrow."
"Excellent," said Bond. "Time enough for dinner at yours then."
Q took a pause. "Dinner… At mine?"
"Yes," said Bond smoothly. "I'd like to meet these bloody cats of yours and as you haven't invited me over to your place yet, I'm taking the initiative and inviting myself round tonight."
Bond took Q's silence as he usually did.
"Excellent. Expect me for 7.30pm. I'll bring food, and maybe cat treats. If you promise to be a good boy."