displeased with.'
'The Romans? They had some fine magicians in their
day.' Aubrey straightened. 'There. You look acceptable.'
'And so do you. Let's go.'
The University of Greythorn and the town of
Greythorn had a relationship that Aubrey thought of in
biological terms. Either the university had spread through
the town like weeds through a fertile field or the town
had enveloped the university like a strangler fig on a
jungle palm. Regardless, it was a symbiotic relationship –
each depended on the other, even though they were
loath to admit it.
The heart of the university was the Prescott Theatre.
It was here that the great university ceremonies were
held, as well as concerts and recitals. Aubrey had always
admired its stately elegance – its many-pillared façade, the
hexagonal dome – and he was ready to admit that Sir
Robinson Hookes was at the top of his form when he
built it for Lord Prescott.
The ceremony was the sort of thing that a seven-hundred-year-old institution can get very polished at.
The procession, with the most senior academics from
each of the colleges, made Aubrey think he'd slipped
back in time. Gowns, robes, ermine, gold and silver
chains, the professors, wardens, rectors, principals, masters
and other big brain boxes paraded their full spectrum
of colours. Aubrey amused himself by deciding which
animal each of their caps looked like. He saw quite a
number of moles, a few mangy cats and one outstanding
badger, while organ music made the hall shake.
Soon after the raft of post-graduate degrees, he
glanced at George and almost laughed aloud – which
would have ruined the solemnity of the occasion. George
had the glazed, stony-eyed look that he adopted when
enduring ceremonial boredom. He could keep it up for
hours – like an eastern mystic on a bed of nails.
When the vice-chancellor announced that the
honorary degrees were about to be awarded, Aubrey
nudged George, who started. 'I wasn't asleep,' he said
loudly and received a few haughty looks from people
nearby.
Politicians headed the list, receiving doctorates for
their useful generosity to higher learning. An ex-ambassador
received a doctorate of economics for
working for ten years in the Antipodes. Aubrey thought
that was rather rich. The ex-ambassador should have
been grateful for the privilege. An archbishop picked up
a doctorate of divinity, which he seemed very pleased
with, almost a tick of approval.
Then the name of Arturo Spinetti was announced and
Aubrey nearly leaped to his feet.
A tall figure mounted the stairs to the stage two at a
time. On him, the red robes didn't look foolish – they
looked dashing. His shoulders were broad, his hair long
and dark. He crossed the stage with balance and grace,
like the most expert of fencers. When he took the scroll
from the vice-chancellor he gripped the old man's hand
and grinned, fiercely.
'It's him,' Aubrey hissed to George.
'Spinetti? I know. That's what the vice-chancellor said.'
'No. It's Dr Tremaine.'
George gave Aubrey an odd look. 'Are you all right,
old man?'
Aubrey didn't get a chance to answer. A magnificently
whiskered gent in the seat in front of them turned
and glared.
Aubrey subsided.
Spinetti ( Tremaine! ) launched into a speech of acceptance.
Within a few words, the whole mood of the
audience had changed. Even those who'd fallen asleep
were waking and paying attention. Gone was the pained
forbearance. Instead, the members of the audience began
to smile and nod.
The singer charmed them. With a mixture of self-deprecation
and suave aggrandisement, he spoke of his
delight in accepting his doctorate. He wasn't just grateful,
he made every audience member feel as if he or she were
being personally thanked by someone very special.
Except Aubrey. He sat, shocked, trying to work out
how Tremaine had smuggled himself into the country
from Holmland, why no-one recognised him, and exactly
what he was up to this time.
The new doctor finished by inviting everyone to
'The Romans? They had some fine magicians in their
day.' Aubrey straightened. 'There. You look acceptable.'
'And so do you. Let's go.'
The University of Greythorn and the town of
Greythorn had a relationship that Aubrey thought of in
biological terms. Either the university had spread through
the town like weeds through a fertile field or the town
had enveloped the university like a strangler fig on a
jungle palm. Regardless, it was a symbiotic relationship –
each depended on the other, even though they were
loath to admit it.
The heart of the university was the Prescott Theatre.
It was here that the great university ceremonies were
held, as well as concerts and recitals. Aubrey had always
admired its stately elegance – its many-pillared façade, the
hexagonal dome – and he was ready to admit that Sir
Robinson Hookes was at the top of his form when he
built it for Lord Prescott.
The ceremony was the sort of thing that a seven-hundred-year-old institution can get very polished at.
The procession, with the most senior academics from
each of the colleges, made Aubrey think he'd slipped
back in time. Gowns, robes, ermine, gold and silver
chains, the professors, wardens, rectors, principals, masters
and other big brain boxes paraded their full spectrum
of colours. Aubrey amused himself by deciding which
animal each of their caps looked like. He saw quite a
number of moles, a few mangy cats and one outstanding
badger, while organ music made the hall shake.
Soon after the raft of post-graduate degrees, he
glanced at George and almost laughed aloud – which
would have ruined the solemnity of the occasion. George
had the glazed, stony-eyed look that he adopted when
enduring ceremonial boredom. He could keep it up for
hours – like an eastern mystic on a bed of nails.
When the vice-chancellor announced that the
honorary degrees were about to be awarded, Aubrey
nudged George, who started. 'I wasn't asleep,' he said
loudly and received a few haughty looks from people
nearby.
Politicians headed the list, receiving doctorates for
their useful generosity to higher learning. An ex-ambassador
received a doctorate of economics for
working for ten years in the Antipodes. Aubrey thought
that was rather rich. The ex-ambassador should have
been grateful for the privilege. An archbishop picked up
a doctorate of divinity, which he seemed very pleased
with, almost a tick of approval.
Then the name of Arturo Spinetti was announced and
Aubrey nearly leaped to his feet.
A tall figure mounted the stairs to the stage two at a
time. On him, the red robes didn't look foolish – they
looked dashing. His shoulders were broad, his hair long
and dark. He crossed the stage with balance and grace,
like the most expert of fencers. When he took the scroll
from the vice-chancellor he gripped the old man's hand
and grinned, fiercely.
'It's him,' Aubrey hissed to George.
'Spinetti? I know. That's what the vice-chancellor said.'
'No. It's Dr Tremaine.'
George gave Aubrey an odd look. 'Are you all right,
old man?'
Aubrey didn't get a chance to answer. A magnificently
whiskered gent in the seat in front of them turned
and glared.
Aubrey subsided.
Spinetti ( Tremaine! ) launched into a speech of acceptance.
Within a few words, the whole mood of the
audience had changed. Even those who'd fallen asleep
were waking and paying attention. Gone was the pained
forbearance. Instead, the members of the audience began
to smile and nod.
The singer charmed them. With a mixture of self-deprecation
and suave aggrandisement, he spoke of his
delight in accepting his doctorate. He wasn't just grateful,
he made every audience member feel as if he or she were
being personally thanked by someone very special.
Except Aubrey. He sat, shocked, trying to work out
how Tremaine had smuggled himself into the country
from Holmland, why no-one recognised him, and exactly
what he was up to this time.
The new doctor finished by inviting everyone to
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