Cambridge, England
The air was enjoyably crisp even as the day started to warm, and Nate was happy to be outside. He had broken his fast at the Cambridge Chop House, sitting at a table with a view of King’s College Chapel, the city’s most famous landmark. Built around the turn of the sixteenth century, the structure was one of the best examples of late perpendicular Gothic architecture, and Nate soaked it in as he ate a chicken, smoked bacon, and leek pie that was absolutely delicious. He drained a bottle of mineral water with it, still recovering from the dehydration he suffered after every long international flight, and washed it all down with a cup of black tea. With a full stomach and the caffeine surging through his veins beginning to perk him up, he felt rejuvenated.
The short walk from the restaurant to his destination was a welcome addition to the morning, allowing him to digest and start clearing his mind for the research that lay ahead. He walked south on Trumpington Street past Corpus Christi College before turning left on Pembroke Street, instantly recognizing the serendipity of the shared street name between this one and the one he lived on in Boston. Though aftera short hundred meters it changed names to Downing Street, he still hoped it was a good omen.
Nate had never been to Cambridge before and found it to be a beautiful, quaint little town. The area was a jumble of ancient and modern structures, the cafés, hotels, shops, and car parks keeping him from being fully transported back in time as he walked through the cramped streets, medieval stone walls rising several stories high on either side.
Cambridge had a long and storied history and possessed one of the most famous and well-respected academic institutions in the world. While the city rose to importance as a prominent trading center during the Roman occupation of Britain, evidence existed that the site had been occupied since the early Bronze Age. What put Cambridge on the map, however, was the university, founded in 1209 and notable for producing an endless list of prestigious alumni. It was also one of the richest universities in all of Great Britain.
The section of the university that Nate was interested in was the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. He could see it come into view just ahead of him and paused momentarily to admire the building. While not an architect or art historian, he thought the three rose windows along the side of the building showed Gothic influences, likely an intentional ornamentation of the Edwardian architectural style. He also noticed that the massive building spanned the entire block.
Nate entered through the heavy wooden doors of the main entrance and stepped into the foyer. He was instantly in awe. The room opened up through a large portal to expose the railings of the second floor, simultaneously allowing light to shine through onto the menagerie of artifacts below, some in glass curio cases, others out in the open. Nate saw statues of the Buddha, Viking longship replicas, and ancient bronze arrowheads. He could spend the whole day simply walking around this museum, studying all the artifacts and soaking up the knowledge.
“Good morning,” a female voice came from behind him. It was light and airy, with a thick Welsh accent.
He turned to see a pretty young redhead with her hair pinned up in a bun and wearing thin, circular glasses.
“Good morning,” he responded, straightening his tie. He had changed in the restaurant bathroom, retrieving the gray suit from his duffel bag and attempting to shake out the wrinkles.
“Mr. Wilde, I presume?”
“At your service,” he smiled.
“My name is Marie Wharton,” she replied, smiling back and blushing slightly. “I work for the anthropology department here as a teaching assistant. You emailed Professor Jonas about the Bertram Thomas archives?”
“I did,” he answered. Professor Jonas had been his point of contact and arranged for him to spend the afternoon with the collection.
“The archive records are stored in the Asian and Middle Eastern Studies Department; however, I pulled everything related to Bertram Thomas and had it moved here to a private room for you.”
“Well thank you, but that wasn’t necessary. I could have made my way over there.”
“It’s better to review the material here,” she said. “You’ll have more privacy. Plus, the faculty works out of that building.”
It made sense. It was likely the staff didn’t want to see some graduate student from a foreign university poking around. It was easier to send the hired help to set space aside for him at the museum, where tourists belonged.
“Good call, Marie,” he said with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Please follow me.” She nodded toward the door and then turned and left the room.
Marie led him out of the main room to the staircase, where theyproceeded to the second level. They walked through magnificent collections of history that Nate eyeballed the entire way, wondering if he would have time to do a proper tour after he was finished. Eventually, they reached a set of doors sectioned off from the rest of the museum where patrons were not allowed to enter, and inside were several small rooms that served as offices. The one she led him into was very cozy, with a solid oak desk with two brown chairs in front of it and a bookshelf that covered one entire wall. The whole room was set in dark brown tones, including the heavy drapes that covered a window overlooking Downing Street. On top of the desk were nine airtight plastic boxes.
“You can use this office to conduct your research,” Marie said. “The photocopier is in the hallway, and we ask that you wear the nitrile gloves provided and don’t use flash photography on the documents.”
“Thank you,” Nate said, already eyeing the boxes, transfixed by the information they might contain.
“Will there be anything else?” Marie asked.
“No, thank you.”
“The museum is closed today. However, I will be here until six. If you should like to stay later, please let me know.”
“Thank you,” he said again. Marie turned to leave. “Wait,” he said, a thought occurring to him. She turned around expectantly.
“Where is the restroom?”
Marie smiled. “Down the hall, last door on the left.” With that she turned and left the room.
Nate looked down at his watch and rubbed his eyes. He had been at it for nearly five hours, and he had only left the room once to use the bathroom. The wealth of information contained in the boxes was staggering. Bertram Thomas wrote the bookArabia Felixin 1932 about his journeyacross the Rub’ al Khali, and it was a few hundred pages long. Nate had read it several times, cover to cover, and was only now realizing how much Thomas had left out of the book. There were pages of hand-drawn maps, sketches, and notes. Everything that occurred, he catalogued. Every species of plant or animal he encountered was recorded in some fashion. The man was painstakingly thorough in his research.
