Print

Chapter 1
Heavy lies the head

The remains of a festive dinner had just been cleared away, and nothing was left except several decanters of sherry and Napoleon brandy, all of which had made a complete circuit of the table before the host rose, glass in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the rich baritone rang out, echoing from the raftered ceiling to the farthest reaches of the baronial hall, “It’s a pleasure to raise my glass to a renowned Shakespearean scholar, a wise and popular teacher crowned with the highest academic laurels at my favorite center of higher learning, and, if my crystal ball is still in working order, its next president.”

"President Spyglass," came the muted echo above and below the salt, for Contumely, like many of his fellow magnates, liked to surround himself with yes-men.

Professor Ezra Spyglass, Dean of Humanities at Hebrides College, smiled and nodded genially at the salutation. Though he was a man of no more than middling personal means, his office had accustomed him to rub shoulders with the very rich and the experience had schooled him to exhibit poise and aplomb at the rarefied heights in which they moved. Dean Spyglass was very comfortable in the evening dress tailored precisely to his diminutive frame and paid for out of Heb's operational budget.

As a senior administrator of the college and a member of its governing council's three-man steering committee, he had been a natural choice to head the fund-raising campaign for the construction of the new incunabula wing of the Sprengel Central Library. His friend and patron, Everett FitzRoger Contumely, head of Contumely Associates Investment Bank, had, just prior to his gracious toast, written a five-digit check that gave the fund a much needed boost.

The dean's wife, Ariadne Previn-Thierry Spyglass, squeezed his knee conspiratorially, confident that the intimate gesture was curtained by the tablecloth that fell to their shins. Dr. Previn, as she was listed on the college's books to distinguish her from her eminent husband, wore pearls over a low-cut gown that had been let out in the middle to accommodate an abdomen swelling with a six-month pregnancy.

A noted authority on European manuscripts predating the Gutenberg revolution, she was the director-designate of the new Contumely Wing. As such, she had accompanied her husband on the most important of his money-gathering jaunts for the library.

"That crystal ball takes its orders from the boss," Ariadne whispered into his ear.

Spyglass managed an almost imperceptible wink to indicate his agreement. Nevertheless, now was the time for a modest demurral. He half-rose in response.

"No, no, Everett," he protested, "You can't drink that toast. Our incumbent president, Sylvester K. Grimes, still has more than half a year until his retirement."

"Indulge me, Ez," the great man boomed jovially, "As chairman of the Heb board, I think I know who has the inside track as Syl's successor. And when you go home with this little check in your pocket," he waved a sky-blue rectangle of paper, "The powers that be on campus will know who's the breadwinner and deserves to be big daddy."

A fat, balding individual at mid-table also rose and flourished a check of his own. This was Theodore Shaigs, present comptroller of the Wall Street investment banking empire which the first in a long line of Contumelies had established at the turn of the century.

"Ev, Dean and your lovely, learned lady, fellow Contumely directors, I take great pleasure in matching Mr. Contumely's personal contribution with a donation from the Contumely Foundation, of which I have the honor to be general-secretary. Together, they total more than half a million dollars, and will put the Contumely Incunabula Wing budget over the top."

Enthusiastic applause greeted this announcement. In his own turn, Spyglass rose to his feet and held his wine glass, full to the brim, up high.

"Dear friends of Hebrides College," he said in slightly tremulous tones, "Words fail me in the face of your generosity. All I can say is, here's to Everett Contumely, the Contumely Foundation, and the Contumely Incunabula Wing. We hope to break ground in two weeks, and you're all invited."

"I'll certainly drink to that," Contumely said and, matching action to words, brought the brandy snifter