Markham and the Anal Probing (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #8.1)

(By Jodi Taylor)

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Author	Jodi Taylor

“Book Descriptions: Markham and the Anal Probing
And then there was the day when Markham managed to get himself snatched by aliens – or so we thought at the time.
I was summoned to Dr Bairstow’s office to find Markham and Peterson already present. We looked at each other.
‘Any clues?’ I asked.
They shrugged.
‘You can go in now,’ said Mrs Partridge, so in we went.
He looked up from his desk. ‘There you are.’
We agreed that yes, here we were.
He gestured at his briefing table on which reposed several archive boxes and a fat folder.
‘The County Archivist has been good enough to make available various documents requested by Dr Dowson. A condition was that we do not expose them to the hazards of a random delivery service.’ It was not clear whether it was the company or its delivery that was random, but we nodded anyway. ‘And so, I would like you, personally, to return these valuable documents with my compliments and thanks.’
He handed Peterson an envelope.
‘Of course, sir.’
‘This afternoon, if you please.’
Peterson glanced at his watch. ‘It’s already afternoon, sir.’
‘How quickly you grasp my meaning.’
‘I do my best, sir.’
‘I have assured the County Archivist that my best people are on the job. They being unavailable, however, I have therefore designated my Chief Operations Officer, my Head of Security and my Deputy Director to fulfil this simple task.’
His Deputy Directory, Head of Security and Chief Operations Officer assembled their best air of cool professionalism – which in our case consisted of standing a little straighter and not picking our noses. I don’t think he was impressed, staring at us bleakly for a few seconds and then demanding to know why we were still here.
Since Peterson was burdened with the envelope, Markham and I seized the boxes and we left with all speed.
‘Right,’ said Peterson, ‘I shall assume full control of this mission.’
Markham made a rude noise.
‘Get changed and meet in the car park in ten minutes. That’s ten minutes, Max. No wafting around in front of mirrors trying on dresses.’
Now I made a rude noise.
We met in the car park, shoving Markham and the boxes in the back, and departed.
‘A nice afternoon out,’ said a voice from behind the boxes, and we agreed.
Now I know what you’re thinking. I can hear exactly what you’re thinking, so I will say now that the boxes were delivered on time and to the correct destination. The County Archivist herself took delivery so God knows what was in them. Peterson, after a series of nudges from me, remembered to hand over Dr Bairstow’s letter of thanks and they gave us a cup of tea. They were lovely people. I wish I worked there. We set off for the return trip, hoping to be back in time for tea, and things started to go wrong almost immediately.
Peterson caught my eye. I always think that sounds as if you’ve been indulging in a quick game of eyeball tossing, but I knew what he meant
‘So,’ he said, almost casually, negotiating the last roundabout out of town and accelerating away, ‘how are things with you and Hunter?’
‘OK,’ said Markham vaguely. ‘I think.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Well, it’s hard to tell sometimes, but I always think if she’s not coming at me with a kidney bowl then, you know, things aren’t too bad.’
‘Why would she come at you with a kidney bowl?’
‘Because she can’t find a bedpan.’
Peterson tried again. ‘So – got any celebrations planned then?’
‘What for?’
‘Well, you have an anniversary coming up.’
‘What anniversary?’
‘Wedding. You know. You and Hunter.’
There was a long silence from the back. ‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘I worked it out,’ said Peterson in his best I’m Peterson and I’m brilliant voice. ‘I’m looking at Hunter these days and she’s looking very well, isn’t she? Blooming, almost. And she’s a very moral girl is our Hunter. Well, she has to be since you don’t have a single moral to your name, so I reckon you had the ceremony just before or just after the Battle of St Mary’s which means there’s an anniversary coming up.’
There was a lot more silence from the back.
‘Oh come on,’ said Peterson. ‘Admit I’m right and the then the two of us can buy you a celebratory drink in the bar.’
More silence.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? Go on – say I’m right.’
Even more silence.
‘I don’t know why you won’t admit it,’ he said, slightly exasperated. ‘Are you ashamed of something? Wait until I tell Hunter you’re ashamed of her.’
He paused, hopefully.
Nothing but silence.
I pulled down the passenger’s sun flap and looked at the mirror. Markham was sitting with his arms folded and a stupid grin on his face.
‘I reckon,’ said Peterson, ‘the two of you snuck into the Register Office without telling anyone but I’m going to make you tell me just the same.’
Silence.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘You asked for it. Hold on tight, Max.’
We swerved off the road into a field, skidding to a halt in a shower of dust, stones and indignant birds.
‘What are we doing here?’ said Markham, picking himself up off the back seat and peering out ...”