Death of the Rat

By William McMurray

In this final story of McMurray’s trilogy, young professor Janet Gordon finds herself inadvertently involved in the election of the Principal of her University. The politics are not only complex but become decidedly unpleasant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William McMurray
• Release date: Dec 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466026933

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DEATH OF THE RAT

William McMurray

Copyright 2011 by William McMurray

Smashwords Edition

How now! A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!

Hamlet, Act III, Scene iv, 23.

The sun's first rays gently brushed the parapets and pinnacles of Essex University’s mock gothic towers as Mr. Jackson Nicholas, lately director of the Board of Regents, and since the untimely demise of his predecessor, Acting Principal of the University, stepped from his car. He had an early meeting to convene, the last he hoped of the seemingly interminable wrangles to select his successor in office. Perhaps he owed it to the Institution to allow the other Regents to convince him to stay on as Principal, to provide some stability and sense to the place, and end the constant bickering among the Selection Committee. For he had brought an air of authority to his role, he reflected with some pride. Another year or so of his influence would bring the more fractious academic elements into line. He frowned as one of these, in fact the most awkward member of the Governing Council of the Faculty and its representative on the Committee to Select the Principal, Professor John Antwhistle, appeared at the entrance to Morton Hall and ostentatiously held the door open for him. He grudgingly muttered his thanks, and pressed on down to the Board Room, at whose entrance he stopped abruptly. The Professor, bringing up the rear, caught sight of the object which had caused the Acting-Principal’s lean, rodent-like face to turn pale: dangling from the lintel on a length of cord was a large, white rat; it was quite dead, and from its broken neck depended a small cardboard placard with the words - YOU’RE NEXT.

CHAPTER ONE

A knot of a dozen students surrounded Janet Gordon at the foot of the science amphi-theatre, while the remainder of the two hundred or so students in her third year Cell Biology class were noisily departing after the lecture. The aficionados with questions or arguments pursued her as she collected notes, transparencies, slides, and other pedagogical impedimenta to make way for the next class. They spilled out into the hall-way to escape the incoming tide for Physics 250, and carried on the discussion in fits and starts with students peeling off from the group as their points were satisfied. Finally they were reduced to Janet and one morose-looking male.

Well, Leonard, what is it this time? she asked, trying to keep the edge of exasperation from showing. Leonard was a two-timer, a recidivist, something of a hopeless case. His performance last year in Biology 333 was so abysmal Janet could not forbear to submit a number beside the letter grade-F. She had, in fact, been tempted to submit DNW (did not write) to the Registrar since Leonard's final exam paper could only barely be construed as a written response to the questions. Now he was back for another go, to Janet's aggravation and mystification.

I only wanted to observe, he began, that everything's so much clearer now. You have helped my understanding so much. And last summer's reading of course.

That's very satisfying for you then, Janet replied, warming somewhat though irritated by the boy’s obvious attempt to flatter her.

Oh yes! You see I got off to a bad start last year with Professor A. He didn't take the time to explain like you do. And then, he went on as Janet tried to disentangle herself and walked along the hall, he wouldn’t take time out of class to help us stupider students."

Professor A would not have put up with this syncophantic dribble either, thought Janet to herself. Leonard was in actuality the major problem Janet had inherited upon taking over John Antwhistle's usual first term portion of the course while he was occupied with the Selection Committee. Her old mentor was a superb teacher she knew from her own experience, and Leonard had proven no better in second term than first last year. She put on a burst of speed as they reached the staircase.

See you on Wednesday, shouted Leonard as she took the stairs two at a time, muttering to herself about the dubious practice of permitting students to repeat their failed studies. There was little prospect for Leonard in science, or at least in biology. Perhaps she should try to counsel him to switch into psychology or politics. Janet swung out of the stairwell on the fourth floor, head down, and collided with the other subject of the discussion. As if to make matters worse her victim commenced to apologize for the accident.

Habitual fault of mine my dear. Only exercise I get these days, leaping before looking I’m afraid. Clobbered the Dean the other day, spilled his coffee down his pants. Bought him another cup to atone, however. Lucky he wears brown, and they tried to unscramble Janet’s notes from the contents of her Professor's file that now lay strewn together on the floor.

Bring the whole mess into my office and we’ll sort it out over a cup of coffee, he offered. I promise not to repeat my stunt with the Dean! Janet gathered up the jumble of papers and followed, in some embarrassment.

Ah, good old Biol. 333! exclaimed John Antwhistle picking up one of her overhead transparencies. I have to take some responsibility for lumbering you with this after all. And here's part of the reason," he continued, brandishing an agenda labelled ‘PRIVATE/CONFIDENTIAL - COMMITTEE TO SELECT THE PRINCIPAL'.

The Committee of No Return. All hope abandon etc, he continued, filing the papers randomly in their manila folder. Coffee with the added luxury of cream, sugar, and chocolate-coated biscuits appeared on a tray produced by Miss Rachel Grinley. The latter glowered at Janet with a flinty countenance. Miss Grinley was of the 'old school' and felt no encroachment upon her feminist rights to deliver the coffee for her Department Head and distinguished visitors: she drew the line at junior faculty members.

How is Bob Hayes working in with your group by the way? enquired the Professor.

He lost a fair amount of time in the move. But we are getting along fine now, Janet replied, munching on a biscuit. This collaboration was certainly developing better than previous ill-fated work with Dr. Karl Elster.

Also, Bob has been a great help to me in sorting out Karl's work for posthumous publication. I still find it hard to be objective you know, she went on apologetically.

Yes, it is a delicate point. I'm glad young Hayes is proving helpful at it. And let me know if I can help.

When we have a reasonable draft put together I'll get you to look it over, give us your opinion of whether we are presenting it fairly, that is if you agree? she concluded quizzically. John Antwhistle had been reading and judiciously slashing her efforts at publication for so long that Jane began to wonder if and when he would tell her to cease bothering him about it. So long as he would bear it she would continue to count on his editorial assistance. As editor of three scientific journals and author of a dozen reviews and monographs, he possessed an instinct for clarity in expression and ruthlessly suppressed any additions of unnecessary verbiage or unwarranted speculations. John Antwhistle indicated his willingness to continue in the role of literary critic, and passed the biscuits.

I wonder, he ruminated sadly, how many members of faculty are aware of the decadence and corruption in the governance of this wretched institution.

If you refer to the junior faculty, who have been pretty much excluded from any meaningful part in the University's affairs, I am sure that few would be shocked, but most would be indifferent, Janet responded quietly.

Too true! chuckled the Professor, roused from his despondency by this bit of cynicism. Nonetheless, I believe it's time that someone leaked a story on the political machinations in Morton Hall for the Faculty Review column of our friend, Archaeopteryx. The last-named was the nom de plume of a presumed junior faculty member who had been anonymously making disclosures of autocratic practices in the administration, and advocating increased representative government at the University, in a regular column of the weekly faculty newspaper .

If one heeds the portents, some of the more radical reformers may have progressed beyond the point of public protest, he went on, relating the circumstances of the threat earlier that morning. Poor old Jackson, the rat! He did not quite know whether to take it as an outrageous undergraduate prank, or a serious menace to his survival. At one point he considered calling in the police, until his colleagues among the Regents reminded him of the publicity that would create.

He has a tendency to settle all student unrest by force, Janet reminded him, citing incidents of unruly conduct at residence parties and football games. He has already added a dozen new security men to campus police to protect us. Why didn't he call in his own Captain Marvel?

I daresay he did after the meeting broke up in disarray. Selection Committee adjourned rather abruptly, which was one blessing at least! Nicholas and his tame Regents couldn’t push through his agenda with all the confusion.

What I don't understand about all this selection business, mused Janet, is the delay. Surely if Nicholas controls the Regents, and they make up the majority on the committee -- John Antwhistle nodded in the affirmative. then why hasn't he simply pushed through his own choice? How long has your committee been meeting?

Since Spring.

And now it's late September! What, if you don't mind my asking, has been going on?

Of course, my dear, I do not mind your asking. As a faculty member among many of this great institution who has been long in the dark concerning the corridors of power, you have every right to wonder. For my part I have been sworn to confidentiality concerning names of the illustrious candidates. So my response must be couched in general terms, and must go no further, at this stage anyway, he whispered conspiratorially. Let's first recapitulate the events. That's on the public record at least.

Right, nodded Janet helping herself to another cookie, and surreptitiously peeking at her watch. She would be lucky to get her experiment started before lunch-time at this rate.

Our lamented Principal dies at the height of summer. The Regents hastily convene and, against all reason, name their own chairman as Acting-Principal. Excuse promulgated; to have somebody who is already conversant with our fiscal affairs as interim chief administrative officer. True reason; to neutralize our Dean, who might have promoted academic interests and brought more faculty into the selection process. Later on in the Fall, with no show of urgency, the Regents announce the formation of a Committee to Select the Principal, composed mainly of themselves.

This was what led to that stormy session of the Governing Council of the Faculty?

I think it was the fine hand of Dean Owens that brought that about, the Professor responded. "Brash as they were, the Regents couldn't exclude the Dean entirely from the Selection Committee. When Dr. Owens proposed that they balance their committee with some faculty, student, staff representation they just voted him down. It was in response to that you may recall, that Governing Council sent