by Adrian Speed
There was an awkward pause while Ebenezer waited for the emperor to continue.
“That means you’re dismissed,” the manikin said, and led Ebenezer out of the room.
“Elba…” Alexander muttered to himself.
Plink, the lasers turned off and the Hotel De Ville disappeared.
“Kind of a heavy exposition scene,” Minenhle said. “I can see why Jonathon cut it.”
“If Ebenezer was the one who gave them the idea to drop Napoleon on Elba… that would explain why he was one of the witnesses to the treaty signing,” I said. “Jonathon must have read about Ebenezer in the Versteckt diary.”
“Must he? Why?”
“Because…. well let’s just say I knew that Heinrich Versteckt knew something about the Treaty of Fontainebleau. It’s too much of a coincidence for Jonathon to have put the diary into the film, and have this scene with Ebenezer otherwise.”
“I agree entirely.” Sir Reginald’s voice rang out from the back of the room. “Apologies for my outburst earlier. A most egregious lapse of composure. By your leave Hannah, I think we have outstayed our welcome in the twenty-second century. I think it’s time to head for the twentieth.”
Chapter XXV
Sir Reginald kept a quick pace as I followed him out of the building. He brushed past the police and Jonathon’s relatives with barely a word and started hailing a taxi the moment we left.
“We could try looking for Heinrich’s diary in Jonathon’s possessions,” I said.
“According to the probate document it was not in his possession when he died.” Sir Reginald held his tablet up to show the document for proof. “Unless that has also been scrubbed by someone between now and the twenty-third century.”
“All the more reason for us to look now–”
“No, I want this from the horse’s mouth.” Sir Reginald shook his head and finally got hold of a taxi. He held the door for me and then followed me inside. “Heinrich’s mouth.”
“But you... Professor Sotheby said he was in no fit state to talk.”
“Because alcoholism destroyed him after the war, precisely. I wish to speak to him before the war.” Sir Reginald held up the tablet and scrolled until he found the document he wanted. “Captain Heinrich Versteckt was promoted to the staff of Count Harrach, Archduke Ferdinand’s personal bodyguard in June 1914. It does not state which day.” Sir Reginald tented his fingers together and glared. “There is only one date in June I can be certain to know precisely where Heinrich Versteckt will be.”
“You can’t mean–”
“Yes, the 28th of June 1914. The assassination of the Archduke.” Sir Reginald closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can assume that all prior thought to paradoxes and changing history has passed out of your mind?”
“I... yes.”
“Then so long as we throw ourselves only at finding and interrogating Heinrich Versteckt we should not risk upsetting the correct flow of time. Tell me my dear, do you speak German?”
“Not... yet.”
“Then let us hope that as a member of the diplomatic corps Heinrich has learnt French.” Sir Reginald stared out of the window. “I do not like the feeling that is creeping over me, o corn rose. It is a feeling akin to desperation. No mystery we have investigated since we left old Marlin Arnold has served our purpose. I am used to the cruel whims of fate answering our questions only to replace them with new ones, but these last few weeks, I feel like we have answered no questions, only changed the question.” Sir Reginald’s head sank against the glass. “If we accept the scene Jonathon Sotheby-Arnold made as broadly accurate, Ebenezer Arnold is the one who convinced the Holy Alliance to imprison Napoleon on Elba, and thus allow Napoleon to escape back for the Battle of Waterloo and the 100 days, why oh why is it the Sotheby family trying to cover up Ebenezer’s presence at the treaty signing?” Sir Reginald’s breath clouded the window. “And if it is Heinrich Versteckt that starts the rivalry between Arnold and Sotheby, how does it last long enough for a Sotheby to kill Marlin Arnold, yet is also gone a hundred years earlier for a Sotheby to marry an Arnold? There is something missing. Some single piece of information that ties this all together that I can’t fathom. Yet I must have seen it by now, glimpsed it in the shadows of it all. Two families don’t feud like this outside of Shakespeare.”
A jolt surged through my abdomen. An idea, so delicate I hardly dared think it lest I crush it, fluttered through my mind. It was only a hunch, an idea of an idea, there was no proof to it... but with a shaking hand I realised I felt I knew the questions that needed to be asked.
I looked over to Sir Reginald. How many times had he let me sit in ignorance waiting for him to guide me towards the answer, or let me interrogate the suspect while he waits with the one cutting question that will lead to the answer? This time was mine.
“Let’s just head to Heinrich,” I said, with a creeping smile. “He has all the answers we need.”
“As you say my dear,” Sir Reginald agreed, and unbeknownst to me until much later, smiled as well, watching the realisation spread across a reflection of my face.
*****
The heat hit me in a wave the moment we landed. The sun blazed overhead and the slight breeze did little to soften it. I picked up my umbrella and opened it to use as a parasol, grateful to get out of the light. We had landed in a yard, surrounded on all sides by brightly coloured stone walls. A number of early motorcars lay around us, and a few horse-drawn wagons without their horses. In one corner of the yard a gaggle of geese were penned in, eating scraps.
“Dobrodošli, Reginald.” A teak-faced man sweeping the yard waved to us.
“Zdravo,” Sir Reginald replied, and then began a hasty exchange in Serbian I could not follow and tossed a coin to the man. “By Jove I’m glad my instincts were right. It was a 50/50 chance this car park was in Dubrovnik.”
“So we could have materialised inside a wall or something?”
“Er, well the time machine is supposed to er… to stop that…” Sir Reginald ran his eye over the apparatus as if suddenly unsure. “Regardless, it’s just coming up to nine o’clock so we have an hour or so to get along to the barracks where the Archduke will begin his parade, and we can pull Captain Heinrich aside.” Sir Reginald waved me on and we made our way into the city.
Minarets dotted the skyline with pale white stone, while the buildings were splashes of every colour. Deep reds and candy blues sat striped along the streets putting me in mind of rock candy sold at the seaside. Mosques, churches and synagogues lay only a few streets apart from each other as we followed the road towards the river. The air tingled with a festival atmosphere, and bunting had been put up between the lamp posts. Everyone was wearing their best as they went about town. When we got to the river a crowd was already forming along the roads that lined it, backing onto the route of Franz Ferdinand’s parade. I thought the river might provide some cooler air but it sat at the bottom of its channel barely a few inches deep.
Despite the atmosphere it was hard to believe so much history was about to turn on the day. It felt more like a village fair. I pulled out my phone and looked through what I could on the assassination. It seemed so unreal to compare the old sepia photographs to the blazing colours. There was no way to capture the sound of cheers, the music, the laughter. Even the photographs of the assassins didn’t seem real. The photographs were just grimy shadows when out there in the crowds were flesh and blood men, none of them older than twenty, about to throw their lives away.
“Halt!” a soldier called out to us, as Sir Reginald led us up to the gate. He followed it with an order in Serbian. “Stani!”
“My name is Sir Reginald Derby, I am here to talk to Captain Heinrich Versteckt of the Archduke’s bodyguard,” Sir Reginald said in German. I could just about follow that. The reply though was too fast and too strange for me to keep up with.
“What? It’s nine by the clock, surely?” Sir Reginald's eyes widened.
“No sir, it’s past te
n,” the soldier replied.
“Damn and blast and curses and hellfire!” Sir Reginald put a hand to his forehead, muttering in English. “Of course, the Austrian Empire didn’t have daylight saving time until… oh blast it, Hannah my dear we’re an hour late. We will have to follow the motorcade, come, come, do not tarry!” Sir Reginald was already moving by the time he told me to follow and I had to break into a run to catch up with him.
“Haven’t we missed our window?” I asked. “Isn’t Franz Ferdinand to about to die?”
“I don’t know.” Sir Reginald shook his head. “But I do know it will all be for naught unless we get to Heinrich. Perhaps if we can get him away from the motorcade we can pump him for information before he finds out! All I know, my dear, is we have to hurry!”
The crack of our shoes against the paving slabs was swiftly drowned out by the roar of the crowds as we sprinted towards the quay and the motorcade route. Thousands thronged each side of the road. Half the city must be lining the route and I could only make out a few policeman caps, dotting the crowd like raisins in a very cheap fruitcake. There was nothing between the crowd and the Archduke but trust. Trust that would be broken within minutes.
Sir Reginald dived into the crowd elbow first, sliding and ducking and nudging his way through, his muttered apologies to each and every one varying from Serbian and German. I followed close behind him but the throng was thick, and very soon I found myself losing sight of him. A glimpse of a tailcoat here, a flash of a silk cravat there.
“My dear!” Sir Reginald's cane rose above the crowd, waggling for attention. He was almost three feet to my right, with what felt like a dozen people between him and me. I pushed my way through until I landed against his chest.
“I think it may be necessary for us to split up my dear,” Sir Reginald said.
“Are you kidding? We’re barely getting through!”
“Precisely; if we split up we can each take advantage of every fissure in the crowd without heeding the location of the other, and speed our way through.” Sir Reginald’s steely eyes suggested he’d already made up his mind. “You stay here and take the river side, I shall cross the road and follow the building line. Whichever of us gets to Heinrich first, drag him back to the time machine. We shall meet there.”
“OK… OK I’ll do my best–”
“Then make haste!” Sir Reginald said, giving me a gentle push in the direction of the motorcade while he drove himself back into the crowd. I took a deep breath and followed suit, driving for the motorcade.
I slipped between the Serbians and ducked under the dignitaries; with my umbrella before me I cracked gaps between the Croats and barged past the Bosnians. As I charged through the crowd the sound of cheering grew louder, along with the rumble of engines. I caught glimpses through the crowd as I got closer. Brilliant automobiles gleamed back in the summer sun, looking more like horseless carriages than modern cars. Feathered hats and bright cockades gleamed on the dignitaries. I could smell the moustache wax and leather polish from here. There were a dozen cars in the motorcade, far more than I thought there’d be. I pushed ahead, striving and driving until I got ahead of the first car. There were still at least a dozen people between me and the motorcade. If I was going to find Heinrich I’d need to get even further ahead.
I swung myself off a lamppost to get even more momentum and drove through the crowd, flat out ignoring the complaints. All they saw was a blur of blue cotton, blonde hair and a silk umbrella and I was past them. I passed by women waving their handkerchiefs and men raising their hats – bowlers, flat caps and top hats, all shaking like autumn leaves. The cheer sent the blood rushing to my ears.
I turned back to the motorcade;. I was ahead of it now. I couldn’t make out Heinrich in the crowd. None of those Sotheby features were visible, but the eye fleck was the only guarantee. There was no way I’d see it at this distance. I had to get closer to the road, I had to call out and get his attention. I had to–
Then I fell into someone. He was pushing to the front of the crowd just like me. I whipped my head round and stammered out an apology that quickly faded away to nothing. I had seen this face before. I’d seen that thin dark moustache. I’d seen that slicked oiled hair. I’d seen that sharp chin. I’d seen those youthful, furious eyes. I’d seen them only as a grainy photograph, devoid of all the liveliness, devoid of the blood under his skin, and the righteousness in his eyes.
This was Franz Ferdinand’s assassin. This was the man who would start the First World War, who would start the Second World War, who would start the Cold War. The man whose actions would echo through the twentieth century like a gunshot. He was about to change history more than any assassin since Brutus and Cassius on the senate floor.
Time seemed to slow down as we both stumbled to the front of the crowd. I could see the bomb in his hand, half out of his jacket. I could see his gaze hardening with determination. He was younger than me, I realised. Barely more than a child.
The fates of hundreds of millions of people rested in his hands. In that bomb. If I let him throw it, if I let history play out as I was supposed to, then before the year was out hundreds of thousands would be dead in the fields of Flanders. Within a year hundreds of thousands more would be dead on the shores of Gallipoli. Before the end of the war millions would have died. The communists would take control of Russia. Germany would be blamed for the war and Hitler would start his rise to power. Even if the war was inevitable, it didn’t have to take this form. It didn’t have to happen now.
I could stop it all. Here and now. I could stop the First World War, I could stop the Second, I could stop the Holocaust and the Cold War. All those hundreds of millions of deaths. I could stop everything. I could stop my mother’s family emigrating to Canada. I could stop my grandfather meeting my grandmother while working for the peace corps. I might even stop the independence of Canada itself.
My heart skipped a beat. There’s no way I could survive that paradox. The universe would scrub me out of history for it. I wouldn’t even be dead, I would never be. Only remnants left in Sir Reginald’s mind. Poor, dear, Sir Reginald.
But it would be worth it. My fist closed. One life against hundreds of millions? That was hardly a contest. I had to do it, and damn myself. My heart hammered in my chest. I raised my fist back. The assassin’s pupil’s narrowed as he realised what I was doing. He moved fast, but I moved faster. My punch hit him just as he let go of the bomb. He went reeling and I dived after him. The bomb flew up into the sky and bounced off a lamppost with a clang.
“Bravo, now we’ll have to stop,” a cry came out from the motorcade even as the engine revved madly. “What are you doing man! Surely that was a flat tyre!”
Ricocheting off the lamppost, the bomb dropped towards the accelerating car, heading straight for the duchess.
“Sophie!” The archduke dived across his wife to shield her, the bomb bounced off his arm, off the soft top of his car, and then bounced to the street behind them.
The explosion pounded in my ears as I scrabbled after the assassin. The ringing in my ears faded into the screams and shouting of the crowd. A dozen other men were after the assassin now; policemen were blowing their whistles and shouting in Serbian. The assassin had something in his mouth, a glass vial he bit down on, cracking it open. Whatever was inside he began to vomit immediately and struggled towards the river shaking. He threw himself over the edge of the river bank and down into the water below.
I looked back at the archduke; he was still alive, his driver speeding him away as fast as the technology of the 1900s would allow. Relief flooded through my body. I had done it. I had stopped the assassination, I had prevented the First World War. I fell down to the ground and waited for the universe to scrub me from history.
It didn’t come. I lay there, feeling the warm bricks under my skin, and nothing happened. I just kept existing. After a few moments I sat up, watching the carnage around me. Dozens in the crowd were injured, some had to be dead, but I was
... fine. I didn’t even have a headache.
“Hannah, my dear.” Sir Reginald skidded over to me and knelt beside me. Specks of blood had soaked into his cravat. “Hannah, are you alright?”
“I er... I was just a bit shocked by...”
“Yes, I am so sorry, I should have remembered this, are you sure you haven’t been hit?” Sir Reginald ran his hands along my arms and legs, looking for shrapnel I might have missed. “My twentieth-century history is such a cursed blur.” He ran his hands around my midriff and back up to my shoulders. “By Jove you were lucky, you must have been right by the assassin.” His hands came to rest over my hand. His skin felt damp and cold with fear.
“I... yes... he went over–” I pointed towards the river.
“I dare say he wanted to kill himself,” Sir Reginald glowered at the waterfront. “Don’t think he’ll get the chance. There’s barely an inch of water in the river. The police will have him out.” He looked back to me. “Are you alright to move my dear? We have very limited time if we are going to find Heinrich.”
“I... yes. Yes I can move,” I nodded, and Sir Reginald helped me to my feet. My legs shook from nerves. I was alive... but I shouldn’t be.
“Take my cane until it passes.” Sir Reginald held it out. Nothing escaped Sir Reginald’s eye.
“I’ll be OK,” I promised. “Besides, I have my umbrella if I need it.”
“If you insist my dear,” Sir Reginald shook his head. “Very well, come along, to the Town Hall!” He held out his hand and I took it, following him at the quickest pace he dared.
Perhaps the time machine had been my lifeboat, I thought, as I followed Sir Reginald through the chaotic streets. It had saved Sir Reginald when the wave of causality had taken away his parents. Perhaps it had saved me. I clung to that idea desperately, like a piece of debris while lost at sea, because the dark ocean of truth was coiling its cold fingers around my legs, threatening to pull me down. I hadn’t changed anything at all.
