Hope for the Best

by Jodi Taylor

  I was up the stairs in a flash – keeping to the edges so they wouldn’t creak. I flew around the gallery, turned left at Dr Bairstow’s office, and ran along the corridor where I’d once tried to spy on Leon and Peterson and fallen out of the window instead.

  The end window was the one I wanted.

  I was certain it wasn’t alarmed. Almost certain. Almost.

  I took a deep breath. There’s no point in doing this sort of thing by inches. I knew from experience this window could be noisy. If I tried to ease it up it would shriek protestingly every inch of the way. I heaved it up just enough for me to wriggle through and drop heavily on to the flat roof below. All my bruises started up again but I couldn’t afford to hang around so I sloped off to hide in the shadows behind an air vent. Just in case. Once again it would have been nice to lie there, just for a while, but fortune usually favours not only the brave but those who don’t lie around wishing they had an office job.

  I waited, listening for signs of anyone coming to investigate, but there was nothing. I suspected they’d ended their patrol in the traditional manner with a bacon buttie and a cup of tea. It seemed likely.

  I scooted across the roof and counted windows. That one was Markham’s so this open one must be Peterson’s . . .

  I clambered in as quietly as I could. I didn’t want to frighten the living daylights out of him. I knew he was here because I could hear him breathing.

  Skirting the bed, I tried the door to the landing outside, because it would have been a bugger if I’d done all this only to find I could have just strolled in through the door. It was locked, however, which was good, because if I was discovered, then having to unlock the door might give me that extra half second to make my escape.

  Back to the bed. Now that my eyes were accustomed to the gloom I thought I could make out the heap that was Peterson. Crossing my fingers that it was his foot, I grasped something firmly and wiggled.

  There are those who wake if someone coughs in the next street. Peterson is not one of those people. A voice said, ‘Wha . . . ?’ and then the heavy breathing started up again.

  I waggled his extremity a little harder, hissing, ‘Tim.’ Not easy with a word with no sibilants.

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Peterson, you pillock, wake up.’

  There was the sound of someone turning over. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s me,’ I whispered. ‘Shh.’

  ‘Max? About bloody time.’

  ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Four days.’ The springs squeaked as he sat up. ‘They weren’t too bothered to begin with. Halcombe reckoned you would stay the three days. You know, do the whole empty-sepulchre thing. Now they’re just beginning to worry.’

  ‘He does know time travel doesn’t work like that, doesn’t he? That three days there is not three days here?’

  ‘Course he doesn’t. Bloke’s an idiot. You’re back so I’m assuming it went well.’

  ‘Everyone lived,’ I whispered, glad that in the dark he wouldn’t be able to see the state of me. I had an idea I was still looking battered. ‘It was touch and go and then, believe it or not, the Time Police turned up and saved the day. Sullivan and his crew are out of the game. Listen, I want to put North forward for a commendation. Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course. But tell me later.’

  If there was to be a later.

  I couldn’t see his face – he was just a shape in the darkness. ‘Max – this is the last place you should be. I don’t know how you got in but you need to get out. Quickly. Halcombe is not happy and it’s going to get worse.’

  ‘I know but I need to know what’s going on. I’ve come to get you out.’

  He pushed the covers aside and swung his legs out of bed. ‘Let’s go into the bathroom.’

  Long-standing caution kicked in. ‘Are you going to pee on me?’

  ‘You’re never going to let that go, are you?’

  He closed the door behind us and switched on the light. He looked awful. Exhausted, careworn, and with a bit of a crust around his nose and a fresh bruise on his cheek.

  I thumped his arm. ‘You daft sod. Why don’t you just keep your head down and your mouth shut?’

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘but every now and then I just get this overwhelming urge to take the piss out of him. I often think I must be channelling you.’ He examined his face in the mirror. ‘He doesn’t have much of a sense of humour.’

  I sat down on the loo and he perched on the edge of the bath and we looked at each other.

  ‘Bloody hell, Max.’

  ‘Looks worse than it is,’ I said. ‘I’m actually absolutely fine.’

  ‘Of course. Stupid of me not to have realised.’

  ‘You don’t look so good yourself. A bit like a zombie who hasn’t had a decent meal recently. Should I be concerned for my safety?’

  ‘Zombies eat brains. Whatever makes you think you’d be in any danger?’

  We looked at each other some more. ‘So,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Clerk says you’ve been changing History. Should I be expecting a thunderbolt any moment now?’

  I thought of Halcombe. ‘It’s already here, isn’t it?’

  He shook his head. ‘We’re living in exciting times again, Max. What’s all this I hear about the No Longer Nine-Day Queen?’

  I waved that aside. ‘All sorted now. What’s happened here? And should you be worrying about bed checks?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Every hour. Forty-five minutes to the next one.’

  ‘OK. Talk fast. But quietly.’

  ‘There’s a lot going on, Max. Not just Ronan. There’s a new government.’

  ‘Is there? Any better than the old one?’

  ‘Of course not. Anyway, there’s been talk for some time about getting better value for money from St Mary’s . . .’

  ‘Oh God, this is the usual political euphemism for meddling with History, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think they see it more as minor tweaking. And perhaps not even that.’

  ‘Just the occasional tweakette.’

  ‘We have a choice. Either agree to the occasional . . . tweak­ette . . . or cease to exist altogether. Their argument is that if they can’t plunder the past or change events to their advantage, then what’s the point? Dr B was ordered to comply or resign. Well, we’d had warning – everyone was on standby – bags packed – word came through – and he and St Mary’s disappeared. It was touch and go. Leon got the last pod out just as the first black helicopters set down on the South Lawn.’

  I looked suspiciously around his tiny bathroom – I don’t know why I did that; unless they were hiding in the cistern, we were alone – and lowered my voice. ‘They’ve gone to the remote site?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And you didn’t go?’

  ‘Someone had to stay behind to mind the shop. Clerk and the others were still out there somewhere. And what could Halcombe do? There was no one here. No records they could rifle through. And, until you came back, no pods to travel with.’

  I put my head in my hands.

  ‘Not your fault, Max.’

  ‘I should never have come back.’

  ‘Max, you broke one of our cardinal rules. You interfered with History. Of course, you had to come back and report to Dr Bairstow. And you weren’t to know. When Clerk’s team left, everything was normal.’

  I shook my head. ‘I dropped a pod right in his lap and North nearly died.’

  ‘Shh. Keep your voice down. You weren’t to know.’ He made a feeble attempt at a joke. ‘See – this is what happens when you obey the rules.’

  ‘And you stayed behind because of Clerk and the others. Don’t tell me you didn’t volunteer. And now look at the state of you.’

  He said nothing, just sat on edge of the bath and stared at his feet.
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  I said nothing, either. He’d stayed because he felt he had nothing to lose, that what happened to him was no longer important. I didn’t know how to deal with that so I started to think properly, working things through, piece by piece.

  ‘St Mary’s won’t know when it’s safe to come back. Someone will have to go and get them.’

  ‘When it’s safe to do so,’ he said quietly.

  ‘That’s why you’re here.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Yes, it is, Tim. You’re the one who has to go and get them.’

  He shook his head again.

  ‘Yes, Tim, it must be.’

  ‘I don’t know the location.’

  It didn’t go in to begin with.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know the location of the remote site.’

  I stared at him.

  ‘Why would I, Max? Suppose they gave me drugs or tortured me? I’m very brave,’ he said bravely, ‘but sooner or later I’d have told them. And then it would all have been over.’

  Realisation dropped more heavily than me falling down a chimney. Would it? How would it all have been over? Yes, suppose for example that the remote site was in . . . say . . . Albania . . . in the 19th century. Halcombe couldn’t get there. Not without a pod. Wherever and whenever they were, St Mary’s was perfectly safe. No one could reach them unless . . . unless they had their own pod. Or access to their own pod. Or more than one pod. And the experience to operate it. We stared at each other. Halcombe was not the threat. He was the visible face. The real threat stood behind him in the shadows. I was more convinced than ever that somehow, Halcombe and Ronan had found each other.

  Tim looked at his watch again. I didn’t have much longer. I pushed aside thoughts of Halcombe and Ronan because that wasn’t important at the moment. I needed to deal with the now.

  And then everything fell into place as smoothly and neatly as one of Matthew’s jigsaws. Peterson didn’t know the location of the site. He knew the location of the location of the site. Dr Bairstow had left something behind and Tim was the guardian.

  I said very quietly, ‘Tim, where is the location of the coordinates for the remote site?’

  He smiled at me. ‘Agincourt, Max.’

  24

  For one moment I honestly thought I was going to have to go back to Agincourt. Except I couldn’t. I’d already been there. And so had he. And Dr Bairstow knew that. Then I realised.

  Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant. They could have tortured or drugged him and all he would – could – ever have said was, ‘Agincourt’. And who would take any notice of a drugged and semi-conscious historian muttering, ‘Agincourt’?

  I got up and went back out into his bedroom. As I did so, a key scraped in the lock. Shit – they were early.

  For a split second I was paralysed with fright and then Peterson said, ‘Quick,’ and I rolled under the bed just as the door opened. The light snapped on. I peered through the dust bunnies but all I could see was a pair of boots and nothing else.

  ‘What?’ mumbled Peterson from the bathroom.

  ‘Why are you out of bed?’

  ‘Pee break.’ He pulled the chain, switched out the light in the bathroom and closed the door behind him. I heard the creak of ancient springs as he climbed back into bed. ‘Turn out the light when you go.’

  The door slammed and he left the light on. That’s the sort of bastard we had to put up with these days.

  Neither of us moved. I could say neither of us was stupid but that sort of remark tends to provoke unwarranted mirth. And besides, the guard hadn’t locked the door behind him. Minutes ticked by and then, without warning, it was flung open.

  ‘Hello again,’ said Peterson. ‘Just can’t stay away, can you? Perhaps I should warn you that even if I swung your way I’d never swing with you. If you catch my drift.’

  The door slammed again and this time he turned the key. We gave it another couple of minutes just in case.

  Eventually I rolled out from under the bed and wiped my brow. The last few days had really taken their toll on me. I’m not quite as young as I used to be. Well, none of us are, of course, but I was convinced I was ageing more rapidly than most.

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘My instructions are to say “Agincourt”. That’s all I know.’ He leaned back against the headboard and grinned at me.

  I thought for a moment and then went out into his sitting room.

  My books are neatly shelved. Fiction by order of enjoyment and non-fiction in chronological order. Peterson’s were all over his room, piled up on every available surface. Including the floor. I told him he was a disgrace.

  Disgrace or not, I was betting what I wanted was here. My room was at the top of the building and on the other side. I’d never get to it undetected. I was beginning to have a lot of faith in Dr Bairstow and his forward planning.

  Hiding in plain sight is always the best way to go. The more complicated the hiding place the more easily discovered. I looked around. My by now rather battered book on Agincourt was the second one down in the pile on his coffee table.

  I looked back at him. He was leaning in the doorway, watching me. So, Dr Bairstow had left a message for me and Peterson knew nothing of it, only its location. Sensible. You can’t tell people what you don’t know.

  And he hadn’t.

  ‘You need to go now, Max.’

  Something in his voice made me pause. He was here alone. Bearing the brunt of everything all by himself.

  ‘Tim, come with me. When I don’t come back they’ll turn on you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I agreed to this, Max. I’m the decoy. If they’re concentrating on me then they’re not chasing anyone else. Not yet, anyway. And I won’t leave Clerk and the others. Evans is in a bit of a bad way. He kept telling them he wasn’t Welsh and for some reason that seemed to enrage them. I’m not leaving them, Max. You wouldn’t, either.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I don’t know anything. I can’t tell them what I don’t know. Separation of information. That’s the whole point. I don’t have the location of the remote site but I knew where the location of the location was. Only now I don’t because you’re taking the book away with you. A simple idea but it worked. The rest is up to you. You’ve got the pod. You know what to do.’

  ‘I came to save you, Tim.’

  ‘You save me every day, Max. Now go, before they find you here.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. They still think I know something. By the time they realise I don’t, you’ll be heading up the rescue team as it kicks its way through the front door to save us all.’

  ‘Tim . . .’

  ‘You have to go, Max. Please make this easy for me.’

  I stared down at the floor, blinking hard.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said, gently.

  ‘Don’t do what?’

  ‘Cry. This is my choice. My duty. North did hers. You’re doing yours. Please, Max, allow me the honour of doing mine.’

  I sniffed and said again, ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to leave Clerk and Bashford.’

  I nodded. ‘Good point.’

  ‘You should go now. Leave that window open. It makes such a noise I’m surprised no one heard you. I’ll try and find an opportunity to close it myself tomorrow.’

  There was no time to examine the book so I stuffed it down the waistband of my jeans and pulled my T-shirt over it. ‘I think mine is the easier job.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. All I have to do is sit around and look stupid.’

  ‘Well, in that case I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘I’m not doing it now.’

  ‘Sorry. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you.’

 
; We both stopped talking. Suddenly I was in his arms. ‘For Christ’s sake, take care, Max.’

  ‘You too.’ I paused. ‘Tim . . .’ and stopped, wondering how to put it.

  He gave a shaky laugh and tried to make a joke. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but please don’t tell me to find myself a nice girl.’

  ‘God, no. I was going to tell you to find the worst girl ever and just let her have her wicked way with you. It would do you so much good.’

  ‘Actually . . . could you do me a favour?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘If you . . . when you get to the remote site, can you . . . could you, um . . . give my regards to . . .’

  ‘To Miss Lingoss,’ I said, crisply. ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Wait. No. Hold on . . .’

  ‘What? You don’t want me to give your regards to Miss Lingoss? Have you thrown her over already? I had no idea you were so flighty. Now what am I going to say to the poor girl?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  Because Markham and I fixed it up between us and you never stood a chance was the straight answer he was never going to get so I just grinned mysteriously. Just to get on his nerves.

  He helped me back over the windowsill out into the night. Which seemed extremely cold after the warmth of his room. The temperature had dropped considerably and everything was damp. I shivered and set off again.

  I didn’t look back.

  St Mary’s was silent. Utterly silent. A bit of a first, really. Under normal circumstances there’s always something going on somewhere. Techies congregating in the kitchen claiming that pulling an all-nighter entitles them to their own weight in bacon butties; or something that probably should never see the light of day oozing out of R&D; or even the odd insomniac historian. But not any longer. Complete and utter silence. The sort where you could hear a mouse sneeze three floors up. Night was definitely not the time to be creeping clandestinely round a silent building occupied by unpleasant people with hostile intentions.

  I sat on the floor because I still can’t stand on one leg without toppling over and removed my boots.

  Very slowly, very quietly, because to be discovered now, with the key to the remote site stuck down my jeans, would be the worst thing that could happen, I snuck around the gallery and down the stairs. One at a time. Stealth was more important than speed. I reckoned most of the probably by now quite nervous patrols were at the other end of the Long Corridor, or checking the grounds, or congregating in Hawking, all anxiously awaiting my return. The idiot Halcombe had a lot riding on this. Either magnificent success or total failure and, if Ronan was involved, death. There was no middle ground.