Hope for the Best

by Jodi Taylor

  Arriving at the foot of the stairs, I stood close to the newel post and spent a long time waiting in the dark and listening. Nothing happened. I took the long way around the Hall, away from the windows, keeping close to the walls – a bit like a spider running around the skirting boards – and staying in the shadows until I was back to the fireplace again.

  I stood on tiptoe, groping around for the rope. I couldn’t find it to begin with. I was just about to panic that they’d pulled it up and departed without me when my fingertips brushed something that swung away from me. I caught it on the return swing and tugged three times. Someone was up there because it dropped down three feet or so.

  No need to bother with the paper suit, but I needed the harness. Carefully, so it didn’t chink in the dark, I held it the right way around and stepped in to the leg loops. All those hours of practice with my eyes closed had paid off because I got it right the first time. I tightened the waist strap, clipped myself on, and was ready to go.

  Facing the back of the fireplace, I tugged hard again. Immediately, the slack was taken up and I was on my way.

  Believe it or not, it was easier going up. Much easier. They kept the rope taut, but I came up in my own time. It was almost – not quite but almost – like going up a ladder.

  I moved as quietly as I could. I really didn’t want to screw things up now. I kept my head lifted and climbed slowly and methodically. Right hand. Right leg. Left hand. Left leg. And so on. Every few moments I checked the book was still safely tucked away. To lose that now . . .

  It took me far less time to climb up than climb down. Or so it seemed to me. The air cooled, I felt hands scrabble at my shoulders and then someone had me under the arms. They heaved and suddenly I was clear of the chimney and sitting on the lip again.

  The air smelled fresh and cold. Hands were unclipping the rope and harness.

  We didn’t speak. We didn’t hang around, either. We ran quietly across the roof. I called for the door and the next moment we were inside.

  Nobody wasted any time asking how it had gone. I touched the book one last time and subsided into a seat and said, ‘Computer, initiate jump.’

  And the world went white.

  25

  We landed in the by now familiar back garden. It was only when we touched down that I realised my body was aching with tension and tiredness. Sands and Roberts both sighed and sat back.

  ‘I can’t believe we got away with that,’ said Sands.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Roberts. ‘I’d forgotten you have the luck of the devil, Max.’

  I began to shut things down. My hands were shaking and the tips of my fingers stung like the devil.

  Sands said, ‘How are they?’

  ‘I only saw Peterson. He wouldn’t come back with me.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Not good.’

  ‘We shouldn’t leave them there much longer.’

  I wriggled the book free and waved it in front of him. ‘With luck, we won’t have to.’

  We pored over that bloody book for hours. Other than the odd tea stain there was no clue of any kind.

  ‘I thought perhaps the page numbers would be ringed,’ said Mrs De Winter in disappointment. ‘To give us the coordinates, I mean.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Perhaps the clue is in the name,’ suggested Roberts. ‘They’re at the site where Agincourt will one day take place.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a numeric code,’ said Sands, ‘based on the date – 1415. You take the first letter, then the fourth, then the first again, then the fifth again and so on.’

  All of that only produced gobbledygook. Sands passed it over to Roberts who looked at it in surprise. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

  ‘Given the lack of vowels I thought it might be in Welsh.’

  ‘TTKNMEERPRPSUPWWSDWS is not Welsh.’

  ‘Are you sure? It looks Welsh.’

  ‘It looks nothing like Welsh. Please stop insulting the land of my fathers.’

  ‘One plus four plus one plus five equals eleven,’ said Mrs De Winter. ‘One plus one equals two. Perhaps it’s every second word.’

  ‘The of great Court turned way this Salic lily narrow blue the journey,’ read Sands. ‘This is useless.’

  ‘No,’ said Roberts, in great excitement. ‘I think you’ve got it. That last bit made sense.’

  ‘Which bit?’

  ‘This is useless.’

  ‘That was me, idiot.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The world’s most inept codebreakers drooped, disappointed, over their teacups.

  Sands picked up the book and shook it.

  ‘Careful,’ I said, ‘it’s very old.’

  ‘I just thought there might be something tucked between the pages.’

  There wasn’t.

  I took the book back, laid it on the table and smoothed the cover. I’d had this book for years. It was special to me. Which was probably why Dr Bairstow had selected it. At St Mary’s, a book on Agincourt could sit quite anonymously on anyone’s shelf, concealing the devilishly clever code therein. The codemaker had had a brilliant idea. Such a shame the codebreakers weren’t quite up to the job.

  I stared. We weren’t, were we? Between us we had a room full of talent. Just not the right talent. As Dr Bairstow would surely have known. Yes – no one had a more accurate assessment of his people’s talents than Dr Bairstow. There was no code. Not inside the book, anyway.

  I picked it up, took off the dust jacket and examined the hardcover. Nothing. I poked my finger down inside the spine. Nothing. I peered at the end papers. Nothing. I picked up the dust jacket and stared at the design on the front. Henry, in full armour, knelt, grasping his sword, his eyes turned heavenwards, looking as if he was having some sort of religious experience.

  I read the blurb on the back but there was nothing I could see. I flattened it out, turned it over and laid it on the table.

  ‘Wait,’ said Mrs De Winter suddenly. ‘Do that again.’

  I turned the dust jacket over.

  ‘No, blank side up.’

  As I did so, she angled the lamp closer and there it was. Faintly in pencil, two rows of numbers. They’d been written in hard pencil and were extremely faint. You had to hold them to the light to catch the indentations in the paper. If we hadn’t been looking for them in the first place then they would have been almost invisible. And, just to muddy the issue further, the numbers were Roman.

  ‘Brilliant, Max,’ said Sands. A phrase I never tire of hearing and yet, sadly, is uttered distressingly infrequently.

  ‘Well,’ said Roberts to Sands. ‘That’s a little disappointing. I’m not at all sure I’m happy with Dr Bairstow’s opinion of our codebreaking abilities.’

  ‘Accurate though it was.’

  ‘Insulting is what it was.’

  ‘But accurate,’ persisted Sands.

  ‘But insulting.’

  I could see this going on for quite some time.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sands, ‘because we were taking such huge strides forwards in the field of codebreaking, weren’t we?’

  ‘Well, I’m just saying. It’s a bit unspectacular, don’t you think? We dangled Max down a chimney for that.’

  ‘Cherish the moment,’ I said, ‘because I’m never doing that again.’ I stood up.

  ‘You’re going now?’ said Sands.

  ‘I think she has to,’ said Mrs De Winter. ‘While I am delighted to play host, I think your pod should be removed as soon as possible.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ said Roberts.

  ‘Wait here,’ said Mrs De Winter firmly. ‘We will reconnoitre St Mary’s and what’s happening there.’

  ‘Don’t get too close,’ I said, slightly alarmed.

  ‘We won’t. We’ll establish a base in
the woods above,’ she said, sounding more military than could normally be expected from a former schoolteacher.

  ‘And then when St Mary’s returns, we’ll be able to give them a full report.’

  ‘Will you come back?’ asked Sands to me.

  I looked at the tattered book jacket in my hand and realised that once again I was jumping into the unknown.

  ‘Yes,’ I said firmly. ‘Or someone will. Just have patience for a little while. And don’t get yourselves caught.’

  They followed me outside. Dawn was coming up on yet another day when I hadn’t got a clue what I was doing. It was getting to be a habit. Me not knowing what I was doing, I mean – not dawn. Dawn tends to happen regardless.

  We stopped at the pod. ‘Guys,’ I said. ‘What can I say? Thank you.’

  ‘You can say, “See you very soon and not only will I give you a full explanation of everything that’s going on but I’ll bring beer as well,”’ said Sands.

  I grinned. ‘Look after each other.’

  ‘We shall,’ said Roberts. ‘We’re going back now to set up base in the woods and prepare to storm the building. There will be siege engines and trebuchets and boiling oil. It’s going to be great.’

  Mrs De Winter smiled. ‘I’ll keep an eye on them for you, Max.’

  ‘Take care, guys. And thank you, Mrs De Winter.’

  ‘An honour and a privilege, Max. Now – off you go.’

  I took a great deal of care with the coordinates. They were very faint and I’ve never been that good at Roman numerals. I can never remember whether a letter modifies the symbol before or after it. I did think about running it through the computer, but if anything went wrong at any time – and it would because it always does – then there would be an electronic record of the coordinates and I didn’t think that was such a good idea. So, I did my best. I laid in the coordinates and said, ‘Computer, initiate jump.’

  The world went white. Again.

  26

  I retain very little memory of the remote site. I mean, I can remember what it looked like, but mostly my memories are of a series of conversations. Some of them not important. Some of them very important.

  I shut everything down very carefully and somewhat wearily stepped outside. Recent events had made me a little more cautious than usual, so I took the time to stand under a tree and have a good look around before I went careering down into possibly even more trouble.

  The first thing I noticed was the crisp, sparkling air. It was amazing and I drew in great lungfuls of it that made my head spin. Wherever we were, the air was so clear I could see for miles and miles. As far away as the rolling hills in the distance and, behind them, a range of jagged snow-capped mountains. This was wonderful. My lungs weren’t accustomed to air of this quality and for a moment I felt quite light-headed. Although probably quite a lot of that could be put down to the events of the last few days.

  I was looking down on flat grasslands, rolling down to a wide river, sparkling in the sunshine. Behind me, deciduous woodland was touched with autumn colours. Red, gold and orange trees stood bright against a deep-blue sky hung with thin, wispy, white clouds.

  Wow. I had no idea when or where I was but if ever I got the opportunity to build a log cabin somewhere – this would be the place.

  And there was St Mary’s – right in front of me. From up here, I had an excellent view of their campsite. The pods were arranged in groups of three – our traditional configuration – all facing inwards for defensive purposes – and with the big pod, Tea Bag 2, standing slightly off to one side. I guessed the pods were being used as accommodation only with all electronic functions shut down so as not to generate a signature. Just in case anyone was looking for them.

  I could see people moving busily from one pod to another. It looked as though they’d been here for some time. Little plots of earth had been cultivated. Salad crops, I suspected, grown for fresh produce to vary their diet.

  A solar-powered cooking unit stood some distance apart – in case of fire, possibly, although that seemed rather too sensible for us – and I was certain I could smell bacon.

  Professor Rapson and his team were swarming around some sort of contraption linked to the river. I frowned but no doubt I’d get to hear about it sooner or later and since nothing was on fire and no one appeared to be drowning, I decided to let someone else deal with that.

  They’d certainly made themselves at home. Each pod had a tarpaulin covering a pile of firewood stacked alongside and several campfires were dotted around. Some for cooking and some for hot water. Three or four lines of washing hung unmoving in the still air. It was reassuring to know that rudimentary hygiene rules were being adhered to.

  Major Guthrie had to be here somewhere because two latrines had been dug with a kind of woven, waist-high fence for a bit of privacy. Only a bit though – it certainly wasn’t high enough to ­prevent anyone from sitting in the afternoon sun with their favourite paperback and waving to their friends.

  You have to hand it to St Mary’s – wherever we go we make ourselves comfortable. I basked in the reflected glow of their achievements, craning my neck, looking for Leon. He’d be here somewhere and I very badly wanted to see him again.

  There’s a kind of literary tradition that after a prolonged absence, the hero and heroine fall romantically into each other’s arms and indulge in three pages of athletic sex – gruelling for both reader and participants alike. You might want to brace yourself for disappointment. Firstly, because Leon hadn’t been well for some time which meant . . . well, you know. And secondly because Markham jammed a gun in the back of my neck and tried to shoot me. Some days I don’t know why I bother to get out of bed.

  ‘Don’t move,’ said his voice behind me. ‘Stand very still and raise your hands.’

  ‘Make up your mind,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to stand very still or do you want me to raise my hands? Typical Security Section.’

  ‘Password?’

  ‘Horse’s Arse. Actually, not so much a password – more a comment on the Security Section and its leader.’

  The gun was removed. ‘What ho, Max.’

  I turned around. Another one with a beard. ‘Tell me – did you wake up one morning and decide that facial hair was just the thing for Hunter to regard you more favourably?’

  ‘She’ll love it. She’s always saying she likes a man with texture. Anyway, what are you doing here? We’re all getting on very well without you, you know.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re only one step from disaster just as you always are. This time next week you’ll be reduced to eating each other and, as usual, I’ll have to step in and sort everything out.’

  ‘I look forward to hearing you say that to Dr Bairstow.’ He spoke into his com. ‘Stand down. It’s an old friend.’ He lowered his gun. ‘I’ve got to say, Max, I’ve seen you look better.’

  ‘I was just about to say the same of you.’

  He holstered his gun. ‘You’ve been back to St Mary’s?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Did Clerk and the others turn up OK? We had to leave without them.’

  ‘They did. All safe. Well, safe-ish.’

  ‘And Peterson?’

  ‘Stubbornly refusing to act in his own best interests.’

  ‘So . . . normal, then.’

  ‘Pretty much, yes.’

  Gesturing down towards the camp, he said, ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Do you still want me to put my hands up? You know – make you look good. Although with that beard it might be beyond even my massive talents.’

  ‘Just walk or I’ll shoot you and then claim I thought you were a bear.’

  ‘You have bears?’ I said as we set off down the hillside towards the camp.

  ‘We have everything,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s like one of those wildlife programmes. I keep expecting
that bloke to pop up out of the undergrowth and start talking in a hushed whisper. Are you limping?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Fell off the roof again, did you? I don’t know why Leon lets you out on your own.’

  ‘You haven’t asked why I’m here,’ I said, trying to divert him from my light bruising.

  ‘I know why you’re here,’ he said smugly. He stopped and I stopped with him. ‘Um . . . Max . . . do you know if there’s any news of Hunter?’

  I was startled. ‘She’s not here?’ I swallowed hard and then said very carefully, ‘She’s not still at St Mary’s, is she?’

  ‘God, no. She’s . . . elsewhere.’

  ‘Where?’

  He turned to face me and just for a moment he hadn’t quite got his face under control. ‘I don’t know, Max. I don’t know where she is and she doesn’t know where I am. And Leon didn’t know how you were and none of us knows about Peterson.’ He pulled himself together to make a feeble joke. ‘I know we’re always saying St Mary’s is all over the place but, these days, we really are.’

  I put my hand on his arm. ‘I’m here. I’m certain Hunter’s safe and well. And Peterson was alive and kicking when I saw him last night.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ he said, without looking at me. ‘I wasn’t really worried about him. Not really. I knew he’d be fine. I was just wondering if you’d heard anything about Hunter.’

  I narrowed my eyes and brought my keen intelligence into play. So, Hunter wasn’t here and I bet I knew why. She was pregnant and she wasn’t here in case she gave birth. She would be able to leave afterwards, but her child wouldn’t. You’re not supposed to take contemporaries out of their own time. You can – sometimes – but you wouldn’t believe the grief and chaos it causes. I tucked away the information as a treat for Peterson. For when I next saw him again.