New Pompeii

by Daniel Godfrey

  She reached the foot of the staircase and ducked into the post room, nearly tripping over a stack of newspapers. She picked up a copy and looked at the date, and felt her legs start to buckle. Thirty years. She’d lost thirty years.

  For a moment she concentrated on her breathing, then scanned the rest of the front page.

  NOVUS PARTICLES ANNOUNCE TRAGIC SUICIDES OF SURVIVORS OF FLIGHT 391

  Flight 391? She vaguely remembered the story, a plane that had gone down with no survivors. But that had been around the time that she’d been born, twenty— No, fifty years ago now. There were several passport-sized photographs of the dead passengers inset within the columns of text. One face leapt out at her, a young woman with long blonde hair. She looked familiar, but Kirsten couldn’t place her. She looked around but the quad was empty. She quickly scanned the article.

  So they’d done it – they’d transported people before the moment of death. And now NovusPart were claiming that some of the passengers had committed suicide. She looked at the blonde woman’s face. This woman had first died before she was born, and had been transported while she was trapped in that damn bath. And now she was dead again. How could she be familiar? Kirsten closed her eyes – and then she knew. She saw the woman’s face again, her mouth open, screaming as the men with swords closed in. Suicide? No, they’d been butchered in that pit. Perhaps she was the only one who knew.

  She had to keep moving. Kirsten looked down at her clothes, the T-shirt, jumper and jeans given to her by the man in the canvas coat. Hopefully she just looked like a student. They’d be expecting her to try to get through one of the gates, so she wouldn’t go for them. Not yet. And if she was going to find out more about Mr Black and the student, then this was where she needed to be.

  She left the post room, walking around the quad and towards the chapel. Turning right before its doors, she pushed on through the sandstone cloisters and out across the lawn, heading for the library. She couldn’t stay outside. Eventually someone would ask themselves why she was wandering around the college.

  She suddenly slowed her pace. Because she also knew how college security worked. Staircases might be left open, but rooms were locked. And key buildings were always secure. There would be an entry system, and who knew how complicated it might be in this time. She wouldn’t be able to just walk into the library. She kept going, back around the edge of the lawn and into the gardens. Waiting for the first students to arrive.

  42

  NICK WAS STILL some distance from the House of McMahon when the sweet smell of oil and ripened fruit stopped him in his tracks. He had searched for Felix in the workshops around the amphitheatre without success. So he’d gone back to Plan A: checking as many eateries as he could in the hope that he and the Roman would eventually cross paths.

  In a taberna, a woman was serving customers from behind the counter. She looked harassed, moving rapidly between two stoves. A few men were sitting in the back, playing dice. One gave a loud bark of laughter. Clearly the man had achieved a good score.

  “Well? What do you want?”

  Nick pointed at a wedge of a round Roman loaf. He watched the woman hack it free, and handed over a couple of coins. Pushing bread into his mouth, he laughed as he caught sight of another phallus carved into a table. As he edged around the side of the bar there was the sound of the dice being thrown again, followed by another celebratory bark.

  Nick turned. Amongst the group was a man who wasn’t playing. Instead, he was just quietly eating. Looking in something of a daze. As if his world was gone.

  Felix.

  Nick quietly moved back towards the street. Taking hold of his belt buckle, he squeezed it tightly. The leather vibrated in response. And that was it. A simple input, and a basic output. Whelan and his men would be on their way. He just needed to find a place to wait.

  The nearest decent position was next to a water fountain. He walked over and took a long drink of water before scooping some into his hair. As he turned back, he realised Felix was now standing at the exit to the bar. The Roman waited on the threshold – probably letting his eyes adjust after the relative gloom of the taberna – and then started walking north.

  Nick looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Whelan. Which meant he’d just have to follow and let Whelan track his belt’s GPS. But after a few paces he realised the task was going to be difficult. He’d never tailed someone before. From watching late-night TV shows, he knew he needed to be close enough to keep his target in sight. But how far should he hang back? If he made a mistake he’d either be spotted or his quarry would get away. And Nick knew he stood out. The Pompeians were watching him, some casually, most openly.

  Fortunately Felix didn’t seem to have noticed. He continued walking north and entered a residential area. Perhaps he was looking for friends, hoping they would shelter him. All Nick needed to do was see which house he went in to. Felix turned into another street; he had walked about halfway along the via when a woman who was passing suddenly grabbed his arm. Nick saw Felix spin around, his face taut, then relax in recognition. He leant close to the woman, talking urgently. Nick felt the blood drain from his face.

  Felix was talking to Calpurnia.

  43

  WHELAN WOULD BE on his way. And he’d have a contingent of security staff with him.

  Shit. The street was heaving with people, and Whelan’s people would no doubt approach from both ends, trapping Felix. So all Nick had to do was wait. But then he looked at Calpurnia again.

  How did she even know him? Of course, Whelan had said that Felix had been a wealthy merchant. It wasn’t surprising that he knew the duumvir’s daughter. Nick edged back to the house behind, making sure he kept the pair in view. Even from this distance, it was clear that Calpurnia was shaking. Her face was drained of colour and, while Felix was doing all the talking, it didn’t look like his words were registering. There was too much shock on her face. Too much disbelief.

  She knew him. A person she thought had been lost, suddenly brought back to life. And she could probably see he’d aged slightly faster than he should have. Which meant she would know something was wrong.

  He stumbled forward, his legs and brain not quite in sync. Despite this, he was within a few feet before they noticed him. Felix was the first to react.

  “Are they coming for me?” The Roman’s face was set. He seemed resigned, like he was expecting it.

  “Yes,” said Nick. “They’ll be here any minute.”

  Felix looked up and down the street. There was no sign of the encroaching net. “I thought I’d have more time,” he said. He gestured at Calpurnia. “You need to let her go.”

  Nick hesitated. Calpurnia remained frozen, her eyes fixed on Felix. “I think it would be best if we all stayed here and waited,” he said.

  “They’ll kill us, you know.”

  Nick shook his head. “No. You’ll be returned to the control villa.”

  “No. They’ll kill me, and they’ll kill her too.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “They’ll kill her.”

  Nick didn’t say anything. He felt his throat contract.

  “I thought I’d have more time,” Felix repeated. “But if they come for me now, they’ll take us both.”

  “You’ll be taken back to the villa,” Nick repeated. “They’ll speak with her separately.”

  Again, Felix looked up and down the street. Nick followed his gaze. There was still no sign of Whelan.

  He was going to run.

  Instinctively, Nick felt his legs brace, ready to give chase. But Felix didn’t move.

  “I’m the only one left, you know,” he said. “There were about ten of us, at first. One by one, we escaped. But I held on.”

  “The others,” said Nick. “What happened to them?”

  “They were hunted, and killed. By your Whelan – and McMahon.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “What do you do with a slave who’s too old to be of
use?”

  You gave them their freedom, thought Nick. And let them die on the street. But he didn’t quite believe it. “You’re sure?”

  “I saw the bodies. We were shown the bodies. And we were told quite clearly: run, and end up dead.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Because I am not their slave.”

  Nick looked up the via. There was still no sign of Whelan but he could hear a commotion in the distance. Something was getting closer.

  He looked back at Calpurnia. She seemed a world away from the confident young woman he’d spoken to at the Temple of Fortuna Augusta. But would they really kill her? He thought about what Patrick had told him. McMahon thinks of these people as his puppets. Not people. Puppets.

  Nick grabbed Calpurnia’s arm. “You have to leave,” he said. “Disappear into the crowd.”

  “But…”

  “Calpurnia!” Felix shouted. “You have to go!”

  A few people turned in their direction, but most were now flooding away as a group of men appeared at the far end of the street. Nick counted ten in all, each wearing the uniform of a Roman legionary. NovusPart security. Whelan was at their head. He raised his arm and the metal studs of his black leather wrist-guard glinted in the sun.

  “Calpurnia,” repeated Felix, “you must go! Now!”

  She didn’t move. If anything, her expression grew more determined. Maybe she thought being the duumvir’s daughter would be enough. Maybe she thought she was more important than she really was. Maybe she thought she was still a Roman, rather than already dead.

  “Calpurnia,” said Nick, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. He needed to say something to make her go. “Go now, and when we next meet…” He hesitated. Felt the words gather at the back of his throat because he knew there was only one thing he could say. “When we next meet,” he repeated, his voice suddenly calm, “I’ll tell you the truth.”

  44

  TAPPING AT THE keyboard, Kirsten let out a frustrated sigh. She wasn’t getting anywhere fast. Mr Black was proving to be elusive. The only lead she had didn’t appear on the college staff list. She was now clicking through photographs of past alumni and lecturers, trying to spot two familiar faces.

  Although the main door had required a pass-card, getting into the college library hadn’t been difficult. The first two students to arrive had been female, and she hadn’t bothered attempting to duck in behind them. Odds were they’d know she was a stranger, and pairs were always less vulnerable than an individual. She’d finally fallen in behind a young man who was all teeth, glasses and acne. A last minute dash to the door, and the presence of mind to stand that bit too close to him was all that had been required. The next task had been working the slimline computer – at first she hadn’t even recognised it for what it was – but it had turned out to be a lot easier than she’d been expecting. Previously, she’d struggled with computers, unable to remember what commands to type at the blinking prompt. But this one seemed intuitive. Like someone had actually thought about how it would be used.

  She still wasn’t going to find him, though. The realisation was crushing. She’d searched through all the fellows, research students and temporary teaching staff. She ran a search for her own name and followed a link to a news story. She was described as “missing”. Not murdered. Missing. There was a photograph of her parents at a press conference, flanked by grim-faced policemen.

  Kirsten suddenly felt sick. She started to shake, her entire body suddenly caught up in the realisation that her parents had spent the last thirty years not knowing where she was. Why had she not thought about them? Why had she not even considered…?

  They’d be in their seventies. Kirsten let out a strangled yelp, then panicked. Had anyone heard her cry?

  She glanced over her shoulder. It was difficult to tell if she was alone. The computer stations were butted up against one wall, and the rest of the floor was occupied by a scattering of bookshelves and desks that made gaining a clear view across the floor almost impossible. All she could hear was the soft drone of the air-conditioning units.

  Kirsten waited a few moments before turning back to the screen. She needed to find her parents. To tell them that she was okay. But thirty years?

  She caught sight of her reflection in the computer screen. She hadn’t aged a day since she’d first stepped into the bath. She was still a young woman, in her twenties. How the hell would they cope with seeing her again? The shock might be enough to…

  From somewhere in the distance there was the sound of a chair scraping back, the sound of approaching footsteps. She looked over her shoulder, and saw one of the two girls who she’d seen arrive at the library. The girl was staring at her.

  Kirsten turned back to the computer.

  She knew she was running out of time.

  45

  NICK WAS RESTING in his room when he heard voices from the atrium.

  McMahon was back. And he was with Whelan. Nick hesitated behind the shutter. McMahon didn’t sound very pleased, and what Whelan was saying in return was so terse he could barely hear it.

  Nick moved closer and tried to peer through a gap between two shutter slats. McMahon and Whelan were standing near the atrium pool.

  “I thought you’d dealt with this.” McMahon waved his hands as if to emphasise the point. He looked pale, his skin clammy. Whelan said something in response, but it was inaudible. “I want to know who this guy is!”

  Again, Nick couldn’t pick out what Whelan was saying. And only being able to hear one side of the exchange meant he couldn’t build up much sense of the conversation. But surely they knew who the “guy” was? Hadn’t Felix been at the control villa for years?

  Felix… Calpurnia had only just merged back into the crowd when the NovusPart guards had circled their prey. And then Whelan had finally revealed the true function of his leather wrist-guard.

  It was a Taser.

  And every single Roman who’d been watching had seen Felix writhing on the ground under a stream of blue lightning.

  Smoke and mirrors, Nick thought. He hadn’t seen what had happened next. Felix had still been convulsing when he’d been dragged away. Where had they taken him?

  Whelan crossed the atrium to the staircase, smacking the ball of his fist into his palm. And now he could be clearly heard, calling for Astridge. McMahon followed him. “I want Harris found,” McMahon said. “I want him found, and I want him removed.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I want him dead.”

  Nick swallowed hard. Harris. He edged back to the bed. Harris. McMahon had used that name when they’d first met. Asked him if he’d ever met a James Harris. But dead?

  They actually wanted him dead?

  It could have just been a figure of speech. But something was ringing deep in the back of his head. Something that told him that McMahon wasn’t fooling around.

  “Harold!” The architect’s bellow echoed in the atrium. It didn’t contain any concern. Rather, it was laced with the thick treacle of disdain. “Great to see you back, but I think Mark has now brought his little problem under control.”

  Nick looked back towards the shutter, but couldn’t hear Whelan’s reply. Instead he saw a flutter of movement. He lunged for his tablet. The device had only just flickered to life when the shutter was wrenched open.

  “Yes,” said Astridge, grinning down at him. “I thought I’d seen him come in here.”

  Nick assumed an open-mouthed expression he hoped would be mistaken for academic confusion. It seemed to work, although McMahon cast him a guarded look as he joined the other men in the atrium. He kept tight hold of the tablet, his shield against an accusation of eavesdropping.

  “Working hard after his exploits, no doubt.”

  McMahon turned towards Nick. Drops of sweat were gathering on his brow. “Find anything useful?”

  “Only that Professor Samson didn’t really know much about Roman history.”

  The grin on the archit
ect’s face grew wider. “Really? He was always lecturing me on the subject.”

  McMahon grunted. “We didn’t appoint him specifically to work on this project.” He tilted his head towards his operations chief. “Mark has filled me in on what happened. But what I really want to know is: how much did you just overhear? We all heard you shuffling around in there.”

  Parry. Nick held up the tablet. “Shit,” he said. “Look, I’ve just been chasing some guy across town the night after having the shit kicked out of me.” He paused, trying to look suitably embarrassed. “I wasn’t working. I was asleep.”

  McMahon gave a sudden snort of laughter. “Well, you seem to have earned your pay cheque. And proved Mark right.”

  Proved Mark right? Nick glanced at Astridge and saw his confusion mirrored on the architect’s face.

  “Ironic though,” said Astridge, his voice wavering, “that Whelan brings you here to point out my mistakes, and you end up reporting his. Now if you can just tell him how to sort out the rest of the disorder in my town…”

  “This is our town.”

  Nick shrank back as McMahon turned to the architect. “This is our town,” he repeated. “Mine and Mark’s. And you work for us. Just like Nick. So don’t forget that.”

  Whelan let a few seconds’ silence hang in the air before speaking. “The town is quiet tonight,” he said. “But we’re still having regular problems outside the Temple of Isis. And the town’s authorities don’t seem particularly interested in doing anything about it.”

  Nick nodded. “Have you spoken with Barbatus?”

  “We’ve sent him a message. But as I said, he doesn’t seem too interested in getting involved. But Roman mobs were frequent. How did the emperors cope?”

  “Some put soldiers on the streets…”

  “We don’t have enough men – and I don’t want to dilute the power of the imperial eagle by using it too often.”