by Barney Broom
“He’s a very strange guy, which is why I’ve done it.”
“You mean you’ve inserted him in the game like you are so that he’s a participant – really aware. You’re as weird as he is.”
“Maybe. I haven’t activated him yet but I’ve got to go back in soon and some of the things I’ll likely come up against – Barney’s got the skills I’ll need. What do they say about keeping friends close and enemies closer…?”
Podric finished what was left of his biscuit.
“All very melodramatic but what do you mean you’ve got to go back? I know you’ve invented your alternative world, Podric, but it’s not the real one.”
“That’s not the point. Archie’s in there and because he didn’t pay much attention when we created UAR, I’m not happy about him roaming around in it.”
“Where is he now?”
“In the middle of the French Revolution.”
Catherine walked to the end of the room and studied a photograph of the Moon family. Sean, centre-stage, had an arm around Barbara. His other was around Podric and Amy sat on his lap.
“How does time fit into UAR? I mean, it’s Monday night for us but when you were talking about balloon flights and… me, that must have seemed to take a while.”
“Days, weeks, months… UAR time doesn’t relate to real.”
“Kind of time warp then, is it? An out-of-body experience.”
Amy appeared.
“Out of body, out of mind – Mum left supper. Toad in the black hole of elastic. She’s cool with the cards, Poderici. Impress.”
Amy walked out again. Podric got up and Catherine came over to him.
“I’m not coming with you, then.”
Podric didn’t reply.
“Daft, really. I mean, you can’t actually die or get hurt inside your alternate world and it’s not as though you’re actually going to take part in a battle, but somehow it feels like it.”
“I’m still finding out how UAR works.”
“And you want to check on your partner.”
“And Dog.”
Catherine looked quizzical. Podric smiled.
“His pet Irish wolfhound.”
“Is he in UAR as well?”
“Yuh. When we first went into Napoleonic Wars, we arrived in a cowshed on Gibraltar. Funny start to it all really. Dog was licking us.”
“Sounds like a warm welcome. This is all very weird, Podric. Have you seen what someone looks like in the real world when they’re in the UAR state?”
“Uhuh. It’s different to sleep, more sort of semi-conscious.”
“Who did you see?”
“Archie, and now Barney.”
“Where is the thug – I mean physically?”
“On the sofa in Archie’s den.”
“Comfortable then. Sure you won’t let me come with you?”
The two were close now. A loud call from Amy advising them that the toad was rapidly disappearing down her own hole broke the mood. Food over desire. Even with young love it could be a difficult choice.
***
Scorching sunlight pierced Archie’s eyes. He painfully became aware that he was strapped to a chair in the inn’s front parlour.
Looking down at his body, Archie saw that his clothes were ragged and that he sported a scorched boot on one of his feet. If he felt wretched, he looked worse!
Other people were in the room. The only person Archie recognised was a disconsolate General Dugommier. Archie laughed.
“Where’s my dog?”
His face was whipped.
“You don’t speak unless I allow! You English – you love dogs more than people.”
“And gardens. Yes, yes…”
“You are a dog!”
A coarse-looking man appeared in Archie’s vision.
“I recognise you from history. You’re one of the two Jacques – either Roux or Hébert.”
The man was momentarily taken aback. Archie continued.
“I’m a British soldier. As such, you have no right to treat me this way.”
“You are an enemy of France, who has assisted in the escape of royalist scum. You have no rights.”
“You should be careful what you say. General Bonaparte may have beaten us at Toulon, but he won’t like you mistreating officers – even enemy ones.”
The whip lashed out again.
“This Bonaparte is nothing. Just a jumped-up artilleryman. We of the revolution control France now!”
“Think so? You don’t control anything. Paris is in turmoil. You shouldn’t be guillotining me just yet. Your little Corsican corporal had some information he wants passed to Robespierre.”
At this, Jacques Roux hesitated.
“What lies are these?”
Through his scarred face, Archie forced a broken smile. Roux approached as if to strike him again. Other people in the room stirred and he held back.
“Take him out – but have him chained in the wagon.”
Unshackled from the chair, Archie was dragged outside by two soldiers. He couldn’t but notice the havoc his explosion had caused. Barely half the buildings were left and most of those were burned or in ruins.
General O’Hara stood talking quietly to Drummond as Archie was hauled across the yard and thrown into a crude wain – vertical slats allowed the occupants a restricted view of the world outside. Already full of bedraggled aristocracy, Archie joined their manacled number.
Fainting as the cart moved out, sometime later he was vaguely aware of his brow being wiped.
Opening a swollen eye, Archie looked into those of the Comtesse Louisa.
“You are very brave, m’sieur.”
“And very stupid.”
Turning his head painfully, he saw that the cart was rumbling slowly along a track. Cosima was bent over some other poor wretch, helping him drink from a small tin mug.
“The marquise managed to slip her chains; I learned from her.”
Louisa smiled weakly but her vivaciousness had gone. Archie tried to move his aching body.
“Make sure you’ve got them on when the wagon stops.”
Hours later when the cart slowed, the girls were struggling to get back into their chains. The rudimentary rear door opened and Archie screamed. Taken aback by the prisoner’s delirium tremens, the chasseur knocked him senseless. The few seconds diversion allowed both the Comtesse and Marquise to regain their shackles.
***
It wasn’t until they approached Paris several days later that Archie began to recover. Watching through the slats of the cart, he witnessed the baying Parisian hordes and the unreality of those in captivity. Reflecting on the chasm separating their lives, two people in the existence he was currently experiencing, he cared about. One, he loved. And they were going to die. Soon.
The Temple was all that history supposed it to be – a terrifyingly intimidating citadel, grey and massive. Clattering into the keep, the portcullis gate clanked shut behind them. Moans of desolation cried out from the cart. Most of the older nobles were already too weak to walk properly. Punched and kicked by their guards, the dishevelled aristocrats were herded into the dungeon deep underground.
Pressed into an already overcrowded cell, the welcome that greeted the newcomers was no more than irritated indifference. Stumbling about in the ever-deepening gloom, they tried to find space for themselves.
“Oaf!”
“Who’s that?”
“Évreux.”
“Son of a whore.”
“I know that voice, Montbazon. Still shooting your servants?”
Amidst such mutterings, Archie managed to guide the two girls to the side of the vile chamber.
Although she hadn’t outwardly reacted to their entrance into prison, the Comtesse Louisa was clearly very tired. No
w, despite the disgusting smell, she sank to the floor. Lines of fatigue were visible under Cosima’s eyes. The marquise bent over her young charge and made her as comfortable as she could before standing and facing Archie.
“Do you know what fate awaits us?”
“I’ve a good idea.”
“But they must allow a trial.”
“You think so? Look around. How many of these people do you believe will walk free? I can tell you. Of the eighty or so here, less than a dozen.”
“Unfortunately, you seem to have confidence in what you say.”
Archie didn’t immediately reply.
“But you’ll be one of the freed.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m going to see that you escape.”
“You know that I won’t leave without the Comtesse d’Angoulac and her family.”
“I’m not sure that I can achieve that.”
“Then the only place I’ll be going is with them.”
Deciding not to debate the issue further, Archie looked at her.
“For some crazy reason, I’d better track down my dog.”
“Goodness, sir – at such a time. It’s true then, what they say of the English—”
“Yes, yes – obviously we’re a cliché, the way you continentals carry on. Animals and flowers, that’s us!”
Archie began picking his way towards the iron-grilled gate on the far side of the dungeon. Two guards sat on sentry duty, bored and desultory.
***
The fact that Podric was supposed to be doing revision work for his exams which allowed him swatting time at home didn’t particularly influence his decision to go back into UAR.
The morning after he’d programmed Barney into Napoleonic Wars, Podric decided he would go and check on him. He also decided going in from Archie’s lab would be best as it would enable him to keep an eye on the bully both in this world or another! Making his final preparations, Podric told Catherine where he would be, which she seemed to appreciate. Whilst he didn’t know how long he’d be gone, trusting her, Podric gave her the alarm code to the Lighthouse in case of an emergency.
Walking through the village that morning, staring up at the vapour trail of a jet high in the sky, prompted Podric to think about his dad. Suddenly, a squawking mass of colour appeared above him.
“Come here, my beauty. That’s Podric. Leave him be!”
Finally brought under control, the macaw drew in its magnificent wings, landing on the village sign. Although not frightened of birds, Podric was guarded.
“Eamon don’t mean no harm.”
Ivy Bickerstaff sat on a bench seat scratching her chin reflectively.
“How are your computer things coming along?”
Despite being something of an oddity, Ivy was sufficiently clued up about who was doing what in Drinkwell.
“Coming along.”
Podric sat down beside her.
“He likes you.”
“Yuh?”
“He doesn’t like most people.”
Podric was about to say that she could have fooled him when Eamon gently lifted off his perch and settled on the bench between them. Podric studied the macaw. Scarlet, his plumage was fantastic and Podric recognised what a beautiful specimen Eamon was.
“He’s rare… you know they were hunted down. Always been prized. People ‘ud pay a king’s ransom for ’em. They were popular in courts of Europe. That French queen – the one who had her head chopped off, she was painted with ’em.”
Preoccupied with Eamon’s head movement and how the bird appeared to be inviting him to stroke its neck, Podric hadn’t been paying much attention to Ivy’s chatter. Now he looked round at her.
“You mean hundreds of years ago – in the French Revolution?”
“That’s it.”
Podric sat up and made an immediate decision. There was no particular logic to it, but there and then he decided to profile Ivy and Eamon into UAR. Pulling out his iPhone, he activated it and hitting the camera app, pointed the lens at Ivy.
“Smile.”
“Crazy boy. What d’you want my picture for? He’s better looking than me.”
Responding to her comment, Podric also took one of Eamon, who cocked his head.
“Wants you to capture his best side.”
“You better get him an agent.”
Turning into Archie’s drive, Podric let himself into the Lighthouse. Resetting the alarm before taking the lift to the upper floor, he entered the den. Checking on Barney, Podric went through to the lab. Activating several PCs, he began profiling Ivy Bickerstaff and Eamon’s details.
The process Podric used to place his friends inside UAR as games characters was disarmingly simple. Imaging them, he logged their details then entered the information as encodes in the games bitmap using its codex sequence. It had been one of the many things he’d had problems with Archie about. The games creator just couldn’t understand the relevance of such a dimension within the project.
Whilst Podric admitted it was an emotive thing – wanting friends in his current life as characters within a computer game – the opportunity to place people you knew in the contemporary world inside a different existence was something that gave UAR another dimension. It was interesting to see how those people reacted in their alternate surroundings.
Walking back to the den, Podric looked out at the countryside surrounding Drinkwell. He wondered what adventures his partner had been in since he’d left him on the Heights of Toulon. Taking a seat in one of Archie’s comfortable leather chairs, Podric settled himself. His index finger poised over his wrist, in a few moments time, he’d be able to find out.
***
Sitting in a large, sparsely furnished room, its view high up in one of the Temple’s towers overlooking Paris, Captain Light gazed out over the city. He had been permitted to rejoin General O’Hara at the express wish of the reinstated General Dugommier. Posted to fight in Spain, the general had stipulated the British captain must be allowed to look after his magnificent dog in anticipation of Dugommier’s victorious return when he would claim the animal! However, much to the concern of O’Hara, Light had insisted as part of the agreement that he return to the dungeon at night.
Reluctant to provide any reason for this, Archie only said that he wished to offer comfort to the terrified prisoners – a sentiment O’Hara admired wholeheartedly.
With Dog sitting at his master’s heels, the two men watched Madame Guillotine busy at work. Large numbers of the Parisian populace surrounding the evil contraption, a constant stream of victims were led to her razor-sharp blade.
“This Terror – it must be one of the worst crimes in history.”
O’Hara was grave.
“What’s the situation with the d’Angoulac family?”
“Their trial is set for the day after tomorrow.”
“Is the Marquise to be tried with them?”
“It’s all of a one I believe, sir – if trial it is…?”
A banging outside was followed by the door crashing open. Looking very much the worse for wear, Captain Drummond was pushed into the room by two Citizens of the Republic. Wearing their red Phrygian caps, the revolutionary’s attitude was full of arrogant swagger. The first Citizen, who appeared the senior, approached O’Hara.
“So, you are making plans to escape.”
O’Hara stared at the Frenchman coldly. The revolutionary only laughed.
“If all your soldiers are so cowardly as this piece of shit…” he looked disparagingly at Drummond, “… we’ll take the entire continent when we please.”
Spitting at Drummond, the man turned to Archie.
“And you being allowed here is to stop immediately. We’re to take you to Prosecutor Robespierre who will hear your dispatches from General Bonaparte, after whi
ch you’re to be sent below where you belong. The crimes you’ve committed are of such filth you’re to be tried with the monarchist scum.”
“I protest. You cannot try this man. He’s a British officer.”
O’Hara was as forceful as he could be.
“He’s a spy and an activist. The Council has decided he’s forfeited his soldiers’ rights. Citizen Roux has decreed it. Come!”
Archie was surprised he hadn’t been called before and felt quite calm. General O’Hara obviously believed this was the end.
“I’ll see you’re freed somehow.”
Nodding to O’Hara as he was escorted from the room, Archie couldn’t resist a parting comment to Drummond.
“Chin up, Bulldog. If not Paris, we’ll always have Toulon.”
14
The Big Escape
Led ever deeper into the depths of the Temple, Archie realised they were leaving the building. Their route was to take them across Paris via a series of underground catacombs.
The men who had showed such conceit in the tower were now reduced to quiet grumblings as they made their damp way along the subterranean sewer. At times, it narrowed so much that they had to crawl on their hands and knees; at others, the tunnels expanded to hall-like dimensions. Finally, a turn brought them to some spiral steps, at the top of which was a door. Opening it, they entered a back-stairs corridor. This fed into a large chamber.
It was a chaotic scene. Members of the Committee of Public Safety and other Revolutionary Citizens scurried about in all directions, flitting between impromptu meetings. Crossing the forum, the two guards stopped in front of a small lobby. One of them knocked on a door which was opened by another guard. The three men led Archie along a passage to a far entrance and pushed him through it.
“You’re to wait in here.”
The door slammed shut.
Archie’s eyes gradually adjusted to the murky darkness. The only light originating from a single taper, the room he found himself in appeared to be an empty courthouse.
“I told you I don’t give a damn about your bloody alternative reality!”
Archie nearly jumped out of his skin. It was the sound of his own voice!
“Wha…?”
