Changing Yesterday

by Sean McMullen

  As usual, he took the local steam train home from school to North Brighton. It was a very pleasant autumn day, the sort that seemed wasted on school. Daniel had plans to get back on the train once he had finished his homework. He would meet Muriel at her mother’s shop in Balaclava, and they would go to a local café, there to sit holding hands and talking for an hour or so. Daniel was fifteen years old, six foot one inch tall, and startlingly thin, but that did not seem to matter to Muriel.

  Daniel’s friend Barry was working at North Brighton Station when he got off the train. Barry was also technically a schoolboy, but in practice he spent most of his time helping his father at the station, receiving stolen goods, and picking pockets. It was a rather unlikely friendship. Daniel was from a moderately rich family and generally came first in everything that he did at school. Still, their friendship had somehow endured for five years.

  ‘That Muriel baggage were ’ere this arvo,’ said Barry as he collected Daniel’s ticket.

  ‘Muriel, here?’ exclaimed Daniel. ‘You mean she’s waiting for me at home?’

  ‘Nah, she come an’ she went. Caught the same train on its way back to Flinders Street. It were just after ten this mornin’.’

  ‘You mean she missed school today?’ exclaimed Daniel. ‘Did she look sick?’

  ‘Danny boy, I miss school nearly every bleedin’ day, yet I’m not sick.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Muriel Baker talk to Barry the Bag? Give it a rest, Danny boy.’

  ‘Perhaps she left a note at home.’

  Daniel turned to go, but something was on Barry’s mind. Dumping the tickets he had just collected into the fire bucket, he hurried after Daniel.

  ‘Oi, Danny boy, I need to ask somethin’,’ he said as he caught up with Daniel. ‘It’s about our mates from the future, Liore and Fox.’

  ‘I have not seen much of either of them for a fortnight.’

  ‘I just need advice about ’em, sorta. They’re from the future, an’ they come back a hundred years to stop parlyment gettin’ bombed, ’cause that would start a war. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An’ we helped stop parlyment gettin’ bombed, but nobody knows.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why’d Liore explode that bleedin’ railway wagon in Albury? Jeez, I nearly laid the brown egg when that wagon blew up.’

  ‘The bags of dynamite that were inside the wagon were what exploded,’ said Daniel. ‘If she had not destroyed it, then when the Duke of Cornwall and York came past in his special train, those Lionhearts would have blown up the wagon, killing him. Evidence would be found in the rooming house that she set on fire. It would have put the blame for the duke’s death on German secret agents. The Century War between Britain and Germany would have started. The Lionhearts want to start the war to unify the British Empire,but it would be a catastrophe for both sides. Now both the wagon and evidence are gone.’

  ‘But wot if them poor coves guardin’ the wagon were innocent railway workers? I mean bleedin’ hell, I work for the railways.’

  ‘Nobody who loaded that wagon was an innocent bystander, Barry. They were all Lionhearts, dedicated to provoking the Century War between Britain and Germany. They would not have given up until war was declared.’

  ‘But they were doin’ it to save the Empire, right?’

  ‘Yes, but they were misguided. Misguided men are just as dangerous as those who are evil.’

  ‘So why don’t she kill the leader? Like, so the others won’t know what to do?’

  ‘Barry, she can’t know everything.’

  ‘Well if she knows about ’em she must know who gives the orders.’

  ‘Barry, you’re a member of the British Empire and the king gives the orders, but I bet you don’t know the king’s name.’

  ‘Yeah I do! It’s … er, King Arthur.’

  ‘Rubbish, it’s Edward.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah, well, anyway, how’d she know about the wagon?’

  ‘She told me that new memories slipped into her head after we stopped the bombing of parliament, memories of the Century War being started by the assassination of the crown prince by German agents in Albury.’

  ‘Yeah? I reckon she’s dippy. I reckon she’s not good at nothin’ but killin’, so she makes up excuses to kill.’

  ‘Well I trust her,’ said Daniel huffily.

  ‘But I bet she’ll get some new inspirational to kill more coves she reckons is Lionhearts.’

  ‘She told me she now has memories of another war that starts in four months, but –’

  ‘See? See? Told ya!’

  ‘Perhaps there is no hope of avoiding a century of war,’ said Daniel defensively. ‘Perhaps time heals itself whenever someone from the future tries to change the past.’

  Metaphysics was not one of Barry’s strong points. He had understood little of what Daniel had said, and believed even less. He opened his mouth to ask another question, scratched his head, and failed to think of anything sensible to ask. Having decided that Daniel had confirmed his worst fears about Liore, he finally folded his arms and shrugged.

  ‘Okay, so maybe yer may be right. Now what? What about us?’

  ‘We no longer have to help.’

  ‘She made us help blow up that bleedin’ wagon.’

  ‘Liore and Fox could have done it without us. They are stronger, faster and better than us in every way. Fox even saved me from drowning.’

  ‘Then why’d they make us help?’

  ‘Barry … it’s like Joan of Arc and Robin Hood walked into our lives for a few weeks, then left to have other adventures. We just taught them a bit about how things are done in Australia, in 1901. Now they are better at fitting in, they can do things for themselves, and they are so much better than we are that they will probably never need our help again.’

  ‘So we don’t owe them nothin’?’

  ‘We have nothing that they need, Barry.’

  ‘Yer daft sister Emily reckons we orta still do stuff for ’em.’

  ‘Emily thinks they’re exciting. Just think about it. Fox is the perfect boy: strong, handsome, clever, wellmannered and absolutely loyal. She probably even wants to, er …’

  ‘Rip his drawers off ?’

  ‘Barry!’

  ‘Yeah, anyway, so Fox and Liore don’t need us no more?’

  ‘No. We should just get on with our lives.’

  ‘So we don’t owe ’em nothin’?’

  ‘For the second time – no, wait, I do owe Fox my life, and so does Emily.’

  ‘But wot about me?’

  Daniel stopped, put his schoolbag down, stood before Barry with his hands on his hips and looked him in the eyes.

  ‘You owe them nothing, Barry. Is that the answer you want?’

  ‘Er, yeah, I reckon,’ said Barry, scratching his head again.

  ‘Then go back and mind the railway station. I have homework to do.’

  Having finally shaken Barry off, Daniel hurried on home. Only a few weeks earlier he would have stayed at the station and kept talking to Barry until he uncovered whatever was on his friend’s mind. Barry was clearly concerned about something, but for Daniel there was nothing as important as seeing Muriel. Since she had first kissed him, four weeks earlier, Daniel’s life had been transformed. Although he was still a schoolboy of fifteen, being Muriel’s sweetheart had changed him into a young man. All his classmates knew about her, and most of them had never even touched a girl, except at dancing lessons. Muriel gave Daniel status.

  For Daniel, Muriel was not just a symbol of growing up, however, she was a declaration of independence as well. With Muriel in his life he could no longer be dominated by his sister Emily. While Emily was like a policeman, always ready to pounce and point out what he was doing wrong, Muriel could get her way by just flashing a winsome smile or by batting her eyelashes. Emily could not do either to save herself. Dangerous thoughts slipped into Daniel’s mind when he was with Muriel. Rather th
an becoming a solicitor or judge, he could see himself playing the piano in dingy coffee houses while strangely-dressed people talked about art, anarchism and absinthe.

  The maid, Martha, was sweeping the porch when he reached the gate.

  ‘Yer friend Muriel came past this mornin’,’ she called as Daniel came up the garden path.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Daniel. ‘What was the matter? Was she sick?’

  ‘She looked well, but sort of worried about somethin’. She gave me a note for passin’ on, but said it’s not urgent or nothin’. I left it on yer bed.’

  Daniel found the note on his pillow. The border of the envelope was fringed with briar rose tangles drawn in green, red and brown ink, and Daniel’s name was written in flowing script at the centre. The flap was sealed in three places with red sealing wax, and Muriel’s seal, a majuscule M, was impressed in all three patches of wax. Not wanting to disturb Muriel’s artwork, Daniel took his pocketknife out and slit the flap neatly, then unfolded the letter. Even when he saw that the lines were widely spaced, and that each word dripped a tear drawn in light blue ink, Daniel did not suspect that the news was going to be very bad indeed.

  Dear Daniel,

  There is no way that I can break this to you kindly, so I shall just tell the cruel truth. Fox and I are in love and have left for Paris to develop our artistic careers together. I am truly, truly sorry, but while I hold you in the highest esteem, Fox and I are sweethearts bound together by our passion for art. Daniel, please try to for get me. We are not of a kind, and never could be. By leaving you now, I am saving you more intense pain in the future.

  My deepest regrets,

  Muriel.

  Three hours later Emily went upstairs to see why Daniel had not come to dinner. She found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his tears dripping onto the letter that was by then nearly illegible. He had reread Muriel’s letter over five hundred times, hoping that the words would change, but the message stubbornly remained the same.

  ‘Daniel?’ said Emily from the door, realising at once that something was terribly wrong.

  ‘The boy who saved my life has taken my sweetheart,’ responded Daniel without looking up.

  Some miles away, in St Kilda, Barry was on the way to an appointment with one of his business associates. Although Barry was a hardened petty criminal, he was not entirely without moral scruples. Thus he always gave himself a reason whenever he did something wrong. This meant that it was all right to steal things that were already stolen, steal from rich people because they had lots more, steal from people who deserved to be stolen from, or steal what did not matter. Stealing Liore’s plasma lance assault rifle was a little more difficult to justify, but Barry was very resourceful.

  That Liore, she don’t really need somethin’ wot can sink ships, he thought as he walked. She can kill them Lionheart coves with a bleedin’ pistol. The best thing for the good of the British Empire were if the king had that death ray rifle thing.

  Luker the Lurker was always the person of choice when disposing of stolen goods, but Barry was not entirely sure how to introduce the subject of a superweapon from the future. He decided that the idea was so fantastic that someone like Luker could not possibly understand it. Barry was also fairly sure that one demonstration of its power would guarantee a sale to any of Melbourne’s criminals, but he had developed ideas of improving his status in society as well as just making money. The king could make him important as well as rich, and Barry wanted to be both. Thus he needed to contact someone who knew the king, someone wise and clever enough to understand his story about warriors from the future with an absolutely fantastic weapon. As Barry reached the Acland Street coffee house where Luker was to be found at that time of day, he decided to use shock tactics.

  ‘Oi, I got a job where there’s profit for ya,’ Barry began as he stopped at Luker’s table.

  ‘What’ve you stolen now?’ asked Luker without turning.

  ‘I got a thing wot I gotta give the king.’

  ‘Give?’ asked Luker, now turning to face him.‘To the king? You mean Jim King at the South Melbourne market?’

  ‘Nah, the real king. The one wot runs the Empire.’

  ‘Come off it, little bagman. You have something for the king?’

  ‘Well, in exchange for rekkypence for me expenses. Say two hundred quid, no questions asked, no names named.’

  ‘Who says I know the king?’

  ‘Well, do ya?’

  Luker was bright enough to realise that Barry might have something very valuable. He decided to humour him.

  ‘I reckon I know someone who knows him.’

  ‘Yeah? Wot’s his name?’

  ‘King Edward.’

  ‘I mean yer contact.’

  ‘Not tellin’! What you got?’

  ‘It’s a gun.’

  ‘The king’s got plenty of guns, Barry boy, he runs the bleedin’ army. Why should he pay two hundred quid for yours?’

  ‘It’s special. It’s sorta secret.’

  Luker the Lurker frowned.

  ‘Listen, little bagman, you’re wasting my time and it’ll cost you.’

  ‘Lurker man, have a listen. I can prove it.’

  ‘I bet you stole some new gun from a drunk soldier while he was sleeping it off. I bet there’s a reward for gettin’ it back.’

  ‘Luker, mate, trust the bagman. Remember that railway wagon full of dynamite that I sent your way last month? We sold that lot for eighty quid.’

  ‘Yeah, and five days later another wagon full of dynamite blew up in Albury, shovin’ eleven coves off to meet their maker. I reckon it belonged to the same push what we stole the other load from. I reckon that second wagon was rigged to explode, and I reckon we’re damn lucky we got away with our lives when we stole that first load. You keep whatever it is you stole. While you’re at it, get away from me before whatever you got blows up.’

  ‘I haven’t got it here,’ said Barry.

  ‘Then don’t bring it here.’

  ‘It’s a gun, not dynamite.’

  ‘You sure it’s just a gun?’

  ‘Yeah, an’ it’s small, but real powerful. It can sink a ship, yet it fits in me bag.’

  For some reason this particular wild claim made sense to Luker the Lurker. After all, two men with a Gatling gun had the firepower of an entire brigade of soldiers with rifles. If Barry had stolen some secret weapon that could fit in his bag yet sink a ship, it might fetch two thousand pounds, and probably more.

  ‘All right then, little bagman, I’m hearing. Where’s the gun?’

  ‘Not sayin’. Anyway, I gotta bag it first.’

  ‘I’ll want to see it work before you get a farthing.’

  While it was not entirely true that Emily Lang was a bully, she did tend to get her own way by humiliating other people into doing what she ordered. Her brother Daniel had been her favourite target for most of her life, because he was younger than her, male, and a natural born victim. Whatever Daniel accomplished, it was never good enough for Emily. Whether it was his examination results at school, table manners at home, choice of clothes, piano playing at family song nights, or even the Christmas presents he gave her, Emily always found a reason to make Daniel squirm.

  Daniel tried to fight back with his choice of friends. While Barry the Bag was fairly close to the bottom of Emily’s list of preferred people to be seen with, he was another person who Emily could dominate, so she tolerated him. Muriel Baker had been a classmate of Emily’s, and was at the very top of her list of most hated people in all the world. When Daniel and Muriel had begun courting four weeks earlier, it had been Emily’s worst nightmare. Daniel had begun breaking free of Emily under his sweetheart’s influence. Now Muriel was gone, but everything had not returned to normal.

  At first Emily was overjoyed to learn that Muriel and her brother had broken up, but when Daniel did not respond to her displays of sarcasm, wit, rhetoric and abuse, she realised that he had not been returned to her in his origin
al condition. All of Friday evening Emily tried to persuade Daniel to eat something, to change out of his school clothes, to do his weekend homework, and even to admit that she had been right about Muriel Baker. Daniel did not move and hardly spoke. He spent the entire night on the edge of his bed with Muriel’s letter in his hands. By the morning the Lang family was growing alarmed.

  Emily had read about people losing the will to live and just fading away. Now it was happening to her brother, and for the first time in her life Emily felt a twinge of genuine concern for him. Shouting at Daniel, reasoning with him, and saying some very cruel but witty things about Muriel had raised not so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from him. Their parents could do no better. By Saturday morning Emily was so frightened that she was forced to admit defeat and call upon her last resort. Chaperoned by Martha, she went in search of Barry the Bag.

  Barry was sweeping the station platform when Emily and Martha found him.

  ‘Something terrible has happened to Daniel!’ called Martha as they hurried toward him.

  ‘You must come and speak to him,’ cried Emily. ‘He needs his friends.’

  ‘Jeez, if ya think he needs me he must be bad!’ said Barry, holding his broom between himself and Emily. ‘Wot’s the problem?’

  ‘That floozy Muriel Baker has jilted my brother for Fox!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘They have run off to Paris to be artists!’

  ‘Friggin’ hell – er, sorry, miss.’

  ‘Daniel has taken it very badly. I fear he has even lost the will to live. You must come and talk to him.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll come over. Tell ya wot, though, that Liore would be good for Danny boy as well. They’re mates. I’ll just pedal over an’ give the word.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Liore would be perfect!’ exclaimed Emily,jumping up and down on the spot. ‘Liore’s an officer, and they know what to do in emergencies.’

  As was nearly always the case, Barry had his own agenda. He knew where Liore lived because he had followed her home from the railway station one evening. Since then he had even cycled past the end of her street, but he had been too frightened to ride past the actual house. Perhaps she would be looking out of the front window, and would see him. How could he explain riding past the house where she lived, except to spy on her? He already knew what girls from the future did to spies. Now, at last, he had an excuse to call on her at home.