Empire of Time

by Daniel Godfrey

  “Yes?”

  “Well, that man is no longer a predator. He’s a woodlouse, whose stone has been kicked. So we hand him the phone with Marcus in the room, and with a knife at his throat. There will only be one person in danger.”

  Naso, however, remained unconvinced. “We have time to consult the Ordo.”

  “No,” replied Calpurnia. “If I wanted the opinions of tired old men, I’d go and pray at my father’s tomb.”

  “The aediles, then?”

  “We’re not debating the state of the roads or the sewers.”

  “But—”

  “Calpurnia has given her answer,” replied Habitus, as his man arrived back with one of the old mobiles. Everyone turned as the man entered.

  Because it was already ringing.

  12

  Ancient Roman Empire, the Cave of the Sibyl, AD 62

  AREWARD.

  Achillia took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She’d been brought here as a reward.

  To see the cocksucking Sibyl.

  “Many slaves would be extremely jealous you’d been brought to hear your fortune,” Trigemina said. “But I think it’s only right to allow you to glimpse your future, after you helped save mine.”

  “Thank you,” Achillia replied, hearing in her voice the sarcasm that her mistress didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t know what to say.”

  The small cave was dark and silent. The oil lamps that lit the passageway weren’t present in the grotto. A deliberate tactic, no doubt, to keep the secrets of the Sibyl hidden. Achillia grasped the hilt of her knife. She looked over at the thin, dark shape of her mistress. Trigemina stood still, waiting. Within striking range.

  She could kill her where she stood. Just reach out and slit her throat. Then all she’d have to do would be to get back to the wagon, and kill the other hired hands. She’d have the choice of four horses and any number of towns.

  But she’d be caught. A woman, travelling on her own. An obvious slave to boot. No, she’d be found within days.

  The drone started so softly she barely noticed it. Then, a sudden drumbeat broke her concentration. Achillia almost laughed. A voice now wailed from the darkness, joining the background whining sound that was steadily growing in volume. The quality of acting was poor, even for a provincial theatre.

  “You hear it, don’t you?” whispered Trigemina.

  Achillia shook her head. She bit down on her tongue; anything to stop her from laughing. The voice was shrill, echoing about the cave, the words unclear. And all the time the whining noise grew louder – almost turning into a whistle – and quickly reaching the point at which it began to hurt her ears. Not that Trigemina seemed to notice. Her mistress stood close, searching the gloom for a glimpse of the Sibyl.

  Achillia glanced back towards the tunnel. The triangular entrance, illuminated by the sunlight beyond, now rolled before her, as if she was suddenly on a spinning top. She was riding its edges, and all the time slowing down. Becoming unstable. The light jerked back and forth as the whistling in her ears turned into a scream.

  Then she heard it. A voice in her head, not an actor in the dark. Achillia felt the knife drop from her hand, and it skittered away in the dark. She stumbled backwards and dropped to the floor, then began to retch. The ground continued to roll, and the voice shouted in her mind. Inside her. All around her.

  You will go to Pompeii, and you will find Manius Calpurnius Barbatus! You will—

  13

  New Pompeii

  PULLUS PUT THE NovusPart phone to his ear. The voice on the other end of the line was barely recognisable, more of a mumble than speech. The sound seemed to be coming from the back of someone’s throat, each word barely pronounced. Perhaps whoever was speaking couldn’t fully move their mouth, or they were trying to disguise their voice. Either way, the only thing Pullus could really tell was that the person speaking to him was male. “Who is this?”

  “Marcus,” the voice answered. “The battery on this phone will only last a few seconds so we don’t have much time.”

  “What are you hearing?” Calpurnia asked. Quickly, Pullus informed her.

  “I am talking to you from your future,” the voice continued. “The man with you – Harris – has served his purpose. I needed someone who would be enough to attract your attention, but he will be dead within the hour. I told him I would save his brother. You should know this now before events unfold: I lied to him.”

  Pullus glanced at Harris. Despite continuing to smile with some satisfaction, the man who’d once snatched him from the streets of London had never looked so helpless.

  “What do you want?” Pullus asked.

  “Do you remember that day in the amphitheatre when the gladiator tried to kill you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You took a gamble that day. You decided those in the future were influencing events to secure their position, and to do so they would save your life. This call is being made for the same reason. I’m passing a message down to ensure things work out as they should. I’m speaking to you so that it is me – and nobody else – that gains control of the NovusPart device.”

  “Okay…”

  “The Master of Pompeii will become the Emperor of Time.”

  Silence. Pullus waited, expecting more, but nothing came. “What?”

  “You heard me. A little riddle from Joe Arlen’s research papers.”

  Pullus froze. Arlen’s research. “You have copies?”

  “I have the only copy; the originals were destroyed in Naples.” The voice paused. Chuckled. “At the time you’re speaking, the copy I hold is in New Pompeii. So don’t worry, they’re not floating around waiting for someone in the outside world to stumble across them. And Harris hasn’t seen them first hand. He just knows what I’ve told him, including the failsafe code.”

  “I don’t understand,” Pullus said. “The Master of Pompeii…?”

  “You’ll recognise the meaning when the time comes. Now, go and get Calpurnia’s son and send Habitus to fetch you another battery. The next time I call I’ll give you the code for the NovusPart devi—”

  The phone clicked off. Pullus looked down and found it dead in his hands. He fiddled for a second with the main switch, but it didn’t come back to life. Around him, he felt Calpurnia and Habitus draw closer.

  “Well? What did you hear?” Calpurnia said.

  Pullus didn’t answer. The riddle sounded foolish, but even so he couldn’t take his eyes from Harris and the flicker in his eyes. He’ll be dead within an hour.

  “Events propagate backwards not forwards,” Harris said. “Time is written; we can’t avoid it. Can’t defeat it. Like I said to you, I’ve become a big believer in fate.”

  “I need another battery,” Pullus said, speaking to Habitus, and trying to ignore the chill Harris’s words had just given him. He unclipped the back of the phone’s case. The battery inside was leaking metallic fluid. The thing was barely functional.

  “I’ve heard that voice for years,” Harris continued. “At first I didn’t believe what it told me, but he kept on being right about things so I was soon convinced. I had my own private oracle. Speaking to me from the future, telling me what to do. Governing my actions. Although it’s been quiet of late, he told me to come here. To provide advice to Marcus, and his mother.”

  “What’s he saying about my son?” Calpurnia said.

  Pullus looked down at the phone. “It wasn’t your son,” he said. “It wasn’t that Marcus.”

  The sparkle hadn’t left Harris’s eyes. “No?”

  Pullus shook his head. “No, I didn’t recognise the voice.”

  “That’s because you only know him as the boy,” Harris said, sneering. “When he makes that call to you – thirty years from now – he will be a man. The Emperor of Time.”

  “What you’re talking about isn’t within the limits of what we know about the NovusPart device,” Pullus said. He thought about the voice again. The lack of proof. “This is one of your tricks
. So cut to the chase, and tell us what you really want.”

  Before him, Harris seemed to crumple. “You’re going to have to make a decision,” he said. “Because once you replace that battery the phone will ring again. And then Marcus will tell you the code and the dots between the present and the future will be joined. So ask yourself, Nick Houghton, what will you do when he gives you the code? Will you keep it to yourself?” Harris glanced at Calpurnia, then Habitus. “Do you think they will let you?”

  For a few seconds, Pullus hesitated. “Christians, Gauls, Visigoths and vice,” he said, almost to himself. What if Harris was right? What if the voice really was coming from the future? What would Calpurnia do with all that power?

  Calpurnia stirred. “I don’t understand…?”

  “We’ve discussed changing the timeline – argued about it – many times, Calpurnia.”

  She could suddenly tell what he meant, and smiled. “We’ve always known the device would be activated eventually… after all, someone saved you from the gladiator.”

  “Promise me.”

  “All I want is my husband.”

  “Then go and get your boy, and let’s see if we can introduce him to his father.”

  14

  HE’D ALMOST FORGOTTEN. The traces of the old NovusPart control villa were so well hidden beneath Calpurnia’s renovations that it was hard to remember it had once been the centre of it all. But a few twists and turns from the tablinum soon led into more modern corridors. Ones that were now only trodden by Calpurnia and her Greek. For everyone else, entrance was strictly forbidden.

  Marcus let out a yelp of excitement, but was immediately pulled back by Calpurnia to stop him exploring. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to tear him away from his Suetonius. Habitus and Harris made up the remainder of the group. Naso hadn’t been invited to join them; the duumvir had been escorted from the villa and sent back to the town. The Greek too wasn’t in sight, presumably working with the device and starting the tracking system. Harris had carefully explained the circumstances of his brother’s transportation: where and when he’d been taken. With that information, the Greek had likely already found the child in the time stream. Now, all they needed was the code…

  Habitus set Harris down onto his knees ahead of the main group. The old spy looked shattered. For him, it all came down to this. But, despite what the voice on the phone had said, it was difficult for Pullus to summon any pity. He will be dead within an hour. If the call had been from the future, then it was already written. There was no stopping it.

  Harris looked desperately towards the paradox chamber. Its heavy metallic door had been left open, the interior empty aside from a small collection of children’s toys scattered across the floor. The two geese at its threshold appeared unable to enter.

  The creatures whose honking had once saved Rome from being sacked by the Gauls, were now being used to alert the Romans if anyone appeared after being ripped from the timeline. A less expensive way of keeping watch than using a slave, Pullus thought as he glanced at Marcus. The boy continued to pull against his mother, trying to get a good view.

  “He’ll appear in there,” said Pullus, attracting Marcus’s attention and then nodding towards the paradox chamber. “As far as we understand it – as far as Whelan was able to tell us – anyone transported appears inside a chamber. This is the main one attached to our device, with a secondary chamber at the amphitheatre.”

  There was little light to see by; most of the overhead fluorescent squares were dark. Almost unnoticed, the Greek appeared to close the metal door of the paradox chamber. As soon as it smacked into position, an electronic ringing filled the air.

  Pullus looked at the phone in his hand, then lifted it to his ear. It clicked, and connected, and then he heard the same mumbled voice as before. “The boy,” it said. “It’s important he sees this, and it’s important you see what he’s destined to become.”

  Pullus glanced at Calpurnia’s son, but he didn’t have time to think through what he’d just been told. Instead, the voice started to read out a string of letters and numbers. The pattern was repeated twice. Pullus called the code out clearly for the Greek to record on his little wax tablet, who then scurried away again, deeper into the old control villa.

  “During the war,” Harris said, “the Allies managed to get hold of the Nazis’ Enigma machine. It was a simple set of cogs that translated each input into a coded output. To read the messages, they just needed the initial settings for the device.”

  Pullus didn’t respond.

  “Decimus…”

  Pullus flinched, reacting to Calpurnia’s use of his praenomen. “You’re going to transport his brother first?”

  Calpurnia nodded, seeming distracted. “The voice on the phone,” she whispered. “Tell me truthfully: are you sure it wasn’t my son?”

  Pullus hesitated, and then took her a few steps away from Harris. The old man didn’t appear interested; his attention remained firmly on the metal door and the patrolling geese. “Marcus is a common name,” he said. “No, I don’t think it was your son. At least, I can’t be sure…”

  “But it was coming from the future?”

  Again, Pullus found himself floundering. “It could have been a trick,” he said. “Something to disorientate us.” Then he glanced at the paradox chamber. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “You’ve always told me that time moved forwards, not back.”

  Pullus nodded, and gripped the phone a fraction tighter. It had already died, its battery lasting barely as long as the first. He realised one thing that he hoped the others present hadn’t. Whoever knew the number of this particular phone had made the call. And whoever had made the call controlled the NovusPart device. Not now, but sometime in the future.

  When exactly, though, remained uncertain. For transportations, the horizon was thirty years. But perhaps different rules applied for speaking directly into the past. He simply didn’t know. But he needed to find out. And after they’d finished here, he needed to recharge the phone and go into the system settings to find its number.

  “Calpurnia!”

  Habitus’s cry was lost in amongst a storm of noise from the geese. The two birds were honking at the doorway. But then everything seemed to stop.

  Pullus felt his head slow. The corridor appeared to expand and contract, like a magnifying glass had passed directly in front of his eyes. The NovusPart device was working. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t – he watched as Habitus moved forward and opened the door. Harris rose from his knees, and then fell back.

  Blood, flesh and shards of bone lined the floor of the paradox chamber.

  Whoever it had transported had been flipped inside out and torn apart. They hadn’t come through as a person, simply the remains of one. And whoever it had been, they had been very small. Just a child. Maybe a boy.

  Harris started to scream.

  He will be dead within the hour.

  “The code is useless,” Calpurnia said. She turned away, dragging her son with her. “Kill him, Habitus.”

  Pullus remained focused on the paradox chamber. A small shoe lay amidst the blood and flesh. A tiny shinbone protruded from it – cut off short of what would have been the knee, as if scythed in two by a laser.

  He turned away, just as Harris started to struggle – the old man’s limbs flailed and slapped against the floor. He didn’t make any other sound. The frumentarius had him in a chokehold, and the voice on the phone was being proven right. Even if it was some way short of the full hour, Harris was dead.

  15

  PULLUS FOUND MARCUS in his room. The boy was surrounded by his books, flicking the pages of several different volumes. He didn’t bother to look up to see who was disturbing him.

  “The Emperor Tiberius used to throw people from the cliffs of Capri,” Marcus said, sitting on his bed, his Suetonius in his lap. “Do you think that’s true?”

  “He ordered people thrown off the cliffs, yes.”
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  “And Caligula… he killed his cousin…”

  “Caligula did a lot of things.”

  “And Nero killed his mother, didn’t he?”

  Pullus took a few steps into the boy’s room. He looked around, trying to find some small elements that reflected his own memory of being a teenager. But there was nothing. “There’s plenty in these books you’ll find to admire. If you take the trouble to find it.”

  Marcus looked up. “Your favourite is Claudius, yes?”

  “He was better than most.”

  “Suetonius said Emperor Claudius was cruel and bloodthirsty. That he liked ordering gladiators’ deaths in the arena, no matter how they performed.”

  Pullus sighed. Marcus had always been naturally drawn to the more horrific stories of imperial excess, enjoying the crimes of Caligula and Nero as if they were no more than Gothic fantasy. “I guess I liked the fact Claudius was never meant to be emperor. And he did a decent job. The Empire was sustained by such men. Not tyrants like Tiberius, Nero and Commodus.”

  Marcus pulled a face. Commodus. His mother’s habit of failing to recognise any emperor after Titus had rubbed off on her son. “That man,” the boy said. “The one you were speaking to on the phone…”

  “What about him?”

  “He wanted me in the room for a reason, didn’t he?”

  Pullus wasn’t sure what to say. A breeze made something on Marcus’s desk flutter: a small dead bird, one wing pinned to the wood, the flight feathers exposed.

  “Do you know why?” Marcus asked again, now sounding irritated.

  “No.”

  “I think I do,” Marcus continued. “When the Emperor Tiberius threw those men off his cliffs at Capri, he had Caligula there watching. So his successor would know what had to be done.”

  “Marcus…”

  “I’ve heard what they say about me. About you and my mother.”

  “It’s not true.”

  Marcus slipped off the bed. He picked up a wooden training sword from the floor, and held it out in front of him. “The man who can’t be killed, they say. But what about his son?”