Empire of Time

by Daniel Godfrey

  “The NovusPart Institute were quite clear,” Nick continued, the semblance of a smile forming on his lips. “The Bureau took Arlen’s research files, not Waldren.”

  “Yes, and I gave them to him. He made me, Nick! I had no choice!”

  “And as an office,” said Nick. “As a bureau. You didn’t save a copy?”

  58

  New Pompeii

  ONLY A DAY or so had passed, but news of his imprisonment had already spread through the town. A steady stream of votives were starting to drop into the shop. Each one bore a face on each side of the disc, crude depictions of his own features. The man who couldn’t be killed. But the man who could evidently be left in a cell to rot.

  When Calpurnia finally came, Pullus had completely lost track of time. She arrived at nightfall, when she could no doubt move through the town with only a small retinue of men and draw little attention. There was no sign of Habitus.

  Pullus dusted himself down, stood, and looked at her, silhouetted in the doorway. She was holding a small oil lamp. She didn’t speak and the flame didn’t light her face enough to enable him to sense her mood. Marcus edged into view, grinning.

  “I—” Pullus coughed, feeling his lips crack. “I… could do with some water.”

  “We’ve taken the papers to my villa,” Calpurnia said.

  Pullus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered what the Greek would make of them. His work with the NovusPart device had made reading English a necessary skill. And yet, despite his many talents, he wasn’t Arlen. Or Whelan. Or even McMahon. “You think he can decipher them?”

  Calpurnia didn’t answer and Pullus laughed, despite his situation. “They don’t give all the answers anyway,” he said. “Safeguards upon safeguards. That seems to have been Joe Arlen’s style.”

  The flame of the oil lamp flickered, finally lighting up Calpurnia’s face, revealing the anger on her features, despite her calm voice.

  “The convoys,” continued Pullus. “I take it you’ve seen what Popidius has been using them for?”

  Marcus snorted. “Habitus has dealt with it.”

  “Stop trying to distract us,” Calpurnia interrupted. “All you need know is the men from the convoys are currently aloft and lining the road from New Pompeii.”

  Pullus didn’t say anything. Just felt his tongue heavy in his mouth. The muscles in his back all seemed to twist and set.

  “Your friends,” Calpurnia continued, “back home, have another NovusPart device, don’t they? And yet you told me the original device had been destroyed.”

  “It was destroyed,” Pullus said. “They’ve found an early version. A prototype. What information got out on the convoys may not have helped them though. But we don’t know what else the aedile—”

  “The aedile is dead, Pullus. Popidius was offered his sword and he took it. And now we find you’ve betrayed us too.”

  Like a child caught in a lie, Pullus felt his cheeks flush. “I didn’t intend—”

  “My husband has been trapped in Herculaneum for two thousand years. And you could have brought his suffering to an end when you first got back here.” Marcus grinned at his mother’s words. He was clearly enjoying his teacher’s punishment. “Instead you wait and you watch, just like you always have. All the time knowing outsiders were trying to build their own weapon.”

  “I made sure that couldn’t happen.”

  “But you still kept us in the dark?”

  Pullus swallowed. “I needed to be sure,” he said, trying to explain, but knowing he was failing. “I needed to be certain.”

  “Of what?”

  Pullus didn’t answer.

  “Because that’s something only you’re able to pass judgement on, isn’t it? You and your kind? The only people with the necessary skill to alter the timeline, and to tell us that we mustn’t do the same?”

  “If you make a mistake…” Pullus tried to organise his thoughts, but he felt lightheaded. “I really need some water…”

  “And I really need my husband,” Calpurnia replied. “Is that so hard to understand?” She turned to leave. Pullus didn’t try to stop her, or call her back and explain that he didn’t trust her. Didn’t trust anyone. Not with the NovusPart device.

  “I always assumed it would be ours,” Marcus said softly. He wasn’t grinning anymore. Instead, he looked pensive, and more than a little afraid. He checked that his mother was out of earshot. “I assumed that we controlled the future. But your friends outside. They must be close…”

  Pullus shook his head. “Yes,” he said. “But they don’t have what we have.”

  “Which is?”

  “A device that once worked.”

  “A device that will work,” the boy corrected. He surveyed the small cell. “How long has it been since you had anything to drink?”

  “Two days.”

  “So there you sit like Cimon.”

  Pullus knew the story. Cimon was imprisoned and left to starve, and was only saved by the epitome of Roman charity, his own daughter’s breast milk, offered to him on her visits to his prison cell.

  “A pity you never married,” continued Marcus, as he fiddled with the door’s shutter and pushed his little finger through one of the slats. “Although I could probably find someone to act as Pero.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Too proud, eh? You’d rather be Julia the Elder, who Tiberius starved to death?”

  The man who couldn’t be killed. The words had never tasted more sour. He watched as the boy stooped and picked up one of several dozen votives. “Your friends outside are still missing information,” Marcus said. “Even with Arlen’s research?”

  “I think so.”

  The grin was back, flashing in the dark. But then it faded. “So do you think she’ll be able to rescue him?”

  Pullus thought back to the test with Harris. The phone call from the future. The way his brother had been destroyed during the transportation, a mess of guts and blood that had been deposited inside the paradox chamber. “I think your mother should do some further tests.”

  The boy nodded. “And then my father will be here.”

  Pullus didn’t know if that was true. He had no idea if NovusPart had even looked into transporting people from Herculaneum; the profile of the site didn’t fit with their business proposition. Whilst most people recognised the name “Pompeii”, considerably fewer knew about Herculaneum, even if it was a more interesting site to historians.

  Calpurnia had clearly chosen to ignore the fact that many from Pompeii hadn’t been saved. Those men, women and children were now displays in the Naples Archaeological Museum, untransported due to minor fluctuations in ash density. And in Herculaneum, the conditions had been a whole lot worse.

  “I don’t think I want him back,” Marcus said.

  Pullus stared at him, surprised. The boy checked over his shoulder, no doubt wondering if he’d been heard.

  “As I said, I’m not convinced your mother – or the Greek – will succeed.”

  “We can’t let her.” Marcus lowered his voice even further. “He’s called Marcus too. And, whoever controls the future, it needs to be me, not him.”

  59

  Ruins of Ancient Herculaneum

  “There is no need to panic. We have a robust evacuation plan. Naples is not the new Pompeii.”

  Italian Official,

  Naples Emergency Control Centre

  NICK LEANT FORWARD on the railings and stared down over Herculaneum. The ancient Roman town sat inside an excavated bowl of rock, with apartment blocks tottering along many of its edges, all lit up against a rapidly darkening sky. Where there had once been a shoreline there were now just cliffs some twenty metres high.

  At the time of its burial, the town had been used to the shifting position of the coastline. The buildings at the water’s edge included some fine houses whose lower floors had once been abandoned to rising tides. But now the coastline was some distance away and much of the town remained buried under the
modern town and only accessible via tunnels.

  The path that led down through the cliff to the foot of Herculaneum should have been bustling with tourists. But there was no one here; the site was deserted. Nick leant further forwards, feeling the weight of Arlen’s research in the bag slung across his shoulder, all printed out on crisp, white paper from a printer that was on the verge of running out of ink. Joe Arlen would probably have been amused to find everything he’d saved transferred onto more tangible, archaic sheets. But with so little computer equipment still functioning in New Pompeii, he’d requested them in a format he’d be able to later examine.

  Nick felt a twist of guilt and tried to push it away. He and Fabio had travelled directly to Herculaneum, and not stopped at Chloe’s apartment. We didn’t have time, he said again to himself, trying to justify it. Not enough time, when they’d barely made it here before the roads had been closed. And she wouldn’t have been there anyway.

  You shouldn’t worry about Chloe, Waldren had said. Not for a while, at least.

  Nick shifted his stance against the railings, dislodging some of the rust-coloured ash that had settled on it. He shook more ash from his hair. The authorities had instructed residents to stay indoors and off the roads. He imagined the Italians were keeping their fingers crossed that this was a replay of the eruption of 1944, and not a prelude to another catastrophic event. Those staffing the Vesuvius Observatory were no doubt being kept very busy, but not just with the mountain that had buried Pompeii and Herculaneum. Whilst everyone’s attention would be naturally focused on Vesuvius, what perhaps fewer people knew was that the Bay of Naples was also home to a super volcano. The Campi Flegrei, and its massive magma chamber.

  Even though the Italian authorities sometimes made a great play on how well prepared Naples was for another eruption, there was no real way of moving millions of people out of the potential blast zone. Everyone understood that. They were doing what the citizens of Pompeii had done all those years ago: sitting tight and seeing if it stopped. Praying it wouldn’t get any worse.

  Standing in Pompeii’s forum, with the site long since cleared and partially restored, you could be forgiven for forgetting the town had once been buried. Not so in Herculaneum. And down there in its streets would be his answer, the thing that would make sense of the fresco in the Gabinetto and the graffiti in the Pompeian bakery. He was sure of it.

  “We’ve got to go,” Fabio said behind him.

  Nick didn’t turn round. He stared down to the boat sheds marking the former shoreline. When the end had come in ad 79, many Romans had taken shelter together in those structures. The skeletons had been found where they’d fallen. Nick let his eyes drift upwards to the plateau upon which most of Herculaneum had been built. A marble statue of a man on a horse stood out from the brick buildings. “We just need a few moments of their time,” he said.

  “They’re not interested,” said Fabio. “Everyone’s leaving.”

  “They have carbonised scrolls here,” Nick explained. “Carbonised, but still readable with the correct equipment. They must say something useful. There must be some mention of me or NovusPart.”

  “Well, if that’s true, they’re denying it.”

  “Can’t you use your influence? Flash your Bureau badge?”

  Fabio snorted. “You think they care more about that than a volcano?”

  “They must have found a fresco,” Nick continued. “Some piece of graffiti or even something carved into a beam or something—”

  “Nick, we’re at a dead end.”

  “No. There must be something that mentions my name and NovusPart and links everything together.” Nick stopped. He stared at the statue of the horse and rider. The white marble now seemed blinding against the ash-filled sky. “They have carbonised scrolls here,” he said again.

  “They’re not going to tell us, Nick. They’re not going to admit their site is contaminated by paradox too.”

  Nick turned to face Fabio. There were two men standing with the Italian. Both wore dark suits, and were thick-set. Little devices snaked out of their collars and into their ears. He felt his next words catch in his throat. “You’ve brought company.”

  Fabio winced. He tipped his head, indicating the two men. “It seems Waldren anticipated you’d run,” he said.

  You shouldn’t worry about Chloe. Not for a while, at least.

  “And Chloe?” Nick asked.

  “She’s safe, Nick.”

  Nick blinked. What? “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve spoken to her. She’s at the Bureau. She went to find Jack when the eruption started to get worse. She ran to her husband, Nick.”

  Nick nodded, relieved but also suddenly uncertain. You shouldn’t worry about Chloe. Not a threat against her then, but what? He tracked back over their conversation. What was Waldren’s insurance policy?

  “Have they heard from him recently?” asked Nick, grimly. “Waldren? Do they know where he is?”

  Although Fabio’s mouth moved, Nick didn’t hear the Italian’s answer. He had a sudden and urgent sense that something was out of place. He looked down and saw that a soft white mist had started to gather around his feet.

  His feet. Not Fabio’s, or those of the two men with him. At first it was barely noticeable above the layer of ash but Nick watched it slowly creep up and swallow his ankles. He looked back to the marble statue of the man on his horse. The one thing seen and photographed by everyone who visited Herculaneum. A beacon. And suddenly he understood where the breadcrumbs led, and the graph had been plotted.

  “What’s happening?” Fabio said, panic in his voice.

  From somewhere in the distance came a deep boom, a loud roll of thunder that seemed to fill the sky and made the ground shake. The men behind Fabio were reaching into their jackets – perhaps for weapons – but they were already too late. Far too late. Nick smiled as he wondered at the future. Thirty years from now. He took in a deep breath as he started to lose sight of Fabio.

  “I think I’m becoming a god,” he said.

  60

  New Pompeii

  NICK FELL, FEELING as if he was on the edge of sleep. Then he hit the ground hard, landing on his back, the air knocked from his lungs by the satchel that was still slung across his shoulders.

  He lay for a few seconds, breathing hard, staring up at the ceiling. It was vaulted in the early Imperial style. He got to his feet and stared around the small, cold room. The only light came in through a small barred window in a wooden door. Outside, he could already hear what sounded like geese honking.

  “Hello!”

  Nick listened to his voice echo away, and swore at himself. He’d used English as if he was still in Naples. But this wasn’t Naples. He was back in New Pompeii, transported by the NovusPart device. Which meant it now worked. Whenever he’d arrived, it now worked.

  And New Pompeii still existed.

  It still existed, even though thirty years had passed. Thirty years must have passed. And yet he’d been talking to Fabio just a few seconds ago.

  There was a small collection of children’s toys on the floor. An action figure, a small car, a doll. “Hello!” he called again, this time in Latin. “Hello!”

  There was the shuffling of movement from behind the door and more honking from the geese. Then a man’s head was silhouetted at the window, the features indistinct in the darkness.

  “My name is Decimus Horatius Pullus,” Nick shouted. He took a couple of steps forward, but couldn’t make out the face, only the wide eyes, frightened or shocked, he couldn’t quite tell.

  “My name is Decimus Horatius Pullus,” Nick repeated. “Do you know who I am? Do you remember who I am?”

  There was the sound of grating bolts being drawn back. The wood cracked and shifted, as if the door hadn’t opened in a long time. Perhaps not since the last paradox, when the NovusPart device had interfered with the timeline and pulled someone out of their present and into the future. But someone must have known he was coming. Someone
must have reached back to Herculaneum and taken him. So why hadn’t this man been expecting him?

  “My name is Decimus Horatius Pullus.”

  The man stepped through the door. Nick looked past him and realised he was in the paradox chamber adjacent to the amphitheatre. He recognised the man or, rather, he recognised the thick beard. He was one of Habitus’s men. And he didn’t look old, certainly not thirty years older.

  “Course I know who you are,” the man said, grinning. “Who could forget the cocksucker who can’t fucking die?”

  Nick stood mute, failing to understand.

  “What are you doing in there?” the man continued. “You should have told me you wanted to look round!”

  “How long have I been gone?” Nick asked. The guard seemed about to answer but then paused, his expression suddenly confused. Nick realised the man was staring at his head. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt ash drop down the collar of his shirt. “How long?”

  “You’ve been back there,” said the guard, quietly. “Haven’t you? That day? The day we were all taken?”

  Nick ignored the question. “How long have I been gone?”

  The guard blinked. “About three weeks.”

  “I need to see Calpurnia.”

  “Of course,” the guard said, smiling. “She put out word that you were to be brought to her villa as soon as you arrived.” He paused, then laughed. “But I think we’ve got time to get you out of those funny clothes.”

  61

  “She knows I’m here?”

  THE SLAVE ON the door nodded. He remained standing at the side of his cubbyhole, his expression close to a smirk. Two guards flanked him.

  Decimus Horatius Pullus hoisted his satchel further onto his shoulder. The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could get back to his own villa and be done with it all…

  The figure standing next to the wagon was almost unrecognisable as James Harris…

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