An Argumentation of Historians

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I think there is.’

  ‘OK then, off you go.’

  ‘I was thinking about the first time I ever saw you.’ He smiled slightly. ‘My heart fell right out my chest and I’ve been looking for it ever since. Do you remember those days? They were good times, Max.’

  He paused for a moment, not looking at me. ‘I’d give anything to have those days again. I don’t know how things could go so badly wrong between us. It’s my fault. I know. I’m not completely recovered from my injuries and things aren’t … good for me, but I can’t blame everything on that. You know me, Max, I don’t always have the words to say what I should be saying, but I think … what I’m saying is …’

  He fell silent.

  ‘Yes?’ I said, wondering what revelation was about to smack me in the face this time.

  ‘I think we should reboot to the factory setting.’

  I wondered if I was having some sort of relapse. ‘What?’

  ‘I think we should go back to that day, the day we first met. We remember how we felt about each other and I ask you to be generous and forget everything else. Because it’s not important. We’re what’s important. What do you say?’

  I couldn’t say anything so he lifted me onto his bed, thereby contravening every rule known to man and Dr Stone. He rested his head on mine and we held on to each other because sometimes you don’t need words.

  Twenty-four hours later we were both discharged. Apparently, they were sick of the sight of us. We were given to understand that we were never to darken their doors again. I had a compulsory forty-eight hours’ leave imposed upon me – as if it was some sort of gift.

  We nodded meekly and departed.

  Leon escorted me back to our room, with me complaining every inch of the way. I’d only just begun to touch on the world’s injustices in general and to me in particular, when we met Peterson and Dottle on the gallery on their way to a meeting. I stiffened warily, but he and Leon greeted each other normally. Miss Dottle was clutching an armful of files.

  ‘We’re putting together a new funding proposal,’ she said, looking excited and happy at the prospect because, of course, being with Peterson had nothing to do with it. We wished them luck and watched them disappear into his office.

  Leon said, ‘What do you think?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ I suddenly realised I had mixed feelings. ‘She’s not Helen.’

  ‘No one’s Helen.’

  ‘I know, it’s just … she’s so … different.’

  ‘That may not necessarily be a bad thing. And does it matter as long as she makes him happy?’ He looked down at me. ‘We can’t help who we fall in love with.’

  I broke our self-imposed rule about not touching if we were in uniform and took his arm. ‘I know. And if she does make him happy …’

  ‘I think she does. She’s soft and gentle and earnest and she worships him. I’m not saying it will last, but I think that as the person to help him to get over Helen, he couldn’t do better.’

  I looked up at him. What was he saying?

  ‘People take comfort where they can, Max. We’ve both done that. There’s no blame attached. No one blames anyone for it.’ He looked at me. ‘Do they?’

  It was as if a great weight had fallen away. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No one blames anyone for anything.’

  Leon made me a mug of tea before pushing off.

  ‘Thank you. My husband is wonderful.’

  ‘Your husband has had it made abundantly clear to him that his duties are manifest and varied, and not confined solely to rocking his wife’s world on a regular basis.’

  ‘Nevertheless, his wife is grateful.’

  ‘Enjoy your leave,’ he said, limping towards the door. ‘Stay here. Don’t break anything. In particular, don’t catch anything. Just sit quietly and recover. Drink your tea, read a book and stay out of trouble.’

  I sighed, but he just laughed and disappeared out of the door, promising to meet me for dinner.

  I picked up a book.

  Seventeen minutes later I was bored stiff. Don’t get me wrong – it was a pleasant morning. The sun was shining through the windows and I could hear the gentle background hum of others working. It was just … I don’t know. My book was failing to grip me. I could go for a walk – a healthy way to spend a morning and with the additional bonus of annoying all the people who’d been telling me to take things easy. Tempting, but I couldn’t be bothered.

  I looked around. Matthew would be back with us soon. I could get his room ready.

  I’d been away so long and so much had happened. This time last month I’d been discussing setting a trap for Ronan and he’d set one for me instead. I pushed that thought away because I was supposed to be convalescing, and tried to remember if Matthew had clean sheets or not. I changed them anyway, dusted his room, made sure his Time Map plug-in was working, and tidied his drawers – because he’d really appreciate that, wouldn’t he?

  Back in our bedroom, I sorted my own clothes, which didn’t take long because I don’t have many but, on the other hand, I hadn’t seen them for quite a long time. Moving into our sitting room, I tidied briefly, even though there wasn’t much to do. Both Leon and I are very neat. I straightened our books, plumped a few cushions and that was it. I looked at the clock. That had taken twenty-three minutes. Long hours stretched ahead of me. I’m not good with time off. I flung myself onto my very recently plumped cushions and looked around for something else to do.

  Two teddies grinned at me. Bear 2.0, Leon’s gift to me during a very dark time, and Matthew’s blue teddy, looking slightly the worse for wear and rather letting the side down. Now would be an ideal opportunity to clean him up ready for Matthew’s visit.

  I filled the washbasin with warm water, added a tiny drop of shampoo, and dropped him in. The water turned a horrible murky brown. He was a lot dirtier than he looked. Pale blue, while pretty, is not a good colour for a child’s teddy.

  I left him to soak while I chucked some cleaning stuff down the loo, wiped down the bath and put out some clean towels.

  Job done, I went back to Matthew’s teddy, lifting it, dripping, from the basin and because there’s something disquieting about treating a teddy bear like an old dishcloth, I closed my eyes before squeezing hard.

  Ouch – that hurt.

  I wrung it out again and, yes, there was definitely something there. Gingerly, I felt around. There was something inside his head. Something sharp.

  I held him up to the light. His eyes weren’t level, but they never had been. Now that I looked more closely though, they weren’t the same. One was slightly darker than the other. The slightly darker one was … not an eye.

  I didn’t hesitate. I found an old scalpel in my painting gear and set to work. It didn’t take long. Something small, round and dark rolled into the basin. A good job I’d put the plug in or it would have gone straight down the plughole.

  I stared at it because I’m an idiot. All I could think was that Matthew had had this as a baby and it was a stupid thing to put in a teddy bear destined for an infant. I wouldn’t have thought it of Dottle.

  There was no blinding moment of revelation. I wasn’t Saul on the road to Damascus with a donkey and a bright light. I was a small, tired, unintentionally underweight, emotionally battered historian staring at something I didn’t understand and struggling to get myself together as random thoughts and impressions and memories all ran together like pools of mercury.

  This was how Ronan knew Matthew was in Sick Bay the day he killed Helen and stole him away. As a baby, Matthew had loved his teddy. It went everywhere with him. Ronan would have known exactly where he was at all times. And murdering Helen had been a snatched opportunity to harm us all. Me and Peterson in particular.

  This was how Ronan knew when and where to intercept me the day I left St Mary’s on maternity leave. I saw my little box of possessions, the pale blue teddy sticking out of the top.

&nb
sp; This was how Ronan knew he would find me in the reed beds that day I went running. I heard her voice asking me, ‘Where are you off to?’ I’d told her where I was going and guess who turned up thirty minutes later with his offer of an olive branch. He’d said, ‘I’ve met someone.’ Was it her? Was it Lisa Bloody Dottle?

  This was now Ronan knew I’d had a boy. What had he said? He’d said, ‘And how is the little lad? Does he look like his father?’

  This was how Ronan knew we were waiting for him at Persepolis. Leon and I had discussed my plan here in this very room.

  This was how Ronan had been able to stay one step ahead of us all this time.

  I looked again at the device lying in the basin and I knew. I just knew.

  Lisa Dottle.

  Lisa. Bloody. Dottle.

  There had been that incident in the canteen. When she first arrived here. When her supposed boss, the idiot Halcombe had publicly humiliated her. We’d sympathised with her and hated him. How easy it would have been for her to organise that and make herself the victim. We’d all felt so sorry for her. And again, when her hamster died. Was it even possible she’d killed it herself? As part of her cover? What sort of a person would do that?

  Then there was the night we’d been burying King John’s treasure up in the woods. When something very unpleasant was right behind us and we couldn’t get into the pod because every time we opened the door, she slapped it closed again, claiming later it had been panic-stricken inexperience.

  And the time in the Sunken Garden, when Ellis and I had been discussing our plan to trap Ronan here. Dottle had overheard every word and then, unable to get away quickly enough when she heard me coming, had flung herself over a bench and burst into tears. She’d been lucky enough to have Halcombe to cry about, but it could easily have been something else. Peterson and her unrequited love for him, perhaps.

  And that was why she hadn’t pressed to accompany us to Persepolis. Because with no historians or Dieter around, and Leon only part-time, that would have been the ideal opportunity for her to plant the canister of gas in Number Four. Magnetised, so no fitting skills required. She’d just wandered into Hawking one day, files and excuses all prepared in case anyone challenged her, but no one ever did because it was only Lisa Bloody Dottle. She’d waited until the busy techies were looking elsewhere, nipped into Number Four and just shoved it under the console. Ten seconds, tops. All ready to go as soon as the pod was in service. If I hadn’t rolled under the console and discovered it … who knew what damage it would have done. Had already done. Clerk, Prentiss, Cox, me, Leon, Peterson, techies servicing the pod … dear God, no wonder nothing ever went right for us.

  I was pacing about like a madwoman. Was it possible that the only reason Matthew was still safe at TPHQ was because I’d accidentally left his teddy behind and he’d been too busy with his new life to ask for it? His teddy had been sitting on the window sill ever since. Our window sill. In our room. There’s little enough privacy at St Mary’s but this room was our space. The place we could be together.

  I thought of some of the things Leon and I had said to each other in this room, some of the things we’d done in this room, and felt hot, purple rage in my heart. My instinct was to get rid of it – as quickly as possible, so I did. I crossed to the front window and hurled it as hard and as far as I could, slamming the window closed again afterwards – as if that would make any difference, because the damage was done.

  She’d played the victim and we’d fallen for it. We’d taken her in, included her, made her welcome and talked in front of her. Typical St Mary’s – a bloody great threat hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles and all this time we’d been looking in the wrong direction. Bloody typical. She must be laughing her bloody socks off because the biggest threat wasn’t the idiot Halcombe and never had been. I wondered if the two of them were working together or whether he’d been as used as we had. She’d never been working for him, but had he been working for her?

  He’d wandered around the building making himself obnoxious on every possible occasion. Far too obnoxious. He hadn’t made the slightest effort to build a working relationship. He’d gone at it with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop. He’d deliberately sabotaged the Caernarfon jump, trying to convince a bunch of historians – all of whom knew better – that he might have contracted leprosy. How eagerly we’d seized on what we saw as an opportunity to lock him in the isolation word and count ourselves safe. Threat neutralised.

  And all this time he hadn’t been the threat. He’d never been the threat. Knowingly or unknowingly, he’d been working for Dottle – someone clever enough to lead from the back. Someone discreet. Someone who presented herself as slightly pathetic and very definitely non-threatening. Someone we regarded with a very unhealthy mixture of affection, pity and slight contempt. Someone who’d been laughing her head off at us ever since she walked through the door.

  Lisa. Bloody. Dottle.

  We’d been so taken in by her pink nose, her shyness, her apparent ability to blush at will and her schoolgirl crush on Peterson. We’d separated her from Halcombe, welcomed her into our ranks, talked in front of her and never for one moment thought …

  Overcoming the urge to hunt her down and kill her in the most painful way possible, I made myself a cup of tea and sat down to think.

  Barely had I taken the first sip when someone knocked at the door. I was in such a state that for one moment, I was convinced it was Dottle herself. Had she discovered my discovery?

  I wrenched the door open. It wasn’t her. It was Markham. Aggrieved and slightly wet.

  ‘I was walking along minding my own business,’ he said indignantly, ‘and this fell on my head. Don’t we keep Bashford for that sort of thing?’

  He held out Matthew’s now one-eyed teddy.

  I thought quickly. ‘Oh my God, are you all right?’

  ‘No, I’m bloody not. It gave me a nasty shock.’

  ‘I was talking to the teddy. But while you’re here, come in a moment.’

  ‘Why are you hurling teddies out of the window anyway?’ he said, closing the door behind him. ‘Who does that?’

  ‘I washed it,’ I said, ever so casually because anyone might be listening, ‘and when I put it on the window sill to dry, it fell out. I’m so glad you’re here. Can you …’ I had a quick think ‘… get the lid off this for me? It seems to be stuck.’

  He’s really not an idiot, you know. ‘O … K,’ he said slowly. ‘Show me.’

  I led him into the bathroom and pointed. ‘Look at that. Can you do anything?’

  He bent and peered closely and then looked back at the one-eyed teddy he was still clutching. He worked it out considerably more quickly than I had done. I saw him remember who gave me the teddy, put two and two together and arrive at the correct answer. Waggling his eyebrows, he made a winding motion with one hand. ‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ He grabbed a can of air freshener, grunted realistically, and pulled of the cap. ‘There you go. Another triumph for the Security Section. Anyway, I thought I’d take you for a spot of lunch. I expect you’re having a really boring morning, aren’t you?’

  ‘Worst ever,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

  I picked up the device, wrapped it in a thick towel, shoved it and the teddy into my sports bag and we left.

  Out on the landing, I whispered, ‘Do you think it’s still working?’

  ‘Well, dunking it in water won’t have done it a lot of good, but assume it is.’

  ‘What is it? Is it a camera?’

  ‘I don’t think so. And even if it was then the field of vision would be very limited. But it’s definitely a listening device.’

  ‘Range?’

  ‘Unknown, but the techies will be able to tell us. Deep breaths, Max.’

  ‘I’m … slightly annoyed.’

  ‘Suck it up.’

  ‘OK. Is she still with Peterson?’

  He pulled out his scratchpad and tapped. ‘According to her diary, she’s with hi
m for another thirty minutes. Let’s leave her there. You talk to Dr Bairstow and I’ll get my team together.’

  I clutched his arm. ‘She mustn’t get away.’

  ‘She won’t,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Go.’

  Mrs Partridge was sitting at her desk.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Partridge. May I leave this here please?’

  I waited for her to assimilate my scruffy bag and say no, but there must have been something in my face because she said immediately, ‘Of course.’ She opened the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet and I stuffed it in, slamming the drawer shut afterwards.

  ‘Please don’t let anything happen to that.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I need to see him urgently.’

  She nodded again and I went straight in.

  I gave it to him in as few words as possible. When I’d finished, he said, ‘Where is the device now?’

  ‘Mrs Partridge has it safely stowed away.’

  He nodded and then sat silently for a very long time, staring at his desk. I too sat quietly. The urge to do something violent now – right now, right this very minute – was slowly subsiding, to be replaced by the urge to get it right.

  ‘She is with Dr Peterson, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was a tap at the door and Markham entered.

  ‘I’ve cleared the Hall, sir, and locked the doors to R&D. The front doors are secured. Chief Farrell has Hawking on lockdown. We’re ready to go whenever you give the word. Where do you want her?’

  ‘In here, I think, Mr Markham. With no less than two of your men with her at all times – armed, of course – and another two men outside.’

  ‘Agreed, sir. One in Mrs Partridge’s room – with her permission, of course, and the other out on the gallery guarding the outer door.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Markham. Go and get her. I have a letter to write.’

  I went with Markham and his team out to the gallery and was all set to follow him to Peterson’s office when he drew me aside. ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want you there, Max.’