by Jodi Taylor
‘And so, I would like you, personally, to return these valuable documents with my compliments and thanks.’ He handed Peterson an envelope.
‘Of course, sir.’
‘This afternoon, if you please.’
Peterson glanced at his watch. ‘It’s already afternoon, sir.’
‘How quickly you grasp my meaning.’
‘I do my best, sir.’
‘I have assured the County Archivist that my best people are on the job. They being unavailable, however, I have therefore designated my Chief Operations Officer, my Head of Security and my Deputy Director to fulfil this simple task.’
His Deputy Director, Head of Security and Chief Operations Officer assembled their best air of cool professionalism – which in our case consisted of standing a little straighter and not picking our noses. I don’t think he was impressed, staring at us bleakly for a few seconds and then demanding to know why we were still here. Since Peterson was burdened with the envelope, Markham and I seized the boxes and we left with all speed.
‘Right,’ said Peterson, ‘I shall assume full control of this mission.’
Markham made a rude noise.
‘Get changed and meet in the car park in ten minutes. That’s ten minutes, Max. No wafting around in front of mirrors trying on dresses.’
Now I made a rude noise.
We met in the car park, shoving Markham and the boxes in the back, and departed.
‘A nice afternoon out,’ said a voice from behind the boxes, and we agreed.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. I can hear exactly what you’re thinking, so I will say now that the boxes were delivered on time and to the correct destination. The County Archivist herself took delivery so God knows what was in them. Peterson, after a series of nudges from me, remembered to hand over Dr Bairstow’s letter of thanks and they gave us a cup of tea. They were lovely people. I wish I worked there.
We set off for the return trip, hoping to be back in time for tea, and things started to go wrong almost immediately. Peterson caught my eye. I always think that sounds as if you’ve been indulging in a quick game of eyeball tossing, but I knew what he meant.
‘So,’ he said, almost casually, negotiating the last roundabout out of town and accelerating away. ‘How are things with you and Hunter?’
‘OK,’ said Markham vaguely. ‘I think.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Well, it’s hard to tell sometimes, but I always think if she’s not coming at me with a kidney bowl then, you know, things aren’t too bad.’
‘Why would she come at you with a kidney bowl?’
‘Because she can’t find a bedpan.’
Peterson tried again. ‘So – got any celebrations planned then?’
‘What for?’
‘Well, you have an anniversary coming up.’
‘What anniversary?’
‘Wedding. You know. You and Hunter.’
There was a long silence from the back. ‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘I worked it out,’ said Peterson in his best ‘I’m Peterson and I’m brilliant’ voice. ‘I’m looking at Hunter these days and she’s looking very well, isn’t she? Blooming, almost. And she’s a very moral girl is our Hunter. Well, she has to be since you don’t have a single moral to your name, so I reckon you had the ceremony just before or just after the Battle of St Mary’s, which means there’s an anniversary coming up.’
There was a lot more silence from the back.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Peterson. ‘Admit I’m right and then the two of us can buy you a celebratory drink in the bar.’
More silence.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? Go on – say I’m right.’
Even more silence.
‘I don’t know why you won’t admit it,’ Peterson said, slightly exasperated. ‘Are you ashamed of something? Wait until I tell Hunter you’re ashamed of her.’
He paused, hopefully. Nothing but silence. I pulled down the passenger’s sun flap and looked at the mirror. Markham was sitting with his arms folded and a stupid grin on his face.
‘I reckon,’ said Peterson, ‘the two of you snuck into the Register Office without telling anyone but I’m going to make you tell me just the same.’
Silence.
‘Right,’ Peterson said. ‘You asked for it. Hold on tight, Max.’
We swerved off the road into a field, skidding to a halt in a shower of dust, stones and indignant birds.
‘What are we doing here?’ said Markham, picking himself up off the back seat and peering out of the window.
‘We’re staying here until you tell us.’ Peterson switched off the engine and folded his arms. ‘Not another yard until you tell us the truth.’
Markham folded his arms. ‘Never.’
I began to make plans for spending the rest of my life in a field. The silence dragged on, only to be broken by the sounds of Markham getting out.
‘Where are you going?’ I said, in some alarm. ‘We’re still not supposed to go anywhere alone.’
‘Well, I’m not staying here with you two maniacs. If you want to sit in a field, you can do it on your own. I’m off.’
We watched him walk across the field and out of the gate.
‘Bollocks,’ said Peterson.
‘Well, that worked, didn’t it?’
‘Bollocks,’ he said again.
‘Look, why don’t you just check the records at Somerset House? It’s a simple enough process.’
‘That’s not the point. I want him to tell me.’
I surveyed the vast, empty field. ‘How’s that working out for you?’
Peterson cursed again and switched on the engine. Markham was a couple of hundred yards up the road. We passed his plodding figure with a merry toot of the horn.
‘It’s four miles back to St Mary’s,’ I said, watching him recede in the wing mirror.
‘Do him good.’
‘Ronan,’ I said warningly. ‘We shouldn’t leave him alone.’
‘No,’ Peterson said reluctantly. ‘You’re right. We shouldn’t.’
We pulled into a lay-by and waited.
He never came.
We waited some more.
‘For crying out loud,’ said Peterson. ‘I know he’s Security Section, but surely even he can’t have got lost between there and here.’
I sighed. ‘I’ll go and look for him. He might just be taking a rest.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said, getting out. ‘No one should be alone, remember?’
‘Markham,’ I said accusingly. ‘We left him alone.’
‘He doesn’t count.’
We walked to the bend and looked. The road was empty. We could see for miles. No Markham. Not anywhere.
‘Shit,’ I said. We rotated slowly. Where could he be?
‘He’s cut across the fields,’ said Peterson. ‘Hang on.’ He climbed on to the car roof and surveyed the flat countryside. The flat, empty countryside.
‘Shit,’ I said again, beginning to panic. ‘We’ve lost him.’
‘We can’t have,’ he said, climbing down.
‘Then where is he? Oh my God, we’ve lost Markham.’
‘Look,’ he said. ‘The little sod’s in a ditch somewhere. Either he fell in and hurt himself – perfectly possible – or he’s hiding under a hedge to teach us a lesson. We’ll go and find him, kick the living shit out of him for frightening us like this and then he can buy us a drink afterwards.’
I looked up. It was the only direction left. ‘Do you think he’s been snatched by aliens?’
‘Always a possibility,’ Peterson said, locking the car. ‘Although, if so, they’ll be returning him in a hurry any minute now.’
‘No, seriously,’ I said as we set off, him on one side of t
he narrow lane and me on the other. I peered into ditches and looked under hedges. ‘It’s the only explanation. You hear about this sort of thing all the time. You know – anal probing.’
‘For God’s sake, Max, get a grip. Why on earth would super intelligent beings cross the vastness of space just to firkle around in Markham’s bottom area? Would you?’
‘God, no.’
‘Well, there you are, then. Anything your side?’
‘Nothing. Where could he be?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s four miles back to St Mary’s.’
It was at that moment we heard the car start up. We stood paralysed for a second and then Peterson screamed, ‘Bastard,’ and set off at a run. I pounded along behind him and we raced back around the bend just in time to see Markham pull out of the lay-by. He waved, gave us a merry toot and sped away out of sight.
We skidded to a halt.
‘Didn’t you lock it?’ I said accusingly.
‘Of course I did, but it’s bloody Markham, isn’t it? He could hot-wire a rock.’
‘It’s four miles back to St Mary’s.’
‘He’ll stop around the next bend,’ said Peterson, reassuringly. ‘He’s just teaching us a lesson.’
He was and he didn’t. Four bloody miles. With Peterson vowing grim retribution with every step. And we missed tea.
We hope you enjoyed the St Mary’s escapades.
Read on for a preview of Jodi Taylor’s brand-new
TIME POLICE series, an irresistible spinoff from the much-loved
CHRONICLES OF ST MARY’S …
A Brief History of the Time Wars
A long time ago in the future, the secret of time travel became available to all. Naturally, everyone wanted it and because the implications were imperfectly understood, the world nearly ended.
Old wars were fought and refought as world leaders continually pressed ‘Reset’ hoping for a more favourable outcome this time around.
New nations emerged, flickered briefly and then disappeared. The Confederate States of America, for example, arose from the wreckage of North America, was defeated, emerged again and refused all attempts to dismantle it. The subsequent long, bitter and bloody struggle so distorted the timeline that, for a dangerously long time, the Confederacy and the Union existed side by side, playing out their own histories simultaneously.
All over the world, people lived, died, then lived again.
Events happened. Then didn’t happen. Had never happened. Then happened again but differently. Some moments vital to the development of the human race never happened at all. Some happened more than once.
Everyone wanted to change the past for the better, but what was better for A was not necessarily better for B. Not surprisingly, whole new wars broke out.
Many, whose minds could not encompass the many versions of the same events, went mad. History was written and rewritten so many times that the fabric of reality began to wear thin. The world began to spiral downwards to destruction.
At the last moment, when it was almost too late, the Time Police were formed. It was an international effort. Personnel were drawn from the military, from the police, and even a few from a tiny organisation known as the Institute of Historical Research at St Mary’s Priory, situated outside Rushford in England, where they would explain, at enormous length, that they definitely didn’t do time travel – they investigated major historical events in contemporary time, and they’d been doing this for some time without anyone being any the wiser and that all of this was nothing to do with them.
A series of international laws were passed to deal with the situation. The punishment for time travel was death. Anyone caught indulging in time travel faced summary execution – together with everyone else involved. Or even those unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. No one ever bothered with a trial.
Every citizen was required to cooperate fully and completely with the Time Police. Failure to do so was death.
Armed with these powers, the Time Police set about their task of saving the world from its own stupidity.
Thus began what were known as the Time Wars. The Time Police’s remit was simple: to shut down time travel everywhere. No matter what it took – shut it down. With extreme prejudice if necessary. Just shut it down and get the situation back under control. They answered to no one. No one nation had overall control. Their reputation was fearful. Word soon got around. If the Time Police turned up, then things were not going to end well. Not for anyone within a five-mile radius, anyway.
It was bloody and brutal for a long time. A lot of people died. And not just the illegals, as they were known. The Time Police themselves paid an astronomically high price. After the first year, nearly all the original members were dead. Casualties were massive. It is doubtful whether they could have sustained these losses for very much longer but they never faltered, relentlessly pursuing their targets up and down the timeline. At one point they numbered less than thirteen officers in the whole world. No one ever knew how close the Time Police came to extinction.
Fortunately, by then, people were beginning to realise that possessing time travel is like holding a snake in your hand. If you don’t know what you’re doing, sooner or later, it will twist in your hand and bite you.
One by one, nations were induced to give it up. Many were secretly glad to see it go. They simply hadn’t wanted to be the first to surrender it. And by then, big business had discovered the past was not theirs to plunder. Their massive investment had led to no returns at all. They too lost interest.
In the shell-shocked aftermath, it was the Time Police, politically neutral, who brokered agreements, treaties and accords or, if that failed, knocked a few heads together. When done at street level, that sort of thing is known as a brawl. Do it at international level and it’s called diplomacy.
After a long while, things settled back down again but, as is always the way, those who had been the first to extol the virtues of the Time Police now began to perceive that the existence of an organisation with such wide-ranging powers might not be such a good thing after all.
Time travel, however, was not completely eradicated. There was Temporal Tourism – illegal but lucrative. Attempting to hide in another time to escape the consequences of an illegal act in this one was always popular. And every now and then, someone would put something up on the Dark Web, and armed with not even moderately accurate information, a hundred enthusiastic amateurs – for whom death by radiation was something that happened to other people – would beaver away in lock-ups, garages, spare bedrooms and science classes, apparently oblivious to the Time Police heading their way, determined to resolve the situation – whatever it took.
Whatever it took.
Be one of the first to meet unlikely recruits Jane, Luke and Matthew as they join the Time Police and navigate their perilous first year on the beat.
Pre-order your copy here.
Pre-order your copy here
A long time ago in the future, the secret of time travel became known to all – and the world nearly ended. There will always be idiots who want to change history.
Enter the Time Police. An all-powerful, international organisation tasked with keeping the timeline straight. At all costs.
Now the Time Wars are over and the Time Police must fight to save a very different future – their own.
This is the story of Jane, Luke and Matthew – arguably the worst recruits in Time Police history. Or, very possibly, three young people who might just change everything.
From Ancient Rome to the Tudor court, revolutionary Paris to the Second World War, discover the best voices in historical fiction and non-fiction.
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Did You Last See Your Father?
