by Jodi Taylor
‘Will I?’ I said, not best pleased.
‘Yes. I trust Ian Guthrie with my life, but, at this stage, I’d prefer that no one, apart from Dr Bairstow, knows about you. So no arguing. I give the word and you head for the head. Got it?’
Reluctantly, I nodded.
‘You stay there until I give the all clear. The best option is to go ahead with the plan. I know we’ll have to open the door to let him out, but only for a second or so. I’m pretty sure your tag won’t register on their equipment. Or, if it does, it won’t be long enough for them to get a fix. Understood?’
Reluctantly, I nodded.
At that moment, things began to happen and didn’t stop happening for quite a long time.
Firstly, Dr Bairstow appeared on his balcony. Two black-uniformed figures accompanied him. From this distance, it was unclear whether they were guests or gaolers. However, they seated themselves quietly enough. Dr Bairstow’s role was obviously to keep them out of the way so he’d offered them ringside seats for the afternoon’s entertainment. I watched them exchanging casual remarks. They seemed amused.
Slowly, large numbers of personnel wandered from the building, clutching mugs of tea and seating themselves on a convenient wall. A black-and-yellow tape delineated a safe distance from the splash zone. This was ignored by all.
To a round of applause and cheers, three boats appeared from the other side of the lake. Two were small rowing boats, with Professor Rapson standing in the prow of one of them, rather like a Viking figurehead. He and his R & D crews had long poles with which they were attempting to guide the third boat. This was a small craft, about twelve feet long with two short, stubby masts. Two cauldrons hung suspended from these masts. Brushwood and other combustible materials were piled high in the bottom of the boat.
‘Any clues?’ said Leon.
‘Actually, yes.’
Everything inside me that was St Mary’s was singing. This was going to be good. This was going to be very, very good.
‘I suspect Professor Rapson and his team are attempting to replicate part of Alexander’s siege of the Island of Tyre. Alexander tried to build a causeway to reach the island and the Tyrians launched fireships to destroy it. The professor is attempting to ascertain whether they were capable of reaching the temperatures necessary to do so. It’s actually a legitimate experiment. The small boat in front is stuffed full of firewood and other stuff. The cauldrons suspended from the mast will be filled with some concoction of beeswax or oil or maybe animal fat. Something that burns well, anyway. They’ll light the brushwood, and then float the burning boat to the jetty over there, which probably represents the causeway. On impact, the cauldrons will swing and tip the hot mixture onto the flames. The causeway was made of stone so they’ll need some pretty ferocious temperatures to do any damage. But we shall see.’
He shifted uneasily. ‘Exactly how much are we at risk?’
‘On the other side of the lake? Not at all.’
You would really think I’d know better by now.
We were left in no doubt when they were ready. The professor, obviously embracing the distraction aspect of the experiment, rather than going for historical accuracy, had rigged a sound system. It seemed safe to assume the original assault was not accompanied by the ominous opening chords of “Mars, the Bringer of War”. It was all very dramatic.
Making a gesture more appropriate to King Darius unleashing the Immortals at The Hot Gates, and to shouts of encouragement (and other things), the little flotilla set off, the lead boat trailing plumes of smoke from the burning brushwood. They trundled sedately and with a certain dignity across the lake.
Leon sat back and relaxed. ‘I don’t think this is going to produce a siege-ending conflagration, do you?’
As he spoke, the little boat collided with the jetty. The impact was sufficient to tip the cauldrons and the heated mixture spilled onto the burning kindling. For a second, nothing happened. I just had time for a twinge of disappointment and then …
With a tremendous roar, which made birds erupt from the treetops and the horses in the paddock bolt, a huge, HUGE tongue of orange fire broiled across the surface of the lake, enveloping the jetty and sending a great oily, black cloud high into the air like a nuclear mushroom. Water seemed to have no effect on the flames, which danced higher and higher across the lake’s surface. The reed beds around the south side exploded into flames. The professor and his team were blown backwards into their boats, clothes smoking and, I bet, not an eyebrow between them.
Markham appeared, shouting, ‘Duty fire team to the lake. All field medics with me!’ Never mind field medics or fire teams, the entire unit put down its tea and set off at a run for the disaster area, obviously eager to be involved.
On Dr Bairstow’s balcony, the Time Police had stopped laughing.
Professor Rapson clambered unsteadily to his feet and beat out his smouldering lab coat. The boat wobbled violently but he remained upright. The team in the other boat slowly started to pick themselves up. No fatalities. Yet.
Suddenly, and even over the cameras I saw this quite clearly, their heads snapped around in unison, there was a moment’s frozen panic and then someone screamed ‘Row! Row for your lives!’
They rowed like madmen. It was like that scene from Ben Hur. All that was missing was the fat, naked guy with the drum.
‘Good God,’ said Leon in disbelief. ‘Have they let loose the Kraken?’
The R & D team reached the shore, tumbled from their boats, and shrieking incoherently, raced away from the lake, becoming entangled with the Markham and his team who were racing towards the lake. For a few seconds everyone milled around chaotically with the professor and his team waving their arms and shouting, and Markham (whose track record rendered him perfect for the occasion) also waving his arms and shouting and considerably adding to the confusion.
I have to admit that up to that moment, I was fairly baffled. All right, the entire lake appeared to be a giant inferno, but it wasn’t the first time and someone would sort it all out so what was all the panic about?
Leon pointed. Ah. That was what all the panic was about.
Swans!
Coming in at eye-height, in attack formation with necks outstretched, wings extended and some very nasty looks in their eyes, was what seemed like every swan in the county, or possibly all of England. A whole battalion of them. I had no idea we had so many. I know they can be nasty, and God knows these had good reason. Over the years St Mary’s swans have been blown up, terrorised by Plesiosaur look-alikes, had a Renault 5 engine mistakenly flung at them by a Roman trebuchet, and been dyed Barbie pink. These were swans that had had enough. Forget Nile crocodiles – suddenly, this was not the place to be.
People scattered. It didn’t help. Some people assumed the traditional St Mary’s position and curled into a foetal ball until it was all over. Some headed for the hills. Some actually made it back to the main building by climbing in through the library windows. They were pursued by ten or twelve battle-crazed birds, who powered in through the open windows and proceeded to lay about them. I could hear Dr Dowson shrieking. The fire alarms went off, adding their deafening clamour to the music bouncing off the walls, the shouts and yells of those falling victim to avian aggression and the wail of approaching sirens. Not only could they hear us in the village, they could probably hear us in Vladivostok. There would be another letter from the parish council. Two letters, probably. And the traditional telephone call from the Chief Constable was imminent.
Markham was still trying to evacuate Professor Rapson and his crew from the shoreline while surrounded and outnumbered by what looked like millions of enraged Cygnus Olor, all of whom were circling the beleaguered forces rather like the Indians at Custer’s Last Stand. I hoped he had better luck than the General did. Everywhere I looked, there was chaos and carnage. The lake was still ablaze, the entire bank was burning, a thick pall of smoke hung over everything, and the sirens were very close.
Leon
groaned. ‘The entire county must be on terrorist alert by now. There’s no chance …’
Helen Foster appeared with her emergency medical team, shouted ‘What the fu …?’ got a swan in her face, and tumbled backwards over a low wall.
I was face down on the console, laughing.
Leon had his hands over his eyes.
‘Well,’ I said, just to rub it in. ‘Thank God they toned it down a bit.’
Leon groaned. ‘Every Time Police officer in existence is going to be here in a minute.’
I turned my attention back to Dr Bairstow who appeared to be taking a telephone call.
‘Quick,’ I said, ‘Can we make out what he’s saying?’
Leon fiddled for a while, enhancing one speaker and filtering out the noise from the others. Dr Bairstow’s voice, familiar but tinny, was just audible.
‘Ridley, my dear fellow, how are you …? And Audrey …? Well, that’s good news … No … No, the Siege of Tyre … Tyre … No, not the rubber product, the small island … No, just a tiny miscalculation … Yes … No … As far as I can ascertain, no fatalities at all … Well, no, not that astonishing really … No, perfectly under control … What noise …? … Oh, no, just a few swans … No, slightly more than two … Yes, more than three … Getting warmer … About forty, I think … Well, obviously they’re a little agitated … Ridley, I have to go now, there are a number of emergency vehicles pulling in through the gates. Quite a large number, actually. They seem very purposeful … Yes, Sunday evening. I haven’t forgotten. Looking forward to it.’
He handed the phone to someone unseen and began to usher his guests safely off the balcony. Just as they disappeared inside, he turned and looked directly at us. Obviously, I was still high on painkillers, because I could have sworn that for a moment, just for one very brief moment, he actually smiled, and then he stepped back into his office.
I grinned to myself and then the first emergency services vehicles came roaring up the drive in a cacophony of sound and strobing lights and flying gravel. Reluctantly, I turned the cameras away from all the drama and concentrated on the woods. One of our alerts pinged.
‘There,’ said Leon and indeed, there were two figures running swiftly towards us.
I didn’t wait to be told, shooting into the toilet and closing the door behind me.
I heard a very brief murmur of voices. A pause.
And then the world went white.
I never thought I’d go back. Not after what had happened to me there. I remembered the last time I had seen Troy. Burning buildings. Drifting smoke. The smell of burned flesh. The screaming. If I closed my eyes, could I still hear …?
That was in the past. A year had gone by since the Greeks had overrun the city. Not all the population had been killed or captured and the survivors would have slowly drifted back. The smoke in the wind would now be the smoke of cooking fires. On the other side of the olive grove would be what was left of the tavern that Helios’s family had run. Would he choose to stay? His father and his sister had died there. This might not have been the best place to land, but it was what he’d asked for. Because it was familiar. Because it was his home.
I cracked the door open an inch or so. Helios stood with his back to me. They were staring at the screen. Leon pointed at something and Helios nodded.
I stayed in the toilet, telling myself I didn’t want to intrude. It was Leon who had risked everything to save him. They had been friends. They should have these last few minutes alone together. I know it was cowardly and I despised myself, but I was too ashamed of what we were doing to look him in the face.
Helios was barefoot and wore a simple T-shirt and shorts. On top of everything else, he couldn’t bring anything with him. We weren’t supposed to leave anything from our time, but I did see he was clutching a small bundle under one arm. Some food, probably, together with a knife and maybe a blanket. And if History didn’t like it then that was just tough. Take it out on us. Helios was the innocent party here. And Helios was bearing the punishment.
And what of Leon? Who had fought so passionately for him? Who had sacrificed me for Helios? I thought of the quiet friendship the two of them had enjoyed over the years.
The world blurred suddenly and I had to sit down on the toilet. All of a sudden, my arm ceased to throb moderately and began to throb violently. Everything felt hot and tight. Actually, I felt hot and tight all over. Something wasn’t right. I wiped sweat off my brow and waited for the two of them to finish their conversation. My arm would just have to wait.
They moved to the door and turned to face each other. I could tell from their body language that this was the final goodbye. I tried to concentrate, because Leon was going to need me. I had to hold on to the basin and wait for my head to stop spinning.
I wondered what the two least chatty men in the world would find to say to each other.
Nothing, was the answer to that one. Everything had already been said.
They shook hands. The door opened. He stepped out. The door closed.
I heaved myself to my feet and joined Leon at the screen. I watched Helios walk back through the olive grove towards the tumble of stones that had once been his home. He stopped, turned, and looked back at us. The sun was behind him and I couldn’t read his face. He couldn’t see me, but he knew I was there. We stared at each other. I couldn’t look away and my wet eyes had nothing to do with the bright sunshine.
He turned and walked away.
It was done.
I gently touched Leon’s arm. ‘All right?’
He nodded.
‘What did he say?’
‘He thanked you – us – for the extra years he never thought he’d have. Then he wished us luck. Then he said goodbye. We must go.’
I turned away and sat quietly in the corner. To think. I didn’t know about Leon, but I’d learned my lesson. I would never, ever interfere with History again. The rules are very clear. Don’t interfere. Don’t do anything to change the course of History. The price is always a life. And we’d accepted it as such. Occupational hazard. The price we paid for our jobs. But this time, the price was too high. Way too high. Because this time, it wasn’t us who’d paid it.
He pulled himself together. ‘Computer – initiate jump.’
The world went white.
He spent all day working on the pod. He didn’t speak at all.
I didn’t know where we were. Or when. I didn’t know anything at all. I slept.
Halfway through the afternoon, I wobbled to my feet and made us a cup of tea. It cost me, but I had to get up and start moving around. It was now definitely quicker and easier to list the bits of me that didn’t throb unbearably.
My right foot was fine.
I was trying, one-handed, to comb my hair when he sat behind me and took the comb. ‘You’ll hurt your arm. I’ll do it.’
He combed through all the tangles and braided it in a long plait, tying it neatly with a bit of bandage and finishing with a quick kiss to the top of my head.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak and then cleared my throat. ‘Not bad.’
‘No, it’s not, is it?’ he said, modestly. ‘I must say when I was younger I spent many hours trying to choose between a career in engineering or hairdressing.’
‘When do you think you’ll finally make the decision?’
And because he was so close, and because everything hurt so much, I allowed myself the luxury of leaning against him.
I closed my eyes. Only for a minute …
Dark dreams. Dreams I hadn’t had for years. A relentless procession of my past. And no matter how I ran, or twisted and turned, there was no escape. There hadn’t been then and there wasn’t now. Nothing goes away. It all lies dormant, waits until you’re too sick to contain it any longer, and then it explodes in unstoppable thoughts and pictures. Every detail is presented for inspection. Every memory. Every fear. That’s the problem with locking things away – they never get used. So when they do finally burst forth, every
tiny, fear-enhanced fact is perfectly remembered. All the colours are bright and shiny. Every picture is sharp and detailed. As if it happened only last week. Or yesterday. Or now …
Then the past blends into the present. Faces change. What was comforting and safe suddenly is not comforting and safe any longer. The past is here, submerging me. There is no escape. There never was. It is here. Now. Leaning over me as I sleep …
‘Max. Wake up!’
I shuddered. This was not right. I was drenched in sweat. My arm throbbed. Shadows swirled. Was I awake? The past swooped again, seeking to carry me away to somewhere I didn’t want to go.
‘Max. Wake up. Wake up now.’
I opened my eyes and the world resolved itself back into one small pod. ‘Why are you shouting at me?’
‘Because you’re frightening me.’
I said, feebly. ‘No need. I’m fine,’ and he swore. Really, really swore, which he didn’t usually.
‘Let me see your arm.’
He twitched away the blanket and even I could see that someone had stolen my arm in the night and replaced it with a purple, shiny sausage. A throbbing, purple, shiny sausage.
‘Is that my arm?’
I know, but cut me some slack here.
He didn’t answer, gently peeling off the dressing to see the damage. I’m a qualified Field Medic and I’m damned sure it shouldn’t look like that.
He rummaged in our first aid kit, pulling out a syringe.
‘What’s that?’
‘Antibiotics. A lot of antibiotics. Hold still.’
‘Not in this arm,’ I said, being a baby.
‘Don’t worry. I’m going to make a start on the other arm, now.’
