by Jodi Taylor
Kal and Dieter came back that night. She thumped on my door. Until I saw her again I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed her. She brought wine and we got stuck in. Unlike everyone else, Kal got everything. Everything from the moment she escorted the Boss to Sick Bay, up until the present. We laughed together over St Mary’s creative disobedience. I told her about the fir cone and we talked far into the night. Finally, I took a deep breath and told her about the clinic. She said nothing but put her arm round me. I rested my head on her shoulder and we both fell asleep.
‘Good morning everyone, it’s good to see my unit together again. Welcome back to Miss Black and Mr Dieter; a special welcome to our colleagues who have returned from their extended stay in the Cretaceous period and a very special welcome to Miss Maxwell who has returned from civilian life with the impact of a small asteroid.
‘These last months have been traumatic for everyone, but I do feel we have gained more than we lost. A line has been drawn underneath this period and we are preparing now to move in a different direction. Exciting times are ahead for all of us –’
‘And it’s been so dull up till now,’ muttered Peterson
‘– and I would like Miss Maxwell to outline the proposals for our future role. Miss Maxwell.’
I took my place on the half-landing with trepidation. This was way worse than my presentation at Thirsk.
‘Good morning. I’d like to introduce you to this little chap.’ I placed the fir cone, now safe in a specimen jar, on the table. People craned to see so I brought it up on the screen. ‘This is a small pine cone, some four inches long, badly burned, species as yet unknown and up until about three or four days ago, he was happily living with his friends in the Cretaceous period.’ It went quiet while people worked this out. I made it easy for them.
‘You are looking at the first, the very first object ever to be transported from its own timeline into ours. In short, people, we have done the impossible and without even trying. Imagine what we could do if we put our minds to it.’
‘But how?’ said a voice I didn’t recognise. ‘We’ve always been told this can’t happen.’ There was a buzz of agreement.
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘But the first thing you notice about this specimen is how badly damaged it is. Another couple of minutes and it would have been completely destroyed.’ I stopped and watched them to see who would get it first.
Dieter stood up. ‘You were able to bring it back because it was about to be destroyed. It had no future; therefore it couldn’t influence the timeline because it wouldn’t exist any more. That’s it, isn’t it? ’
I beamed at him. What a good boy!
‘I think that the reason all previous attempts failed is because those objects still had an existence in the future; they had a role to play and therefore History wouldn’t allow it. Take, for example, the Mona Lisa. Consider all the events in which she has been involved over the centuries. Now consider what would happen if we had stolen the portrait from Leonardo before the paint dried and brought it back here to the future. Those events would not take place. We would be changing History and that would not be good. But if we think in terms of search and rescue, then all sorts of possibilities open up.’
Some were looking interested, some were not.
‘Let me give you an example,’ I said. ‘Mr Murdoch, would you step up please?’ I chose him because if I’d used Peterson or Dieter then everyone would have thought they were ringers.
‘Congratulations, Mr Murdoch,’ I said, as he stood uneasily beside me. ‘You are now King Tarquinius Superbus, last king of Rome.’
‘You’re making that up. No one’s called Superbus.’
‘No, I’m not. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce King Tarquinius Superbus, benevolent and enlightened ruler of Rome.’ There were jeers and catcalls from the republicans in the audience. Dave, however, drew himself up and dispensed a regal wave.
At the back of the Hall, Sibyl De Winter unfolded her arms and gave me a strange look.
‘King Tarquinius is going about his daily business, dispensing justice, raising taxes and carrying out general ruling when he’s told that a scruffy, elderly crone – no, not me, Mr Markham – wishes for an audience. Somewhat surprised, he overrules his officials and they bring in the old lady. She’s filthy, dressed in rags and has obviously escaped from a Care in the Community scheme. She lays nine books in front of the king. In those days, obviously, they would have been scrolls and she places them carefully, one by one, at his feet. And then she proceeds to offer them to him, but he’s not allowed to open them. Amused, he asks the price. She names a sum that is his country’s entire budget for the year. Everyone laughs, including the king.’
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ said Murdoch, padding his part.
‘He asks her why he should buy these books at such a price. What’s so important about these particular scrolls? She doesn’t answer. She simply says, ‘Yes or No?’ Of course, the king says no.’
‘No,’ boomed Murdoch, regally.
‘The old woman says nothing. She picks up the scrolls and leaves the audience chamber. On an impulse, the king sends one of his officers after her – Murdoch waved his arm and nearly took my head off – to find out what she does next. The man returns and tells him she went to the courtyard, took three of the books and burned them. Then she left the palace.
‘Everyone agrees the woman’s a nutter and thinks no more of it. The next day, however, much to everyone’s surprise, she’s back and with just the six books this time. Again she lays the books in front of the king. Again, she asks the same price: the country’s entire budget for one year and now for only six books. This time, no one laughs. Well, Mr Murdoch, what would you do?’
Too late, I realised he would say kill the crone and take the books anyway! But he didn’t. He was perfect and when I think what happened to him later, it just breaks my heart.
He stood for a while then said, ‘What’s in the books?’
‘No one knows. Maybe nothing; maybe the secrets of the universe. But it will cost you all the money in your country to find out. What do you do?’
‘Yes,’ shouted someone from the back of the room.
‘No,’ shouted several other voices.
He frowned, turned to me and said, ‘There’s no way of knowing what’s in them?’
‘No way.’
‘Then, no. I won’t waste the money. If I don’t buy the books then I’m no worse off.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m not, no.’
‘Neither was the king. The story says he thought long and hard, but in the end, he too said no. Again, in silence, she picked up the books and departed.’
Unprompted by me, King Murdoch regally dispatched an officer to follow her and report back. I gave him a look. He grinned back at me. Now I knew how the Boss felt sometimes.
Mrs De Winter was smiling and shaking her head.
I took up the tale.
‘Again, the soldier returned to say that once outside, she burned three of the books and now only three remained. The king,’ I said, pointedly, ‘said nothing.
‘On the third day, she comes back with just the three remaining books, which again she lays at the king’s feet and offers to sell them to him. ‘How much?’ says the king, knowing the answer. She tells him the price. The king looks at the three remaining books. This time, the chamber is completely silent. As always, the old woman says nothing. She doesn’t need to. If he refuses she’ll burn the last three books and no one will ever see her again. Well, Mr Murdoch. This is the only chance you will ever have.’
The words resonated strangely. I turned to look at Mrs De Winter. She smiled slightly. I dragged my attention back to King Dave. ‘What will you do?’
We all looked at him. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked doubtfully at me. You’d have thought there really were three books on the floor and the future of his kingdom depended on his answer.
‘Yes,’ he said loudly. ‘I’ll buy them
.’ We were all so caught up in the drama he actually got a round of applause. I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, Dave. You were brilliant. It’s OK to sit down now.’
‘Oh no, no, no, I want to know what’s in the books. After all, I paid for them.’
‘Well, the three books were taken to the deepest part of the vault beneath the Temple of Jupiter and there examined by the wisest men in the kingdom. They contained not prophecies as many have thought, but the religious observances necessary to avert great catastrophes. They were so important to the Romans that ten and later fifteen citizens were appointed to safeguard them and these citizens had no other purpose than to ensure no harm came to these books.
‘Rome, as we know, conquered Italy and then spread out across the known world. The books were known as the Sibylline Books after their former owner, the old woman, the Sibyl. It was said that whatever crisis faced Rome, help and advice could be found within the three books of the Sibylline. They were one of the Empire’s greatest treasures – guarded night and day to prevent them falling into the wrong hands. In the end, the books were only lost because Stilicho ordered their destruction when Alaric and his barbarians were at the gates. You can’t help but think – if that’s what three books could do, what could they have achieved with all nine?’
Polly Perkins stood up. ‘Are you saying we could go back and rescue the six Sibylline Books?’
‘We could indeed, Miss Perkins, but wouldn’t it be better to go back and rescue all nine of them?’
‘But they kept the last three.’
‘But they were still destroyed in the end. It’s just a case of choosing the right moment.’
An electric current ran round the hall.
Mrs De Winter was laughing.
‘And not just that. If you stop and think for a moment there are many examples of lost treasures down the ages. The Great Library at Alexandria, which supposedly held a copy of every book in the known world, went up in flames no less than three times. Who can imagine what was lost? Rome itself burned under the Emperor Nero. St Paul’s in the Great Fire of London in 1666. The possibilities are almost endless.’
Someone said, ‘But, how could we do all this? With respect, Max, there’s only the three of you. Is this instead of, or as well as our Thirsk work?’
This was the opportunity I had been waiting for. I glanced at the Boss and he nodded slightly.
‘Well, think about it for a moment. There aren’t just the three of us, are there? There are at least eleven historians in this unit.’ They didn’t get it to begin with and then heads began to turn towards the back rows where our eight trainees were sitting with the traditional trainee expressions of exhaustion, confusion and terror.
I jumped in with both feet.
‘It is proposed to divide this unit into three sections. The first will continue and build on the work already started. Members of this section will be known as Pathfinders. Your job,’ I said, speaking directly to the back rows, ‘will be just that: to find the path. You will establish, visit and confirm co-ordinates for key historical events. In many instances, you will be the first on the scene. It will be your job to structure and maintain our Time Map. You will be called upon, as you become more experienced, to assist in other operations. You will also participate in the training of other Pathfinders. Congratulations to you all – you just got promoted.
‘The second section will be responsible for policing the timeline and identifying any anomalies. There will be high levels of interaction and it’s not a place for the faint hearted. In addition to the normal hazards of the job, there will almost certainly be hostile interference from the future. You will all remember our recent successful efforts in the Cretaceous period. Make no mistake people, we were lucky. No permanent damage was done, at least not to us. In future, we will have to be more careful. We are not the only people out there and they don’t give a rat’s arse about the time continuum so long as there’s a profit in it somewhere. This stupidity endangers us all. This section will not be permanent, but will be established as needed. It goes without saying that this section’s requirements will always take priority over any existing commitments.
‘The third section, as I previously mentioned, will devote itself to search and rescue. This will be our main role in the future and it concerns the whole unit. Let’s take, for example, the Library at Alexandria. Imagine us jumping to try and save the contents of The Great Library there. Personnel for this assignment would consist of at least one historian to make the tea, security staff trained in fire fighting techniques, together with members of our research team to advise on what to save. And it won’t stop there. We’ll need medical staff with us, archivists who can advise on the best ways to conserve this material and someone with archaeological experience to advise where to hide it. Think about it, we can’t bring stuff back here and risk any modern contamination. It all has to be dealt with in situ, stored and hidden away until, and this is the genius bit, we tip off Thirsk. They mount an expedition based on the info we pass them and make the archaeological find of the decade. Maybe even the century. And once we’ve done that a couple of times our reputation will be such that they’ll go wherever we direct them, instead of vice versa and we’ll never, ever have to worry about funding again.’
I paused for breath. I’d never known them so quiet. I know no one ever dared interrupt the Boss in mid-flow, but I’d expected a bit of heckling at this point.
‘Now I know this is not what some of you signed up for. You’ve seen this unit go through historians like laxatives through a short grandmother. Let me say now, there is no compulsion here; if you don’t want to do this then that’s fine. I personally guarantee there will be no comeback. All of you have a think about it. Talk to your section heads and –’
‘I’ll go,’ said Dieter, standing up.
‘Well, you’ve got a short memory,’ I grinned. ‘The last time we spoke you swore you wouldn’t even use the dining room if I was there!’
‘Yeah, well, if you’re not driving I should be OK,’ he said. ‘But yes, I want to do this. Put my name down.’
Others stood up. This was encouraging. It got better. Professor Rapson waved a printout.
‘I’ve put together some ideas for future rescues,’ he said. ‘Some big, some small and I’d certainly welcome suggestions from anyone else.’ Excited chatter broke out.
‘The lost bit of the Bayeux Tapestry.’
‘Aristarchus’s book on heliocentric theory’
‘What?’
‘That bloke who said the earth went round the sun.’
‘Oh.’
‘Tons of stuff by William Blake got lost.’
‘Or what about Homer’s Margites?’ I said, becoming temporarily distracted; always a hazard for historians.
And then to one side, I saw Jenny Fields. Her lips were moving, but she was such a quiet little thing I couldn’t make out a word.
‘Shut up, you lot,’ I shouted. ‘What is it, Jenny?’
‘Dodos. We could bring back dodos.’
And that was the moment. That was the moment when the true potential of all we could achieve became apparent. That was the moment when everyone’s imagination took flight and we became unstoppable.
Chapter Sixteen
Dieter frowned. ‘If we did go to Alexandria then we’d need something bigger than a normal pod. Something that could sleep up to say, ten people and provide a practical working space.’
‘And carry equipment,’ added someone.
‘And storage,’ said someone else from R & D. ‘Suitable containers for storing scrolls long term. And either some sort of resin or gum to seal them, or the wherewithal to make some.’
‘Tar. How about tar? The Dead Sea Scrolls were sealed in earth jars with tar.’
‘But it can’t be too large. It still has to be relatively inconspicuous. We don’t want something the size of the Town Hall. We’re not talking Thunderbird 2 here.’
The Chief joined in. ‘We
could still have something larger, but it could be serviced by normal pods bringing supplies, equipment and relief personnel in and out; like a shuttle service.’
‘It would have to be big enough for fire-fighting equipment,’ contributed Guthrie.
‘We could have various containers with the right equipment for fire fighting, or underwater salvage or excavating and just load whichever one is required and go.’
‘How would we know what to take?’
Kal and Peterson jumped in. ‘We would need to set up reconnaissance jumps. Survey the library. Find out what’s where. What the building’s made of. Where’s the nearest source of water. The Pathfinders could do that.’
‘I think my team can help here,’ offered Guthrie. ‘I’ve got two ex-firemen on my strength.’ He walked off, shouting for Weller and Evans and a small crowd began to gather around them.
Peterson forged on. ‘We also need a team to suss out appropriate storage methods and containers. Everything will have to be obtained on site. It must all be contemporary. Anything anomalous will be a disaster.’
‘Dr Dowson is the best person for that,’ said Professor Rapson. ‘He should also supply us with a list of desirable scrolls, just in case we have time to pick and choose, rather than the approved St Mary’s method of just grabbing anything and running like hell.’
Dieter had his scratchpad out and was tapping away for dear life. ‘Say ten people aboard, food and water for ten days – Mrs Mack, how many …?’ He plunged off towards the kitchen staff.
Everywhere I looked, people were dragging tables together. Scratchpads were produced. Knots of people began to form. People rushed from one group to another, dragging long printouts behind them. Data stacks began to appear, glistening and ghostly.
‘Good God, we’ve created a monster,’ said the Boss, calmly, appearing behind me. ‘Peterson, stop writing on the walls. Don’t you know this is a listed building?’
Whiteboards were dragged in and set up. The noise level was enormous. It was all out of my hands. I turned to the Boss and he shrugged. ‘Welcome to my world.’
