CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO – BACK IN LONDON
As if he had been energised by the moment of extreme trauma, Tom suddenly sensed the link with time return to him. He stretched out with both legs so that his toes were touching Mary on his left and Septimus on his right. Then, with a jerk, he hurled them forward hundreds of years in a single leap. The exertion made him dizzy and when the Walk was over he collapsed onto his knees, his head still spinning.
When he could focus on the surroundings he realised that they had moved in time, but not in geographical location. The plain was much more arid and in places had turned almost into desert, whilst the river had narrowed and changed its course away from where the camp had once stood. Nevertheless, it was obviously the same place. The contours of the land were unmistakeable and yet, of Alexander’s great camp and army, the executioners and of Alexander himself, there was no sign. Tom whistled softly. “It’s like they were never here,” he observed.
“Time, like an ever–rolling stream, bears all its sons away; they fly forgotten as a dream dies at the opening day,” Septimus mumbled to himself.
“What?” asked Tom.
“Oh, it’s from an old hymn. It can take some getting used to how the great and powerful can vanish in the blink of an eye as though they had never been, the Welshman answered. “By the way, thanks to both of you for saving my life.”
Still exhausted, Mary could only tilt her head in acknowledgement, while Tom just nodded and asked, “Well, what do we do now?”
“I suggest you have a bit of a rest and then see if you can Walk us back to London,” Septimus said. “I might be able to do it myself, given a couple of hours’ shuteye.”
Some while later they appeared in the Professor’s office. However, the old man was not there. Mr Phelps did not know where he was or when he would be back. It was irritating and Tom was getting impatient for answers. There was one man present who might give him some, so he turned to Septimus. But Septimus asked him a question of his own first.
“Boyo, I’m parched: fancy a cuppa. What about you, Mary?”
“Not for the moment, Master, I need to ...” she trailed off looking faintly embarrassed and turned towards the door.
“Right, just you and me then, Tom,” said Septimus.
Tom nodded and they shuffled out of the Professor’s room. They wandered into the kitchen where a cook and his assistants were making dinner for the Institute. The cook was a fat man with a red face. Never trust a thin man’s cooking was what his dad used to say when he was cooking a chilli or a curry. His dad liked his food and Tom sighed as he thought about him. The pain of his loss was like a physical ache in the pit of his stomach.
“Hungry, lad?” The cook asked.
Tom shook his head. “No; just thirsty.”
“Nice cup of tea for me, if that’s ok?” Septimus said.
The cook poured Tom some apple juice from the fridge and put a kettle on to boil then went back to his work. Steam wafted over from the stove and with it a sweet, faintly spiced aroma. Curry for supper then, thought Tom, reminded of his dad again. Feeling nauseous as he wandered over to a table he sat down, sipped his apple juice and looked across at his companion. Having waited for his tea, Septimus was carrying it over to join him. Tom noted that the Welshman was studying him closely, a look of determination on his face, then he nodded to himself as though he had just reached a decision.
“Tommy, we need to talk,” he said, placing his tea on the table and sitting opposite Tom.
“Yes, we most certainly do!” Tom retorted.
“Well, I–”
Just then, the door flew open and Mary and Edward came hurtling in. Mary’s face was taut with worry; Edward’s expression was similar.
“What is it?” Tom got to his feet in alarm.
“It’s Charlie. He hasn’t returned here yet. He’s been gone ages,” Edward said breathlessly.
“What! Where did he go?” Septimus asked.
“He said he fancied a look around London.”
“When was this?” asked Tom.
Mary and Edward exchanged glances and the girl took up the story. “This morning before we went to look for you. Charlie said we might as well give you an hour or two to come to terms with your loss and that meantime he fancied a look around the city. Then he went off and a bit later on when he hadn’t come back, we went to your house and found you.”
“This morning?” Tom muttered. “I should be getting used to it by now, but this Walking confuses me. We were away overnight, but we came back just the same day!”
“Actually, the time you were away was about ten hours and the same time passed here,” Septimus said. “It was just that we arrived in Alexander’s camp in the afternoon and so we spent the night there. You left here about ten this morning and it’s about eight o’clock now.”
Tom tried to get his head round it; he was just thinking that he didn’t remember it being night time in the desert when Mary piped up.
“Nevertheless; Charlie has been gone almost all day since breakfast. Supposing ...” Mary’s voice trailed off.
“Supposing Redfeld has found him and plans to use him to get at me. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Tom asked.
“From what you told me in the tent, that Redfeld sounds like a wicked man. We must trust that he will get his punishment in Hell one day,” Mary said.
“Perhaps he might, but it’s what he gets up to first that bothers me,” Septimus murmured.
“Indeed, I have not met him either,” said Edward, “but from what little Mary told me just now, he does seem a villain. Not sure what his game is, but it does not sound as if he would play fair. If that puts Charlie in possible danger, we need to act. Do you think we should inform the Professor?”
“I would love to, but he’s not back yet,” Septimus said. Then, groaning slightly, he dragged himself to his feet. “Right then, it seems there is no rest for the wicked. I think we should mount a rescue mission, don’t you, Tommy?”
With a nod, Tom turned to the Lieutenant. “Can you sense him?”
Edward closed his eyes and frowned in concentration. After a moment he opened them again. “I think so... yes. Trafalgar Square: I’m fairly sure that’s where he is.”
“Right then, we’d better go, Lieutenant ... Tommy,” Septimus said.
“Do not overlook me!” Mary insisted.
“Mary, it could be dangerous,” Edward pointed out.
“So was being taken back to Ancient Greece. At least this time I have a choice.”
Tom had to admit that Mary’s skills had proven useful on that trip. He glanced across at Septimus, who shrugged his agreement, so Tom reached out and placed a hand on both Mary’s and Septimus’ shoulders and Walked them over the mile or so to Trafalgar Square, leaving Edward to transport himself.
They appeared in front of some American tourists who gawped at them, exclaimed, “Golly, how did you do that?” Then, thinking that Tom and his companions were some form of street theatre, a bit like the gold–painted statues dotted around the place that unnervingly came alive when you least expected it, they insisted on taking photos of the four of them. As a result, it was some minutes before they could escape from the attention of the Americans and get across to the centre of Trafalgar Square.
The square was busy with tourists lingering in the city and with locals out for the night. It took time to locate Charlie and Tom was getting anxious that he had already been found by Redfeld and that they were too late. Thus, it was with a sense of relief that he spotted the young sailor leaning back against one of the lions, enjoying the sun on this warm summer’s evening.
They bustled over to Charlie, who gave a lazy wave.
“You ok, Charlie? We were all worried about you,” Tom said, feeling faintly irritated when the young man laughed.
“Thomas Oakley, we are in the centre of London. What danger could I possibly be in?”
“You have been gone for most of the day, Charlie, so we were just wondering where yo
u were.”
“Ah well, you’re probably right. I have been out a long time. Sorry, but it’s just that it’s all so marvellous,” said Charlie. “Look about you.”
Forced to smile at Charlie’s cheerful enthusiasm, Tom, his irritation forgotten, did look. There was Nelson’s Column, with the Admiral high above them, one arm missing and a pigeon perched on his head; the four lions, huge and unmoving, staring out eternally at the passersby. Some Japanese tourists standing under one of the statues were having a photo taken of them, whilst nearby half a dozen teenagers were doing tricks on skateboards or imitating a mime artist who was dressed as a harlequin. Pretty ordinary, he thought. He said as much.
“Yes indeed – pretty ordinary. But when I was last here, it was very different. There were piles of sandbags to help soak up bomb blasts. Half and more of the men were in uniform and many women as well. At night the sky was lit up, not by the bright lamps of a great city, but by searchlights scanning the heavens for German bombers. The sound of sirens rings in my ears even now, along with the crack and bang of ‘Archie’ – that’s anti–aircraft fire to you – and the boom of bombs. That was the night before I left to join the Paladin and sail to the Med. It was all a bit grim really and there were certainly no tourists. To be able to sit here now and enjoy the evening without danger is wonderful.”
Tom thought to himself that there were new dangers, but he could understand Charlie’s feelings having seen something of war during his travels, and so he let Charlie enjoy the moment. The five of them sat and stared at the scene.
“It’s all changed a bit since my day,” said Edward. “The column was here then, of course, but a lot of these buildings are new.”
“It is all new since, as you call it, ‘my day’.” Mary said, staring in awe at the lions, the pillar and the huge stone buildings. “Who is that man on the top,” she asked, peering up at Nelson, pouting a little when they all laughed.
“It’s a long story,” said Septimus, drawing breath to launch into a description of the Battle of Trafalgar.
Mary forestalled him, “How about you, Mr Mason? When was your day?”
Septimus frowned, but before he could reply, Tom, who was listening with interest having wondered that same question, felt a sudden wrench in his mind. He was now learning, this meant that something was happening to time. Then, he felt a chill pass down his spine, as he noticed something odd. A few feet away, in the crowd of tourists, there stood five men in identical suits that looked new, as if they had just been bought. Indeed, now he studied them, he could see a price label still attached to one cuff. He first thought that these were the Directorate from the Office. Then, he caught a glance from one of them and was startled as the man smiled back at him. The men from the Office never seemed to smile, at least not in the dreams that Tom had.
The man came nearer and Tom saw that above the top of his trousers, the butt of a pistol was visible. Then he stepped forward: it was Redfeld.
“Mr Mason and Master Oakley, I am delighted to see you both again. Ah and I see you are accompanied by Miss Brown, I believe, fresh from the inferno of 1666 along with other vagabonds from the past. You three should choose your rescuers more carefully for these two are dangerous to be around,” Redfeld said. Then he was quiet for a moment, peering at Tom. He seemed to be scrutinizing him extremely closely.
“I’m relieved you still exist, Master Oakley. Although I knew I could manage to arrange that,” he said. Tom was going to ask what he meant, but Septimus spoke first.
“Captain, what you are doing here? I thought you understood that I wanted no part in your plan. Leave the boy alone,” he said angrily.
“Changing the bargain is unacceptable. Most inefficient! Most unlike you,” Redfeld replied coldly.
Tom’s eyes narrowed; he thought quickly: so it appeared that it had been Septimus in the Office doing a deal with Redfeld and the Custodian. If so, could he trust him now? They had been through so much together, and yet ...
“Septimus,” he said, “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“Confused are we?” Redfeld sneered. “I warned you not to turn your back on me, boy. As for now, if you wish to live, you will do exactly what I say!” The Captain’s face wore a merciless expression as he moved towards Tom. Then, the expression changed to anger as Septimus stepped between them, blocking Redfeld’s path.
“I told you the deal was off!” Septimus said; his tone steely and determined.
Redfeld merely laughed and shook his head. “I am afraid you have become an irrelevance, Mr Mason. The truth is we don’t need you any longer because our plans have changed. I will take the boy now.” He paused, added, “In fact, I will take you all.” He waved his men forward and they advanced on Tom and his friends.
“Who are these guys?” Charlie asked. The sailor was still sitting on his lion, peering down at Redfeld and his men and looking very confused.
“I will explain later,” Tom said urgently. “For now we must get away. Everyone reach over and touch me,” he ordered. “Now, Charlie!” Tom added as the sailor looked doubtfully across at him. “I need to get us out of here the same way I got you off the U–boat.”
Charlie shrugged and reached out to take Tom’s outstretched hand. Redfeld’s men noticed the movement and moved closer.
“Now!” shouted Tom and searched for the Flow of Time. Something was wrong, though. He could sense it out there, but could not reach it: some force was blocking him and preventing him using it.
“Mary, I think they have made a wall. Can you sense it?”
Mary concentrated and then nodded. “I can’t bring it down though, Master. But I do know it’s one of them,” she nodded at the approaching men.
His voice dripping with false sincerity, Redfeld said, “I’m afraid that you cannot escape that way. I took the opportunity to have one of my guards erect a wall around us here: a barrier between us and the Time Stream,” he laughed. “No one can Walk in or out. We would not want to be interrupted now, would we?”
Redfeld had said ‘guards’ and now Tom looked at them they did look more like soldiers than mere hired guns. It was something about the way they walked, how they carried themselves that left him in no doubt: these were warriors.
The guards were coming closer and now, in an attempt to reach Tom, they pushed Septimus roughly to one side. Tom retreated a few more steps, but then it was if he had backed into a wall. Behind him he could see only clear air and a few feet away, the American tourists who had now wandered over to the lions. They were mere yards away, yet seemed to have noticed nothing untoward; it might as well have been a mile, for there was an invisible barrier as strong as steel preventing Tom from retreating any further. He stepped to one side to avoid one of Redfeld’s guards who lunged at him, but that placed him right in the path of another one, who seized his arm and dragged him towards Redfeld. Tom shook free of the man’s grip, but did not run away. Instead, he stepped right up to Redfeld and stabbed a finger towards him.
“So, are you going to kill me now, like you killed my parents?”
Redfeld shook his head. “My dear boy, why would I kill you? I went to so much trouble to ensure you survived and your parents did not.”
Tom could barely contain the anger rising inside him and for the first time in his life he understood what people meant by ‘seeing red’.
“I knew you killed them! I’ll get you, Redfeld – I mean it!” Tom shouted but realised it sounded foolish, given the situation. Nevertheless he spat towards the Captain: a futile gesture perhaps, but it made him feel better. “You murdered my parents: tell me why? Was it really just to get your own back?”
“Oh, in part, it was a bit of revenge – sweet as that can be. But because of it, I have already gained more power in this world – in this reality – than I had before. Soon it will give me even more.”
Tom didn’t understand. “How did murdering my parents give you power?”
“Let’s just say it gives me ce
rtain leverage over you. Serve me and I can help you get your parents back.”
Stunned, Tom gazed at him. Did Redfeld mean it? Was there a way to bring his family back?
Septimus moved back to stand beside Tom “Hang on, if you wanted the boy alive and took great pains to make sure he survived, why then send one of your men to shoot at him in the ruins of his house earlier today?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill the boy. I ordered my men to capture him and to kill anyone with him. The bullet was aimed at you, Mr Mason. I really don’t like gentlemen who betray me.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, boyo?” Septimus asked.
Redfeld looked about to answer when Tom asked another question, but directed at Septimus this time. “I don’t understand, Septimus. What have you to do with Redfeld and these men? Who are they really and what do they want with me? What was this ‘deal’ you made? I thought you were my friend.”
Septimus opened his mouth to respond, but seemed unable to think of how to reply. Redfeld gave a sneering laugh. “Don’t waste your time with such as him, Thomas. Mason is a mercenary, no more and no less. He agreed to hand you over to me for payment.” Redfeld glanced at Septimus and then back to Tom.
“As to what we want? Well, I will tell you. Time, my boy, we want Time, and you are going to give it to us!”
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