Anachronist

by Andrew Hastie

  The door was opened on the third knock by a bone-white old man dressed entirely in black. He stared directly at them with dark, haunted eyes.

  ‘State your business!’ he snapped sharply as his nose sniffed the air. ‘We don’t take kindly to costermongers and hawkers!’

  ‘Arcadin, you’re in the wrong century again, you blind fool. It’s me, Rufius!’

  Arcadin’s face turned sideways as if looking past Josh. ‘And the boy?’

  ‘Apprentice. Under my charge.’

  Arcadin stood aside and waved them in. ‘You’ll have to change. We are in the middle of luncheon,’ he wheezed.

  They walked into a reception area. Before them stood a large arched wooden door with the snake symbol carved into it. On the wall to his left was a smaller door marked ‘Ladies’ and to his right ‘Gentlemen’. The colonel was already making a beeline for the Gents.

  Arcadin motioned to Josh to follow the old man. ‘It would be advisable to change for lunch, sir,’ he said with a sneer as his blank eyes inspected Josh’s clothes. Josh had to hold back the urge to punch the guy in the face, and he dutifully followed the colonel through the door.

  The changing rooms were like something from an exclusive golf club, lined with wooden lockers and pegs. There was a row of coats hanging along the wall. Josh estimated that there were at least twenty or so, all from very different periods in time. The colonel took off his greatcoat and hung it on the next available peg and took a long cloak from the locker marked ‘Westinghouse’. Each locker had a brass plaque with names like ‘De Freis’, ‘Makepiece’ and ‘Newton’. He was about to ask about the last one when he saw one with his own name. Opening the door, he found a dark set of robes, nowhere near as grand as the ones the colonel was wearing, but, still, they seemed to fit well.

  He checked himself out in the mirror — he looked like an entirely different version of himself, one that had just graduated from university.

  ‘I see they got my message,’ the colonel said, checking Josh’s robes to see if they fitted.

  ‘Why do we have to wear these?’ Josh asked, holding out his arms like wings.

  ‘Partly for practical reasons. The house has had a few modifications over the years, doesn’t exactly exist in any one time period, so it is advisable to wear something made from an early millennium — to cover one’s modesty, as it were.’

  ‘And the other part?’ Josh thought this was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen.

  ‘Tradition. It is part of who we are. Our robes are a symbol of the Order’s origins, just as this’ — the colonel pointed to the symbol of the snake devouring its own tail on his breast — ‘Ouroboros. Symbolises the eternal circle of life and death.’

  Arcadin was standing by the large door with an approving look on his face. The dress code now satisfied, he could let them into the house. He took out an ornate key and placed it in the lock. The metal snake released its own tail and rotated 180 degrees as the sound of heavy gears grinding echoed from behind the wood. Suddenly the door broke into two and swung away to reveal the entrance hall of a seventeenth-century mansion.

  Josh had to take a moment to come to terms with the scale of the place. The hall was vast, with a grand sweeping staircase flowing down from the floors above. There were chandeliers with real candles flickering above his head and large portraits of various nobility hanging on the walls.

  There was an odd sensation as they stepped through the arch, as though the floor was an inch or so lower than he expected, Josh stumbled and the colonel had to steady him.

  ‘As I said, the house is not actually all in one time. You get used to it after a while.’

  Josh turned back to the door and went back through, much to Arcadin’s disapproval.

  ‘Don’t dawdle, boy!’ ordered the colonel as he walked off down the hall. ‘I don’t have time to explain. Methuselah will be able to answer all your questions later.’

  ‘What is that smell?’ Josh asked as the doors closed behind him with a deep resonating boom.

  ‘Lunch!’ the colonel said rubbing his hands together. ‘And if my nose isn’t deceiving me — the main course. I would say it’s Carpathian boar, one of Methuselah’s specialities.’

  They walked quickly, passing many closed doors, each inlaid with a golden symbol. As they got nearer to the delicious aroma, Josh could feel his mouth watering. It was a mixture of herbs, spices and rich dark meats, like a thousand Christmas dinners all rolled into one.

  The colonel stopped in front of the last door and motioned to Josh to go in. ‘Guests first. It’s another tradition. You’ll find we have quite a few.’

  Josh could hear a murmur of voices behind the door but couldn’t make out how many there were. He was trying not to let the butterflies rise in his stomach; it was okay to be scared, he told himself, just don’t let anyone else see that you are.

  The door opened on to the strangest feast Josh had ever seen. The room was like some kind of Viking banqueting hall. Stone walls were decked out with animal skins, and the wooden beams of the roof were hung with shields and axes. Running down the centre was a long table at which a dozen or more people were eating and talking at the top of their voices. At the far end of the table was an enormous hunk of roasted meat. Judging by the tusks sticking out of its snout, it was some kind of prehistoric pig.

  A tall Arabian man stood carving the haunches of the boar with vicious-looking sword. He reminded Josh of a villain from a Disney movie. His beard was black and sharply pointed, and his dark hair was swept back to expose his widow peaks. He was olive-skinned: ‘Swarthy’ was how his gran would have put it. There was definitely more than a touch of the gypsy about him. To his right sat a petite woman with immaculate poise, and skin like porcelain. She held up a plate for the man to lay generous slices of meat onto and then handed it down the row of guests. Josh watched as the plate was passed along. He studied the faces of each of the eccentric-looking diners as it progressed until it came to the group of young people who had collected at the end of the table nearest to him.

  They were dressed differently, but he recognised most of them from the night in the pub. Sim nodded at him as soon as their eyes met. He was sitting between a boy and a girl who, judging by their features, were obviously siblings. There was another girl with her back to Josh. As she turned to see the new arrivals, he saw that it was Caitlin. His smile dissolved at the look she gave him — she wasn’t pleased to see him. The posh boy, Dalton, was sitting next to her saying something in her ear and chuckling to himself.

  ‘Rufius, you old dog. Welcome!’ bellowed the Arabian man. ‘Pull up a chair and have some of this delicious boar.’ He knocked over his wine as, with a wide gold-toothed grin, he waved the sword around. The lady next to him began to fuss over the spillage and deftly took the sword off him before he did any more damage.

  ‘Methuselah,’ replied the colonel. ‘Alixia.’ He bowed slightly to the lady who performed the smallest of curtsies in return.

  Methuselah reminded Josh of the Grand Viseer from Aladdin, replete with jewelled rings, long silk-woven robes and a hint of something magical in his dark eyes. He swept over to greet the colonel with a hearty handshake that turned into a bear hug.

  ‘So who is this young whelp you’ve brought me?’ Methuselah asked, examining Josh with a cool, calculating glance. ‘There’s hardly anything of him.’

  ‘This is my latest foundling. Joshua Jones. Joshua, I have the great pleasure of introducing you to one of my oldest friends, Methuselah DeFreis, and his beautiful wife, Alixia, and their family.’

  Josh shook Methuselah’s hand and bowed awkwardly to his wife. Everyone had stopped talking and turned to stare at him as if expecting him to say something.

  ‘Hi.’ Josh was at a loss as to what to say next.

  ‘Man of few words. Like myself!’ Methuselah grinned as he slapped Josh on the shoulder. ‘We’re going to get on famously. Have a seat, my boy, and let’s see if we can get some meat on those bones.’ Me
thuselah placed Josh next to Sim and passed him a plate of food that his wife had been busily preparing.

  The colonel went and sat with their host at the other end of the table, leaving Josh alone with Caitlin and her friends.

  ‘Good to see you again,’ Sim said, handing Josh a drink.

  Josh had initially thought that they were similar ages, but now they were close he could see that Sim may be a little younger.

  ‘Is it true you solved the Leda and the Swan?’ Sim asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

  ‘Er, yeah. What the hell are you lot doing here? Are you all——’

  ‘Anachronists?’ Sim chuckled. ‘Yes, I guess you could say we’re all fate-shifters of one sort or another.’

  Josh looked around the group as they talked and ate. Caitlin was having some kind of quiet argument with Dalton.

  ‘I take it Caitlin never told you before the gig?’ Sim asked as he handed Josh some cutlery.

  ‘Nope,’ Josh said, carving off a piece of the boar. It was delicious. He seemed to be constantly hungry these days. The incident with the other colonel had spoiled breakfast, and that had seemed like hours ago.

  He watched as Dalton made some snide remark to Caitlin whose face flushed red as if she were going to explode.

  Sim was oblivious and continued. ‘You know that has never been solved? No one has ever made it out of the room. Let alone got the key to the Bourbon treasure from the Queen. Everyone has been talking about it — even Dalton.’

  Josh looked back over at Dalton, who raised his wine glass as if to congratulate him. Caitlin, on the other hand, was ignoring Josh. He wracked his memory, trying to remember what had happened that night. He’d obviously screwed up and it was probably to do with getting drunk, which usually meant waking up in a stranger’s bed with only a vague idea of how he got there. In most cases, he’d never seen the girl again so it hadn’t mattered. Caitlin was different though. He’d wanted her to like him; he’d wanted to impress her.

  ‘Sim,’ Josh lowered his voice so none of the others could hear, ‘are Dalton and Caitlin an item?’

  Sim laughed and then realised that Josh was being serious. ‘Er. No. He just acts as if they are.’

  Josh watched the two of them for a few more minutes as he finished his meal and answered Sim’s never-ending list of questions about the Paris mission.

  ‘Strange to have found him so late,’ Methuselah said as he watched Josh chatting to Sim at the other end of the table.

  ‘It happens. I was nearly fourteen when Dolovir found me,’ the colonel replied, helping himself to another slice of boar.

  ‘Yes. But the gift is usually apparent by ten — Copernicans boast they can track them from as early as eight!’

  ‘And we know how accurate their predictions can be!’

  Methuselah scratched at a scar that ran down one side of his face. ‘Only too well, my friend. Only too well.’

  The colonel turned to Methuselah. ‘He’s not a bad lad. I would appreciate it if you would look after him for me — I have some urgent business to attend to.’

  Methuselah took a bottle of fourteenth-century red wine from the table and poured the colonel a large glass.

  ‘My friend, we have known each other longer than I care to remember. If you need my assistance, you have it without question.’ He held up his own glass so that they could toast each other.

  ‘But of course you will ask the question all the same,’ the colonel quipped as he raised his glass.

  Methuselah grinned. ‘Would I be me if I did not?’

  The colonel let the fine wine roll around his mouth for a moment as he considered how much to reveal.

  ‘I have to go back to the founder.’

  ‘Serious business, then?’

  The colonel nodded.

  ‘Not that old story about the Fatalists again? He won’t entertain any more of your conspiracy theories, old boy. He’ll just send you straight to Bedlam and into the ministrations of the Grand Seer!’

  The colonel let out a long sigh. ‘Not the Fatalists. This time it’s about something far more personal.’ He leaned in close to Methuselah’s ear and whispered, ‘An intercession.’

  His friend’s eyes went wide, ‘Oh, how . . . ? No, don’t tell me — the last thing I need right now is the Protectorate on my back! It’s bad enough as it is bringing up four teenagers!’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ the colonel said sullenly, ‘not after the last time. How is Caitlin?’

  Methuselah shrugged. ‘She has good days. Your boy seems to have sparked her interest.’ He motioned towards Josh with his glass. ‘From what I hear, she has been arguing with Dalton about him all day.’

  Caitlin had turned away from Dalton as if they’d fallen out. She was listening intently to the conversation between Sim and Josh without actually appearing to be. It was a trick she learned as a child, and only he could spot it.

  ‘Dalton says he’s a thug. Apparently, the boy put him on his backside with one punch.’

  The colonel snorted. ‘Yes, Josh does have a bit of a short fuse, but Dalton probably deserved it.’

  ‘And if he insists that we revoke him?’ Methuselah asked in a serious tone.

  ‘If the Protectorate had their way, we’d never have any new recruits. Did Dalton read him?’

  Methuselah nodded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He can’t tell. Seers are not known for their modesty, but Dalton admits that he couldn’t get much in the way of a history.’

  ‘So he retrograded him?’

  ‘Of course. Dalton is one of the best, no matter what you think of his allegiances. He is a master of amnesia — he made sure the boy has no memory of the event.’

  The colonel scratched his beard. ‘He’s got a lot of potential. He’ll be a millennial, I’d bet my beard on it. He just needs some polishing.’

  ‘Another rough diamond?’

  The colonel stood up and drained his glass. ‘Aren’t we all? I’ll bid you adieu, my friend. Give my best to Alixia and tell her I’ll be back soon to admire her latest botanical restoration.’

  Caitlin wrapped her arms around the colonel when he came over to say goodbye. Josh could tell that he meant a lot to her. They hugged for a long time as the colonel whispered gently into her hair. ‘I’ll be back soon,’

  He turned to Josh when she finally let go of him. ‘Walk with me.’

  Josh followed the colonel out into the hall.

  ‘There’s a good chance I may not be back for a while. These are good people; they’re family. Try to stay out of trouble and listen to Methuselah.’

  ‘Can I still visit my mother?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, patting Josh on the shoulder. ‘It’s not a prison. You can come and go as you please. Arcadin knows you now.’

  29

  Chapter House

  Sim had volunteered to show Josh to his room. Navigating the Chapter House was like walking through a maze without a map: corridors and doors led off in all directions, making the interior of the house far greater than it appeared from the outside.

  Their quarters, as Sim called them, were situated at the top of the house and involved climbing endless flights of stairs. Sim told him there was a quicker way, and that he would show him once he was ‘orientated’.

  Josh was breathing hard by the time they reached their floor. Each storey of the building looked like it was from an entirely different period: the decor moved from Baroque to Victorian to modern. It was like climbing through an architectural journal.

  The rooms were larger than he expected. They each had a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom and there was a communal space that Sim had filled with all sorts of cool gadgets: an Xbox One, a PlayStation 4, a huge flat-screen TV and a very powerful-looking PC with a strange pair of goggles — Sim called it a ‘VR headset’. It felt weird to be back in a room that resembled present day — albeit far from the world that he knew. He had to keep reminding himself that he hadn’t broken into the house
of some rich kid, that he was actually a part of this.

  Sim had booted the PC and was babbling on about some game or other than he had just completed. He was proudly showing how he’d found all the collectables and gained a very rare sword, but all Josh could do was wonder how the hell he’d got to this house and how long it would last. He couldn’t believe that these guys were seriously suggesting he could join them — that they wanted him to be part of their Order.

  As Sim launched a driving game, Josh tried to explain to him that he had never really got on with computers. Sim dismissed his objections with a comment about ‘holocronic flux interference’, sat him down and placed the VR headset over his head.

  Josh found himself in a Ford Mustang on the start line of an indie car race. The revving of the engines of the other cars buzzed in his headphones, and he found himself looking round a completely 360º environment. He felt Sim slide some pedals under his feet and a steering wheel in his hands just as the lights turned green.

  Ten minutes later Josh was an indie champion. He took off the headset, and grinned at Sim. ‘That’s insane!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Yeah, and you’re really good at it!’ agreed Sim. ‘No one else wants to play video games here. They are all far too serious.’

  ‘No shit. What’s this thing called?’

  ‘Oculus Rift,’ Sim replied, taking the headset back. ‘Want to try something else? Portal is mental on this!’

  Josh shook his head. ‘No. It makes me feel a bit sick.’

  ‘That’s motion sickness — your brain can’t work out why your eyes are telling it you’re moving when your inner ear says you’re not.’

  Josh spun round in the chair. ‘So which is my room?’

  Sim took him down a short corridor to a bedroom stylishly furnished with a bed, TV, walk-in wardrobe and bathroom. Josh had never seen a rainfall shower, let alone a bidet. But for him the most impressive feature by far was the glass wall that framed the most incredible view of London. He could see the River Thames, but it took him a while to work out where they were.