by Alex Scarrow
‘I am terrified of him.’
‘Because he will blame you for losing the Grail?’
No sound except the crackle of flames on scorched wood. Becks, however, recalled his gesture, a silent nod of the head, his eyes wide with the look of a man considering his own imminent death.
‘I fear I will be a dead man on his return.’
She recalled the haunted look on his face. ‘Let me at least enjoy whatever time I have left … with you … and not speak his name again tonight?’
CHAPTER 46
1194, Kirklees Priory, Yorkshire
Sébastien Cabot greeted Liam with a cheerful wave as he clucked his tongue and reined in his horse. Behind him the crunch of boots and horses’ hooves on hard sun-baked soil ceased as Eddie ordered the men to a halt.
‘Sire!’ called out Cabot, stepping through the gate of the priory’s front gardens to meet him. ‘’Tis a wonderful surprise!’
Liam swung a leg over his horse’s back and stepped down out of the stirrups on to the ground. He was hot and clammy beneath the quilted tunic and the robe of office. He ran a sleeved forearm across his damp forehead, pushing dark sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.
‘It’s hot, so it is,’ he said needlessly.
Cabot winked slyly. ‘Good for the grapes and apples.’
The two stared at each other for a moment, then Liam extended a hand. Cabot grasped it with both. ‘Has been too many weeks since last I saw ye, my friend.’
Liam nodded. ‘Busy. Very busy.’
‘What has brought ye this way, sire?’
‘We paid a visit to Sir Guy’s estate, and Sir Raymond’s this morning. Both pleading poverty, but, like all the others, both very plump and extremely wealthy. So we collected what they owed.’
‘Long overdue, I would say.’
‘Aye.’ Liam wiped the damp from the thin downy bristles on his upper lip. ‘Sébastien,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m also here to … uhh … to talk.’
The old man nodded. ‘Of course.’
Liam turned to gesture at his soldiers, all of them exhausted from the miles they’d covered so far today, and equally hot under their vests of chain mail. ‘Would your brothers see to these soldiers? A little water? A little food maybe?’
‘Of course, sire.’ He turned and bellowed orders across the garden, and several monks emerged from a small orchard beside the barn, baskets in hand.
‘Ye wish to go somewhere private?’ asked Cabot.
Liam nodded.
‘News of yer good work in Nottingham has spread,’ said Cabot. ‘Ye are fast becoming a popular sheriff, young Liam.’
‘But not so popular with all them noble fellas, right?’
‘The nobles hate ye.’ He shrugged. ‘They see ye as a young pretender. They each wonder why it is that John has not chosen them to administer the north. And,’ he chuckled, ‘ye actually make ’em pay the taxes they owe.’
Liam slurped on his flagon, savouring the cool trickle of water down his parched throat. ‘Sébastien … we will have to leave soon.’
‘Leave? To yer time? Why?’
‘It’s just the way it works. We have to go back to our time for a bit.’
‘But … but ye can’t return the sheriff’s office to that wastrel, William De –’
‘We’ll be back. I promise you. We just have to check in with our colleagues. See how things are in the future.’
‘The future,’ uttered Cabot. His old face creased. ‘I would dearly love to see a little of that.’
‘It’s not so great, Sébastien,’ Liam sighed.
‘Tell me something of it.’
The old monk already knew too much. Someday soon a decision was going to have to be made about him: whether they could trust him or not. A little more knowledge would probably make little difference.
‘It’s a crowded world,’ he replied. ‘That’s what I find. A crowded world full of noisy fat people.’
‘Fat?’
He nodded. ‘As plump as the lords and barons. Everyone, even the poorest, lives a lord’s life by comparison to the people here. Everyone eats more than they need. Everyone has more things than they would ever need.’
‘’Tis a good time that ye come from, then.’
He shrugged. ‘It should be.’
Cabot’s eyes narrowed. ‘But ye do not miss it?’
Liam knew, when he was all done here in 1194, he’d miss rising each morning with the sound of cockerels stirring and the distant ring of a blacksmith’s hammer, the smell of woodsmoke and unleavened bread baking in hundreds of clay ovens.
‘I could happily stay here,’ he said after a while, then realized that was perhaps too much of an admission. ‘But I can’t, Sébastien. Duty calls, so it does.’
‘Duty … I can understand that.’
A gentle breeze stirred the tall grass of the graveyard. They were alone here at the rear of the priory.
‘Liam,’ said Cabot after a while, ‘is this world of mine –’ he gestured with both his hands – ‘is this world as it should be now? Is this the correct England of yer history books?’
‘I don’t know yet. The unrest that there was in Nottingham months ago could have become a much bigger problem for John. There was a new history created in my time: a history where a rebellion broke this country into pieces, and the French invaded and there was no more England.’
‘Good God!’
‘And I think – I hope we’re well on the mend from that. But …’
‘But what?’
‘But history, I think, is still altered in smaller ways. I mean, think about it. Me … me as the sheriff, for one. And all the things that you now know. Those are all small differences that could lead to bigger changes.’
Cabot hunched his shoulders. ‘Ye worry I would tell others of these things ye have told me?’
‘Well … to be honest, yes.’
‘Who would believe any of it? They would think it the ramblings of an old mad monk.’ He laughed. ‘Travelling to tomorrows yet to be? Worlds shaped like balls? Who would listen to that nonsense? I would be clapped in stocks and have rotten food thrown at me for amusement.’
He had a point.
‘I have a thought.’
‘What?’
‘Perhaps, young Liam … perhaps history too is round, in a sort of way.’
‘What do you mean?’
Cabot’s bushy eyebrows locked with concentration. ‘Round … such like a cart’s wheel. Perhaps ye were always meant to come back and be the Sheriff of Nottingham? Perhaps I was always meant to be told these things by ye.’
The old man had an interesting point.
‘And perhaps our poor John was always meant to have lost the Grail. Is that what your history books say, Liam?’
‘About the Holy Grail?’ Liam emptied the cup. ‘I dunno … I think there’s nothing certain on that. I think history books treat the Grail like a fairy story, or a myth or something.’
‘There, then,’ said Cabot, smiling. ‘If it is a thing that never was … then for it to be lost, what difference does that make?’
‘True.’
He leaned forward and punched Liam on the arm affectionately. ‘Ye worry too much, lad.’
‘Don’t I just?’ he smiled. ‘Anyway … Sébastien.’ He produced a sheet of parchment from the inside of his robe. A single line of pigpen symbols were scrawled across it. ‘We need to cut this into –’ he looked at the gravestone – ‘into poor old Haskette’s gravestone.’
Cabot studied the parchment for a moment. ‘Ye know, ’tis a very good thing this code of yers is all straight lines. I am no stonemason. I cannot engrave a curve worth speaking of.’ He pulled a mason’s hammer and chisel from the apron of his robe.
‘To work, then.’
CHAPTER 47
2001, New York
It was dark outside. Lit only by a half moon, the East River sparkled silver and reflected the amber glow coming from the lamps of several fishing vessels moored ac
ross the water. A dozen street lamps in the small fishing port across from them – they’d learned it was called Laurent-Sur-Mer – glowed mutely, and windows here and there flickered with the movements of family life.
‘I’ve never seen New York so peaceful,’ said Adam. ‘It reminds me of my grandparents’ village up in Scotland.’
Maddy nodded. ‘There’re some places like this up in Maine and Connecticut. All nice and picture-postcardlike.’
They listened for a while to the soothing ebb and draw of gentle lapping waves and the far-off cry of seagulls.
‘So, how long have you been in this time-travel agency? I mean, not always, right? You sound like you’ve done other things; had a life before all this?’
She nodded. ‘Sure, I did.’
‘Well?’
She shrugged. Telling him a little about herself was probably not going to do any harm. ‘I’m from Boston originally. My folks live there. I went to high school there. Then I went to college to major in computers. I bummed out after the first year.’
‘Why?’
‘I got a job with a games company. Seemed pointless going on with the degree, an’ all.’
‘Where was the job?’
‘Here. In New York. Programming user interface stuff on an online game. Kind of like World of Warcraft, but way better.’
‘World of Warcraft? I’m sorry … never heard of that.’
‘Stupid.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Of course not. It doesn’t come out until 2004.’
‘So, how did you go from being a code monkey to being a time traveller?’ asked Adam. ‘That’s quite a professional jump.’
She looked at him. ‘I’m not sure I should tell you too much, Adam … Remember, I said you wouldn’t be able to stay with us, and the more you know, the bigger the problem. So it’s best if I just say I got “recruited”.’
Maddy suddenly felt dizzy, as if she’d been spinning on a merry-go-round with her eyes closed. ‘Ohh,’ she murmured queasily.
‘You feel sick too?’ said Adam beside her. ‘Hang on … was that a –?’
‘Yup.’ She turned to call inside for Sal. But she saw Sal was already halfway across the floor, hurrying towards them and uncoiling loops of data cable in her wake.
‘Good job,’ Maddy said, taking the end of the cable and plugging it into the hard drive sitting at her feet. She looked up and studied the distant town and the fishing boats dotted across the river for a few moments. Even though it had been intense enough a ripple that even she and Adam had felt it, nothing appeared to be any different out there as far as she could see.
‘Looks like we got another message from Liam!’ Sal called from inside.
A moment later Adam and Maddy were standing either side of her, staring at the grainy image of a gravestone on the monitor.
‘Look, see?’ she said, pointing at the image. ‘There’s definitely more stuff carved on there now.’
Maddy leaned forward. It was easier to detect the faint, worn grooves in the old stonework, now that they’d manipulated the image to a much higher contrast.
‘Yup … that’s new, all right.’ She grabbed a pen from the desk and her notepad, and the sheet of paper with Adam’s pigpen cipher scrawled on it. ‘OK, then, let’s work out what we’ve got.’
The three of them peered closely at the screen. Despite the sharper image, this time the grooves appeared to be shallower, as if a different tool had been used. In some places worn away until almost nothing but a guess could be made.
‘Hmmm,’ Maddy murmured, chewing on her pen.
Adam grabbed another pen and began scribbling down the symbols that were clear enough to be certain of. A minute later there was some semblance of a sentence emerging on paper:
‘I can’t make that out,’ said Maddy. ‘What does it say?’
‘Oh, come on, it’s really easy,’ said Sal. ‘Revolt stopped. Ready for return. Await instructions.’
Adam quickly inserted the missing letters. They fitted the gaps perfectly. He looked at her and grinned. ‘Outstanding.’
Maddy continued chewing on the end of her pen. ‘But nothing’s changed out there. Or maybe it has and we can’t see it yet cos it’s dark. Thing is, that sure isn’t New York out there still.’ Stating the obvious of course, but she didn’t care. ‘Things still aren’t right.’
> Maddy.
‘What is it, Bob?’
> Some of the data on my system has changed.
‘What? How’s that possible? The preservation field’s on, isn’t it?’
> Affirmative. However, the time ripple was significant enough to cause a temporary voltage dip. The preservation field was down for several seconds.
Sal looked at Maddy. ‘Shadd-yah! Does that mean it has affected us?’
‘I dunno.’ She looked Sal up and down. ‘You don’t look any different. What about me?’
She flickered a smile. ‘You still look like a geeky geek.’
‘Thanks.’ She turned to Adam. ‘You OK, Adam?’
But he was staring at her wide-eyed. His mouth hung open.
‘Adam?’
‘Good God!’ he slowly gasped. ‘Who are you people? Where … am … I?’
Maddy turned to Sal, wondering what kind of a mess they were in now, when Adam finally cracked a wide grin. ‘Just kidding.’
She cursed under her breath and shot him pistol eyes. ‘That’s not even close to being funny, you moron!’
Computer-Bob’s cursor skittered across the screen.
> 17 of the 37 history-book pages you scanned have changed file size.
Adam looked down at the library books they’d stolen a little earlier, stacked on the end of the desk. ‘If their contents changed, the page layouts may be changed and it would affect the size of the digital files a little.’
Maddy nodded. ‘Bob, what about the summing-up document you put together? The potted history?’
> That has also changed.
‘Put it up on screen. Lemme see it.’
The document appeared beside his dialogue box.
> Identifying text sequences that have changed.
Bob began highlighting all the parts of the text that had been altered. Which was to say, most of it.
Adam began to read snippets of it aloud. ‘… 1194, King Richard returns from the Third Crusade … reclaims his kingdom from his younger brother, John … the siege of Nottingham, John surrenders and begs for King Richard’s mercy. King Richard executes his brother for high treason … has him hung, drawn and quartered …’
Adam shook his head. ‘That’s still wrong. The correct version is that Richard forgives him, lets him live.’
‘You sure?’ asked Maddy.
‘Of course I’m sure! You never heard of King John?’
She shrugged. ‘I guess I saw a Disney cartoon once with a King John in it. But then he was, like, a fox or a lion or something, so I didn’t take it too seriously.’
Sal had been reading ahead. ‘There’s no mention of this peasant rebellion of the north any more.’
The other two read on.
‘Liam said he’d stopped the rebellion in his message,’ she added. ‘But … if you look what it says there, England’s still going to end up disappearing.’
Adam resumed skimming the document. ‘… 1195, King Richard announces the Fourth Crusade.’ He looked at the girls. ‘Well, there was certainly no fourth crusade. That’s new.’ He resumed. ‘The Fourth Crusade is championed by King Richard, his goal again to retake Jerusalem. This time round there is little support for it, despite a Papal Bull being issued.’
‘What’s one of those?’ asked Sal.
‘The Pope basically announcing God says it’s a cool idea.’
‘King Richard raises ruinous taxes, and incurs crippling debts to fund the crusade and, in 1196, leaves England for the last time … 1197, King Richard and eleven thousand knights and men-at-arms are massacred by Saladin’s army at the Battle of Al Karak. With no successor in England, and th
e country bankrupt, anarchy ensues … 1199, King Philip II of France invades … and so on.’ Adam shook his head. ‘Same result still.’
‘England gets gobbled up by France,’ said Sal.
‘This fourth crusade didn’t happen, you say?’
‘No. In normal history, when Richard failed to take Jerusalem during the Third Crusade, that was pretty much the end of the wars in the Holy Land. All the Christian kingdoms just sort of lost the appetite to fight for it. None of them could afford another crusade anyway. Fact is, in normal history, when Richard returned home he turned his attention to rebuilding his kingdom, reclaiming territories he’d lost to the French in Normandy. That became his sole focus for the last six years of his life, getting back the lands he’d lost while he’d been on his holy war.’
Maddy pursed her lips. ‘Hmmm … something’s changed his focus.’
‘Focus?’ Adam shook his head. ‘More like obsession. I mean, what’s going on there? He ruins his country, he bankrupts himself and he launches what looks like a suicidal last crusade. Why?’
‘He went mad?’ said Sal.
‘Some historians say he was already a bit loopy.’
‘Something new, then,’ said Maddy. ‘Maybe something that Liam’s caused? Maybe something to do with the Voynich Manuscript?’ She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘If there’s some other time traveller back there … then perhaps something they’ve done?’
The others looked at her silently. There were no answers. Only questions.
‘OK … all right, here’s what we do. We send back another data package of this new version of history and ask Liam if they’ve got any ideas at all what’s suddenly eating Richard that he wants to go back to Jerusalem again.’ She put her glasses back on. ‘Meantime, we’ve still got the scheduled six-month return window if they want to use that, or, if they want to come back any earlier, they’ll need to send us a time-stamp.’
CHAPTER 48
1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire
