A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's) (19 page)

I took a deep breath. Irrepressible anger roiled inside me. I stood up and faced him, because you can’t do this sort of thing sitting down.

‘You fired a sonic weapon indiscriminately while standing on a frozen river. You cracked the ice, you morons. That you didn’t cause the Great Frost Fair Catastrophe of 1683 was a miracle. There were hundreds of people on the ice. Men, women, children, and you put them all at risk. If they’d gone into the water, they would have died in seconds. You could have irrevocably changed History.

‘And then again in Thebes. Your sonic vibrations woke up every crocodile within a radius of five miles. Don’t you know that’s how they communicate? You were fortunate everyone was at the festival. If the banks had been full of fishermen, families, people drawing water, people bathing, livestock drinking, there could have been massive loss of life that again would have been entirely due to your reckless irresponsibility.’

I said nothing about Pompeii. There was no point getting Ellis into trouble.

‘Ma’am, if asked my opinion, and I hope very much that one day I will be, I would say that the damage done by these officers as they ran riot up and down the timeline is far greater than the crime they are supposed to be investigating. A crime, I might add, that is vigorously denied by everyone charged, and for which no evidence exists outside of the imagination of the Time Police. Why have they not produced this contemporary? Where is she? Or he?’

I looked artistically around the Hall. ‘Oh! That’s right! Not here! How strange! The one piece of evidence that would prove the case beyond a shadow of doubt and they can’t produce it. Because it doesn’t exist.

‘Madam President, I would like the record to show that in my opinion, their behaviour has been appalling. Abominable. Unprofessional. Careless. Stupid. By seeking to punish those whom they consider responsible for a non-existent misdemeanour, they have rampaged through History, endangering the timeline and countless lives along with it. The Time Police are a disgrace, Madam President, and I call for them to suffer the strongest censure possible.’

I fell back into my seat. Someone at the back started to clap and slowly, it was taken up around the Hall.

I tried not to show the satisfaction I was feeling. Because I could deny I was Maxwell until I was blue in the face and no one was ever going to believe me after an outburst like that.

At a gesture from Colonel Albay, members of the Time Police unshouldered their weapons and made their wishes clearly known. St Mary’s slowly subsided, but something had changed.

Colonel Albay stood, slightly flushed with what I hoped was triumph, his mouth set in a grim line. I hoped – I really hoped – that my outburst had given him all the ammunition he thought he needed to finish me.

I turned to look at Madam President. Who was still writing. I was battling for my life – and those of Guthrie, Peterson, and the Boss – and she was still writing. She turned her head, caught me looking. She said, quite calmly and with no inflexion whatsoever, ‘The witness will now tell the truth.’

I nodded. The witness would indeed tell the truth. Because, finally – at long last – our Colonel Albay had allowed triumph to get the better of his judgement. He was about to make a mistake. He was some distance away, but even from here, I could feel his sudden excitement. He thought he had seen his way clear.

‘Ma’am, I think it is obvious now to everyone in this room that this is Madeleine Maxwell. Her familiarity with St Mary’s and its functions make this very clear. They think that by claiming Madeleine Maxwell is dead and conveniently cremated that somehow, they can escape the consequences of her actions, but I will not have it. Ma’am, I am prepared to state – on oath, if necessary – that this woman here today is Madeleine Maxwell.’

‘You are absolutely certain?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I am. Without doubt, this is Madeleine Maxwell. This is the woman who, while on assignment to Troy, removed a contemporary from his own time. The penalty for which is death.’

She turned to me. The silence was absolute. The only things moving were the dust particles, swirling in the sunlight shafting through the lantern.

I could feel the sweat running down my back. My arm throbbed. My chest throbbed. I had a splitting headache. I suspected Mrs Partridge’s witch’s brew was wearing off. I was going to crash any minute now.

The witness had been told to tell the truth.

She said clearly, ‘Please state your name.’

‘Madeleine Maxwell.’

Green.

No one moved.

‘You will take some time to consider your answer to this question and you will answer truthfully. Did you, last year, while on assignment at Troy, remove anyone, anyone at all, from their own timeline?’

I held up the cuff where everyone could see it and let my voice ring around the Hall.

‘No, I did not. My name is Madeleine Maxwell. I was Chief Operations Officer at St Mary’s and I have never, ever removed anyone from their own time.’

Green. Right across the board. Every light showed green.

A huge cheer rang out.

She waited for the noise to subside.

‘Has anyone, to your knowledge, ever removed a contemporary from their timeline?’

Shit. She’d asked the wrong question. Because in my world, yes, Leon had done that very thing. Was I, at this late stage, going to blow everything?

I took a deep breath and held up the cuff again. My head was pounding. ‘To my sure and certain knowledge, no one present today has ever witnessed me removing a contemporary from their timeline.’

This wasn’t quite what she had asked, but no one seemed to notice.

The cuff showed green and another cheer rang out.

‘Have Major Guthrie or Dr Peterson ever assisted with, or connived at, or been involved in any way with the removal of a contemporary from their own timeline?’

Shit! Shit, shit, shit! How to put this?

‘Neither Major Guthrie nor Dr Peterson have ever assisted me in the removal of a contemporary from their own timeline.’

Green. Eventually. No one seemed to notice the delay. Don’t ask about Leon. Don’t ask about Leon. Don’t ask about Leon.

‘To your knowledge, has Chief Farrell ever assisted, or connived at, or been involved in any way with the removal of a contemporary from their own timeline?’

And the answer to that, of course, was yes.

Think, Maxwell.

‘To save time, Madam President, I state here and now – not only have I have never removed anyone from their own timeline, but no one from this unit has ever assisted me, or connived with me, or been involved in any way with me doing so.’

A bit convoluted, but the cuff got the gist.

Green.

The noise was immense.

Colonel Albay stood amongst the chaos, head bent in thought.

She stood up and silence fell.

‘This hearing is concluded. The witness is released.’

He was bewildered. ‘Madam President? No. There are charges to answer.’

‘Colonel, there are no charges to answer. You clearly stated you believed this witness to be Dr Madeleine Maxwell. And she has admitted she is. You believed this witness to have committed a capital offense, and sought to bring her to justice. You charged three colleagues and the current Director with complicity. She has clearly established her innocence. And if she is innocent then so are her colleagues. The cuff does not lie, Colonel Albay. You said so yourself. Clearly, a mistake has been made. I proffer my apologies to those involved. This hearing is concluded.’

‘No,’ he said furiously. ‘I know that this crime did take place. I don’t know how they’ve done it, Madam President, but we have been deceived. I insist this matter be pursued.’

‘Colonel, you can’t keep charging people with the same crime until they give up and plead guilty. It’s not lawful.’

‘Nevertheless, ma’am, I insist.’

He turned to me. ‘If you are so innocent, why did you run?’

‘We ran from whatever you were going to do to us. You didn’t identify yourselves. You could have been anyone. We just saw men with guns, firing wildly in all directions and causing chaos wherever they went.’

‘You could have spoken. In Sick Bay – you could have explained.’

‘Too sick to speak,’ said Dr Foster, shouldering her way through the crowd. ‘I did tell you. On several occasions. You wouldn’t listen.’

He kept looking around. He’d been had. He knew he’d been had. He just didn’t know how.

I sat heavily. I was crashing … ‘Give it up, Colonel. Someone here …’ and I did not look at Barclay, ‘has used you for their own ends. You’ve been deceived. You should concentrate your efforts on finding the person responsible for wasting your time.’

I paused, in case he wanted to take this opportunity to shoot Barclay, but sadly, no.

Albay wasn’t going down without a fight. ‘We are the Time Police and you are subject to …’

Dr Bairstow intervened.

‘The Time Police have shown themselves to be easily manipulated, reckless in their actions, and careless of the consequences. They have destroyed any credibility they had within this organisation. The consequences are about to be serious. Madam President, if you would, please …’

She stood in front of the hearing. Every eye was on her.

‘Seven Directors of St Mary’s established the Time Police and according to the charter it will take seven Directors to disestablish them. Since the death of Dr Maxwell, St Mary’s has not been able to assemble seven Directors, but now that you have stated – clearly and before witnesses – that this is, beyond doubt, Madeleine Maxwell, the problem is solved.’

Wheels within wheels. This wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Helios. It was all about the dissolution of the Time Police. Mrs Partridge wasn’t the only person using me for her own ends.

‘Are you Madeleine Maxwell?’

‘Yes,’ I said, wearily. ‘I am.’

‘The cuff shows she is telling the truth. The cuff you yourself introduced, Colonel.’

Always be wary of people who go white with rage. It’s never a good sign. He was white now. ‘I will not allow it. I will not allow these criminals to escape punishment. The Time Police …’

‘Are finished.’ She flourished her papers. ‘This document is the new Charter. You will be signed out of existence as soon as we can assemble all seven Directors.’

‘You don’t have – and will never have – seven Directors in one place. It will never happen. And while you inch your way towards failure, I have a job to do here. The prisoners will be removed for a more thorough investigation. Sergeant, take them to the pods.’

It wasn’t over yet. I tensed my tired muscles. I don’t know what on earth I thought I was going to do.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Markham give a signal and our own Security team stepped up. And they weren’t the only ones. All of St Mary’s stood up.

Colonel Albay smiled unpleasantly. ‘You are all unarmed.’

Dr Bairstow’s smile was even more unpleasant. ‘How little you know my unit.’

All around the Hall, people produced their own private arsenals. The Security team had Tasers. Mrs Mack flourished her battle ladle. I reached up for my hair pins. One of those in each eye would slow anyone down. As the saying goes – it’s not much, but it’s the thought that counts.

Dr Bairstow’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘Leave my unit and take your thugs with you.’

For a second … it all hung in the balance. They were outnumbered but they were armed. Would they make a fight of it? If they did, people would die.

Softly, into the silence, Madam President said, ‘It’s over, Colonel. Accept you have overstepped your authority. Go while you can.’

‘It is not over. I will fight this. You will, all of you, be brought to account.’

‘Colonel, there was never anything here. You have searched – thoroughly – and found nothing. It seems obvious that you have acted on information that was not only incorrect, but also personally motivated. There will certainly be an investigation into its source. You have allowed yourself to be used. You overstepped your remit. Accept it and move on.’

He looked around the Hall. I knew who he was looking for. I may not have looked good, but I bet I didn’t look half as sick as Isabella Barclay.

He said quietly, ‘We’ll be back,’ and it wasn’t clear to which of us he was speaking.

Chapter Twelve

Once, I would have celebrated in the bar, just like everyone else. I would possibly have had a drink or six, probably exchanged a great deal of less than witty but very noisy banter with my colleagues, and almost certainly would have had to be helped to bed later. We would have woken the next morning, partaken of a very gentle breakfast, and then got on with the day.

Now, however, with blurred vision and legs that would hardly support me, I made for my bed. I just had enough strength to pull the foot of the bed across the door to deter any nocturnal visitors and fell sound asleep.

I woke well into the next day, enjoyed a careful shower, and headed for breakfast. Or lunch – I’m quite flexible about what I call my meals.

I made myself a pot of tea, picked up an egg and bacon buttie, and made my way to the same table as yesterday. Someone had left a copy of the local paper, folded back to display a report of a road traffic accident two days before, on the Rushford by-pass. Apparently, it was a miracle that no one had been seriously injured.

Someone had scribbled something underneath.

Knock-knock.

Who’s there?

Ivanna.

Ivanna who?

Ivanna say thank you …

I stroked the page and smiled.

After I’d eaten, and somewhat curious to see what would happen next, I wandered into the library. I was pretty sure Dr Bairstow would want to see me sooner or later. My plan was to return to Rushford. I had concerns for Leon’s flat and workshop after the Time Police had rampaged through everything. I just hoped Dr Bairstow would lend me half a crown for the bus fare.

The library was deserted this morning. Judging from the distant thunder, all the historians were working in the Hall. Dr Dowson bustled in and out, giving me a cheery wave every now and then. It was all very peaceful and pleasant.

I was staring out of the window, wondering what would become of me and not thinking about Leon in any way, when Miss Lee turned up and announced that Dr Bairstow would like to see me. Her tone led me to believe it was a toss-up between me and leprosy and I’d won by only the narrowest majority.

I followed her to Dr Bairstow’s office.

He greeted me politely but neutrally, and we sat down.

‘You look a little pale this morning, Dr Maxwell. Are you feeling quite well after yesterday?

‘Yes, very well, thank you. A little tired, but nothing to speak of.’

He realigned the files on his desk. I decided to take the initiative.

‘I’m really very grateful for your hospitality, Dr Bairstow, but I think I should return to Rushford as soon as possible. I’m anxious about Leon’s flat.’

‘I don’t think that would be a wise move, Dr Maxwell. I’m certain we haven’t seen the last of them and, thanks to their efforts, your flat is not, at this moment, habitable. I’m sorry.’

I sat, dismayed. So just to recap, no home, no possessions, no identity, no job, no money, no Leon … Normal people reaching my age have usually acquired houses, mortgages, jobs, cars, families, pets – I had nothing. I had even less than I started with all those years ago. I didn’t even own the clothes I was currently sitting in.

‘I have a proposal for you, instead. We recently received an assignment I think might interest you. 14th-century London. Southwark, to be precise. The Tabard Inn. An in-depth investigation into medieval pilgrims journeying to Canterbury. You might even catch a sight of Chaucer himself. You and Dr Peterson. Would you be interested?’

I smiled. ‘This is a test, isn’t it? After I shot my mouth off in the dining-room the other day. You want me to put my money where my mouth is.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind, yes.’

‘And will I come back?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

But he did. He knew exactly what I was saying.

‘Well, it’s all over now, isn’t it? Everyone’s pretty well off the hook. And if you can get rid of me then even if they do come back, their star suspect is dead in an unfortunate accident in the 14th century. How sad. Still, probably a blessing in disguise, don’t you think? Of course, Leon will take it badly, but he must be getting used to it by now.’

Oh my God, did I just say that? I wondered if, perhaps, I was becoming a little unhinged.

Time ticked on. As it does. I could hear a motor mower outside. That would be Mr Strong giving the South Lawn a Brazilian. The lovely smell of fresh-cut grass floated in through the window and still we stared at each other. It crossed my mind again that I really should have died at Agincourt.

‘I am sorry you feel that way. It has not been my intention …’ He stopped. ‘Perhaps it is time we all put our cards on the table. As a mark of good faith, I shall go first. You are obviously aware of the Time Police and their function. Leon will have told you. You will know that Leon and I are from the future. That we were sent back to set up and then oversee St Mary’s. To keep it safe.’

I nodded.

‘The Time Police are formed a long time in the future. To combat a very real threat. They presented themselves at various incarnations of St Mary’s, all of whom voluntarily signed the Charter. We did not, initially, foresee any problem with them. Then. But when the threat disappeared, the Time Police did not. And then they became the threat. You know all this, I believe?’

I nodded again.

‘I have sent Leon to visit every incarnation of St Mary’s. It is difficult and it is dangerous. I don’t know for how long he will be gone. His mission is to persuade every Director to reject the presence of the Time Police in their unit. Even to foster rebellion if he has to. I hope that, up and down the timeline, the Time Police are being evicted from every St Mary’s even as we speak. Some will be easier than others, of course. And by now he will have a price on his head.’

He hadn’t left me. He hadn’t run away and left me. The dreadful black fear living inside me, the one I hadn’t acknowledged, even to myself, shrivelled and died. For a moment, just for a moment, my heart soared. And then crashed back to earth again.

He stared out of the window.

‘It is very possible he will not return.’

‘He might already be dead?’

‘He might be, yes.’

‘And we’ll never know.’

‘If the Time Police ever do return here, then we will know that he failed. We will be preparing for that event. In the meantime, after discussion with my senior staff, we are all of the opinion that you might, for a while, be safer in the 14th century than here at St Mary’s. However, this is a genuine assignment with a genuine purpose. I hope very much that you will accept it.’

Outside, the motor mower roared past again. We were talking about Leon dying and the end of St Mary’s and outside, life carried on as normal.

It was my turn to speak.

‘My name really is Madeleine Maxwell, but I’m not your Madeleine Maxwell. I really did work at St Mary’s, but not your St Mary’s. I was appointed Deputy Director and chose Agincourt for my last jump. It all went wrong and I received a fatal chest wound, as I’m sure Dr Foster has reported. I fell and when I opened my eyes, I was bleeding on Leon’s carpet, in Rushford.’

My voice wobbled and to my horror, I found I was going to cry in front of Dr Bairstow. I struggled on. ‘I don’t know why I’m here. Or how I got here. I don’t know what’s going on. I …’

My voice died away. I could not continue, but he was Dr Bairstow and Dr Bairstow always understood.

‘You are here, alone, in a place that’s both familiar and hostile at the same time. You have been running for your life. You are exhausted and hurt. You did not get a chance to say goodbye to Leon and you’ve just learned that you may never see him again. I can only imagine how very isolated and afraid you must feel at this moment. Please allow me to assist you.’

He handed me a box of tissues and tactfully retired to the window while I disgraced myself.

Fifteen minutes later, I accepted the assignment.

*      *      *

There’s nothing good about the 14th century. It opens with the Battle of Bannockburn, Edward II’s humiliating defeat at the hands of the Scots. After a disastrous reign, he was overthrown by his wife. Serves him right. What sort of idiot marries a woman known as The She-Wolf of France?

The country was right in the middle of the Hundred Years’ War with France. As usual, England had started well and then failed to follow through. Edward III dissolved into senility. His grandson, the erratic Richard II, embarked on a long minority rule and was eventually overthrown. The century closed with his imprisonment and murder.

In the middle of all this, the country suffered repeated occurrences of the Black Death, which resulted in over 20 million deaths throughout Europe. A third of the population died. Whole villages were wiped out by the plague and were lost from all knowledge until the arrival of aerial photography revealed their sad outlines under the soil.

The huge decrease in population meant there weren’t enough people to work the land, no matter how much they were paid. The price of bread rocketed and more riots broke out. Unable to stand the strain, the feudal system began to crumble. Peasants defied their lords and left the lands worked by their forefathers or commuted their labour for money. The faint beginnings of tenant farmers were born.

This social upheaval led to the Peasants’ Revolt and Wat Tyler. A feeling that God had abandoned them contributed to religious turmoil. Even the weather was dire.

It was definitely not a good time to be alive.

Guess where we were going?

I was kitted out in Wardrobe. They gave me a long, linen shift with loose sleeves, a thick, brown woollen dress, with another lighter and shorter surcoat to be worn over the top. I eased my feet into soft leather shoes. There was none of the usual banter. Mrs Enderby handed me a square of linen and they all watched in silence to see what I would do with it.

I sighed. Everything was a test.

I’d already plaited my hair and pinned it up. I twisted the square and tied it tightly around my hair, tucking in the ends. No mirror and all achieved in about five seconds flat.

Normally, I’d be squirreling away the traditional historian’s arsenal of stun gun and pepper, but not on this assignment. I shrugged my shoulders a couple of times to let everything settle, walked a few paces to check the shoes were comfortable, tied a battered leather scrip to my belt, checked myself in the mirror by the door, said, ‘Thank you, everyone’, as I always did, and left them to make what they could of that.

Peterson met me outside Pod Three. He also wore brown. He carried a cloak, a staff, and a wide-brimmed pilgrim’s hat.

I looked up at the gantry. A row of silent people stared down at us. There were no insults, no unhelpful advice, and no jokes that were only funny if you worked at St Mary’s.

We looked at each other in silence. I would not allow myself to think of the last time Tim Peterson and I went out together.

He folded his cloak over his arm.

‘Anything I should know?’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, which language will we be speaking?’

Sometimes, I’m my own worst enemy.

‘Oh, that’s easy. At street level, it’s Middle English. The clergy speak Latin. Your social superiors will speak Middle French. Remember that most words have a final e, which you should pronounce if the following word begins with a consonant. Except when that consonant is h, w, or y, of course. If the following word begins with a vowel, then that e is silent. Every letter in a word should be pronounced. If in any doubt, remember the ph in banana is always silent. Any questions?’

Dieter broke a fairly unfriendly silence by telling us to get a move on.

‘In your own time,’ said Peterson, indicating the console and stowing his gear.

I was strongly reminded of my first assignment, when we’d jumped to London, to Westminster Abbey. On that occasion, I’d done everything while he apparently fell asleep. This felt very similar, although I was prepared to bet he wouldn’t be taking his eyes off me this time.

This was just as much a test, but I wouldn’t let him rush me. I sat slowly at the console and scanned the read-outs. Everything seemed more or less in the right place. I flicked a few switches and nothing blew up.

Dieter handed me the coordinates and taking my time, I laid them in. They both watched my every move. The silence was unnerving. When I’d finished, I sat back and let them check it over.

They looked at each other and nodded.

‘You can’t initiate the jump,’ said Peterson. ‘You’re not authorised for this pod. Or any pod. So you’d better make damn sure nothing happens to me, because, if I’m dead, you won’t even be able to get back inside again. Remember that.’

I refused to be intimidated. ‘The last time I went out with you, you nearly lost an arm. Try to take a little more care this time. It took ages to wash your blood out of my hair.’

I like to think that shut him up for a bit.

Dieter scowled at us both impartially and left.

‘Computer – initiate jump.’

The world went white.

Southwark. A red-light district. Over the river from London. Home of thieves, rogues, actors, prostitutes, and politicians. And now, historians. Yep – all low life was here.

We parked somewhere in the triangle between the Gryne Dragon, St Savyor’s Church, and The Bolles Hede, strolled through Chayne Gate and out into the heaving High Street.

And heaving it was.

Peterson stood stock-still like a trainee, so it was obviously up to me.

I said sourly, ‘You should have brought a clipboard,’ and drew him back against a wall so we could get our bearings.

To our left, the High Street led to London Bridge. The year was 1383. Exactly three hundred years in the future, I would be just a couple of hundred yards upstream, dodging Time Police, and freezing my arse off. Today, however, was summer. The sun streamed down from a cloudless sky. This might actually be quite a pleasant assignment.

To my right, the road widened and became St Margaret’s Hill. Directly in front of me stood the pillory. Mercifully empty. On the other hand, of course, that left plenty of room for an erring historian.