A Symphony of Echoes (24 page)

Peterson, supported by Markham and Evans, drew himself up and reverted to full Training Officer Mode.

‘Right. Can anyone tell me where we went wrong?’

When I opened my eyes in Sick Bay, the room was very quiet. I was in my usual bed by the door.

Dr Bairstow sat beside the bed, his face turned away. One hand rested lightly on mine.

I closed my eyes again, sighed, and fluttered my eyelids a little. When I opened my eyes, he had both hands resting on his walking stick.

‘Good morning, Dr Maxwell.’

‘Good morning, sir.’

I always appreciated that he never asked how I was. In his book, if you weren’t actually dead then you were fit to work.

‘An eventful assignment.’

‘Yes, indeed, sir.’

I struggled to sit up and he passed me a rehydration drink.

‘So,’ I said, sipping. ‘Six weeks.’

‘Or three days.’

This was an old argument. I would argue that we’d been missing for six weeks and our pay packets should reflect that fact. He would respond that according to my personal timeline, only three days had passed and therefore I was only entitled to three days’ pay. I never won, but I never wearied of the argument, either. It’s our responsibility to keep senior managers on their toes. I was doing him a kindness, really. He was never the slightest bit appreciative but we should never let management ingratitude deflect us from our duty.

Dr Foster wandered in an hour later, peered at me, lit a cigarette, typed into her scratchpad, and began to mutter apocalyptically about liver flukes.

I beamed at her because I knew it would annoy her. If there was one thing she hated more than a patient – it was a happy patient.

And the next visitor, of course, was Leon, who stood uncertainly by the door.

I’d been doing some thinking. There’s something about being adrift in time that rearranges some priorities and perceptions.

Looking up at the stars while waiting to have your throat cut rearranges the rest.

I climbed out of bed and wobbled towards him.

Nobody said anything for a very long time. I think we both felt that more than enough had been said already. Eventually though, I had to speak.

‘Leon. Need to breathe.’

He slackened his grip slightly. But not much.

So there we were. All set for a romantic reconciliation. I gazed into his eyes. Rainbows blossomed. Bluebirds sang. The music swelled to a crescendo.

The bloody fire alarms went off.

He uttered a paint-blistering curse. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Neither did I. Normally, there wasn’t a smoke detector in the building that had a battery in it.

He strode from the room. There was a lot of shouting in the corridor. An awful lot of shouting. I could hear Leon. And Peterson. And Mr Markham – of course he
would
be here somewhere, wouldn’t he?

Since Dr Bairstow wouldn’t let us have a goat, Mr Markham was the nearest thing we had to a mascot. Small, spiky-haired, and perpetually grubby, he had acquired unit-wide respect by running into a horse’s bottom and laying himself out cold. And that was just the beginning of his adventures here at St Mary’s. Invincibly cheerful, he had been badly injured on several occasions. He always bounced back. We reckoned he was indestructible. He was coming with me to Edinburgh.

I could also hear Helen’s voice cutting effortlessly through the racket. And Major Guthrie’s. Everyone seemed to have a lot to say. It was tempting to go out there and make things worse, but I resisted.

The ear-splitting shriek of the alarms just went on and on. Then, suddenly, there was blessed silence.

The shouting, however, continued for some considerable time afterwards.

Eventually, Leon returned, closing the door firmly behind him.

‘What was that all about?’

‘While visiting Mr Peterson, Mr Markham contrived to set fire to the curtains in the men’s ward. Everyone’s blaming you. Come here.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because I want to hold you again. Come here.’

‘I mean, why are they blaming me?’

‘You instructed him to practice his conjuring tricks. The curtains ignited. All over now. Come here.’

‘The trick involves producing silk scarves, for crying out loud. How the hell could he possibly manage to set fire to the curtains?’

‘How should I know? I’m only grateful he’s not sawing a woman in half out there. Please, come here.’

We sat in the window seat and he talked quietly to me. His words were simple, but came from his heart. They reached out and touched my very core. And the whole black, ugly, gunky mess that had been inside me for so long just cracked apart and flowed away, like the tears on my cheeks.

Chapter Sixteen

My Mary Stuart briefing was set for two days after I left Sick Bay.

Not without a great deal of trepidation, I assembled everyone in my office to divvy up the mission responsibilities. This would be our first mission with such high levels of interaction. This went against all our training, all our instincts. We would not be melting into the background this time.

Present were Chief Farrell, the world’s most reluctant volunteer; Mr Dieter from the technical section; Major Guthrie, and Tim Peterson. Mrs Enderby, representing Wardrobe, separated Professor Rapson from Dr Dowson. Miss Schiller, Miss Van Owen, and Miss Lee squeezed themselves together at the foot of the table.

I looked at them. They looked at me. And off we went.

I said, ‘Has everyone read through their background notes?’ and they all nodded. ‘I’m going to run through this from beginning to end because some of you know more than others. After the briefing, I’ll be happy to answer questions and listen to any suggestions you may have. I don’t pretend to have all the answers, and if there’s anything you think I’ve missed, please speak up.

‘Initially, we thought this mission would be fairly straightforward, but things have moved on and we now have two mission objectives. The first, as you know, is to ascertain whether Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland is married to, or about to marry, James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. If not, one of our objectives is to insinuate ourselves into her court and – nudge – events back into line. This is high-profile stuff. There will be no question of us working quietly in the background. For the first time ever we’ll be looking to interact with the major players of their age. And we don’t have long. Darnley is murdered on 10th February 1567 and Mary is supposed to marry Bothwell on 15th May. This gives us a window of only about 90 days to find out what’s gone wrong and to put it right. So we’re going to have to move fast. Make no mistake about this, people – we will be in harm’s way.

‘The second objective is to locate and neutralise the probable cause of all this. I present to you the villain of the piece, Clive Ronan, already known to most of us here, I believe.’

I brought up the best image we could find.

‘Not content with getting his arse kicked in the Cretaceous Period and in the Alexandrian desert last year, we believe he’s attempting to manipulate events for his own personal benefit. You’ve read your notes; I don’t have to tell you the consequences if we don’t act.’

A damaged timeline. Altered History. Personal consequences. Paradox. Nothing good for anyone.

‘So, let’s make a start. We’re jumping to 16th-century Edinburgh and far from keeping our heads down and staying out of trouble, we’re going to be walking right into it. Dr Peterson and I have put together a scenario, approved by the Boss, as follows:

‘Scotland is a trading nation. So is England. English wool is the backbone of their economy. Scotland exports wool too; Melrose wool is a quality product but, when it comes to wool, it’s England that the world looks to. We intend to come at this in an unusual way. The deal is that we offer Mary exotic goods and fabrics from the east, in exchange for Melrose wool. To establish Scotland on the important trade routes of the time. To raise its profile and give it the opportunity to get in with the big boys. If, and we emphasise this,
only
if
she will substantially undercut Elizabeth’s prices. We don’t want to raise suspicions by making the offer too good to be true. However, given the rivalry between the two of them, we think she’ll jump at the opportunity to gain such a lucrative advantage over her cousin.

‘To this end, we will be posing as a delegation from Istanbul. And be careful here. Constantinople fell in 1453, and officially became Istanbul. You will find the city referred to by either name. Be aware of this. We are representing a guild of international merchants eager to open a trading relationship with Scotland. This should not have too great an impact on the timeline. We’re simply anticipating the formation of the Levant Company by a few years. We will be rich, grand, ostentatious, and very, very visible. We will obtain an audience with the Queen, present our credentials, letters of introduction and recommendations, and bring gifts – precious gifts.

‘This should give us the entrée and, from this grand opening, somehow, we will be seeking to influence events and get things back on track. And before you all look too dismayed, remember this. Just for once, it might be that History is on our side. We’re the good guys in all this – this time she might just bat for our team, so keep your fingers crossed.

‘Now, how do we achieve all this? If I could refer you to your cast of characters, please. The delegation will be headed by the French speaking Sir Richard Hampton, representing the merchants of Istanbul. Or Chief Farrell as he prefers to be known. Accompanying him are his brother Christopher, that’s Dr Peterson and his aide de campe, Robert Morton. Major Guthrie, that’s you. Major, Mr Markham is already signed up, but please can you select two or three more people from your team to accompany us. Please emphasise their main objective will be to safeguard a bunch of historians hell-bent on disaster, and therefore some sort of death-wish and a complete disregard for personal safety will be an advantage on this assignment.’

Guthrie grinned.

‘They’re queuing up.’

‘Really?’

He grinned again.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘OK. Well, setting aside the lemming-like behaviour of the security section for one moment, I’m going as the sister, Mary Hampton. A female presence may be useful since we’re dealing with a queen. Miss Schiller, our Tudor specialist, will accompany me as Janet, maid and chaperone.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Peterson and she laughed.

‘Moving on,’ I said, glaring at the two of them. Water off a duck’s back. ‘Equipment required:

‘We’ll be using Pods Five and Six. The big ones. However, they’re not big enough for this number of personnel, so …’ I took a deep breath. This was the biggie. ‘We won’t be using them as our base. They are transport only. We’ll leave them outside town. We’re actually going to be living amongst 16th century contemporaries.’

Complete silence.

OK, it could have been worse. They were all still here. I ploughed on.

‘We could be there for up to three months. There will be at least eight of us, coming and going. With all the gear we’re taking, we’d need at least four pods. Too many. Besides, we’ll be high profile. We may need to entertain. So, we’ll be hiring a house. Right slap bang in the most fashionable area – Canongate, where the top people live.

‘Firstly, however, I want to send Mrs Enderby, properly escorted of course,’ I said to reassure her, and wasting my time because her whole face lit up with excitement, ‘to 16th century Istanbul to organise the purchase of carpets, silks, lace, velvets, all kinds of fabrics – gifts with which to tempt a Scottish queen to sign a trade agreement.’

‘Can we not use contemporary fabrics?’ she asked.

‘We could, but if we have to leave in a hurry – and past experience suggests we will – we can’t leave them behind and we can hardly present her Scottish Majesty with fabulous gifts then ask for them all back again, can we?’

‘We could show them to her and then take them away afterwards,’ suggested Guthrie.

‘They’re gifts, Ian,’ said Peterson, crushingly, ‘You’re not supposed to ask for them back. Jeez, I bet Christmas is fun in your house.’

I continued. ‘From a security point of view and given the nature of the assignment, I am not in favour of anything that could delay our getaway. However, it does seem quicker and simpler to present her with stuff from our time. It would certainly make a greater impact.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Enderby, joining the discussion. ‘Modern fabrics, modern colours, modern techniques. That would certainly stop her in her tracks. I could put together something really sumptuous. After all, the whole point is to impress her. If we don’t gain access to her court, then the whole mission is over before we even start.’

‘Mrs Enderby makes a very valid point,’ said Peterson. ‘But then what?’

‘But then nothing,’ said Guthrie. ‘We leave it there. If we’re successful then she only has a very short time left in Scotland anyway and she’s going to be much too busy to worry about frocks. It’s all biodegradable. It’ll probably just be shoved in a cupboard somewhere and forgotten. We leave it there.’

‘It would certainly simplify things,’ I said, trying to overcome instincts and training and failing.

Lovely Mrs Enderby came to the rescue. ‘We can do both, Max. I’ll use modern fabrics for your own costumes. That will make her eyes pop, and then we can use the contemporary stuff for the presentations. Best of both worlds. Trust me; I’ll put together a collection that will rock her world. We’ll start with colour. The Ottomans used metallic thread to make their silks shimmer in the light. I know she likes white and we can use that to set against their rich, deep colours. I think maybe Bursa, rather than Istanbul. Then there’s Italian velvet, of course, we can pick some up easily enough. Plus taffeta, satin, damask. And accessories, of course, braiding, ribbons, lace. Oh, lace ruffs, too. And she likes her caps. And slashing,’ she said excitedly and for one moment I thought we were back to Jack the Ripper again. ‘You just leave all this to me, Max.’

‘Wonderful idea,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Now, Dr Dowson and the archive staff will forge our papers, which are important and need to be able to withstand close scrutiny. Professor Rapson, can your R&D people assist, please?

They nodded, temporarily united. That wouldn’t last, but with luck long enough to get the job done. Just so long as they didn’t actually blow anything up. On the other hand, we wouldn’t be St Mary’s if something wasn’t on fire somewhere.

‘The next step – Dr Peterson and Major Guthrie’s team jump to Edinburgh. They rent a house – a big one – and prepare the way. Gentlemen, I want lots of glitz and glamour. Throw your money around. We only have 90 days at the most. Less, if we don’t get the co-ordinates quite right, so we can’t afford to be shrinking violets. Forget blending into the background on this mission.

‘When everything is ready for their big entrance, Sir Richard and his party arrive, gain access to the Queen, present their papers – and gifts, Major – insinuate themselves into her good graces and …’ I stopped.

And that was where everything stopped, of course. It looked so simple on paper.
Get the Queen and
Bothwell married
.

‘The truth is,’ I said, ‘from that moment on we’re just going to have to wing it.’

Silence.

‘We’ll think of something,’ said Peterson. ‘We’re St Mary’s.’

The magic words. Everyone cheered up.

‘The second part of the assignment is less easy to define. Somewhere, amongst all this is the cause of all the trouble, our old friend, Clive Ronan. Whether he is working alone or with contemporaries is unknown. We have no information on his whereabouts. We think we know his objective but we might be wrong. In short – we have nothing. The only thing we do know is that something is very wrong in 1567 and we have to sort it out.’

I waited, but apart from the sound of people bashing away at their scratchpads, there was no other sound.

‘It gets worse,’ I continued. ‘Having located Mr Ronan, we have no idea what to do with him. I’m not singling out the security section, Major, but we all need to be very clear about this. No harm must come to Mr Ronan. We’ve all read the notes. If he’s dead then he’s not in the Cretaceous. Or at Alexandria. Or anywhere. And by extension, we might not be, either. I don’t often lay down the law but in I’m doing so in this case. Everyone on this assignment needs to be very clear about this.
No harm must come to Mr Ronan
.’

Guthrie nodded, tight lipped.

‘Question,’ said Schiller. ‘Where’s History in all this? How have things got this bad? Clerk got his arm broken last year when he reached out to help a woman down some steps.’

‘We think, in this case, that it is very possible that History is employing more – subtle – methods, by using St Mary’s.’

‘St Mary’s is the subtle option?’

‘As opposed to exterminating Ronan, damaging the timeline, and causing the end of all things as we’ve known them – yes. St Mary’s may be the only option.’

‘We’re doomed,’ said Guthrie and everyone cheered up.

‘Next stage.’ I said. ‘Having achieved our objective, we implement what is always the most important part of any assignment – the safe return. Major, one of your team will remain at the house at all times to ensure we can go at a moment’s notice. Their priority, should anything go wrong, is to strip the house of anything anomalous and get it back to the pods. Please make that clear to them. Everyone will need to pack their personal gear in grab-bags and keep them available at all times. We will almost certainly be looking for a speedy exit. There will be no time to pack. It’s a chore, but it must be done.’

He nodded. I paused and sipped some water. Everyone bent over their scratchpads. I waited until they’d finished.

‘So, your individual responsibilities are as follows:

‘Chief, please get the pods prepped and start work on the Richard Hampton character.

‘Major Guthrie, select your team, brief them up, and start work on your character.

‘Mrs Enderby, please choose the members of your team who will accompany you. You know the brief. You’ll be in Pod Six with Mr Dieter. Major Guthrie and his security team will escort you in Pod Five. Buy whatever you need; Dr Bairstow has persuaded the history department at Thirsk to supply us with contemporary currency. Load your goods into Number Six for Major Guthrie to take to Edinburgh.

‘Mr Dieter will bring you back here in Number Five.

‘Using Number Five again, Dr Peterson will jump back to Edinburgh and rendezvous with Major Guthrie. You will hire a house and get things ready. Send someone back in Five when you’re all set.

‘Chief Farrell, Miss Schiller, and I will join you.

‘And then, we ride into Edinburgh, making as much noise as possible.

‘Miss Van Owen, you will have responsibility for the History Department until we return, but I’d like you to keep attending these meetings as first reserve.