TimeBomb: The TimeBomb Trilogy: Book 1 (30 page)

Quil nodded. ‘It’s called a mind-writer.’

Dora shook her head in amazement. ‘In the future, is everybody’s mind constantly being remade, to suit the whims of others?’

‘Absolutely, but not in the way you mean.’ Quil laughed. ‘They only use machines like this on particularly dangerous criminals – serial killers, psychopaths. The nutbags. But adjust the settings and you can use it on anybody. I stole one from a supermax a while back, thought it might come in useful.’

‘You say you can use it put my mother right?’

‘Certainly. Where is Henry, by the way?’ Quil addressed this question to Mountfort, whose sword had not wavered during their exchange.

‘He stayed upstairs, milady, something about preparing the servants for a siege,’ he said.

Quil nodded, accepting this story, to Dora’s relief. ‘Dora,’ she continued, ‘you must understand, my actions towards you are not dictated by what you have done, but by what you will do, you and your two friends. But perhaps the future – your future – is not set in stone. I’d like to try and prevent us becoming enemies at all. So I am willing to offer you a deal. If you swear to me that you will remain here, in this time and place, for the rest of your life, then I will leave you to your own devices. You can have your mother back, and you can go live in your little village and tend goats to your heart’s content. Find a man, marry, squeeze out a few kids. Trust me, nothing would make me happier than to never see your face again.’

‘Truly?’

‘Truly.’

Dora did not know how to respond. She had not known what to expect when she finally met the woman who had been the focus of her fears, but it was not this calm, reasonable offer of truce. ‘You are not what I feared,’ she admitted.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ replied Quil. ‘Do we have a deal?’

Before Dora could answer there was a loud chime from one of the machines. Quil turned to examine one of the screens and whistled softly. ‘It seems our parliamentarian friends decided not to bother talking.’ On the screen, Dora could see groups of men busying themselves around a row of cannons.

‘Is this a picture of what is occurring outside?’ asked Mountfort.

‘Yup,’ replied Quil. ‘That’s the ridge to the east. It was always the most likely position for them to put their big guns. I don’t understand why they haven’t come to parley first, though.’

‘I know of at least one soldier who escaped the massacre in the village,’ said Mountfort, with a knowing look to Dora. She realised he was talking about James. ‘If he has provided an account of the attack to the main force, they would have no need to parley. They would know your allegiance already.’

Quil shrugged. ‘I’m not allied to anyone. Not in this time, anyway. Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m ready for them. Guards, to your stations, as we drilled.’

The five guards spun on their heels and jogged from the room.

Quil busied herself at the computer, talking over her shoulder to Dora and Mountfort. ‘It won’t be safe for you to leave, not while I repel this attack,’ she said. ‘Stay down here with me for a while. It won’t take long, and then you can get going. Assuming you accept my offer, Dora?’

‘I do,’ said Dora impulsively, realising only as she said it that she did indeed accept. But then something occurred to her, and she added, ‘On one condition.’

Quil stopped and turned to regard Dora. ‘And what would that be?’ she asked, her voice cold.

Dora remembered the moment on the green when she had noticed a brief expression of horror cross James’ face as she had raved of devilry. For a second she had seen a flash of the boy she had known – someone out of his depth and lost. Had she not caught that tiny moment of doubt, she would not have asked what she did. But she had seen it, she knew the brother she had loved was still in there, buried beneath fear and fervour, and she saw a chance to rescue him. ‘That much as you altered my mother, you agree to alter my brother too,’ she said.

‘Brother?’ Quil sounded surprised.

‘James. The escaped soldier Mountfort just referred to. He is my brother. If I am to return to my family, I would have it as it used to be. He must be changed back into the person he was before the religious zealotry of these Puritans twisted his mind. Can you do this for me?’

Quil nodded. ‘Fix the mother, fix the brother. No problem. Assuming he survives the battle, of course.’

‘Then we are not enemies, you and I,’ said Dora. ‘I know not what you do here, or why, but I allow that it is none of my concern. I would much rather be left alone and in peace.’

‘You got it.’

As Quil resumed her business with the computer, Dora and Mountfort took Sarah and sat her down against the wall. ‘Mother, can you hear me?’ asked Dora, gently.

Sarah was staring into space, biting her nails. She gave no indication that she had heard a thing.

Mountfort laid a hand on Dora’s arm and she met his gaze. ‘Young mistress, do I understand correctly, that you are in fact in no danger?’

‘It appears so,’ she replied.

‘Then I must away from here. Sweetclover will awaken soon, and when he does I shall be in great difficulties.’

‘You will take the tunnel?’

Mountfort nodded, so Dora explained how to find the ice house, and the best route he should take to quit the area quickly. ‘I thank you, young mistress,’ he said as he rose to leave. ‘I am sorry for our earlier disagreement, I hope you can accept that I was trying to do the honourable thing by my king and by my country. And I wish you all the best in this strange place.’

Dora leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Go safely,’ she said, before returning her attentions to her mother.

Mountfort smiled and then walked to Quil. ‘Milady, I think I would be of best use in the house above, helping repel the attack.’

Quil, fixated on the screens, did not look at him. Her fingers tapping away on a curious instrument before them, a long flat object covered in buttons, each with a different letter painted upon it. ‘You’d be in the way,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘But you could go and get Hank for me, OK? Bring him down here. He should see this.’

Mountfort nodded. ‘Yes, my lady.’ He walked away, flashing a wink at Dora.

But when he reached the door and placed his hand upon its edge, he stopped in his tracks and gave a soft groan. Dora stared at him, puzzled, as he stood there, frozen in place. After a moment she called, ‘Master Mountfort? Are you well?’

He slowly turned towards her and opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Instead a thin dribble of blood leaked from his lips. It was only when he stepped forward, unsteady on his feet, that she saw the knife hilt protruding from his belly. Dora’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream as Mountfort fell first to his knees and then toppled forward onto his face.

Behind his prone body, which twitched and shook as shock took hold, Sweetclover stepped through the doorway. Dora watched, horror stricken, as he rolled Mountfort over and pulled the knife from his stomach. Mountfort groaned in agony as the blade slid out. Sweetclover used Mountfort’s smock to clean the knife, then began to advance puposefully towards Dora.

Dora froze, holding her mother, whose eyes were now heavy with sleep. She could feel her grip on sanity slipping away from her again, as it had done in the church. The horrors of this endless day kept piling up and threatened to bury her beneath them. She had been foolish, trying to rescue Jana and Kaz. They weren’t even here, and if they had been, what could she have done? She was a fourteen-year-old girl armed with a candle. It was she who needed rescuing. She was a danger to herself and others, not least poor Mountfort, salty and sneaky, but kind at heart and now dying in a pool of his own blood.

As Sweetclover bore down on her, she made a vow to herself: if only someone would intervene to save her, if only she could survive this day, she would make sure that she never needed rescuing again, for as long as she lived.

The elevator doors slid open silently. Jana stood ready, legs apart, pistols raised, teeth gritted in anticipation. But she found, to her astonishment and relief, that although the room was occupied, everybody had their backs to her.

By the computer table and the bank of floating screens stood a woman in an obvious wig. Had to be Quil. Beyond her was Sweetclover, walking towards Dora, who cowered on the floor with her back to the wall cradling an unconscious woman. There was a man lying by the door. Jana thought he was dead till she saw one of his arms twitch. A glint of light drew Jana’s gaze to Sweetclover’s hand, where he held a vicious-looking knife. She stepped forward, taking aim at Sweetclover’s back. She was just drawing breath to issue a command for him to stop when Quil saved her the trouble.

‘What are you doing, Hank?’ said Quil, rushing to put herself between him and Dora.

Although Quil was now facing in her direction, Jana was masked from her view by Sweetclover. But she wouldn’t be for long. She ducked down, hurried behind a nearby chest and peered out at the unfolding drama, ready to intervene if needed.

‘That whoreson and this cat beat me unconscious and left me for dead,’ Sweetclover shouted.

Quil looked down at Dora, whose hands Jana could see were shaking. ‘Is this true, Dora?’ asked Quil.

‘Yes,’ replied Dora, her voice quavering with fear. ‘But that was before you and I spoke. We believed he was bringing us down here to imprison or torture us. Poor Mountfort was only trying to save me.’

‘Poor Mountfort was an insubordinate wretch who paid for his disloyalty with his life,’ snarled Sweetclover. ‘How do you intend to make amends?’

Quil placed a hand over the knife and forced Sweetclover’s arm down. ‘Stand down, soldier,’ she said. ‘Dora and I have reached an understanding. No need for any more blood here. It’s all good,’ she said, her tone mollifying and placatory. There was a long, tense moment when Jana thought Sweetclover was going to argue, but finally he sheathed his knife and stalked through a door into the anteroom where the patient had been kept.

Quil looked down at Dora. ‘Am I wrong to trust you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied Dora simply. ‘I only want to go home and be with my family. Please believe me.’

Before Quil could give a response, Sweetclover burst out of the anteroom. ‘She is gone,’ he yelled, alarmed.

‘I know,’ replied Quil, impatiently. ‘I told you this was going to happen, I just didn’t know when. She was well prepared, I made sure of that. She’ll be fine. We’ve got other fish to fry now, OK?’

‘But how?’ said Sweetclover, bewildered.

‘Good question,’ Quil replied, kneeling before Dora. Jana had to strain to make out what she was saying.

‘If you want me to honour our agreement, Dora, I need a show of good faith,’ she said softly. ‘Tell me the truth – were Jana and Kaz down here? They’re not here now, so you’re not betraying them. I already know they must be in this time period. I need to know if they were in this room.’

Jana willed Dora to keep her mouth shut. She did not know what agreement Dora and Quil had reached, but she didn’t think it could be anything good.

‘I think they may have been, yes,’ said Dora. ‘I last saw them in the chamber outside.’

Quil cursed loudly as she rose to her feet again. ‘Today of all days I forget to lock the door. I’m an idiot, Hank. One of them must have touched her.’

Sweetclover’s shoulders slumped and he looked sad. ‘Then she is gone forever?’

Quil walked over to him and took his face in her hands. He looked up into her mask as she spoke. ‘No, of course not. How many times do I have to explain this to you, you big lunk? She is me. I am her. I never knew how I was blown back in time again. I thought it must have been another random jump. But I took precautions. She’s got everything she needs on her person. She’ll work it out and start making her way back here, and then you’ll meet her again, five years ago when I turn up to help me recover from my first time journey. Capiche?’

Jana could tell by Sweetclover’s face that he was having trouble grasping Quil’s explanation, but it made perfect sense to Jana. Quil had been blown back in time to 1640, horribly damaged on the journey, and had encountered Dora. But then an older version of Quil had arrived, set her up in the makeshift hospital in the undercroft, and nursed her younger self back to health. The recuperation was still ongoing, five years later when the younger Quil came into contact with Kaz and was blown back through time once more. Right now she was waking up in some prehistoric era and would soon begin a journey back to 1640, building her army in the cavern below as she did so. Eventually, she would catch up to herself and arrive ready to live the same five years in this house for a second time, this time as the nurse to her younger self.

Her mind boggled as she worked out the complexity of Quil’s life; it was no wonder Sweetclover was having trouble wrapping his head around it.

‘Look, we can go through it again later, OK?’ said Quil. ‘I’ll draw diagrams and everything, promise. But right now we have two pressing problems. First, Jana and Kaz will have been thrown across time when they touched me. But if only one of them made contact, then the other is still here, and there’s only one place he or she can be.’

Jana ducked back behind the chest as she realised Quil was turning towards the elevator.

‘Down there,’ she heard Quil say. ‘So I need you to go down and get them for me while I deal with our other problem – the army that is about to attack our home. Can you do that for me?’

Sweetclover did not reply, but he must have nodded because Jana heard his footsteps echoing across the chamber as he walked towards her. Jana shuffled around the chest, keeping out of sight as he entered the elevator. She peeked out as the doors closed and he began to descend.

Knowing it might be her only chance, Jana rose to her feet and aimed both pistols at Quil, who was halfway across the space, walking towards the computer desk. She froze when she saw Jana. After a moment Quil held her hands out wide in the universally recognised posture of submission.

‘Hello, Yojana,’ said Quil, her voice calm and seemingly unsurprised. ‘Sorry, you don’t like that name, do you. Jana, then. Hello, Jana.’