Markham pulled up a chair opposite me. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ he said. ‘This other site Bridget mentioned – was there anything interesting about any of the other files you picked up from the conference room that might possibly give us a clue?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I was concentrating on the black file. Give me a minute.’

  I sipped and thought. OK. I was in the toilet. Tiled floor. Cream walls. Pungent air freshener. Toilet roll to my left-hand side. I lowered the lid. I sat down. I had the files on my lap. Half of me was listening for the door opening. The black one was about four files down. I lifted the first one . . . I closed my eyes, remembering. The first one was big and blue – 17th century – I couldn’t remember the number at all. The second was pink. The third was . . . red. Nineteenth century. It was cross-referenced to a lot of other files. Then there was the black file and I put the others down on the floor so I could read it properly. Of course, not one of the buggers was named. God forbid anything should be easy.

  A part of my brain wondered whether this was the reason the files were only numbered. Unless you had access to the index, you’d never really be sure what you were holding. Which was a bugger. Life would be so much easier if they’d had their names scrawled across the front. King John. Magna Carta. Runnymede. William Marshal.

  Hang on. Where had William Marshal come from? Why did I suddenly think of him?

  Because he was probably the most important man in the kingdom, was the answer to that. Much more important than the king in the scheme of things. William Marshal was the foremost knight in the kingdom. He was everything that John wasn’t. Without him to steady the ship, it was very likely that John’s feeble following would have just melted away. I sipped again – I swear the alcohol was doing me good.

  John hadn’t been the target; we’d proved that. So who? These Insight people were definitely snipers. Well equipped with high-powered weapons. So who had they come for? Let’s narrow it down. Who else was there? Other than John, there had been the archbishop and his clutch of clerics. Unlikely targets, all of them. Then there had been the twenty-five rebel barons – it could be any one of those, I suppose, but I rather thought not. Besides, they had been standing in a clump, all together, facing the king with their backs to the snipers. Difficult to pick out any specific individual.

  I had another sip. Purely for brain lubrication, you understand. Let’s wind things on a little. What happened after Magna Carta?

  William Marshal junior would change sides. He would join his father to support the royalists and go on to fight at Lincoln. And win. The beleaguered garrison would hold for the new king – the young Henry III – while the city supported the rebels. Everyone thought taking the castle would be a walkover and it hadn’t been. The ancient and experienced castellan, Nicola de la Haye, would hold her garrison together until William Marshal turned up to lift the siege and save the day.

  ‘Not John,’ I said, more to myself than anyone else. ‘William Marshal. It was William Marshal they were after. Shoot William Marshal at Runnymede and he’s not around to lift the siege at Lincoln. The royalists lose the war – Prince Louis claims the throne. Could that be it?’

  I was cross with myself. I should know more about this. Not many people are aware, but the Battle of Lincoln Fair is the second most important battle in English History. If the royalists had lost, then the royal line would have been finished. The rebels would have installed Prince Louis of France on the throne; young Henry III would almost certainly have suffered a tragic accident. Or a tragic illness. Or both. It would have been 1066 all over again. We’d have become part of the French Empire. Lacking a figurehead on which to focus any resistance, we’d probably never have got rid of them.

  I had the feeling I’d kicked a tiny pebble and started an avalanche.

  I suddenly remembered, when I was sitting my History exams, one of the questions: why was there a revolution in France and not England? I racked my brains. What had I said? I remembered citing English social mobility versus the rigid French class structure. In England, where people were no longer tied to the land, a man could make a name and fortune for himself. It wouldn’t be easy but it could be done. Look at all those 18th- and 19th-century men who rose from obscurity to become rich and powerful industrialists. And, I’d argued, we’d had our Civil War in the 1640s and come down very heavily against the Divine Right of Kings.

  I stared at my glass. Civil War . . . kings and Parliament. How did all this tie together? What happened next?

  The young Henry III was crowned at Gloucester. With none of his father’s baggage to hinder him, Henry would revise and reissue the Great Charter. It was during his reign that Simon de Montfort called the first Parliament – no, hang on, that wasn’t right. De Montfort called the first Parliament without royal authority. For the first time, the king’s permission was not sought. Parliament was called independently of the king. And most importantly of all, it was the first Parliament ever to summon commoners. Not peasants, obviously, but two knights from each shire and two burgesses from each borough.

  Why did I keep coming back to Parliament? What did my brain know that the rest of me didn’t? All right, these days most people are of the opinion that our politicians couldn’t find their own arse with both hands and a set of detailed instructions, but politicians aren’t Parliament. The institution is a glowing beacon even if the people who comprise it are sometimes . . . less twinkly. Regardless of the human element, Parliament has been robust throughout History. It survives. It always does. There have been many threats over the centuries and it has endured them all, functioning without a break during wars, plague and pestilence, scandal, plots . . . plots . . . There had been a blue file. Blue was the 17th century. It had been on the top. I remembered how heavy it had been. An important file. For an important event in the 17th century. How did 1217 tie in with that?

  No. Wait – don’t call it the 17th century. Call it the 1600s. That clarified the context, didn’t it? A lot happened in the 1600s. The Civil War. Charles I lost his head. The Great Plague. The Great Fire. Charles II – invited back by Parliament. His brother, James II, who didn’t last ten minutes. And finally, William and Mary – again, invited by Parliament. Was that it? Was this what I was groping for? Not quite. What else happened in that century? It had been a busy time. Elizabeth at one end – Mary and William at the other. A century of Stuarts.

  And then I had it. Elizabeth until 1603, yes, but then James I. And what’s the one thing for which James’s reign is famous? And that’s Parliament-related? November 5th, 1605. The Gunpowder Plot.

  Shiiiit.

  I glanced up to find Smallhope and Markham watching me.

  ‘That looked painful,’ said Markham.

  I pushed my glass across the table towards Smallhope. ‘Can I have another, please?’

  ‘So soon after breakfast? A girl after my own heart.’

  I sipped again, suddenly realising I hadn’t had breakfast today. Or lunch. I looked at the clock. Half past ten. Half an hour ago it had been around two in the afternoon. The day before that it had been . . . I couldn’t remember. What time had we left London? It had been midnight when we arrived at Runnymede. My body clock was all over the place. The beneficial effects of alcohol were probably illusory. Did I care?

  I frowned at the table. Something . . . there was something . . . something important and I’d been in such a hurry . . . My sleeve was wet. I stared at it. Someone had spilled something on the table – me probably – and I’d rested my arm in it and my sleeve was wet. As were my knees from where I’d knelt in the mud. I sighed, hoping it would brush out when it was dry. Although the dress was brown so not a huge problem.

  ‘Brown dress. White wimple.’

  I opened my mouth and then Pennyroyal came back into the kitchen. I had to say it before I forgot what was so important. Alcohol gave me courage.

  Before he could speak, I said, ‘The Battle of Lincoln Fair. Pink. Simon de Montfort. Pink. Magna Carta. Also pink. And the Gunpowder Plot. Blue. And the black file. Black files are covert ops. They’re working to bring down Parliament. They’re trying to stop its creation. Or if that doesn’t work, then to destroy it completely.’

  All right – all of that could have been better expressed but I was tired and suffering two margaritas on an empty stomach.

  He joined us at the kitchen table. ‘Yes. There’s another attempt at naughtiness in 1848 you forgot to mention . . .’

  1848? The 19th century. The red file.

  Sadly, too modern for me. ‘What happens in 1848?’

  It was Lady Amelia who answered. ‘Revolution. Everywhere. Beginning in Sicily, then France, Germany, Italy and the Austrian Empire. There were the Chartists in England and republicanism in Ireland. It might take only the smallest tweak for someone to bring down the entire edifice.’

  ‘Someone who knows what they’re doing,’ said Markham. ‘Where and when to apply the pressure.’

  I nodded. ‘Someone like an historical research organisation.’

  Shit.

  We contemplated this in silence for a very long time.

  ‘Without in any way impugning your abilities,’ said Smallhope to me and Markham, ‘I think all this might be a little too much for one team to handle.’

  We both nodded. She wasn’t wrong. The implications were . . . I couldn’t think of a word.

  ‘We would need to divide our responsibilities,’ she said. ‘Other­wise, we risk attempting everything and achieving nothing.’

  Pennyroyal nodded.

  ‘I propose the following. You two,’ she looked at me and Markham, ‘jump to Lincoln and have a look around. There’s a battle. Assassination would be easy.’

  ‘William Marshal,’ I said. ‘It must be. He’s the key player of his age. Although . . .’ I sipped thoughtfully. ‘The removal of Nicola de la Haye might also affect the outcome of the siege.’

  In the dark days when most women went unnoticed and were barred from education or public office, Nicola de la Haye shone like a star. Inheriting the position of Constable of Lincoln Castle from her father, she so impressed King John that he made her Sheriff of Lincolnshire in 1216. It would be very fair to say that without her leadership, Lincoln Castle would have fallen. And England, too.

  Lady Amelia was talking. ‘Give some thought to the place from which you will operate. Inside or outside the castle. Inside is probably safer but you’ll have less mobility. I’ll leave that to you to think about.

  ‘Pennyroyal and I will take 1848. A little diplomacy is called for, I think.’ She looked at Pennyroyal. ‘We’ve started a few revolutions in our time. Let’s see if we’re equally successful in preventing them.’

  He nodded.

  ‘On successful completion of our individual jobs, both teams will rendezvous back here and jointly jump to 1605 to see what we can do to ensure the Gunpowder Plot doesn’t succeed.’ She paused. ‘Max, I have to ask. Do you intend to return to Insight at all?’

  ‘I think I must,’ I said, reluctantly. ‘They’re obviously considerably more dangerous than we thought. This is a direct attempt to change History. Why are they doing it? Who’s paying them? What are they hoping to achieve? These are things we must find out.’

  Markham coughed. ‘At what point do we involve the Time Police? Should we play safe and let them take over? Would that be wiser than trying to do it ourselves and failing?’

  ‘That is a very good point,’ said Smallhope. ‘We have always been very careful never to be associated with failure. Bad for our image. To say nothing of the possible damage to history.’

  ‘Can I propose a compromise?’ I said. ‘We deal with the problems we currently have before us. On successful completion, then we take our knowledge of Insight’s activities – past and present – together with any assets we may have acquired – to the Time Police. That’s the point at which we hand the problem over to them, and collect enough bounty to enable us to retire and live happily ever after.’

  There was a silence as everyone thought about this.

  ‘That is certainly an option,’ said Smallhope. She turned to me and Markham. ‘It wouldn’t solve all your problems but there would be more than enough for both of you to do whatever you want. Live wherever you want. Under the grid, of course, but perfectly doable. The only thing I would say is that if we’re going to do this – and I think we all know we are – then we need to make sure the Time Police get every single one of those Insight buggers, otherwise we’re going to be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.’

  She wasn’t wrong. On the other hand, if we got this wrong then there wouldn’t be much rest of our lives left in which to spend looking over our shoulders. I frowned. Margarita grammar.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Markham. He stood up. ‘Egg and bacon sarnies, anyone?’

  I nodded vigorously and when I looked again, Pennyroyal had taken my glass off me. Probably a good idea.

  ‘And what did our friends downstairs have to tell us?’ enquired Smallhope to Pennyroyal. ‘I’m assuming you did get them to talk?’

  ‘Eventually, my lady, yes. And, just to be on the safe side,’ he said, ‘I interrogated them all, in order to verify what the first one had said. It didn’t take long. I suspect they were selected for their marksmanship rather than their resistance to interrogation techniques.’

  I opened my mouth to question him further.

  ‘Food, I think,’ said Smallhope, running an experienced eye over me. ‘And then the rest of the afternoon off.’

  Two massive Markham specials later – eggs flipped over and bacon at that perfect point between crispy and carbon, toast and marmalade plus a couple of mugs of tea – and I was raring to go. Symptoms gone. Wooziness gone. Just point me at the problem.

  Markham and I went to his room to talk. His room was identical to mine except the other way around. And with a picture of Hunter and Flora on his bedside table.

  ‘May I?’

  He nodded.

  I picked it up and took it to the window. ‘What a lovely photo. When was it taken?’

  ‘A while ago,’ he said and I put it back. He didn’t want to talk about it.

  I kicked off my shoes and made myself comfortable on the window seat, arranging my dressing gown around me. Pennyroyal was giving our costumes a good brush downstairs. ‘What did you want to talk about?’

  ‘Do you remember Laurence Hoyle?’

  ‘I do,’ I said. ‘Vividly.’ Laurence Hoyle had been one of my trainees, along with Sykes, Lingoss (who now worked in R&D), North (now with the Time Police), and lovely normal Atherton. Hoyle had had his own agenda. Markham and I had both been with him when he died.

  ‘Do you remember how we talked about shadowy figures behind him, how they might be part of the government? Well, they must have been to have got him into St Mary’s. I think – and feel free to scoff – that the people at Insight might be some of these shadowy figures.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking the same,’ I said. ‘And – and don’t ask me how because I’m still working on that – I’m wondering if there’s a link to Clive Ronan as well.’

  ‘I know you’ve always had a bee in your bonnet about that but – yeah – it’s possible.’

  ‘Tentacles everywhere,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit worrying, don’t you think?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘and I mean this, so listen carefully. You don’t have to get any more involved in this. You have a young family. You have responsibilities. Your own position in law is ambiguous. Never forget why you left St Mary’s. If you want to back away, then I think you should. You have an awful lot to lose.’

  ‘The same goes for you.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ I said. ‘Matthew’s older. He doesn’t need me.’ I swallowed. ‘And we’ve spent a lot of time apart. It’s good that he’s self-sufficient. If anything happened to me, he’d probably be upset but he’d carry on. I don’t know about Leon but . . .’

  ‘If anything happened to you then Leon would break,’ Markham interrupted. ‘You have family ties, just like me, Max. You could walk away now too. We’ve both got a fair bit of money put away. We could find somewhere quiet. Dr Dowson would whip us up new identities – it’s not as if either of us was living under our own names, anyway – and we just quietly fade out of sight.’

  ‘It is tempting,’ I said, ‘but we’ve started this. I’d like to see it through. And if not us then who?’

  ‘We dump it all in the lap of the Time Police and walk away.’

  I shook my head. ‘They might not let us do that. They’d probably fall over themselves looking for a connection to St Mary’s. And if they couldn’t find it, I wouldn’t put it past them to manufacture one.’

  Markham sighed. ‘We’re in deep shit again, aren’t we?’

  ‘We’re always in deep shit,’ I said. ‘Only this time I think we might possibly be in over our heads. Dr Bairstow told me the Time Police think this might be the opening stages of the Time Wars.’

  He nodded. ‘He said the same to me and I think they’re right. If this organisation succeeds in its objectives – whatever they are – and manages to change History . . .’

  ‘If History will allow them to do that,’ I said. ‘Although I saw no sign of History stamping on the bad guys at Runnymede, which is worrying.’

  He laughed. ‘That’s because History has us to do it instead. Think about it, Max. Who arranged things so you and I would work with Smallhope and Pennyroyal – the very people who might be able to do something about this? Who manipulated events to get you into Insight? Who made those files ­available for you to peruse in the Ladies? Who arranged things so the bad guys, by some freak chance, are on our channel and we know where they are? Who put St Mary’s in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time to help us out at Runnymede? That assignment was scheduled years ago and yet was never completed. We should have gone but we didn’t. But, now, at the perfect moment, when we were needed – there we were. As was St Mary’s, just when we needed them. No, you’re right. History has really dropped the ball on this one, don’t you think?’

 

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