The Chronicles of St Mary's Omnibus, page 29
‘Steady,’ said Leon, crouching nearby. ‘Just sip it slowly.’
He took the bottle away, wiped my chin, let me sip a little more, and then helped me sit up.
He smiled. ‘It went OK then?’
‘How can you tell?’
‘You’re all here. No one's on fire. The pods are intact. There's no screaming. An intelligent and perceptive man can read these small signs.’
I nodded. ‘Do you think I’ll ever meet one?’
He wiped my face with something cool. ‘I’m sure I saw you in a dress once. You were clean. And smelled good. Sometimes it seems like just a dream.’ He rubbed my arm and then went away to deal with the others.
I lay for a while looking up at more stars than I’d seen since the Cretaceous. Occasionally, I grinned to myself. We’d done it. We’d managed to save a part of the Great Library of Alexandria. Not a big part, admittedly, more like a tiny fraction, but that was better than nothing. We’d done it. And no one was dead. History, it would seem, had either been looking the other way; or had possibly given up where St Mary's was concerned.
And this was just the beginning! If this assignment went well …
We were being tended to in a rough square area, formed by TB2 on one side, Number Three at right angles, and now Five, Six and One completed the set. All doors opened onto the square, making it defensible should the need arise. They’d laid rough mats over the sand to give us a reasonable surface and in a vain effort to keep sand out of the pods. Canvas awnings were stretched overhead and around the pods to give shade during the day.
We were camped in a small ravine, closed at one end and approachable only by a narrow, enclosed, rocky path. Somewhere among these rocky crags lay the hidden cave where we would store the scrolls.
The ravine would trap the heat. The scorching, baking, sweltering heat. We came straight from the inferno into the cauldron. It would be almost unbearable during the day. I could smell dust, stale air, and the memory of hot rock. The canvas awnings would keep us shaded but nothing could keep us cool.
I struggled to my feet as the Boss approached.
‘Excellent work,’ he said softly.
Time I earned my pay. I raised my voice. ‘Report.’
‘Mostly present,’ croaked Guthrie. ‘And mostly correct. Evans and Ritter have been med-evacced. Nothing serious, but a sandy desert is no place for weeping burns. We’ve all been lightly toasted but no one actually managed to immolate themselves.’
‘What did we get?’
Peterson coughed and spat. ‘What we came for. At a rough guess, between fifteen hundred and seventeen hundred scrolls. No idea of the contents. We grabbed from all over the Library so it should be a nice mixed bag. Of course, with our luck, it’ll be just multiple copies of the furniture inventory,’
But he was grinning. They all were. I was too. Fifteen hundred scrolls. Fifteen hundred scrolls containing the secrets of the Ancient World.
‘Thank you, everyone,’ said Dr Bairstow. ‘Extremely satisfactory work.’
Professor Rapson and Dr Dowson wrung my hand, incoherent in their excitement. We dissuaded our two fanatics from investigating the contents of Number One right at that moment.
‘OK, people,’ I said. ‘Let's get some rest. Tomorrow, we make a start.’
Guthrie set the watch. We switched out the lights, stretched out on the ground, and fell asleep.
They came in the night. They’d chosen their time well. Most of us were spark-out after our crowded day.
I opened my eyes to the crackle of gunfire and sat bolt upright, disoriented and groggy. Guthrie was bellowing over the din. Someone tossed me a handgun and two clips. The Boss was giving urgent instructions to secure the pods.
I sent Van Owen, Schiller, and the other Pathfinders, together with all R & D staff to the pods with instructions not to come out again. Under any circumstances. Ignoring orders to get inside myself, I grabbed my boots and joined those hidden at the narrow entrance, peering out into the darkness, trying to make out what the hell was going on. Whoever it was, there was no way they were getting those scrolls.
There were no more shots. I could hear only the breathing of those around me.
Tactically, Guthrie had us in a very sound position, controlling the only entrance into our ravine with the pods clustered behind us. Always try and hold the narrow ground. Leonidas did it at Thermopylae, delaying the Persian army for three valuable days, giving the rest of Greece time to get its act together. Henry V did it at Agincourt, positioning his army in the narrow waist between heavily wooded areas and watching the French knights ride over each other and drown in the mud. Leonidas and Henry V. Two men who’d have a lot to say to each other should they ever meet. And where were they when we needed them?
I had no idea what was going on. Neither did anyone else. Guthrie made it simple for us.
‘We’re here. The rest of St Mary's are safe inside the pods. Therefore shoot anyone you see trying to get up this path. They’re not contemporaries. They have modern weapons. Legitimate targets. Shoot their arses.’
Well, that made it easy. We’re historians. We need things kept simple.
I checked and loaded my weapon, clashed my boots together to dislodge any scorpions, laced them up, and wished for body armour. Murdoch updated me. Someone heard a noise in the rocks and challenged an indistinct figure. The resulting fusillade of gunfire woke everyone up. After that initial burst, however, everything was silent. And continued so. We waited, but nothing happened.
We were just beginning to wonder if it was all a false alarm when they came at us out of the darkness. Guthrie gave the order. ‘Here they come. Fire at will. Good luck, everyone.’
I crouched behind a rock and fired at the muzzle flashes. The noise was overwhelming and the stink of cordite everywhere. Casings, mine and others, flew around me. A small part of my mind was thinking what a bitch of a FOD plod we were going to have. There wasn’t much kickback from my small weapon but still my hands, wrists and forearms ached with the strain of keeping it steady. It all seemed to go on for a very long time. I kept firing until empty, reloaded and fired again. Gunshots reverberated around the canyon. The noise was deafening. My gun grew hot in my sweaty hands and the acrid smell made me thirsty again. A voice shouted in the night and they retreated. Silence fell.
‘Sound off,’ said Guthrie and we did. In our group was Murdoch, Peterson, Markham and me. Guthrie and another, larger group were a little above us and to the left. The Boss commanded a team on the other side of the path. Really, we had pretty well everything locked down. Nothing was getting past us.
Wrong.
I blame myself. I’d actually made the comparisons between us and Leonidas and Henry. I just hadn’t taken it far enough. They both employed similar tactics. They both encountered the same problems. Everything's fine so long as no one comes up behind you. Because then, in a narrow space – you’re trapped.
In Henry's case, it was because the French POWs, sent to the rear of the army for safekeeping and future ransom, forgot themselves and cheated. They tried to attack Henry from the rear, which just wasn’t done, but that's the French for you. They killed the baggage boys left in charge and for Henry, the position was so perilous that he forgot the rules as well and had them all killed. Problem solved.
Leonidas was betrayed by that bastard Ephialtes, who led a Persian contingent through the mountains to fall upon the Spartans from the rear. That didn’t end well but Leonidas and his boys went down fighting.
They came again, a full frontal assault. Lots of sound and fury. I was peppered with painful pieces of flying rock. We were pinned down. We couldn’t get out, but they couldn’t get past us either, whoever they were. We were well placed; the pods were secure and we were in no great danger.
Wrong again.
All firing ceased and in the ringing silence, I heard the distinctive whine of a couple of heavy-duty blasters, cocked and locked. Behind us. The bastards were behind us. That's what they’d been doing under cover of heavy fire – creeping around behind us. I heard Guthrie curse fearsomely under his breath. We could have slugged it out, but really, there was no chance.
A voice called out of the darkness for us to lay down our weapons. I was all for battling on to the end, but the Boss gave the only order he could. In the silence of disbelief, Guthrie's voice came out of the darkness, saying quietly, ‘No one opens a pod except on Dr Bairstow's instructions. That is an order.’ Indistinct figures emerged out of the darkness and we were marched, at gunpoint, back into our little basin.
The sky began to lighten. Dawn was happening behind the mountains. And with the sun would come the heat again.
There were fewer of them than us, but they were better armed and equipped. And they had the advantage of surprise.
They lined us up on the sand, in front of the pods, in two rows facing each other. We were on our knees, hands behind our heads. They weren’t gentle. The next half hour or so was not going to be much fun. Commands were shouted and a few of them peeled off to check the surrounding rocks and the rest took up positions behind us.
I looked around. Opposite me I could see Farrell, Peterson, the Boss, Markham, and Dieter. I couldn’t see any Pathfinders at all. I hoped they were safe in Number One with the scrolls. I’m an historian. I thought they’d come for the scrolls. I was wrong about that, as well.
Jamie Cameron from R & D was here, but Doctor Dowson and the Professor were not. They would be in TB2. I was a little worried that they would open the door. Three, Five, and Six, I suspected, were empty and locked. Yes, the bulk of us were here in the sand. Helpless.
Our opponents meant business. Clearly now, in the early morning light I could see they wore desert camouflage, body armour, headsets, and carried enough weaponry to effect a regime change. No words were spoken. They looked tough and professional. Just how tough and professional we were about to find out.
One stepped forward and pulled off his helmet.
Ronan.
The man who had killed Sussman.
We’d ambushed him and now he’d done it to us. I tried not to sag. This wasn’t good. I’d seen what he was capable of.
Close up, he was surprisingly nondescript. No savage scars, no sinister sneer. His dark hair was thinning and his lined face made him look older than I suspect he actually was, but having said that, he looked in surprisingly good condition.
You see, people think it's easy, living in the past. You turn up with a big bag of gold and enough foreknowledge to ensure you back the right horse, or the right king, or the right dot com companies, and retire to count your money.
It's not that simple.
Try it in the last hundred years or so and you’ll find the lack of National Insurance number, ID card, or credit rating means you’re officially a non-person and after America closed its borders last year, all sorts of security alarm bells start ringing.
Or, you think you’ll go back a little further before all these tiresome records were invented, but that doesn’t work either. Society is rigid. Everyone knows everyone else in their world. Everyone has their place in the scheme of things. If you don’t belong to a family, a tribe, a village, a guild, whatever, you don’t exist then, either. And you can’t just pitch up somewhere without mutual acquaintances, recommendations, or letters of introduction. Life on the fringes of society, any society in any time is tough. I should know. The four months I spent alone in Rushford had not gone well.
If that was how these people lived then they should look like shit. And so should their pods. Pods need regular aligning or they start to drift. And yet these people looked in reasonably good nick. Better than us at the moment. They had a base somewhere. They had to have. Someone, somewhere, was giving them shelter.
I dragged myself from that problem to the more pressing issues of the moment.
Ronan scanned the rows of kneeling figures. As usual, he showed no more emotion than a corpse. If he felt anything at all, it was all kept within, locked down, stifled. I’m used to St Mary's, where no one is at all backward in expressing whatever emotions they happen to be experiencing at the time and this quiet, deadly calm filled me with fear.
He pointed, apparently at random. A single shot echoed off the walls and Jamie Cameron fell forward into the sand with part of his face blown away.
The shock of it stopped my heart. Young Jamie Cameron. With his mop of dark hair and perpetually singed eyebrows. One minute alive and the next minute -not. I swallowed down real hysteria and dragged my eyes away. Who would be next? Because there would be a next. There would keep being a next until Ronan told us what he wanted and the Boss refused to give it to him.
They dragged Markham to his feet.
‘Open the pods.’
I held my breath. He’d just seen Jamie die. There was no saying what our uncoordinated little troglodyte would do.
I underestimated him. That boy was gold. Grubby gold, but gold nonetheless.
He drew himself up to his unimpressive height and said quietly, ‘I take my orders from Dr Bairstow.’
Ronan smiled unpleasantly and raised his weapon.
‘Not any more you don’t. Open the pods.’
It was Chief Farrell, of all people, who broke. He jumped to his feet. ‘No. Stop. Don’t do this.’ Two men seized him.
I stared at him in shock. What was he doing?
Ronan regarded him impassively for a moment, then turned back to Markham and fired. Another shot echoed off the rocks and Markham crumpled to the ground, blood seeping into the sand beneath him.
The Boss's face was bleak and, if he ever got out of this, I wouldn’t give much for Ronan's chances. Or Farrell's either.
‘What do you want, Clive?’
‘What do I want, Edward? I want it all. I want your pods, including the nice, big, shiny one over there. I want the contents. Those scrolls will fetch a fortune hundreds of times over. I want you to know that this disaster will end your command of this pathetic little unit. But most of all, Edward, I want to leave you here, last man standing, with all your bright young people bleeding to death in the dirt around you. I want you to know I’ve won and everything you have struggled to achieve has just led to me getting exactly what I want.’
Hatred crackled between them. I could feel it twisting the air. They had no thought for those around them. This was up close and personal. We were looking at the end of our St Mary's. He shouldn’t have come. I’d been wrong to include him. If he’d stayed safely at home then whatever happened to us here would not be the end. He could have rebuilt, somehow. Was this what had thrown Mrs Partridge into such an untypical panic?
‘No.’
Short and to the point. No arguing, no pleading, no messing. Just ‘no.’
Ronan smiled again. ‘We’ve done this before, Edward, and look how that turned out. How is the leg?’
‘How many is it now, Clive? What's your tally? How many people have you killed since Annie?’
‘I didn’t kill Annie. St Mary's killed Annie.’
‘If she was here now, what would you do?’
‘If she was here now and knowing how you felt about her, Edward, she would be the first to go. But I think we have a very acceptable alternative here, somewhere, don’t we? Ah yes. Good morning, Miss Maxwell.’
Shit, shit, shit.
I heard someone move behind me. Footfalls in the sand and the rustle of clothing. That unmistakeable click as the safety came off.
I straightened my back, stuck my chin in the air, and really, really, really wished I had an office job. This was it. I closed my eyes.
The wait seemed endless. I felt the sweat pour down my face and back. I swayed, whether through heat or fear or both – I don’t know. Would I know anything about it? Was it better to be the first to go? To be spared the sight of my friends being gunned down around me? Would it hurt? I’d just convinced myself I was ready to die when -
‘No!’
The sudden shout made me jump a mile. Braced as I was, I nearly wet myself.
‘I told you. Stop. I’ll open the pods.’
The Boss's voice cracked like a whip. ‘As you were, Farrell.’
‘No,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘You don’t lose her like you lost Annie. I’ll open the pods for you. Just don’t shoot her.’
Relief and shame in equal proportions. ‘Don’t do it, Chief. I …’
Someone pushed me face down into the ground. ‘Shut up.’
I twisted my head and spat sand, desperate to see what was going on. Someone seized me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me back onto my knees so I had an excellent view of what happened next.
Chief Farrell and Ronan crossed the gritty sand towards the pods.
The Boss called, ‘Farrell, you will not do this. Stand down.’ His voice dripped with contempt. And a little desperation.
My chest felt tight and I struggled to breathe. This could not be happening. He couldn’t be doing this. Of all people, he could not be doing this. Did he seriously think we’d be allowed to go free? He was handing them our only advantage. He’d come back from the future to prevent this very thing from happening. Why was he doing this? I knew the answer to that and felt ashamed. Because of me he would kill us all. Because of me …
I bunched my muscles, ready to jump. Jump and die. Because if I was dead then he wouldn’t have to open the door …
And a voice on the wind that wasn’t there breathed, ‘Wait.’
Who said that? I looked wildly around and that confusion caused me to miss my opportunity. Farrell had reached TB2. He stood off to one side. Ronan and his henchmen stepped back and fanned out. Much bloody good it did them.
Farrell said clearly, ‘Door.’
The ramp came down.
