by C. R. Berry
The man looked at him, gibbering something incomprehensible.
“What did he say?” said Richard from the top of the steps.
A few of the man’s words seemed familiar, but his accent was thick and impenetrable. “A foreigner,” Edward replied. Then to the man, “We do not understand what you are saying.”
The man grunted a reply and held out the box towards him.
“Yes.” Edward reached the bottom of the porch steps and approached him. “Hand it to me please.”
The man lunged abruptly at Edward. Edward twisted away but the man formed an iron grip around his wrist using his free hand, flapping his alien tongue with increasing volume and waving the box in front of Edward’s face.
“Unhand me. I am the king!” shrieked Edward. He struggled but the man was too strong. Though he continued to vomit words Edward couldn’t understand, his objective – by the way he was waving the box – was clear. He wanted to get inside it.
But Edward had sworn to protect the book. There was no way he was giving it up. He’d die first.
Richard scrambled down the steps and charged at the man, screaming, “Let him go!” The man turned and kicked Richard’s spindly legs hard with his right foot, and Richard collapsed on his side on the pavement.
“Stop this!” screamed Edward.
Still holding Edward’s wrist, the man yanked him towards Richard. Evidently dazed, his brother hadn’t had time to get to his feet before the man’s boot was on his neck.
“I am your king and I command you to stop!”
Richard started to choke as the man pressed down on his neck, crushing his throat.
“Very well – here – take it. Just stop!” Edward might be willing to die for his oath but he wasn’t about to sacrifice his little brother. He used his free hand to pull the neck chain out from under his tunic. The man’s dark eyes lit up with fiendish intent as they settled on the key. He lifted his foot from Richard’s throat and Edward sighed with relief as his brother coughed and spluttered over the pavement.
The man kept a hold of Edward’s wrist and thrust the box towards him, shaking it as a gesture that meant open it, more foreign words pouring from his mouth. Edward acquiesced, lifting the chain over his head, pushing the key into the lock, turning it and lifting the lid.
The man’s eyes narrowed in confusion, his top lip curling in disgust. He finally let go of Edward’s wrist so he could take the book out and examine it. He read the cover aloud in his obscure accent, one eyebrow arched. Then he tossed the box away and stuffed the book into his coat.
Edward followed as he started to walk away, pleading, “You must give that back to me. You do not know what it –”
The man spun round and clouted Edward across the face with the back of his hand. Edward fell to his knees, his brother, now recovered, rushing over to him, wrapping both arms protectively around his middle.
As Edward watched, stunned and shaking, the man fished a small device from his pocket, put it to his lips and blew, making an awful, shrill wail. The noise appeared to summon a two-wheeled, one-horse carriage from an adjacent road. The carriage clacked towards the man, splashing through puddles, then the driver, sitting behind the vehicle on a high seat level with the roof, tugged the reins and stopped the horse a few feet from where the man was standing. The man and the driver exchanged words in the same unknown language.
“Give me the book,” barked Edward. “Please. You do not understand its importance.”
The man ignored him and climbed inside the carriage.
“Stop – I must have that book!”
The man rasped something in reply, flashed a sardonic grin and gestured strangely, lifting his hat up, revealing his forehead and a tuft of hair, then lowering it again. Some kind of vulgarity, no doubt. The driver cracked his whip and the horse trotted away.
Now what?
“Are you all right, Richard?” Edward said.
“No,” said his brother honestly, rubbing his reddened throat. “I want to go home.”
A light flickered on in the house whose porch the princes were sitting in before the altercation. The din of it had woken someone. A woman appeared in the window holding a candle, illuminating her hunched frame and a mouthful of broken teeth. She bawled through the glass something unintelligible – did anyone here speak English?
Whatever she said, just her tone and volume were enough to tell Edward that they had to go. Edward stooped to grab his satchel, flung it over his shoulder. He left the box upturned in a puddle – what use was that now? Hand in hand they dashed away from the house, slowing to an urgent walk as they started up a different street, heading in no particular direction.
“I swore to guard the Book That Listens with my life,” said Edward, shaking his head. “I failed.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” said Richard. “Please, brother. This doesn’t feel right. This place. These people. None of it feels right. Let’s just use the pills and get out of here.”
Looking around, Edward wondered if this nightmarish corruption of the place they knew was the consequence of a foreign invasion, or if they’d been dead all along, since first eating the pills, and this perverse, misshapen London was a plane of Hell or Purgatory or a vicious trick of the Devil.
Either way, escape was desirable.
Edward stopped, nodding at his brother. Richard dipped his hand into the pocket that hung from his belt, pulled out the pot of pills and handed it to Edward. As Edward went to open it, he found, looking down, that he’d stepped on a large, damp, ripped sheet of parchment. He moved his foot and stooped to pick it up. It felt unusually thin and brittle, so he handled it carefully as he sought to read the words that weren’t faded or smudged or lost through tears. Some were familiar, some just looked misspelled, some were completely unreadable. The parchment’s title was The Daily Telegraph – whatever that meant. And just below the title was the date.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 30, 1888.
A wave of clarity washed over him, the knots in his head untangling, the fog lifting. Finally it was all making sense.
They were still in London. But they had moved – in time. They had come forwards four hundred and five years. That explained the city’s dramatic transformation. The princes were looking at over four centuries of change.
“Richard, I think –”
“Brother, please. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer.” They were attracting ominous stares from passers-by and Richard had grown pale and anxious, a shimmer of sweat on his brow.
Edward knew now that they would have to use the pills again. They couldn’t just stay where – or rather when – they were. Somehow they had to get back to their own time.
“All right, let’s try this again,” said Edward, placing his hand on Richard’s shoulder, who was shaking. It was a warm, still night so it couldn’t have been with cold.
Edward removed the lid from the pot and they each took a pill. As they swallowed them, Edward encircled his brother in his arms.
“Take me home to Mother,” Richard murmured.
“I’ll try, baby brother,” said Edward. “I’ll try.”
16
October 24th 2019
After Adam left the hospital, Jennifer fought insomnia. Though drowsy, a jumble of nasty thoughts and scenarios was tumbling around in her head, stopping her at the brink of sleep.
Her bay in the Medical Assessment Unit became quieter and quieter. Visiting hours were over and many of the patients were settling down for bed. The nurses had turned the lights down and bathed the room in a gentle orange glow. The clatter of shoes tapping, trainers squeaking and heels clicking as people went up and down the busy corridors next to the ward was gone, as was the incessant drone of voices. Now Jennifer’s ears were being treated to the heavy breathing of the patient next to her, overlaid with some light percussion from the-lady-who-hiccups-in-her-sleep in the bed opposite, and – completing the chorus – the pig-like sounds coming from the snoring man in the co
rner of the ward. Even if her brain was allowing her to sleep, this bunch was the next obstacle.
Lying there, her thoughts kept returning to Ferro, time travel, Million Eyes, Princess Diana… and Adam.
Could Adam have known about Million Eyes? He’d worked for them for two years. Could they have told him anything?
No, Jen, don’t be stupid. Million Eyes had over five hundred thousand employees and Adam was way too low down the food chain to know about any of this. He was just an IT technician at their Basingstoke store.
Now wide awake, she grabbed her phone and listened to Ferro’s voicemail again, shivering as he said, “Jennifer – they know,” flinching as she listened to the sound of his murder.
The moment Million Eyes discovered she was still alive, they would come after her again. You see it all the time in movies. And right now, lying in a hospital bed, injured and attached to IVs, she was at her most vulnerable.
She couldn’t go to the police. Not after that whistleblower told Ferro that Million Eyes had operatives inside the police.
All she could do was run. Hide. Work out what she was going to do next.
She needed to go. Now.
Mind made up, she carefully pulled out her IV cannulas for the second time that evening. She used the bed sheets to dab the blood that leaked from the wounds – there wasn’t as much this time. Then she slipped quietly out of bed, conscious that she didn’t want to wake anyone or alert any nurses. She changed into some of the clothes Adam had brought her: jeans, a green hoody and Ugg boots.
She checked that her purse was in her handbag – it was. She looked inside to see how much cash she had. Twenty-three pounds and a few silvers. Not enough, but there was a cash machine in reception. She left her bag – it was full of crap she didn’t need – and tucked her phone and purse into the front pocket of her hoody. Then she walked lightly away from her bay. A couple of nurses were talking a little further down the corridor, but had their backs to her. She sneaked out of the Medical Assessment Unit and, increasing her pace as soon as she was out of sight, followed signs to the main entrance.
The adrenaline of the moment had deadened the pain in her body. All she knew was that she had to get out of the building, fast. She scrambled down a stairwell to the bottom floor, then headed up another corridor. This led to the hospital café and shop – both closed and cloaked in darkness. Ahead of those were reception, the main entrance and freedom.
The cash machine was outside the shop. She used it to withdraw three-hundred pounds – all the money she had. She wasn’t going to use her bank cards after that as Million Eyes might be able to track her. Stuffing the bank notes into her purse, she hastened towards the automatic doors at the entrance.
“Jennifer?”
She stopped and spun towards the direction of the voice. Staff Nurse Katie was standing in reception behind her. “Where are you going?” Katie asked.
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said. “I can’t explain why, but I’ve got to go.”
Katie approached. “Let’s get you back to the ward.”
“No. I’m leaving. I’m leaving now.” Jennifer turned and continued towards the entrance.
“No. You’re not.”
There was something different in Katie’s tone. It was sharper, colder, her friendly facade gone.
Jennifer stopped, turned around slowly, found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.
You imagine these kinds of things never happening to you – until they do.
“So you’re one of them?” Jennifer said. “Million Eyes?”
Gesturing gently with her gun, Katie just repeated calmly, “Let’s get you back to the ward.”
“And if I refuse? You’re going to shoot me right here? Wake loads of patients, alert loads of staff?”
Katie gave the same half-grin she gave to Adam earlier, but this time there wasn’t anything demure about it. Her soft voice, stony eyes and remarkably still hand – the one wielding the gun – all demonstrated one thing. Confidence.
“You are gravely underestimating how powerful we are,” Katie said.
Jennifer took that to mean that, yes, Katie was willing to shoot her in the middle of reception. Even if she attracted attention and caused a mess, it was a mess she was quite sure she’d be able to clear up.
“Then you’ll have to shoot me.” The words just tumbled freely from her mouth. “Because I’m walking out that door.”
A part of her said, Jen, what are you doing? But Katie was going to kill her anyway. She just wanted to do it her way, with the least hassle. Jennifer had no intention of making it easy for her.
“Fine,” said Katie, deadpan.
The two were locked in an unyielding stare, motionless.
Just do it, Jen.
She sucked in a breath and held it, about to turn –
“Everything alright out here?” said a male security guard, entering reception behind them.
Katie’s head jerked to the left, her eyes off Jennifer momentarily.
Jennifer’s survival instinct kicked in. She lunged at Katie and thrust open palms into her chest. Katie flew backwards, limbs flailing, and landed with a smack on the hard vinyl floor.
Jennifer wanted to grab the gun, but it never left Katie’s hand, even as she went down. The security guard charged forwards to restrain the gun-toting nurse, but Katie’s recovery was instantaneous. She rolled onto her front and pointed the gun square at his chest.
Jennifer was expecting a bang and a bullet. Instead, a beam of florescent green light shot out of the muzzle with a hiss, surging into the security guard’s chest and tossing him in the air like a doll. He slammed so hard into one of the partition walls that he went straight through, fragments of plasterboard flying.
Run. Run now.
Jennifer sprang for the automatic entrance doors just as Katie spun onto her back to refix her aim on her real target.
The glass doors were only partly open as Jennifer launched through them. Green light reflected all around her, another beam from Katie’s gun. It blasted through the doors, barely an inch from Jennifer’s shoulder. A flurry of shattered glass rained down over her like hailstones.
No doubt Katie was on her feet by now but Jennifer didn’t look back. Bruises pounding, chest on fire, she ran only as fast as her battered body would allow. She crossed the ambulance bay into the car park, running half-stooped between the smattering of parked cars for as much cover as possible.
A car exploded behind her. Mid-run, she glanced over her shoulder. Car alarms blared, triggered by the explosion. Katie was outside the front of the hospital, shooting maniacally in her direction. Her gun was a frighteningly destructive force – the cars weren’t cover at all.
Jennifer tried desperately to pick up her pace.
Another car exploded, this one just metres from her. The hot blast wave punched her in the side and she face-planted the tarmac. Everything was black and quiet for a second, but her body revived quickly, spurred by surging adrenaline. She wasn’t going to let this bitch kill her. Urgency rerouted her brain from her badly grazed face and jolted cheekbones and the fresh pounding taken by her ribcage – and she was up on her feet, running again. Now half a dozen car alarms were screaming.
The car park ended at a grassy incline with a road at the bottom that wound past the hospital. On the other side of the road was a large wooded park, thick with darkness and stretching beyond her line of sight. A bolt of light from Katie’s gun blasted a lamppost flanking the car park, just as Jennifer raced past it and plunged down the incline. Glancing back as she ran into the park, she saw the top half of the lamppost toppling towards the ground, its midsection pulverised by the beam. Moments later, the crash of metal rang out.
She ran and ran, weaving between trees, nearly colliding with a couple of picnic benches. About four or five hundred metres into the park was a clearing with a large pond, reflecting the bright, near-full moon in its waters and painting the edges of the trees with pale grey light.
&
nbsp; Jennifer couldn’t hear Katie behind her. Did she see her run into the park? Did she follow her?
She ran around the edge of the pond to a denser section of woodland. The impenetrable darkness made it virtually impossible to tell one tree from the next, so she couldn’t run for fear of smacking into one. Walking as fast as she could, she then felt her pain coming to the fore, forcing itself on her. Everywhere throbbed and stung. Her ribs, her limbs, her face… The pain and exhaustion from running forced her to stop and gather herself.
Leaning against a hefty oak, she shoved her hand in her pocket and took out her phone. Once she’d caught her breath, she rang Adam.
“I need you to come and get me,” she wheezed quietly, voice weak and trembling.
“What? Why?” said Adam.
“That nurse you were flirting with – she’s trying to kill me.”
“I – I – what?”
“Adam, move your arse and come get me. I ran from the hospital. I’m in a park right by it. There’s a pond and loads of woodland.”
“I – I don’t understand. Have you called the police? Where’s the nurse now?”
“I don’t fucking know! But she’s looking for me. She’s got this crazy ray gun like something out of Star Trek and I’ve already seen her kill someone. And I can’t call the police. I can’t explain why, I just can’t. Please, just come now!”
“Okay, okay… The park next to the hospital is Queen Victoria Park. I don’t know which direction you’re going in but if you keep on heading through –”
Jennifer noticed clicking on the line while Adam was talking. Quiet, in the background, a bit metallic in tone. Each click was at approximately two second intervals. She interrupted Adam, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That clicking. Do you hear that?”
“I don’t hear anything. Do you want me to come and get you or not?”