Plan for the Worst

by Jodi Taylor

  They were very impressed with our firelighters. Obviously they were familiar with touchwood – Viking portable fire, as once so ably demonstrated by Professor Rapson when he nearly blew up Dr Bairstow and an unknown number of urine-donating students – so they didn’t stand up and cheer, but I could see them looking sideways at each other and hear the appreciative rumble as we had a fire lit and blazing in under ten seconds.

  With Markham and Evans sitting deceptively casually nearby, Atherton and I lugged out a ton of compo rations. There was no point in offering the Vikings a choice – I doubt if any of them were familiar with the concept of Thai Chicken or Spag Bol – so we just dished the trays out as they came. Like dealing a hand of poker. That done, I sat in front of them and held up my own tray. They were regarding me with quiet mystification, so, making sure they could see what I was doing, I carefully pulled the heating tab.

  We didn’t want them burning themselves and they’d have no idea what a heating tab was, so I gently took someone’s calloused hand and guided it to the bottom of the tray so he could feel the heat.

  He snatched his hand away and stared suspiciously.

  I peeled off the lid, let the steam waft away and picked up a spoon – we weren’t going with knives and forks for obvious reasons – and tucked in. Leon and Atherton did the same and our guests still didn’t look that enthusiastic. It was only when Matthew impatiently ripped off his own lid and got stuck in that they consented to have a go themselves. After that there was no holding them. We ripped through beef and chicken stew, maca­roni cheese, meatloaf, gammon and pineapple . . . you name it. I think it’s fair to say they were impressed.

  From there we moved to dessert. Shamelessly, we took the opportunity to offload all our trays of the dreaded stewed apple and custard. They loved it. I could see stewed apple becoming the new Viking national dish.

  Finally, we made them tea. They didn’t like that at all. They put down their mugs and stared at us as if we were trying to poison them. It was all a bit touch and go for a moment as both sides stared at each other in mutual incomprehension and then Markham upended their mugs and topped them up with water and everyone relaxed.

  Matthew, impatient at all this adult sitting around, took his football off to have a bit of a kickabout. Eleven pairs of eyes lit up. Nothing changes, does it? Eventually, Leon gestured for them to join in and, without troubling to look back, followed after Matthew. As did Atherton and Dieter. Even me.

  The Vikings didn’t get the idea of team goals, aiming the ball at both ends indiscriminately. They ignored the not-handling-the-ball rule, and the offside rule never got off the ground at all, but I can honestly say a great time was had by all. Evans and Markham stood on the sidelines, shouting criticism, abuse and encouragement in equal measures, but didn’t join in.

  We played for about thirty minutes and then, without a word spoken, the Norsemen picked up their gear and turned towards their ship. It was time for them to go.

  There was more hand clasping. Even for me. Obviously I was an honorary man. Then they splashed back into the river and climbed aboard.

  I watched them go with a sad heart, not least because I knew there could be no happy ending to their story. Every day they faced the unknown. There was no rest for them. There would never be any rest for them. I wanted to say, ‘Stay. Stay with us. We’ll get you home, somehow.’ But I didn’t. I couldn’t. They had to choose their own path. Make their own mark on History, even if History never acknowledged it.

  They pulled up the anchor and settled themselves at their oars. I stepped a little aside from the others and waved. The steersman nodded at me and then stared ahead. The chief – Rolf or Hrolf – raised his hand and shouted. Three or four rowers joined in. I like to think it was a friendly farewell.

  I shouted back, ‘Good luck. Fare well.’

  They nodded, bent to their oars, the boat pulled out into the middle of the river and within seconds they were out of sight around the bend.

  I never saw them again.

  Back in the pod, there was massive speculation. Sykes and Atherton were at the console, interrogating the computer before the Vikings were even completely out of sight. I made sketches and notes of their longship while it was all still fresh in my mind.

  Finally, we met for a conference. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Firstly and most importantly – what became of them? What was their fate?’

  Sykes was flicking through her scratchpad.

  ‘There are several theories, actually. That their ship sank in the Gulf and the survivors were taken in by the Mayo Indians – who to this day sometimes produce blond-haired, blue-eyed children.’

  She flicked some more. ‘Or – and this is interesting, Max – the Seri Indians, who lived on Tiburon Island, tell tales of “Come from Afar Men” with yellow hair and beards. Most tellingly, they say a woman with red hair was with them.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, quite excited at this thought of possibly being in the History books – and for the right reason, just for once. ‘What else do they say?’

  ‘That’s the only mention, I’m afraid. The men hunted whales for a while and then departed, never to be seen again.’

  ‘So we don’t know what became of them,’ I said, disappointed.

  ‘Well, there’s the story of Myrtle Botts.’

  ‘That’s not a very Viking name,’ said Evans.

  ‘No, Myrtle was a librarian from California and used to venture into the desert to study the flowers there. She and her husband got talking to a prospector who, in return for a hot meal, offered to show them the remains of a ship he’d seen, high up in the mountains. According to the story, Myrtle was a little sceptical, but she and her husband went to check it out and finally, exactly where the prospector had said it would be . . .’ She paused.

  Everyone was staring at her. Even Matthew.

  ‘Yes . . . ?’

  ‘High on a cliff, sticking out of the rock, was the dragon prow of a Viking longship. She said afterwards she could even make out where the shields had been.’

  We gaped. ‘You’re kidding,’ I said, astounded. ‘Why has no one ever heard of this? Why didn’t they follow it up?’

  ‘Well, they decided to return the next day with proper equipment and so on . . . but they never did.’

  She paused to drink her tea. She’s a born storyteller.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Evans. ‘Why didn’t they?’

  She sighed. ‘Friday, 10th March 1933.’

  He stared at her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘That was the night of the Long Beach earthquake – one of the worst in Californian history. When the Bottses went back the next day, the cliff had collapsed. They couldn’t get anywhere near it.’

  ‘No,’ I cried and I wasn’t the only one.

  ‘’Fraid so. And no one’s seen it since. It was probably completely destroyed.’

  I slapped the console in frustration. So near and yet so far.

  ‘Or,’ said Atherton, consulting his own scratchpad, ‘they reached Lake Cahuilla. Sea levels are about forty feet higher in this time so it’s perfectly possible.’

  I frowned. ‘And where would they go from there?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ he said. ‘That’s just it. Having got in, they couldn’t get out. The Colorado changed its course and the entrance silted up.’

  ‘But that wouldn’t happen overnight, surely.’

  ‘No, I suspect they circumnavigated the lake, perhaps taking time to trade, repair their boat and so on, and when they eventually returned to their starting point, they found they were trapped.’

  I stared into my tea. So much for my theory of them finding Cahokia and a happy ending. I wondered how long they had spent, rowing around an increasingly shrinking lake. How many times had they had to dig themselves out, until the day finally came when even they could go no further? The day they abandoned the boat that had se
rved them so faithfully and walked out of History. My heart was so sad for them. Those big men whose eyes continually looked towards the north. How and where did they end their days? We’d probably never know.

  Possibly because of the excitement of that really ground-breaking encounter, we didn’t pay quite as much attention to the circumstances of my nocturnal adventures as we might have done. I mean, I mentioned it, of course, but when Markham and I actually got down to it, I had to admit I hadn’t seen anything specific. Only a shadow that had probably been a tree. Markham didn’t actually dismiss ‘Hello, little girl’ as just the wind, but I could see what he was thinking. Especially since I so very obviously wasn’t a little girl. They’d all searched the entire area very thoroughly and found absolutely nothing. I was pretty sure the general consensus was that recent Ronan-based events had rendered me even more unstable than usual, and I couldn’t argue with that.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere alone though,’ Markham said. ‘In fact, none of us should.’

  I nodded because that was sensible advice and enthusiastic­ally resumed the discussion on everything Viking. We reviewed Sykes’ tapes and I wrote my report on the longship there and then.

  No one else had seen or heard anything suspicious that night. I suppose the wind could have played tricks on my ears, and my overactive imagination had done all the rest. I mentioned it to Dr Bairstow on my return but nothing showed on any of the cameras and, on his advice, I quietly forgot the whole thing.

  7

  I gently requested everyone write their reports – standing over them until they complied – and handed everything over to Dr Bairstow for him to sign off and forward to Thirsk for them to make of it what they wanted.

  I had a long hot bath, a good night’s sleep and picked up the threads of my life. The department was running well. R&D hadn’t blown anything up for nearly a whole week now. Everything was absolutely fine.

  And then Kalinda came back.

  I try and keep myself neat. I wipe other people off my boots quite regularly. My jumpsuit starts each day clean and fresh. My hair is kept under control by what sometimes feels like every hairpin in the northern hemisphere. But the years were beginning to take their toll on me and do what I might, I couldn’t deny I was looking more and more dishevelled with every passing season.

  Kalinda, on the other hand, hadn’t changed one bit. She swept into my office wearing an Italian trouser suit, crisp white shirt and four-inch scarlet Manolo Blahniks, which put her well over six feet.

  ‘What ho,’ she said cheerily, breezing in through the door. ‘How’s it going, kiddo? Still going slowly round the bend?’

  ‘Not so slowly,’ I said.

  She threw herself into a chair and put her feet up on my desk so I could better admire her shoes. ‘I read your report on that Viking ship. Wow!’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and if you’d stayed at Thirsk where you belong, then you’d have the pleasure of participating in further investigations. Instead of which, you’re trapped here in this backwater where nothing ever happens.’

  ‘That’ll all change now I’m here,’ she said smugly. ‘Dr Bairstow says you’re putting together something spectacular to celebrate my return, so – what have you got for me?’

  ‘Aha – you’ll love this.’ I yanked out the Carthage file and tossed it over.

  She pulled a face and tossed it back. ‘I want Crete.’

  I tossed it over again. ‘What? No. Carthage.’

  She shoved it back again. ‘Crete is better.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Carthage has elephants. What could be better than a fleet of war elephants?’ I made war elephant gestures with the file.

  ‘Volcanoes!’ she said, triumphantly, using the file to demonstrate basic volcanic principles.

  ‘Complete annihilation of a city!’ I cried, sweeping the volcanoes aside.

  ‘Bull-leaping!’ she shouted, mounting a full-scale attack on the Carthage file. Papers began to drift gently around the room.

  I tried to get the file back. ‘End of the entire Carthaginian civilisation!’

  She wasn’t having any of it. ‘End of the Minoan civilisation! Worldwide weather disruption. Destruction of Thera.’

  The file was not benefitting from this conversation.

  Rosie Lee got to her feet. ‘I think I’ll take myself off to lunch now. Back at half past two.’

  I really appreciated her tact until I looked at the clock and saw it was barely ten to twelve. Too late. She was already out of the door.

  I sighed. ‘Don’t I get any say in this?’

  ‘You can have as much say as you like, kiddo, but when I applied for the job here, there was considerable doubt as to whose agenda I’d be pushing. I told Thirsk we needed something spectacular for all our sakes and that you’d be putty in my hands. As proof of that improbable statement, I told them I’d get St Mary’s to Crete at the earliest opportunity. They said that was unlikely, given St Mary’s current state of disarray. I said watch and learn, busters. So, unless you deliberately want to scupper my credibility with my new employers, it has to be Crete. To make me look good. After that, unlike my predecessors, I don’t much care where you go or what you do. Or even how you do it.’

  Good enough for me. I chucked the sad remnants of the Carthage file back in the drawer. ‘Crete it is.’

  ‘Excellent. And I shall come with you.’

  ‘Oh, great. A pain in my backside.’

  ‘You underestimate me. I intend to be a pain in everyone’s backside.’

  All sorts of people were turning up these days. Barely had I got rid of Kal – and only by promising that Leon and I would join her and Dieter at the Falconburg Arms that evening – than my phone rang. I had to answer it myself since Rosie Lee had pushed off for her standard two-hour lunch break. I really didn’t know why Markham was so keen on getting himself an assistant – it’s not as if they ever do anything. Again, I wondered if I could palm her off on the Security Section – and was so entranced by the prospect of a Rosie Lee-free future that I forgot to say hello.

  There was a longish pause and then a voice said, ‘The correct procedure is for you to utter some form of greeting, Dr Maxwell. After which I reciprocate and then we begin a conversation.’

  ‘Sorry, sir, I was thinking about something else.’

  ‘While your levels of concentration are impressive, I would be grateful if you could spare me a few moments. In my office.’

  ‘On my way, sir.’

  I trotted around the gallery and Mrs Partridge waved me straight in without even looking up. Not a word was uttered but I had the distinct impression it would not be wise to linger.

  Dr Bairstow had a guest. He bounded to his feet, radiating his usual enthusiasm for everything that crossed his path. The guest, I mean. I can state with certainty that not only does Dr Bairstow not do bounding, but enthusiasm is something that only happens to other people.

  ‘Max!’

  ‘Eddie!’

  Professor Eddington Penrose was one of my favourite people. He was short and round and his bright blue eyes perpetually sparkled with excitement and anticipation. His enthusiasm for life was infectious. You actually felt better by just looking at him, although since he was a bit of a disaster magnet, subsequent events usually put a stop to such foolishness.

  He shook hands, nearly wrenching my shoulder out of its socket. ‘My dear Max, it’s so good to see you again. And looking so well. Is it possible – dare I hope – you’re no longer married to Leon? No, don’t answer that. Just tell me you’ll allow me to whisk you away on clouds of happiness and the Number 98 bus.’

  ‘Oh, Eddie, I don’t know how to break it to you . . .’

  ‘My heart is broken,’ he said, looking extremely cheerful about it. ‘My world is dark. All hope is gone.’

  All of which would have been much more convincing if he h
adn’t bounded across the room to greet Leon, who entered at that moment.

  ‘Leon, my boy. How are you?’ He shook his hand vigorously.

  Leon smiled. He likes Professor Penrose too. Everyone does. He’s real St Mary’s material. I took him on a jump once – Dr Bairstow’s retirement gift to him – and you wouldn’t believe the trouble we got into. It was as if he’d worked at St Mary’s all his life.

  ‘I thought,’ said Dr Bairstow, picking up his stick, ‘that I could leave you for a brief discussion while I go and collect young Matthew.’

  He began to limp towards the door.

  ‘There’s no need, sir,’ I said. ‘I can shoot off and get him.’

  He waved that aside. ‘I do not often get the opportunity to walk around my unit and see how others are spending their working days.’

  We have an informal arrangement at St Mary’s. The Boss stays in his office and doesn’t interfere, and we do our level best to ensure he never has to interfere. Walking around the building brings him into contact with all sorts of things it’s really better he doesn’t know anything about. Usually he’s very appreciative of our consideration towards him, but every now and then a devil of mischief seizes him and sallies forth to cause alarm and consternation in the ranks.

  I tried to remember what the History Department was up to that afternoon and failed. I consoled myself with the thought it couldn’t be anything very terrible and if it was, then I’d hear about it soon enough, so just concentrate on the job in hand.

  ‘I’ve read the report Edward has sent me,’ said Eddie, seating himself again. ‘A bright boy, by all accounts, but with rather an unconventional upbringing, it would seem. How is he coping with his sudden removal from the Time Police?’

  ‘He appears to be fine,’ I said. ‘Although he seems content wherever he is, which is sometimes a little worrying.’

  He nodded. ‘I think, after his recent adventures, we need to cultivate a sense of stability for him. I don’t mean initiating a dull, boring routine – I don’t think that would work at all – but focusing his thoughts on what’s happening around him, here and now. Filling his days. And I don’t just want to make him work – I want to make him think.’