Plan for the Worst

by Jodi Taylor

  We were downriver from London Bridge – which was about half a mile away, as far as I could tell, and the river was packed with shipping. Small boats milled around everywhere, carrying anything from passengers to cargo to – in one case – a large brown cow. It stood peacefully in the middle of the boat, regally surveying everything around it as it was transported downriver. I’ve no idea where it was going.

  The smaller boats were servicing larger ships as they loaded or unloaded. I say larger ships but to my modern eyes they all looked tiny. I personally wouldn’t have crossed to the other side of the river in one of those, let alone the other side of the Channel. Many more were anchored mid-stream. Waiting for the tide, perhaps. Everything was dependent upon the wind and tide.

  There were dilapidated wooden jetties at regular intervals along the foreshore. Some extended some way out into the water; others were quite short. Quite a few were just a tangled mass of rotting timbers.

  I pulled out my recorder and got some good shots of the ships, wondering how I’d identify them when I got back. None of them had names painted either on their sides or their stern. Then I kicked myself. Of course they wouldn’t. There would be no point. Hardly anyone could read.

  ‘The world is beginning to open up,’ said Dr Bairstow. ‘Vessels are being constructed that are capable of sailing around the globe.’

  Why anyone would want to do any such thing was a mystery to me. I planted my landlubberly feet firmly on solid ground and told myself I wasn’t going within a hundred yards of any ship. Especially the one directly in front of us. The vast tangle of ships’ masts was swaying to and fro in a way that made me feel green to look at them, but this one was wallowing more clumsily than most. It was very old and there were things growing all over it. Any normal person would have said it had reached the end of its useful life quite some time ago, but red-faced, heavily sweating men were swarming up and down the gangplank, quite happily, loading bundles and casks.

  ‘A cog,’ announced Dr Bairstow, pointing at another, slightly more seaworthy-looking vessel moored further out from the bank and surrounded by a large number of smaller boats. ‘Single-masted and clinker-built,’ he continued, incomprehensibly. ‘And over there, a hulk.’ He pointed at a truly dilapidated vessel being towed upriver by several rowing boats. Mrs Brown and I nodded politely and he sighed. ‘I used to do a lot of sailing in my youth.’

  Mrs Brown enquired what the boats were likely to be carry­ing.

  ‘Wine, cloth, wool, salt, timber . . .’

  Keeping the Tower on our left-hand side, we walked slowly past St Thomas’s Gate, the Cradle Tower and then the Well Tower. Here, a narrow, dusty lane turned sharp left, to follow the stagnant moat around the Tower – a route to be avoided unless you wanted to be laid low with typhoid fever before bedtime.

  We followed the river along an unpaved road, past another cluster of houses, inns, chandlers, carpenters, workshops and so on. This haphazard conglomerate of buildings served both the Tower behind us and the docks ahead. Seagulls wheeled whitely, shitting on everything in sight.

  There were people around, quietly getting on with their day, and everything seemed peaceful so I dropped back slightly to give them some privacy. They walked ahead of me, Dr Bairstow pointing with his stick, Mrs Brown nodding, me with my tongue hanging out and thinking of tea.

  At this point in time, other than Southwark, London was mostly on this, the north side of the river. The opposite bank was still rough land with marshes, stunted willows, alders, tall reeds and the occasional wooden shack. The river itself stank to high heaven, but there was a stiffish breeze coming off it that was very welcome after the heat of the day.

  There was no artificial embankment yet and the river seemed wider, somehow. And a lot more untidy. The ragged shoreline was littered with flotsam or jetsam – don’t ask me which is which because I can never remember – broken planks and spars, tangled nets, the occasional scuttling rat, bits of barrels and baskets, rotten old rope and everything else no one had any more use for.

  There were plenty of people about. A lot of men were fishing – not that I’d have eaten anything that came out of the Thames. No one seemed to have caught anything. There might not be anything to catch. Perhaps even in medieval times, men escaped their households to sit on a riverbank clutching a stick with a bit of string hanging off it, to stare vacantly at the passing water for a couple of hours.

  We moved out of the way for a boy leading a couple of big, brown horses. They plodded slowly past us, heads low in the heat. I could see horse-fly bites under their skin. I wondered if perhaps they were for towing some of the smaller boats upriver – like towing narrow boats on canals.

  Children were everywhere, of course, impervious to the heat, running, shouting, chasing each other, throwing sticks. We were well into mid-evening by now. The sun wouldn’t set for another couple of hours and it was still hot. I knew from experience there would be no chance of getting them to bed. I bet the two princes were still up as well. I pictured Edward sitting quietly under his tree, reading perhaps, and young Richard belting around the place exhausting everyone in sight.

  The light was taking on an orangey tinge. My historian instincts were telling me it was time to turn back. Obviously because I wanted Dr Bairstow and Mrs Brown safely returned to the pod before dusk fell, and not in the least because my tongue was cleaving to the roof of my mouth and I was gagging for a cup of tea. But they were strolling quietly along, their heads close together, chatting away, and you’d have to be an even bigger monster than me to break that up. I wandered along behind them, out of earshot but not out of range should either of them take it into their heads to do anything daft.

  I gave them another hundred yards and then cleared my throat in a meaningful manner and they were as good as gold. We ambled very casually back to the pod, enjoying this remarkably fine evening. The sunset was beautiful. All golds, oranges, crimson and purple. The Tower loomed before us, darker than everything around it now that the sun was sinking to the horizon. The sky was turning a deep, blood red.

  They paused outside the pod for one last look around and I felt bad for breaking this up, but the light had gone and the rules are clear. Back in the pod before nightfall. I’m an expert on rules. I’ve ignored or broken nearly all of them at one time or another. But not today. I called for the door, saw them both inside, took one final look around at the soft twilight and then the door closed behind us.

  The pod was deliciously cool after the heat of the day. Without me even mentioning it, Dr Bairstow bustled about with the kettle. Mrs Brown made herself comfortable, arranging her dress so no one would trip over it.

  I gave the console a quick glance – just checking nothing had gone wrong in our absence. Nothing had. Today had been a good day. We’d got in and out of the Tower successfully, caught a glimpse of the princes, impressed one of our anonymous bosses and not only was no one dead – no one had even been hurt. It could all have been a lot worse. Mrs Brown took my tea from Dr Bairstow and passed it over. I thanked her and waited to see what Dr Bairstow had to say.

  He seated himself next to Mrs Brown and said to me, ‘Are you surprised by how easy that was?’

  Well, yes, was the answer to that. Although I didn’t see why we couldn’t chalk everything up to brilliant planning and flawless execution and said so.

  ‘You saw nothing suspicious there, Dr Maxwell?’

  Mrs Brown handed him his own tea. He looked at the mug as if he’d never seen one before.

  ‘Well, we weren’t challenged, sir. Not once. Hardly anyone even looked at us.’

  ‘Or the princes,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘It was most noticeable, I thought. It was almost as if they were invisible. That they didn’t exist. And yet young Richard was such a bundle of noisy energy you couldn’t miss him.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what orders they’ve been given.’

  Dr Bairstow nodded. �
��How about, “Take no notice of anything out of the ordinary that might happen today. Or tomorrow. Or within the next few days. Turn a blind eye to everything.” Including us, it would seem.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because, perhaps, something is about to occur that needs a blind eye turning to. I wondered whether they thought we were there in an observers’ capacity. As indeed we were, but a different type of observer.’

  ‘They’re going to kill them,’ Mrs Brown said, slowly. ‘These are the preliminaries. Getting people accustomed to ignoring possibly strange events would be the first stage to carrying out something that needs to be ignored.’

  Dr Bairstow nodded. ‘It all adds up. Hastings is executed on 20th June. On the 22nd the two princes are declared illegitimate in a sermon outside Old St Paul’s. Their uncle declares himself king on the 26th. Where are we now?’

  I swallowed the last of my tea. ‘Late evening of the 25th June.’

  ‘If Richard has them killed tonight then he really is the legitimate king tomorrow.’

  We thought about that for a moment.

  I looked around. This was one of the most important days in English History. There was no way I was missing this. Frankly, if we didn’t have Mrs Brown with us then, trust me, you couldn’t have dynamited me out of this place. But we did. We had a very senior member of the Civil Service with us and if anything happened to her then we would be in some very serious trouble indeed.

  Normally, this wouldn’t even register on my list of things to worry about but I strongly suspected that if anything happened to her mother then North would come looking for me and I’d find myself on the receiving end of not only the brutal efficiency she brought to any task she undertook, but a couple of very nasty tricks picked up from the Time Police as well.

  I began a rough calculation. I needed to get Dr Bairstow and Mrs Brown back to St Mary’s as soon as was politely possible. Say goodbye. Get out of this dress, grab Peterson who would never forgive me otherwise, possibly Markham as well, if he was functioning yet, and get back here. I wondered how much of a safety margin I would need. You can’t be in the same time twice. There are no do-overs in our game. Which is a shame because our lives would be considerably easier if, after a particularly difficult and incident-heavy assignment, we could go back and have another go. But, sadly, we can’t do that. I’ve never experienced it, but I’m told the consequences of having two versions of the same person together in the same time could be quite catastrophic. I reckoned I’d need a couple of hours at least between our departure from the Tower and my subsequent return. And even then, I’d probably have to wrestle with the pod’s safety protocols because pods take a very dim view of this sort of thing.

  And now we’d reached a tricky moment. I was officially in charge of this assignment. My word was law. If I said it was time to go then it was time to go. Even Dr Bairstow himself couldn’t overrule me.

  ‘So,’ I said casually, putting down my mug. ‘Back home in time for tea.’

  I think I tend to forget Dr Bairstow is an historian as well.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Am I to understand you do not favour pursuing this matter any further, Dr Maxwell?’

  Well, yes, obviously, was the answer to that, but not with you and Mrs Brown alongside me, was the complete answer that couldn’t be uttered.

  I struggled to put it slightly less bluntly. ‘Sir, I don’t think . . .’ I gestured towards Mrs Brown who, as a top government official, would be completely in favour of caution and discretion, together with the need to form a steering group to consider a working party to investigate the possibility of setting up a committee or two to monitor developments and put together a set of guidelines for future discussion prior to formulating the appropriate policy.

  Of course, with my usual luck, Mrs Brown hadn’t read the same 7 Habits for Highly Ineffective Government as her colleagues. ‘I think we should pursue this matter immediately,’ she said crisply. ‘To leave now and return later would be inefficient and time-consuming. We are ideally situated. It is up to us to record and document events as they arise – on the spot – for future consideration and evaluation.’

  Well, bugger me.

  ‘As we would at this very moment be doing, ma’am,’ I said smoothly, ‘were it not for the presence of . . .’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you need trouble yourself over that,’ said Dr Bairstow jovially. ‘I think we can all agree this is an excellent opportunity for us to demonstrate our modus operandi to our employers and at the same time gain an insight into one of the great mysteries of the ages. I find myself quite excited.’

  I remembered again that he was responsible for picking up all three of our government overlords and depositing them in the middle of the Battle of Waterloo. Just to make a point. And right in the middle of the action. None of this girlie hanging-around-the-edges stuff. I still couldn’t believe they hadn’t all been blown to bits or crushed underfoot in the famous charge of the Scots Greys.

  Well, if the Boss wasn’t worried, then neither was I. And Mrs Brown was positively sparkling with excitement. It dawned on me that if this went well then it might ensure our funding for a decade. On the other hand, if it went badly then I was off to hide in the Pleistocene period and even that might not be enough to escape Miss North.

  18

  Since we all appeared to be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future – however long that turned out to be – I suggested everyone eat something. We pulled out the compo rations and surveyed our resources. Quite honestly, I wasn’t expecting either of them to be impressed – the purpose of compo is to slow the passage of food through the gut rather than provide a taste experience, but Mrs Brown said, ‘Ooh – liver and bacon. Haven’t had that since I was at school.’

  Note for foreigners and other normal people: the conditions in most English public schools are brutally primitive and are surpassed only by those of public schools in Scotland. Pupils sleep in dormitories on beds comprised mostly of iron spikes, the majority of lessons appear to take place out of doors in the rain, and the food is best described as nourishing. Offal, milk puddings, vast suet dumplings – often all on the same plate. Any attempts to introduce the same standards of catering into His Majesty’s Prisons would cause an international outcry. The worse the living conditions, the more exorbitant the school fees. Parents believe these schools promote fortitude and self-reliance, together with the development of a gastric tract as robustly all-encompassing as a municipal tip. Believe it or not, many ex-pupils regard their schooldays with fond nostalgia, and Mrs Brown obviously missed the good old days.

  The Boss went for beef stew and I had chicken. We pulled the heating tabs and tucked in. Both of them cleaned their trays. It was as I was making tea that it all began to kick off.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mrs Brown, suddenly, leaning forwards and pointing at the screen. ‘Should that happen?’

  I twisted to look. Night had finally fallen and the Tower was a blaze of light. The battlements were outlined by torches thrust into the walls every few yards. Braziers stood either side of the gates – which were now firmly closed against the outside world. More braziers were placed along the river in the area known as the Wharf. I suspected they were more about catching anyone behaving suspiciously than preventing people from falling in. There was a moon, obscured occasionally by the clouds that were beginning to build up. The wind was getting up, too. I wondered if we were due some rain and whether that would be a good thing or not. But what had attracted Mrs Brown’s attention was that, very slowly and very eerily, one by one, all the lights were going out. The Tower of London was fading back into the night.

  I put down my mug, tea forgotten. At first, I thought the wind was blowing out the torches, but none of the flames were flickering. One minute the light would be burning strongly – the next minute it was gone. Snuffed out. A moment later – exactly the same amount of time it would ta
ke a man to move to the next one – that one was gone, too.

  I followed the progress along the walls. From the Byward Tower to St Thomas’s Tower to the Cradle Tower to the Well Tower. One by one. And then around the corner and out of our view.

  I panned back to the Wharf. I caught a glimpse of dark figures moving among the braziers and then they too were doused. The night suddenly seemed very dark.

  ‘Switching to internal night vision,’ I said, and the inside of the pod glowed greenly.

  ‘Something’s happening,’ said Dr Bairstow at my shoulder and indeed, we could see moving shadows but little else.

  ‘We’re not well situated here,’ I said, frustrated. ‘The angle’s wrong. We can’t actually see what’s going on. We need to be outside. And much closer.’

  I paused in case he wanted to tell me that was impossible and we should stay where we were, but actually he seemed quite keen so I stood up, removed my headdress and placed it carefully in a locker because yes, I’ve faced monsters in my time, but Mrs Enderby in Wardrobe has a vast range of reproachful stares and you really don’t want to be on the receiving end of any of them.

  There’s a method for dealing with long dresses. You simply lift the hem above your knees and pull it all forwards in a bundle. Swoosh it back between your legs, divide in two, bring both handfuls around your waist and tie firmly. Job done, ladies. Draw your sword and shed some blood.

  My plan was that I would go out first to take a quick look around and the two more valuable members of the human race would remain safely inside the pod where no harm could come to them. Guess how that turned out. I was nearly trampled in the rush. Mrs Brown had her headdress off and her skirts tied up even more quickly than me. She was definitely in the wrong job.

  I issued a few instructions on what to do in an emergency and how important it was they both do exactly as they were told exactly when they were told to do it and I think it would be safe to say that neither of them heard a word I said.