Another Time, Another Place

by Jodi Taylor

  I shrugged. Of the five of us, three were no longer historians, one of us was fast asleep, and the last one had never given a rat’s arse in the first place.

  ‘Computer, initiate jump.’

  ‘Jump initiated.’

  The world went white.

  I checked the chronometer. ‘It’s around late afternoon. We can stay inside for as long as you like – we won’t leave the pod until you’re ready – but I think we should explore a little while it’s still daylight. You can make some decisions about whether you’re going to look for somewhere inside or outside the city walls – that sort of thing. Who’s coming to look round?’

  ‘Me,’ said Clerk, standing up.

  ‘I’ll look after the baby, if you like,’ said Rosie. ‘You might want to go with them, Miss Prentiss. Remember, they’re historians and you could find yourself living in the middle of a flood plain, or in the path of a landslide, or next to the local brothel or something.’

  I think it was indicative of Paula’s mindset that she didn’t mention she was an historian too. She’d long since abandoned St Mary’s – mentally, that is. I could sympathise. Something similar had happened to me when I was abandoned at St Mary’s in 1399. There are stages. Firstly, there’s denial – you rage against the fate that abandoned you there. Then there’s the struggle to accept. She must have known, as soon as the baby was born, that unless she was prepared to abandon her daughter then she was never going home again. And finally, there’s reluctant acceptance. This is my life now. I have to make the most of it.

  We exited the pod and set off around the side of the hill, stumbling a little over the rough ground. I think we’d all become accustomed to the smooth streets of Babylon. The desert heat was gone. The breeze smelled of the sea. Small flowers nestled under the rocks. This was second spring. There’s no autumn in this part of the world. As soon as the rains come after the scorching summer heat, everything bursts into life again. The day was warm but not scorching. And with the sea only just over there, the air was fresh and clean.

  The landscape was typical Mediterranean. There were rocks. Lots of them. There were always rocks. Or building materials if you want to look on the positive side. And dotted among the pines were günlük trees. They could sling blankets up for shade during the day and sleep on them at night. When they found a suitable site they could build something more permanent. Clerk was obviously good with his hands. He even knew the secret of blue tiles – something he might be able to profit from here. Importantly, the hillside shrubs were green with new growth showing there was water present. And the city of Patara lay below us, a jumble of stone and wooden buildings following the line of the river.

  The River Xanthos meandered its way from the hills over on our right down to the sea on our left. The world was perfectly silent up here and I was sure I could hear, faintly in the distance, the sound of waves crashing on the shore. The river itself was crammed, bow to stern, with shipping of all types. From big triremes, looking naked without their rows of oars, all the way down to little coracle-style boats zipping from one side of the river to the other ferrying people and goods. A constant stream of laden men carried goods on and off the ships. Once he’d regained his strength a little, Clerk should be able to find work easily. Best of all, he’d be a free man.

  The banks were thick with buildings – granaries, brothels, warehouses and storage facilities. All of them built of stone, sturdy and permanent. Further up the hills from the river, the buildings became smart private homes and temples. There were plenty of people on the streets. I could see a long, paved street leading to the agora with shops on either side. An imposing amphitheatre was built into the side of a hill and only a little distance away, the bouleuterion. People bustled. There was lots going on here. Strangers came and went all the time. Clerk and Prentiss wouldn’t stand out at all.

  And, fed by the muddy river, the soil here was good. Cultivated patches of land were dotted both inside and outside the city. Every house had its own vines, fig trees and an olive grove. Small brushwood pens held a few goats or sheep. Away on a far hillside, I watched three or four donkeys plod a well-trodden path to disappear over the top.

  ‘I think we’ll stay outside the walls for a while,’ said Clerk. ‘At least until we find our way around the city. We’ll find out what’s where, how everything works, areas to avoid and so on and then move into the city when we’re ready.’

  It was a good plan. I looked around. We were standing in an east-facing hollow, concealed on three sides by a grove of pine trees. I could hear the wind whispering in their branches. It’s one of the most peaceful sounds in the world. Right up there with breaking waves.

  Paula nodded. ‘Actually, I think here would do nicely. Within running distance of the city should we have to, but far enough away that no one will disturb us.’

  Clerk smiled at her. ‘Close, but not too close,’ and she smiled back.

  We trudged back to the pod, removed the baby from Rosie Lee’s contaminating influence, laid out a blanket and piled it with all their new gear. Clerk tied the four corners together and heaved it over his shoulder. We loaded ourselves with what was left and walked with them back to the hollow. I saw Clerk stumble on the rocky ground. He and she must both be exhausted. I know I was. ‘You sit down,’ I said. ‘We’ll do all the hard work. You just tell us where you want things to go.’

  We untied the blanket and laid out the contents for their inspection. I have to say, in this bright sunshine, what had seemed so much at St Mary’s seemed pitifully little with which to begin a new life, but they were so delighted with everything, exclaiming with excitement as we revealed each new treasure. It brought a lump to my throat. For them, everything was special because two hours ago they’d had nothing. Things like the sewing kits would be more valuable than gold to them. And try preparing a meal without a pot to cook in. Or carrying water without a bucket. There were firelighters for when the wood was damp. Candles. String. An axe. A month’s worth of rations. Blankets for cold nights. Stout shoes for winter. A change of clothes. Two cloaks. Even a small roll of muslin they could tear up for nappies. To them it was beyond price. To me it seemed woefully inadequate for their future life.

  At last, it was all done. Clerk tied a length of string between two trees to hang one of the blankets over, which would give them a little shelter at night and some privacy for Paula to feed her baby, who was lying in the shade, waving her fists, kicking her legs and looking around in wonder.

  I sat down beside her and asked Paula what her name was.

  For the first time, she looked embarrassed.

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Is it something long and Babylonian and complicated?’

  Babylonians do like to get good value out of a name. Some of them go on for half a page. Then they take a deep breath, hyphenate and carry on.

  ‘No, quite the contrary.’

  Rosie Lee got it before I did.

  ‘Oh no. How could you? Poor little mite.’

  ‘What?’ I said, all at sea.

  ‘They called her Max,’ she said in exasperation. ‘Talk about being handicapped at birth.’

  Paula was scarlet. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No,’ I said, delighted. ‘Ignore Miss Lee. She has problems relating to the rest of the human race. It’s a perfect name and I’m very flattered. She will grow up to be both beautiful and lucky.’

  Not in the least bit like me then, but what else could I say?

  And then – at last – the moment came. I don’t often cry but I did then. We all did. We’d been through some stuff together and now I was leaving them here – possibly forever. And whether I would ever be able to come back was debatable. Not least because Treadwell was going to have me out of St Mary’s before I could even draw enough breath to argue. If I was lucky. He might well have me arrested. My future was nearly as precarious as theirs. No point in telling them that, thoug
h. They should concentrate on themselves and forget St Mary’s. I’d done everything I could.

  Or had I? There was no point in giving them any money, but gold has a value everywhere and anytime. I did hesitate but only for a second. I pulled off my wedding ring and handed it to Clerk. ‘Here.’

  He was aghast. ‘Max, I can’t take this.’

  ‘You have to,’ I said. ‘You might need it one day. And if not, then it’s a dowry for little Max.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘You can’t afford to have any scruples. Either of you. This is my choice and I give you this freely. Let’s hope it brings you good fortune.’

  To his credit, he hesitated, but he was a practical lad. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right then,’ I said, clearing my throat.

  ‘Yes,’ they said.

  I wouldn’t let them accompany us back to the pod. It wouldn’t do them any good to watch the pod jump, taking us away but leaving them behind. Far better for us to leave them at the beginning of their new life in their new home. There was one last hug which we all had to cut short otherwise we’d have been snivelling again.

  And so a tiny part of St Mary’s was left forever on a rocky hillside in sunny Lycia. No more solid, reliable Clerk. No more cheerful, competent Prentiss. And I wasn’t just losing histor­ians – I was losing friends. Good friends. Best friends.

  I turned back for the final farewell, squinting into the bright sun. There’s a rigid formula for this sort of thing, which, I realised now, was designed to prevent everyone bursting into tears.

  ‘Mr Clerk, Miss Prentiss – St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’

  Clerk nodded, too overcome to speak. It was Paula, shifting her tiny baby on to her other hip who held out her hand, saying, ‘An honour and a privilege, Max. And thank you. We’ll never forget . . .’

  And that was her off, as well.

  I tried to smile. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘You too, Max.’

  This was a goodbye more final than I’d ever experienced before. I’d probably never know how their lives would turn out. I didn’t even know if they’d survive the next twelve months.

  My last view was of them standing in the dappled shade of a pine tree, surrounded by their few possessions. Paula was holding her baby and Clerk had his arm around her shoulders. They waved goodbye. I don’t mind admitting – I was struggling. It went against every instinct to leave them there. I’d done what I could but it wasn’t very much. And yes, I know it was their choice, but even so . . . I know what it’s like to watch a pod disappear. That awful first moment when you realise you’re utterly alone. That you will never go home again.

  ‘You’ve done everything you could,’ said Rosie Lee, disconcertingly reading my thoughts.

  ‘I could have done so much more.’

  ‘Not with Treadwell around,’ she said. ‘They will survive, Max. In fact, I think they’ll prosper.’

  I looked back once more. They’d already turned away. Off to make their own future.

  My future, on the other hand . . .

  I opened the door and we were back inside the strangely empty pod.

  ‘Right,’ I said to Rosie, ‘my first priority is getting rid of you.’

  ‘Well, there’s a coincidence,’ she said.

  ‘Change back into your normal clothes. As soon as we land, nip out through Hawking. Dieter won’t say anything. If anyone challenges you, you’ve been doing something in one of the pods.’

  She stared at me. ‘Like what?’

  ‘How should I know? Why do I have to think of everything? You’re quick enough with the excuses for never making the tea so I have every confidence in you to lie through your teeth. Failing everything, just turn everyone into stone like you usually do.’

  She stalked off to the bathroom in huffy silence.

  We landed back at St Mary’s. I reactivated the camouflage device and had the screens on immediately, panning around, but the paint store was empty.

  Rosie went to stand by the door, dressed in her normal clothes, all ready to leave.

  I looked up from the console. ‘Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said. ‘Actually, I quite enjoyed it.’ She paused. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on, shall I?’

  ‘Rosie,’ I said quietly, ‘I won’t be coming back to the office.’

  I waited for the But what about me? It never came.

  ‘You did a good thing, Max.’

  I nodded.

  ‘They’re going to be all right,’ she said.

  I blinked away a tear. ‘They’ve been dead for thousands of years, Rosie.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ve got a crap job, Max,’ and let herself out of the door.

  I could only agree.

  I was tempted to stay in my Babylonian gear. What would be the point of climbing back into my blues when I’d be climbing back out of them in about twenty minutes. However, let’s not jump the gun. I undressed slowly, folded it all neatly because I didn’t want to be accused of theft, left it on a shelf next to tins of paint marked ‘Sunshine Yellow’, and donned my blues for the last time.

  I cracked open the door to the paint store but there was no one around. Nor in the Long Corridor, either. I began to wonder if, against all the odds, I might have got away with things after all.

  Treadwell was waiting for me in the Great Hall. Of course he would be. Where he could make a public example of me in front of everyone.

  He looked furious. As he had every right to be. He was a new Director, struggling to take charge of an organisation fiercely devoted to his predecessor. I’d deliberately and publicly dis­obeyed a direct order. I hadn’t really left him any choice.

  He stood in front of me and for the first time I was afraid of him. His face was tight and cold, giving nothing away as he looked down at me. The very quietness of his voice emphasised his rigid control. I wondered if he’d hit me.

  I was charged, right there and then, right in front of everyone. Treadwell was making a public statement and he was using me to do it. This was the moment he finally imposed himself on St Mary’s. I tried to tell myself I really didn’t care, but when I looked past him, when I looked at Sands, Sykes, Mrs Enderby, all of them, I knew I really did.

  I was charged with misappropriation of St Mary’s property, disobeying a direct order, and finally, misconduct in a public office, which covered pretty much anything he might otherwise have missed. In other words, a dishonourable discharge. He told me I was lucky. Only my years of service were keeping me out of gaol.

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘I thought it was because you didn’t want the world knowing how thoroughly you and Hyssop screwed this up.’

  He looked around at the silently watching crowd of people. Everyone was there. Dieter had even brought his people up from Hawking.

  He raised his voice. ‘Should any of you consider following Dr Maxwell’s example, I shall be happy to accept your resignations and might even manage a small termination-of-service payment as an incentive.’

  ‘At this moment, I don’t think you’ll be able to dynamite anyone out of St Mary’s,’ said Sykes, grinning at him in a manner that made Hyssop flex her gun arm. ‘I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re all eager to see what Chief Farrell does when he comes back to find his wife missing.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Bashford, yanking out his scratchpad. ‘If anyone fancies a small wager, I am accepting bets and giving odds on Leon of . . .’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Treadwell. ‘Get her out of here.’

  He wheeled away. Before he did me a serious injury, I suspected. I didn’t hang around, either. I didn’t want him enquiring too closely as to my mode of transport. Dieter would have no difficulty proving all the pods had been present and correct. I was hoping by the time he gues
sed I had my own pod it would be too late.

  It was Hyssop who escorted me to my room. I was experiencing déjà vu on a massive scale. I’d done all this once before but at least this time I was prepared.

  Stiffly, I climbed back out of my blues and T-shirt, folded them neatly and laid them on the bed. I dressed in jeans and a hoodie and pulled out my riding mac. My traditional getting-sacked outfit. And I made sure I moved very slowly. I made her wait for me.

  I picked up my bag. If I’d thought that being packed and ready to go meant Hyssop wouldn’t search my bag, I was wrong. She went through everything in it very thoroughly, but she was professional about it. She didn’t throw my stuff around or break anything.

  Wordlessly she produced all the paperwork. NDAs. Official Secrets Act. One month’s pay. All prepared. All ready. Which was interesting. Had I been manoeuvred into this? Was this part of a carefully planned move in a whole series of carefully planned moves by Treadwell? Actually, did it matter? And did I care?

  I signed everything in sight.

  In silence – actually, neither of us had spoken a single word to each other – she handed me back my bag. I took it off her and walked out on to the landing. She followed me out and I very ostentatiously locked the door behind her.

  ‘To prevent looting,’ I said to her face, because what else could they do to me? Sack me twice? ‘My husband will return soon and he will check our room over very carefully. If anything is missing – other than me, of course – he will come looking for you. All of you. He took down the Time Police almost single-handedly so I don’t see your pathetic little bunch of incompetents causing him any problems at all.’

  She led the way down the stairs.

  David Sands waited for me on the half-landing. As I approached, he straightened up and offered me his arm. I clattered down the stairs to meet him.

  They were all assembled in the Great Hall. Not just the History Department. Everyone. I looked for Rosie Lee and there she was, right at the back. Safe and undiscovered. She scowled at me, maintaining traditions right up until the very end.