*
They spent the next hour working their way through the level, taking turns. It was compulsive gaming. They travelled across 1914 Austria in a train to Vienna. From there, they journeyed by horse, cart and even a pre-1914 motorbike to Belgrade. They dodged Austro-Hungarian imperial lifeguards, secret police and a range of other unsavoury characters. On more than one occasion their cover was blown and they were thrown back to the start of the level. Finally, they infiltrated the ‘Black Hand’ in a dusty café in Belgrade and learned of the plans for the assassination in Sarajevo, which would take place at the end of the level. If they could stop Princip before he pulled the trigger of his pistol, history would be changed forever. Much more importantly, they would move on to the next level.
The great thing about Point-of-Departure was that depending on how you played the early levels, the subsequent levels would change – sometimes subtly, sometimes drastically. Sometimes the diplomatic intrigue would take a different course or the war, triggered by the assassination in Sarajevo, would be delayed or possibly even averted (although they hadn’t managed to work out how to do that yet).
Gavrilo Princip
In other scenarios, apparently, the war was successfully postponed only to turn into a much longer and even bloodier affair. It was all down to how you played the first levels and the choices you made.
Now it was Jack’s turn. He held the controller in two sweaty palms. In the game, he was standing on the Appel Quay in Sarajevo next to the Lateiner Bridge. He knew that Princip was near him in the crowd – but he couldn’t see exactly where. Suddenly, a car passed in front of the crowd, then a second. There were a few muted cheers as a third car passed. He caught a fleeting glance of hat feathers and finery over the heads in front of him… and then the Archduke Ferdinand and Sophie, his wife, and the pursuing motorcade were gone.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the unmistakable figure of Princip furtively crossing the Appel Quay in front of him and then disappearing into Moritz Schiller’s delicatessen. Beside him, in the cellar, Angus was on tenterhooks, staring intently at the images on the screen.
“There he is!” he shouted. He jumped up and down in excitement as Jack expertly fingered the controller to manoeuvre himself towards Princip.
“Yes, I can see him,” Jack said sarcastically.
“You’ve got to get him!”
“I know.”
The tension mounted. In a few minutes Jack knew that the motorcade would be returning from the Town Hall and Princip would have his final chance to shoot the Archduke – and strike a devastating blow for the Bosnian Serbs against their oppressors, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Instinctively, he followed Princip and took up position next to the shop. History was about to happen before his eyes.
At that moment they saw the big headlamps and fender of the Graf und Stift lumbering round the bend. The car was slowing down. He could see all the occupants including, perched up high in the rear, the Archduke and, to his left, Sophie. A man was leaning over to the driver to tell him something. Suddenly only two and a half metres away, Princip appeared. He had emerged from the delicatessen and had a sandwich in one hand. He had a look of amazement on his face as the Archduke’s car ground to a halt, right in front of him. Princip dropped his sandwich and reached into his jacket pocket.
Angus was standing on the armchair. “There! Get him!”
But Jack kept his nerve. “Wait for it…”
He reached into his own coat and pulled out the pistol that he had been given earlier in the game. He held it in both hands and levelled it directly at Princip, who was by now pointing his own gun into the large car.
Angus was apoplectic. “Shoot him!”
Jack pressed the button on his controller once. The pistol jerked in his hands on the screen and Princip collapsed to the ground.
“You got him! You got him!”
They had completed the level. They had foiled the assassination and thereby stopped the countdown to the First World War. They had changed history, but they would not know exactly how they had changed it until the next level. In his excitement, Angus leaped onto the armchair. The big old springs inside the chair absorbed his weight, but then unexpectedly rebounded. Angus suddenly found himself flying over the back of the armchair and towards an old bookcase that stood against one wall of the cellar. Jack turned away from the game just in time to see Angus’s large frame crash headlong into the bookcase. There was an explosion of splintering wood and collapsing shelves as he made contact. Then, the entire structure started to move. With a huge crash, the bookcase, its contents and Angus landed in a heap of rubble, wood and dust.
As the air cleared, Jack peered into the gloom over his friend’s prostrate body. The bookcase had fallen backwards through a thin partition into… Jack was not quite sure what.
Angus groaned and pulled himself to his feet. “What happened?”
“I got him, like you said, but…”
Jack had put down his controller and had already stepped over Angus and the bookcase and into the opening next to the cellar.
Gingerly, Angus got to his feet wiping off the dust from his shirt and trousers. As the air cleared, a mysterious annex to the cellar took shape. It looked like a… library. The hole in the cellar wall had opened up onto a narrow balcony, which housed an upper section that swept completely around a small oval room. From this upper section you could reach the lower room by a spiral staircase. The lower floor was well below the level of the adjoining cellar where they had been battling with Point-of-Departure.
The upper level of the library was packed with books from floor to ceiling – although it looked like there were gaps where some books were missing. In the lower level of the library, there were papers and journals stacked haphazardly. The walls of the lower level were also plastered with large panels of brown paper to which an extraordinary array of photographs, diagrams and stapled notes were attached. In some places, large felt-tipped arrows were scrawled, connecting one section to another. There were scribbles and crossings out everywhere. In some cases, different-coloured string had been used to interconnect various items and above each main panel of paper there was a large label. These labels were the only things that seemed to exercise any kind of order on the messy workings pinned on the wallcharts beneath. From right to left along the wall, the labels for each wallchart could be read in sequence: ‘Timeline Simulation 0103’, ‘Timeline Simulation 0104’, ‘Timeline Simulation 0105’, and so on, all the way up to ‘Timeline Simulation 0109’.
“What is this place?”
“Looks like a kind of control room…” Jack replied.
“Or something out of Crime Scene Investigation.”
“Yeah – all those weird maps, pictures, photos, notes… kind of linked together…”
“And what the hell is a Timeline Simulation?”
“No clue…” Jack looked along the wall at the various sheets. About halfway down the room he noticed that there seemed to be a whole wallchart missing – just the bare wall and plaster remained behind, pockmarked by the Blu-Tack that had been used to attach the sheet to the wall.
“Funny…” Jack said. “Simulation 0107 seems to be missing…”
Angus shrugged. “Come on – let’s take a closer look.”
They rushed down the spiral staircase to the lower level. They had not noticed that a dim light had automatically come on as they entered the library. Soon they were in the midst of the lower room and it felt like they were drowning in a sea of paper, books, diagrams, pictures and notes. It was as if they had entered the brain of some ghostly intellect and caught it in the midst of solving some mind-bendingly difficult puzzle.
Opposite the wallcharts, there was a series of floor-to-ceiling shelves and glass cabinets.
“Look at all this stuff…”
Each shelf and each cabinet seemed to be stuffed full of all sorts of historical paraphernalia. Jack had done enough history with Pendelshape to realise that much of
it was military in nature – possibly from the world wars. He spotted a trench telescope, some medals, old maps, at least five different sorts of shell casings, uniforms, plus an array of rusty-looking revolvers and other equipment.
“Amazing, do you think any of it can still be used?” Angus said, hopefully.
Between two of the glass cabinets there was a large easel to which was pinned a map. Jack recognised it immediately from one of Pendelshape’s recent lessons – an old map of the Balkans. Just like the wallcharts opposite, various notes, photographs and diagrams were pinned to it. Some were connected to specific points by hand-drawn lines. The cities of Sarajevo and Belgrade were marked, but most of the other names he could neither recognise nor pronounce. The pictures pinned around the map included some sort of fortress in a town called ‘Doboj’ quite near Sarajevo and a picture of a country church or monastery.
“What about that?” Angus was staring towards the far end of the library, his eyes on sticks. There, in the shadows, was a low steel platform set at about waist height. It was perhaps half a metre across and surrounded by eight curved pieces of metal that looped up from the floor, bulged out around the central platform and then rejoined at the top. The whole thing was encased in a canopy of thick green glass. Around the platform there was an intricate arrangement of metal pipework, cabling and wires. There were two main work areas next to the platform, housing an array of oscilloscopes, tools and old computer equipment, but in terms of the overall arrangement of all this technology, the platform was at the centre of things and therefore seemed in some way important.
They moved over to the laboratory area at the far end of the library. As with the other objects, it was clear that a number of pieces of equipment had been removed. There were large spaces in the control panels where multicoloured wires hung loose, spaghetti-like, from empty metal framing.
“Look at this thing.” Jack was examining the steel platform inside the thick glass canopy. He suddenly realised that a strange metal object had been left on the platform between a set of symmetrical markings etched into the steel surface of the platform. As he peered closer, Jack put out a finger to touch the glass. Suddenly the whole casing swung silently back from the platform. He snatched back his hand.
“Help! It’s moving!”
Soon the canopy had rolled back completely and the boys had a chance to study the object before them. It was a piece of flat shiny metal. One end was pointed. It looked incredibly sharp. The other end was clasped around a narrower splintered piece of cylindrical wood. Angus picked up the object. It was very much heavier than it looked.
“Kind of a spike?” Angus said.
“Here, look, it’s got an inscription…” Jack said.
“What does it say?”
“No idea – the metal has a sort of brown stain on it, too.”
“Lots of history stuff in here – maybe it’s another antique?”
“We should take it to Pendelshape. He’ll know.” Jack placed the object in his pocket.
After a while, Angus said, “Maybe all this is to do with your father, don’t you think? You said he was some sort of scientist, didn’t you? And into history.”
“Yes. But I don’t know why it’s all hidden away down here… And such a mess.” Then he added resentfully, “I don’t know why Mum hasn’t said anything about it before. I’ll go and get her.”
But he didn’t have to. Having heard the commotion, Mrs Christie had arrived on the scene and was on the balcony looking down at them.
“Looks like you’ve made a bit of a discovery.”
“What is all this Mum?” Jack looked up at her expectantly.
His mum shrugged. “It’s your father’s old workshop. When he left he took some things with him, but he wanted the rest left alone and… well, we closed it off.”
“But…”
There was a pause. “Sorry I didn’t say anything,” she sighed. “With your father’s work, it was best not to get involved.”
Dr Neil Pendelshape slurped from a mug of tea as he inspected the artefact. The mug had a slogan on it that read, ‘Historians do it after the event’. Nobody quite knew how old the head of the history department was – but judging by the crow’s feet around his deep-set eyes and the cropped grey hair, he had to be well into his fifties. He wore a tweed jacket, which struggled to cover a squat, portly frame. Pendelshape didn’t go in for the open neck fashion of the younger teachers. Jack had never seen him without a tie. He would march around the History department as if it was his personal property – always in control. Jack had never heard him raise his voice, let alone lose his temper, yet discipline was never a problem.
Jack proudly presented the artefact to Pendelshape after school. He and Angus had spent quite a bit of time the previous evening exploring his father’s extraordinary library and workshop. To Jack’s dismay, his mum had continued to be coy about the discovery. She had said that she had been “meaning to clear it all out” for some time; and that she “had always meant to tell him that it was there”, but over time, and being so busy, had “kind of forgotten”. Jack did not understand this at all. But as he and Angus had inspected each of the artefacts and the mysterious wallcharts and all the strange equipment in turn, he’d begun to feel a sneaking sense of pride that all of this had once belonged to his own dad.
Pendelshape listened to the boys’ revelations with quiet interest. But as the story unfolded, his brow furrowed. He nodded thoughtfully and looked at the lump of steel more closely, with a magnifying glass taken from his desk. He studied the stem of splintered wood first and then carefully worked his way up to the arrow-shaped tip. He was staring intently, his nose millimetres from the object. His face flushed momentarily and a small bead of sweat slowly formed on his forehead. They had expected Pendelshape to be excited. But instead he looked increasingly… worried.
“So what is it, sir?” Angus asked.
“It’s the tip of a lance.”
Pendelshape thrust the magnifying glass over to Jack and pointed a finger at some lettering on one edge of the arrow-shaped lance head.
“I can see the letters, sir. But I don’t know what they mean.”
“Let me translate. It reads, ‘By God’s Grace – F.J.’”
Jack stared blankly at Pendelshape. “F.J.?”
“Franz Joseph.”
Jack remembered the name but Angus shrugged, none the wiser.
Pendelshape rolled his eyes. “It means, boys, that we have here the ceremonial lance tip of one of the life guards of the Emperor of Austria.” His voice trailed off thoughtfully. “Or, to give him his proper name: Emperor of Austria, King of Jerusalem, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Bohemia, Galicia, Lodomeria, Illyria and Croatia, Archduke of Austria, and Duke, Markgraf, Prince or Count of some thirty other places in the Austro-Hungarian Dual Monarchy… indeed.” He smiled grimly and snorted, “They don’t give them titles like that any more!”
“Indeed.” Angus said. Pendelshape narrowed his eyes and looked back at him sharply, trying to decide whether Angus was taking the mickey. Jack pressed on before he could make up his mind.
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t think there were any empires left; I mean Austria is not an empire… do they even have a king?”
Pendelshape was impressed, “Very good Jack. You’re absolutely right, but of course, this artefact is not modern. In fact, it is at least ninety years old…”
“And what’s that funny brown staining on the metal, sir?” Angus asked.
Pendelshape delayed his response, rubbed the back of his neck, and then said, matter-of-factly, “It’s blood.”
Jack’s heart jumped and he glanced at Angus.
Pendelshape stared out towards the window, deep in thought. A sparkling autumn day had gradually been enveloped by clouds that had rolled down from the hills. Suddenly, Pendelshape seemed to come to a decision about something. He stood up and kicked a rusty fan heater – it rumbled into life and reluctantly started to exhale tepid air into the classroo
m.
“The Schönbrunn raid,” Pendelshape finally muttered. “It might well be…”
“Sorry, sir – what’s that?” Jack asked.
“Little is known about it – some people think it did not happen at all – that it is just a myth. Apparently, there was some sort of raid on the Palace of Schönbrunn in Vienna – a few days before the assassination of Franz Ferdinand in 1914. The Austro-Hungarian government was very embarrassed about an attack at the very heart of the empire. They tried to erase any evidence that it took place. The story goes that Austrian lancers took on a group of Serbian rebels in the gardens of Schönbrunn itself. There were a number of casualties.”
“You think this lance could somehow be linked to this… raid?”
Pendelshape shrugged. “Well, the design is distinctive and places it quite accurately at that time… and…”
“What?”
“It would certainly be an important historical find if we could place the lance to that date… it might even be evidence that the raid did indeed happen.”
“Wonder how Dad came to have it in his workshop…” Jack said.
“Yes – Jack…” Pendelshape said thoughtfully, “I would be interested to know that too.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Finally, Pendelshape announced, “Well, school’s finished for today. I suggest you two stay around for an hour or so. Maybe do your homework in the library. I will go to the staffroom and phone a few colleagues, make some enquiries. Let’s see if we can find out exactly what the piece is and perhaps discover its value – maybe even test my theory. That might be interesting, don’t you think?” He looked at his watch, “Why don’t you come back at, say, five or so?”
Jack looked at Angus with an enthusiastic nod. Angus shrugged.
“Great. Thanks, sir. If you’re sure.” And with that they left Pendelshape as he picked up his magnifying glass and looked at the lance head.
Day of the Assassins Page 3