Changing Yesterday

by Sean McMullen

  Nearly everyone on the platform rushed forward for a better view. Barry merely hurried across to the short man’s abandoned suitcase, picked it up and walked briskly for the rest rooms. Here he changed out of his conductor’s uniform and into the clothes from the suitcase. Leaving the uniform in a rubbish bin, Barry walked back out onto the platform. Someone began blowing a whistle. By reflex Barry assumed that the owner of the suitcase he was carrying and the clothes he was wearing had found a policeman and pointed at him. He was deciding just where he should flee when someone appeared at the door to the carriage in which Lurker the Worker had been travelling. His shouts told Barry that extreme danger was still uncomfortably close.

  ‘Murder! Bloody murder!’ the man was shouting over and over.

  Suspecting that Liore had done the impossible and caught up with his train, Barry quickly left the station and vanished out into the streets of Adelaide.

  Unknown to Barry, two men had been watching him from a distance, and had begun to close in just as he had unpacked the weapon and fired on the water tower. At the sight of the explosion, they had immediately dived for cover behind a luggage trolley.

  ‘So now what?’ said Garrick, who had a garrotting wire in his hands.

  ‘Best to telegraph Lady Conrad and tell her Barry the Bag’s story about the heat ray weapon is true,’ said Lyle.

  ‘Why not just choke the little devil when his back’s turned. I mean that’s what we’ve been ordered to do.’

  ‘Listen, that thing he’s got doesn’t even look like a gun. What if we kill him and he’s the only one who knows how to work it?’

  ‘Yeah, suppose you’re right. So what’s to do?’

  ‘Like I said, I’ll go telegraph Lady Conrad for orders.’

  ‘But she’s in Melbourne.’

  ‘When she finds out that Barry boy’s got a real wonder-weapon she’ll jump on the next Adelaide Express and be on this very platform tomorrow morning. Meantime you follow Barry, and telegraph the den every couple of hours.’

  ‘But what if he points that thing at me?’

  ‘Then you die heroically for the British Empire.’

  For once Barry found that luck was on his side. Stopping to rest on a public bench, he checked some papers he had found in the stolen suitcase and discovered that his victim had arrived from England only a day earlier. His name was Barold Chalmer, and all of his travel papers and documents were in his luggage. There was also ninety pounds in English money. Against his better judgement, Barry now asked a policeman where he could find the offices of the P&O shipping company. Arriving at the offices, Barry enquired about a cabin on the next ship leaving for England.

  ‘So, you are Barold Chalmer and you want to go back to England already?’ asked the clerk pleasantly.

  ‘Er, yeah, it’s sorta urgent.’

  ‘But you have only been in Australia one day.’

  ‘Well, like, me old man sent me out ’ere to make me fortune, but I just got a telegram from England, like, sayin’ me grandma just died an’ left me a fortune so now I don’t need to make one.’

  The clerk stared intently at Barry, trying to make up his mind about him. Barry looked about as suspicious as mice look fluffy, yet most suspicious¬looking little thieves did not dress respectably and want to buy tickets to England.

  ‘Please accept my condolences, Master Chalmer,’ said the clerk, although he sounded doubtful rather than sympathetic. ‘When were you planning to sail?’

  ‘Er, there’s a ship called the Andro-something arrivin’ from Melbourne today. Can I get a tikky for that one?’

  ‘I think you mean the Andromeda. There are only a limited number of berths available, and they are all first class.’

  ‘Well, I got money. Write me a tikky.’

  ‘The Andromeda sails tonight at 8 pm. Is that enough time to put your affairs in order?’

  ‘I haven’t had any bleedin’ affairs, I only been ’ere one day. Now where’s me tikky?’

  ‘Will you be paying by bank cheque?’

  ‘Ya don’t have to check with no bank, I got cash.’

  After another half hour Barry walked out with his ticket to Britain and hailed a horse cab to take him to the docks. It was the first time he had ridden in a cab, and he felt strangely guilty for some reason. He would have also felt frightened if he had known that another cab was following his.

  Barry was waiting on the pier, bag in one hand and stolen suitcase in the other, when the Andromeda docked in the late afternoon. He hurried aboard, locked himself in his cabin, and then laid out on the bunk, able to relax at last after two days of life on the edge. He had not slept on the entire trip to Adelaide, but now when he closed his eyes he still could not sleep.

  ‘Wot if that Chalmer cove tells the coppers he had his papers ’alf inched?’ Barry muttered fearfully to himself. ‘Wot if they check if some cove’s been tryin’ to use his papers . . . but nah, no crim’s gonna want papers. Relax, Barry boy, you’re goin’ to England, an’ big bad Liore and them Lionhearts will never find ya there.’

  Being a thief, Barry was well aware of the danger of theft. Taking a beeswax candle that he had stolen from the shipping office, he lit it and poured molten wax into the keyhole of the padlock on his bag. Now there was no danger that anyone else could do to his bag what he had done to Liore’s trunk.

  Back ashore, Garrick had telegraphed Lyle that Barry had boarded a ship bound for London. Lyle in turn telegraphed Lady Conrad in Melbourne, and their orders soon came through. It was sunset when Lyle joined Garrick on the wharf.

  ‘What’s to report on Barry the Bag?’ asked Lyle as they stood watching the Andromeda.

  ‘Barry went aboard and stayed there. Mind, with the light fading, it’s going to be hard to tell it’s him if he gets off again.’

  ‘He’s only five feet tall. Whatever disguise he wears, his height’s the same.’

  ‘So what’s orders? There’s only a couple of hours before the ship sails.’

  ‘Ladyship says leave him aboard the Andromeda. That way we know where he is. He’s calling himself Barold Chalmer, I got that from the P&O office. They also said that the Andromeda’s next port is Colombo.’

  ‘Colombo! We got Lionhearts in Colombo?’

  ‘No, but we have the Millennium at anchor, right over there,’ said Lyle, pointing across the water. ‘Even with a couple of days’ delay she can be in Colombo before the Andromeda.’

  Barry did not leave his cabin until he heard the ship’s horn booming out, announcing that they were ready to sail. He only ventured out of his cabin once he saw that the lights beyond his porthole were moving. Going out on deck, he was in time to see the last of the waving and flower-throwing, and the weeping of the dozen or so girls and women who had boarded at Adelaide.

  ‘Barry?’ said an astonished voice behind him.

  Barry’s mind was already racing as he turned to face Daniel. In the frantic scramble to stay alive and get aboard the ship, he had not thought through a plausible story to tell his friend.

  ‘Danny boy, how’s prospectives?’ he asked casually.

  ‘What are you doing on the Andromeda – and in a suit, and on the first-class promenade deck?’

  ‘Well, what’s good for Danny boy is good for Barry the Bag.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If you gotta reason to go to England, so have I.’

  ‘I’m going to an English preparatory school so I can pass the Oxford entrance examination. You can’t even spell examination.’

  ‘Yeah I can – er, well maybe I can’t, but there’s other stuff the bag boy can do.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh, secret stuff.’

  ‘Secret stuff ? You mean Liore’s sent you to spy on the Lionhearts in Britain?’

  Barry was by now floundering for a good excuse for being on the ship, but Daniel’s suggestion was absolutely perfect.

  ‘Yeah, well, secret spy Barry Porter an’ all that. Look, er, I – she’s given
me a new name, Barold Chalmer, so I can be secret.’

  ‘Barold?’

  ‘Yeah, and that’s on me papers.’

  ‘Barold?’

  ‘Yeah, so ya gotta call me that when we’re with other people.’

  ‘Barold?’

  ‘Yeah, Barold!’ snapped Barry.

  ‘And you’re travelling first class. Didn’t she think that someone with your accent, elocution, education, manners and background would look less suspicious in steerage?’

  ‘Yeah, well I got a story that me rich uncle died, leaving me a fortune, but like I can only get at it if I gets better manners, so I’m off to learn manners in a manners school. An’ anyway, Liore said you were sad, ’cause that Muriel baggage dumped ya for Foxy boy and ran off to Paris, so why not send Barry the Bag along for company?’

  ‘Liore said that?’ exclaimed Daniel, blinking in surprise. ‘How sweet of her.’

  ‘So I’m ’ere.’

  ‘Yes, here you are, as unlikely as it seems.’

  Something had been playing on Barry’s mind for most of the day. This was that ships travelled on water, and that ships were known to sink. Were this to happen, he could not swim. It was time to raise the subject with Daniel. While Daniel could not pick a pocket to save his life, he did know just about everything about everything else.

  ‘Er, Danny boy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wot if the ship sinks?’

  ‘Modern ships hardly ever sink, Barry, that’s why they don’t bother having enough lifeboats for everyone.’

  ‘They don’t?’ gasped Barry.

  ‘Of course not. The lifeboats are just there to reassure nervous people like you.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘You have a better chance of being run down by a horse-drawn carriage than drowning on a sinking ship.’

  ‘Yeah? I bet there’s no horse-drawn carriages at sea.’

  ‘You see? That’s how safe it is.’

  Barry was not sure of what to make of that reply, and it did not stop him worrying. An hour later, alone in his cabin, he took the beeswax candle that he had used to block up his padlock and melted wax into the seams of his bag to waterproof it. Were the ship to sink, and were he not allowed in the lifeboats, he now had something to help him stay afloat.

  Although Liore never left home without such necessities as false papers, her radiocomm and plenty of money, she had set off after Barry without taking a change of clothing, toothbrush, comb, or even a bag. As Ballarat’s shops opened for what was a typical Friday morning in winter, the cadet from the future set off to equip herself for a long chase. First she bought a carpetbag with a shoulder strap, then spread her other purchases over a dozen shops so as not to draw attention to herself. These included a ticket to Adelaide, a bag of dried fruit, a bread roll, a box of .32 calibre ammunition, and a small telescope.

  When the newspapers arrived at the stationers at noon, she bought the Adelaide Advertiser and the Melbourne Age, and took them to a café. She was not surprised to read of a double murder at North Brighton Railway Station. She also read that a youth called Liore Besay had assaulted his landlady and a policeman, and stolen the policeman’s gun, badge and bicycle. In the shipping notices she saw that the Andromeda was due to dock in Adelaide in the late afternoon, and was offering passage to Colombo, Port Said and London. It would only be in port for a few hours. Liore thought about the way Daniel had fallen apart when Muriel had jilted him, and of how Fox had deserted. Love was apparently involved. Those in her old academy squad had been absolutely loyal to her, so why had Fox changed? Clearly love was nothing like loyalty, and was possibly a form of mental illness.

  ‘Pardon me, sir, but can I get you anything else?’

  The waitress was standing before Liore’s table. She judged her to be about seventeen, and saw that she was a little more stylishly dressed than most girls in the provincial city. By your leave, speaking courtly, thought Liore.

  ‘Another hot chocolate, if you please,’ said Liore, more to make her go away than because she wanted the drink.

  Now Liore looked around the café. Sketches of customers were pinned to the walls, all done in a startlingly accurate and acutely observed style. Certain points were emphasised, points that highlighted something special about each face. Liore’s impression was that the subject would be easier to identify from such a sketch than from a photograph. On a corner table were a pad and pencils, along with napkins to be folded. On the pad was a sketch. Liore stood up as if to stretch, took a few soft paces across to check the face, then walked back and sat down again. It was her face, partly sketched. The girl returned with Liore’s hot chocolate.

  ‘You did the sketches on the walls, perhaps?’ said Liore, letting the hint of a French accent into her voice.

  ‘Yes, they’re mine,’ she said. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘There is a sketch pad beside the napkins you are folding at the corner table. Are you wishing to make a career in art?’

  ‘Oh, sir, I haven’t got any talent for art,’ said the girl, blushing.

  ‘You should let others judge that. What are your plans for the future?’

  ‘My plans are all dreams, sir.’

  ‘Then what are your dreams?’

  ‘I want to go to London and be like Sherlock Holmes, but that’s never going to happen.’

  Liore blinked in surprise, then scanned the sketches again. The girl’s powers of observation were very sharp.

  ‘Female police are not being employed, so this is not a realistic career. If you wanted to run away to Paris and be an artist I would be more likely to believe you.’

  ‘More crimes are committed against women than men, and I think that women would be more comfortable consulting me. My father is a policeman. He taught me lots of things about how to catch criminals.’

  ‘Yet here you are in a café.’

  ‘Mother wants me to marry Gerald Heath, so she had me taught art, piano and French to make me seem refined. Mother is ashamed that she married a mere policeman. She made herself rich by opening a lot of cafés and cake shops, then she divorced Dad. Now she pretends we are from a rich English family with a title.’

  ‘So Master Heath is refined, too?’

  ‘Hah! He’s at boarding school in Melbourne, because his parents want to keep him away from his lout friends in Ballarat. His father is the Heath of Heath’s Drapery.’

  ‘A big store. He must be rich.’

  ‘He’s such a drone.’

  ‘Why not go to London, as you dream of doing?’ said Liore, tapping the shipping notices. ‘Twenty pounds will pay for a second-class berth on a ship. Perhaps another ten pounds will allow you to eat and have somewhere to sleep until you can find a job. You know waitressing, and waitresses are needed everywhere. Gradually you can make a name for yourself, tracking down rogues who take advantage of women. I know London, it is a city of opportunities, and it is packed with rogues.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘Ah, but it is.’

  ‘Then why don’t more people do it?’

  ‘Because they do not know how easy it is.’

  They laughed for a moment, then the girl glanced about to make sure that they were not being watched.

  ‘I have fourteen pounds saved, but mother doesn’t know that. I really want to go to London, I dream of just getting on the train to Melbourne, then boarding a ship and never coming back here. The money helps me believe that it is not just a dream. Do you like my sketch of you?’

  Liore was instantly on alert, and very nearly replied in battlespeak.

  ‘How do you know I have seen it?’

  ‘You walked softly, but from the kitchen I heard a floorboard creak near the corner table.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Liore, although shaken by the girl’s powers of observation. ‘Finish it, and I shall give you a good price.’

  ‘Oh, sir, I didn’t mean to –’

  ‘Not another word – and I am Leon, not sir.’
>
  ‘And I’m Madeline. Madeline Drake.’

  Liore continued to scan the shipping notices as Madeline sketched. She had originally wanted to get the sketch so that there would be no image left to mark her stay in Ballarat, but seeing the hope and brightness that was now in Madeline’s face made her feel genuine sympathy for the girl. She had talent, she worked hard, she was trapped by her circumstances, yet she dreamed. Other customers came and went, and the afternoon began to darken into evening. At last the sketch was complete.

  ‘It is a very fine and accurate rendering,’ said Liore, exchanging the sketch for a ten pound note. ‘My thanks to you.’

  ‘Ten pounds!’ exclaimed Madeline. ‘But – but this is more than I have ever earned for all my sketches.’

  ‘Then you should go somewhere your talent is better appreciated,’ said Liore, standing up. ‘And now I must go.’

  ‘Oh sir – Leon, please wait! I mean, I should close the café now and clean up, but – but will you stay and tell me about London? I meet so few people like you.’

  The request suited Liore. She had seen the twisted remains of the moped brought in on a dray, while one of the local police had been leading the horse that she had stolen and was asking people in the street if they knew of it. Once the café was clean for the next day, they went out into the street and wandered past the shop windows for a time, chatting. The light was dim, and the streets were almost deserted. Laughter and raucous singing came from the hotels.

  ‘There are some men following us,’ said Madeline, suddenly pressing close to Liore.

  ‘Fear, show none,’ said Liore crisply in battlespeak. ‘Victims, they want. Not fighting.’

  ‘But they’re miners, and drunk.’ ‘Have scanned,’ said Liore. ‘Three men, bearded, no guns. Closing. Intercept, fifteen seconds.’

  ‘Ho there, missy!’ called a deep voice behind them.