The VIGIL team quickly developed a plan based on piecing together the little information that they had gleaned from Christie’s message to VIGIL. A party of four would be conveyed to February 1587 to attempt to locate and intercept Pendelshape before he carried out the Revisionist plan. This would not be easy, as the details of his intent and his location were sketchy. The search party on the hill had reported back and so far there had been no sign of Tom Christie. It was unlikely he would contact VIGIL again — there was too high a risk that he might reveal his own whereabouts. In any case, it seemed likely that he only knew the outline of the Revisionist plan. Nevertheless, Inchquin had instructed the search party to continue through the night.
The time-travel team had already been chosen: Tony, Gordon, Jim De Raillar and Theo Joplin had been dispatched to the preparation annex for equipment allocation and further briefing. It was not clear to Jack what would be done with Pendelshape in the event that he was found by the VIGIL squad, but he suspected that it would not be pleasant.
Inchquin had issued orders to power up the Taurus and the remaining VIGIL team members had already arrived to support the emergency mission. Everyone seemed to be well drilled — emergencies like this were something that they now practised for repeatedly, following the scare six months earlier. The control room itself had morphed into a fully kitted-out command centre. The nearest thing Jack could compare it to was NASA mission control. Jack and Angus sat in an observation area within the control room. Angus followed the proceedings with great excitement and would occasionally nudge Jack and point something out as the transfer time drew close.
As they watched, a door at the far end of the control centre opened and the VIGIL response squad arrived from the preparation annex, ready to board the Taurus.
“Best I could do, I’m afraid,” Joplin announced.
The response squad needed to be fully prepared for the Elizabethan period. They had to ensure that they would not inadvertently trigger something, however small, that might have a knock-on effect in the future. If they did, VIGIL might need to return to repair the damage — a risky scenario in itself. They needed to try to blend in. At the basic level, this meant wearing the right clothes. VIGIL had built up an extensive costume archive for this purpose.
The response squad stepped forward, somewhat sheepishly, to display the fruits of their efforts. Tony and De Raillar looked reasonable. They wore snug black doublets with jerkins on top and short cloaks. Beneath their cloaks, each carried a thin backpack that contained a range of equipment for their mission and some basic provisions. Their legs were clad in breeches that were pinned in at the knee. Each had a dagger on a belt. Joplin, however, looked like something out of The Three Musketeers. He wore a loose-fitting doublet with baggy trousers that were tucked in at boot level and a long, elaborately embroidered cloak that hung jauntily from one shoulder. On his head was a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a long plume of feathers, and on his feet were riding boots with wide, lace-trimmed turnovers. Finally, from a broad leather belt hung… a full-length sword.
“It’s about forty years too late for the period — but it’s all we could find in the wardrobe…” he announced.
But the best was still to come.
A moment later, when Gordon appeared, Jack and Angus burst out laughing. Gordon also wore a tight doublet on his upper body, but it was far too small for his powerful frame. The garment had elaborate inlays and patterns and, at the collar, Gordon’s intricate lace ruff seemed to push his chin upwards at an alarming angle. On his legs, Gordon wore enormous baggy breeches that ballooned out from his waist and were gathered in at mid-thigh level. These were also highly decorated in a night-scape of yellow half-moons and stars. Angus and Jack had to rub their eyes because beneath the flouncy breeches, Gordon was actually wearing tights. Bright yellow tights. They encased a pair of powerful legs that were far better suited to pumping iron than mincing around an Elizabethan royal court. To finish it off, Gordon’s white shoes were open on each side and — this was the final straw for Angus and Jack — flowers were pinned to the front. A lot of flowers.
Inchquin put his head in his hands. Gordon shrugged, “We ran out — had to move onto the aristocrat’s section. At least I’m in period.”
The Rector sighed. “You’ll just have to see what you can lay your hands on when you get there.”
With everything finally in place, the Rector completed the briefing. “Any questions before we initiate countdown sequence?”
Angus nudged Jack. He had a warped smile on his face, the kind that Jack knew typically meant only one thing — trouble.
Jack mouthed, “What?”
But before Jack could stop him, Angus was marching over to the Rector and Inchquin. “What about us?” he demanded.
Jack cringed. Without hesitation, Inchquin replied, “Out of the question.”
But Angus was not about to be patronised. “So why are we in VIGIL at all then? You have always said that one of the main points of VIGIL is to prepare the next generation, you know, to protect history and protect the human race — how can we do that if we are stuck here — just watching?”
Suddenly, support piped up for Angus from an unexpected source — Miss Beattie. “You know the lad has a point. He’s young, he’s extremely fit and has already proved himself on one mission.”
“Yes, Sir,” Angus said, “I thought that was what I was here for, you know, to help.”
Inchquin looked at the Rector and Miss Beattie nervously. “I’m not sure we can authorise… we are not really in a position…”
Angus interrupted him. “But you said yourself — VIGIL can decide whatever it wants.”
Inchquin turned to his colleagues, waiting to see if any would voice an opinion. There was silence.
Angus’s outburst had got Jack thinking — but not quite along the same lines as his friend. He spoke up. “Sir, I’m not as keen as Angus — I mean time travelling again would be pretty scary. But there is one thing. Angus and I know Pendelshape. And we also know that Pendelshape was desperate to get us to join him and Dad. I know Dad has had a bust-up with Pendelshape. But maybe if we were to go back as part of the team, maybe there would be a chance we could link up with Pendelshape and, well, pretend we wanted to come over to his side, you know, because of Dad or something. With us under his control, Pendelshape would think he could get Dad to rejoin the Revisionists. What I am trying to say is…”
Inchquin finished Jack’s sentence. “Your old teacher might trust you… and we could use that to stop Pendelshape and infiltrate the Revisionists…”
“And finish them off for good,” the Rector added. He nodded thoughtfully. “It certainly gives us another option.”
Angus punched the air. “Yes!”
Inchquin smiled. “I guess you can take De Raillar and Joplin’s places — they will form the next wave — your back-up, if it’s needed.”
Jack’s mum had been following the discussion with increasing dismay. “I can’t possibly agree to this…” she burst out.
But the words tumbled from Jack’s mouth before he had time to stop them. “Mum — sorry — I’ve been thinking about it. The Christie family is partly responsible for all of this. If it’s anyone’s duty to help sort this out, it’s got to be ours… mine.”
It was decided.
Thirty minutes later, Jack, Angus, Tony and Gordon stood on the Taurus platform. Miss Beattie’s costumes for the production of Hamlet were now period costumes for Jack and Angus. Beneath their woollen cloaks they each carried one of the thin VIGIL backpacks. Under their doublets, tight-fitting vests secured the all-important time phones. The countdown was already under way and the assembled VIGIL team looked on from their positions behind the blast screen. The Rector was completing a short lecture on the workings of the Taurus. Not that Jack needed reminding.
“Remember, the Taurus itself stays put — it focuses the energy and creates the temporary wormhole. But to move through time and space, you need t
o have physical contact with your time phone. You need it to go… and to get back again. While back in time, the time phones are controlled and tracked by the Taurus. Of course, they will only work when the Taurus is at the right energy state, and also when there is a strong enough time signal.” The Rector had also reminded them of the limitations of the Taurus and its umbilical linkage to the time phones. “You can only use your time phone when you have a signal — and the signals are intermittent. Remember that bar?” He prodded the little greyed-out display inside the time phone. “When it’s yellow — you’re good to go — you can communicate, we know where you are and the Taurus can send you back and forth through time. When there’s no signal, you’re stuck, although the phone’s energy source will continue to tell you where and when you are…” Finally, he said ominously, “Lose your time phones and there is no way back.”
Jack was sweating. He could hear the high-pitched whine from the powerful generators, even though they were well insulated within the underground complex. He glanced across at Angus who stood next to him on the platform, grinning inanely, still not believing his luck. He didn’t seem remotely concerned that he was about to be flushed down a wormhole to four hundred years in the past and a world that they would find totally alien. In front of them, Jack could see the small heads-up display. Taurus was counting down:
18. . 17. . 16. .
Last time this had happened, Jack had been so frightened he had not noticed the physical changes around him in the Taurus chamber as they approached the event horizon — the point of no return. Around his feet he could see shimmering eddies of light. He supposed they were some sort of electrical disturbance, a bit like the ion-charged curtains of blue, red and green, that were known as the Northern Lights. The shimmering became stronger and it was as if he were standing in the rippling waters of an illuminated whirlpool. The atmosphere within the Taurus structure was also changing and the control room beyond appeared darker and fuzzier — as if you were looking at a badly tuned TV screen.
Suddenly, through the blast screen, he saw the Rector draw his hand dramatically across his throat, as if to say “Stop”. He was shouting and waving frantically, and immediately there was a flurry of activity in the control room. The Rector’s distorted words came through the audio feed.
“Abort! Abort!”
There was something wrong. But the countdown just continued.
7. . 6. . 5. .
Jack felt panic surge through his body and he glanced over at Tony and Gordon for guidance. But there was nothing they could do. They could hear the Rector’s voice, desperately shouting, “Abort system — time fix malfunction… abort this mission — NOW!”
3. . 2… 1
Jack looked down. Suddenly the flashing electrical whirlpool beneath them vanished and they were staring down into a black abyss.
The last thing he heard was his mum screaming, “Jack!”
Keep your Head
Jack opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, staring into a bleak, grey sky. Suddenly, three large, golden lions floated gently across his field of vision. Jack blinked. It had happened. He was dead. He was in heaven; mystical golden lions were flying across the sky…
“Get up!”
Angus’s ruddy face loomed over him as he shook Jack by the shoulders.
Jack blinked again. Then he understood. He was staring at a giant flag that fluttered in a strong, wintry breeze just above their heads. The flag was split into quadrants — the upper left and lower right quadrants had dark blue backgrounds, each displaying three identical symbols that looked a bit like flowers. The other two quadrants each had a crimson background on which appeared the three golden lions — the lions that Jack had seen as they fluttered in the sky above him. Jack recognised the design of the flag from Miss Beattie’s book. They were English lions and French fleurs-de-lis. The English royal standard.
“I’ve no idea where we are, but there are loads of people down there…”
Jack pulled himself to his feet and rubbed his head. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck.
“What’s going on? What…”
But Jack was silenced by the view in front of him. It took his breath away. They were perched on top of a vertiginous, crenellated tower which rose high above one side of a massive medieval castle. They could see for miles in every direction — a flat, sparse landscape of muddy fields, marshes and scattered woodland. There was no foliage on the trees and it was bitingly cold. The stonework beneath their feet was wet from a recent downpour. Below them — it must have been over a hundred feet below — a slow-moving river meandered gently through the countryside. Nearby, there was a fine stone church with flying buttresses and a distinctive octagonal tower. Jack could also see a large crowd of people stretching from the entrance to the castle, all the way back along a track towards a small village. Some people in the crowd were holding placards, as if they were at a demonstration. They were being chaperoned by men on horseback. It was difficult to make out what was on the placards, but there was one large one near the front that seemed to have a picture on it. It was bizarre, but Jack could have sworn it was a picture of a mermaid.
“Where are we? What happened?” Jack said, woozily.
“Don’t know. I think we passed out. My head’s thumping.”
“Something went wrong.”
“You can say that again. Tony and Gordon have disappeared, unless they landed somewhere nearby…”
“We’re on our own?”
“Looks like it… some sort of malfunction.”
“Are they dead?”
“No idea.”
Jack’s heart sank when the reality of their situation dawned on him. He gritted his teeth and swallowed.
“Well, we’d better get a grip. We’re paid-up members of VIGIL now. Have you looked at your time phone?”
Angus slipped his hand beneath his cloak, inside the doublet and into the breast pocket of his under-vest. He unzipped a padded pouch and removed the precious time phone. Cupping it in his hands, he flicked it open. A faint blue light illuminated the device from the inside. They inspected the readout:
Date: Wednesday 8th February 1587
Time: 9.45 a.m.
Location: Fotheringhay, England
Jack gasped. “Taurus has dumped us back in 1587 all right…”
Angus looked over the parapet, “But this doesn’t much look like London. No red buses for a start.”
“Right. Maybe that’s why they tried to abort the mission? Maybe the Taurus put us here by mistake… maybe it even split us up and put Tony and Gordon in the right place?”
Angus groaned, “Well, what do we do now?”
“Is there a signal?”
“Be serious.”
They peered into the time phone again. The telltale bar that burned bright yellow when there was a time signal was greyed out — dead. The boys knew what that meant. They were stuck. They couldn’t communicate with home. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before they could get a signal.
“Well that’s great. We’re stuffed. Already,” Angus said, bitterly. “So much for VIGIL.”
“Here, let’s have a look at that readout again.”
Jack studied the readout and pondered its meaning. “Our location — Fotheringhay… and that date…”
Angus cocked his head. “Where is Fotheringhay, anyway?”
“It’s not a hard ‘G’ by the way. It’s a village in England. I think it’s in Cambridgeshire or somewhere. I’m sure this place is famous… but I can’t remember why.”
“Well, we can’t hang around here much longer. I’m freezing my butt off.”
Angus was right. The adrenaline had finally worn off and it was a bitterly cold morning. It might even turn into snow later. They needed shelter.
“Down there, I suppose?” Angus nodded towards a small arched oak door built into the tower.
“Probably. I don’t know what choice we have. Judging from that crowd, there seems to be some sor
t of big event going on in the castle. Maybe it’s a marriage or something. We should be able to sneak out through the crowd.”
“Then what?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. We probably need to try and hide somewhere until we get a time signal and can communicate with VIGIL. But you’re right, we can’t stay up here, we’ll freeze to death.”
The squat wooden door opened onto a dank spiral staircase and the boys started to make their way down. As they descended, a slit window occasionally gave them a view of the large courtyard at the centre of the castle. It was busy. Servants tended tethered horses while breast-plated soldiers and finely attired gentlemen talked conspiratorially in small groups. A large bonfire was being built and in one corner a cluster of musicians played a depressing dirge.
“Doesn’t sound much like wedding music.”
“No, and there seem to be guards or soldiers around, so something’s going on.”
“And that flag,” Jack added. “I’m pretty sure it’s the royal flag, so maybe it’s a special occasion?”
“A royal visit? Now that would be something to tell Joplin — his goatee would drop off,” Angus said.
They pressed on and finally reached the bottom of the tower, which opened through a large oak door onto a stone-flagged corridor. After following the corridor for a while, they heard hushed voices. A thick curtain hung in front of them. They looked at each other. There was only one way to go. Angus tweaked open the curtain and they slipped through.
They found themselves to the rear of a dense crowd in a large hall. People seemed to be jostling for position. Something in front was commanding a lot of interest, so nobody seemed to notice Jack and Angus. Soon, more people joined the crowd and they felt themselves being pushed further forward into the throng. There was woodsmoke in the air from log fires burning in the hall. It mingled with the smell of woollen cloaks — still wet from the early morning rain. Being tall, Angus had a chance of seeing what was going on, but Jack could see nothing — just the press of bodies in front of him. Pushing from behind propelled him forward and then, all of a sudden, he was at the front.
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