An Argumentation of Historians

by Jodi Taylor

  They’d all be up here any time now – Leon, Peterson, Dr Bairstow. There would be questions to answer, reports to write and I couldn’t do it. I had to have some time to sort things out in my mind so that I could get my act together and face this strange new world.

  When Hunter came in I said, ‘I don’t want any visitors.’

  ‘Just as well,’ she said cheerfully, laying out pyjamas and a dressing gown. ‘You’re not allowed any.’

  I was unreasonably annoyed because that was supposed to be my decision. ‘Who said so?’

  ‘Dr Stone. He’s waiting for you if you want to go out and argue with him.’

  I humphed. I’ve argued with Dr Stone before. It’s like trying to fill a bath without a plug. There’s an enormous amount of effort and when you finally pause to get your breath back, absolutely nothing has happened and you realise you’ve been wasting your time.

  When I exited the bathroom, he was waiting for me. Of course he was.

  ‘There you are,’ he said cheerfully, his eyes smiling at me over his mask. ‘How are you feeling?’

  I mumbled something.

  ‘Jolly good,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Well, you have got yourself into a bit of a state, haven’t you?’

  I had the strangest feeling he wasn’t talking about my physical state, but said nothing.

  ‘You’ll be wanting to know about those two men,’ he said sunnily. I wished he’d bloody stop that. Especially since I’d completely forgotten about them. ‘All patched up and the Time Police took them away.’

  ‘The Time Police are here?’ I said, trying to focus on something tangible.

  ‘Not any longer. Been and gone.’

  ‘Captain Ellis?’

  ‘Sends his regards.’

  I dragged my mind back to what had been, for me, a year ago.

  ‘Ronan never showed, did he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He came straight after me in Persepolis.’

  ‘He took us all unawares, Max.’

  ‘I should have known. We’re all looking for him in one place and he pops up in another. It’s what he does. How was I so stupid?’

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Look, we’re no worse off. Which, from what I’ve seen of St Mary’s, is a bonus. Everyone got back from Persepolis all right. There’s some great footage of Alexander. No golden-inked books, sadly, but one or two small objects were saved from the flames. Thirsk were pleased.’

  ‘You’re sure everyone got back OK?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘They’re all safe?’

  ‘They are.’

  I looked around. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘All out looking for you.’

  ‘Still? How long have I been gone?’

  ‘Just under a week.’ He looked closely at me. ‘How long have you been gone?’

  ‘Just under a year.’

  There was a long silence as my mind struggled to cope. I’d been gone a year but I’d only been gone a week …

  He regarded me carefully, his head on one side. ‘Be aware, Max, you may experience one or two minor difficulties in … readjusting …’

  There was no ‘may’ about it. My brain was struggling to get itself around two timelines. One where I’d been gone a year and many things had happened to me during that time, and one where I’d only been gone a week and none of it had happened at all.

  ‘The crown?’

  ‘Arrived in London yesterday. Safe and unharmed.’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Max, you’ve only been gone five days.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re a little disoriented. It’s only natural. Have something to eat and we’ll talk tomorrow.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said stupidly, trying to find something on which to fasten, because my mind was operating like finely honed cotton wool and all I could see was the sun-dappled world I’d just left. ‘They’re all safe? You’re absolutely certain?’

  ‘Absolutely certain,’ he said. ‘Everyone got back except you. They’re all there now, looking for you.’ He looked at me carefully. ‘Including Leon. Who isn’t well enough to travel but insisted on going anyway. Mr Clerk’s nipped off to tell them you’re back.’

  I would have to see Leon. What would I say to him? It struck me that if Ronan’s men had arrived even twenty-four hours earlier my life would be a hell of a lot less complicated. I wanted to see Leon and I didn’t want to see Leon and because I didn’t know what to say, the best I could come up with was, ‘Ummm …’

  ‘Hasn’t Hunter told you?’ he said, still manically cheerfully. Maybe his mask was depriving his brain of oxygen and he didn’t know he was doing it. ‘No visitors for seven days. Not until we’re quite sure you haven’t brought back anything unpleasant. Other than yourself, of course.’

  He and Hunter fell about. I shouldn’t have to put up with this.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, apparently pulling himself together again and bashing away at his scratchpad. ‘Six meals a day. Small ones. We need to build you up again, Max. Get some rest. We’ll start tomorrow.’

  ‘Start what?’ I said, but he was on his way out.

  There was a tray on the table. Chicken soup, a bread roll, scrambled eggs and an orange.

  The soup tasted too salty. As did the eggs. The bread roll was rubbery with no texture. I ate the orange. I poured out the tea, automatically adding three sugars. I couldn’t drink it. They obviously hadn’t made it properly.

  I wandered over to the window. It was dusk. Daylight was fading fast. I yawned. Time for bed.

  The bed was too soft and too warm. I couldn’t get comfortable. I tossed and turned for half an hour and then got up, pulled a blanket off the bed, wrapped it around me and lay down in the corner, back to the wall. That was better. I lay in the dark silence. There was no sound of William Hendred’s breathing to comfort me through the night. Nor mine to comfort him.

  I stared into the darkness.

  The next day began badly.

  ‘Leon is here,’ said Dr Stone, still masked and gowned.

  I smiled and nodded. I’d been awake since before dawn, overcome by a sudden need to get up and collect eggs. I’d lain quietly until the clock showed a more reasonable hour, but I was sure the medical staff knew that not only had I barely slept at all, but that I’d spent the night on the floor.

  He nodded at the observation window, and there was Leon.

  We stared at each other for a while. It’s never easy, talking through a large observation window and knowing that every word can be heard over the intercom system.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

  All right, a little unemotional for someone whose wife had been missing for a week – or a year – but I couldn’t have coped with drama just at that moment. I wondered if Dr Stone had had a word with him.

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  I persevered. ‘Are you taking all your meds?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And walking? You don’t seem to be walking very easily and you look tired.’

  ‘I’ve been in and out of Persepolis half a dozen times in the last week, looking for you.’

  ‘I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Well, we know that now.’

  I moved the conversation to neutral ground so we could do our usual thing of not talking about the important stuff.

  ‘The two men and their pod?’

  ‘The Time Police took them away.’

  ‘Were they still alive?’

  ‘They were. And very cooperative too.’

  ‘How’s everyone else? I understand they all got back from Persepolis OK.’

  ‘They did. A little scorched, but we have some good footage of Alexander. I’ll have it forwarded to you.’

  ‘Anything from the Treasury?’

  ‘A few bits and pieces. No old manuscripts written in golden ink, I’m afraid.’

  Bugger. No
treasure and no Ronan. What a washout.

  He stepped nearer to the glass. ‘So … Max …’

  I interrupted. ‘When are you next due back with the Time Police for more treatment?’

  ‘Not for some time. There’s not a lot more they can do. It’s all up to me now. Physio and light duties mostly.’

  ‘Half a dozen visits to Persepolis doesn’t sound like light duties to me.’

  He frowned. ‘Why are we talking about me when we should be talking about you?’

  ‘I told you, I’m absolutely fine.’

  Dr Stone turned up. I had the feeling he hadn’t been far away. ‘That’s it for both of you. You’re both still on the sick list. Go and get some rest, Chief. Come back again tomorrow.’

  He disappeared again.

  Leon looked at me. ‘I’ll say “goodbye” then’. He put his hand on the glass. I covered it with my own. It was the closest we could get.

  ‘Goodnight, Leon. Sleep well.’

  ‘You too.’

  He paused a moment and then limped away. I watched him go and then turned back to find Dr Stone entering the ward.

  ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘The usual question. Have you opened your bowels recently?’

  ‘Not for the last six hundred years,’ I said, trying to be funny.

  ‘Thought as much,’ he said, offering me one of those little plastic beaker things with two enormous tablets the size of golf balls. ‘Take these.’

  I recoiled. ‘You’re kidding. I’ll never get those down.’

  ‘Actually, they go up.’

  I folded my arms, channelling more female intransigence.

  He sighed. ‘Max, I don’t know what you’ve been eating, but you appear to be harbouring nearly every parasite known to man. You’re riddled with God knows what and you’ve certainly smashed all Markham’s previous records. Please do as you’re told.’

  I stamped off into the bathroom and was unavailable for the rest of the day.

  I can hardly find the words to describe how very much not in this world I was. My body was still on medieval time. I kept waking just before dawn and then dropping off as the sun sank below the horizon. Accustomed as I was to a day of hard – ish – physical labour, my confinement in the isolation ward was driving me insane. I was restless. I couldn’t concentrate. I had problems with food. Everything tasted either too sweet or too salty. I couldn’t drink tea with sugar and I didn’t like it without. And, all the time, on the very edge of hearing, was an all pervasive electronic hum that nearly drove me insane. I really was all over the place.

  And as if that wasn’t enough I was seeing things. I looked out of the windows and saw, faint and undetermined, the shadowy outlines of buildings that hadn’t been here for six-hundred-and-fifty years. Sometimes I thought I would see the shape of someone disappearing through a door or around a corner that no longer existed. I seemed to be partly in one world and partly in another. I was torn between the two and this world was less real to me than the one I had just left. I should talk to Leon–– ground myself. But what could I say to him? He wasn’t well himself. He already felt himself to be less than he had once been. I couldn’t add to that. And so it went on – around and around – while I sat on the floor in Sick Bay and tried to find something I could hang on to.

  I was disoriented and confused. And guilty. And angry. I was guilty because of William Hendred and what we had had. And what we had nearly had. And angry because I felt guilty. I kept telling myself I had nothing to be guilty about. I had done nothing wrong. I stared out of the window and wished Helen Foster was here.

  One morning, Dr Stone came to see me. He sat himself by my bed, smiled, and said quietly, ‘Why can’t you talk to me, Max?’

  I shook my head but smiled, so he would know I meant no offence.

  ‘Or Leon?’

  It should be Leon, of course, but what could I say to him? What should I say to him? My thoughts circled around me like vultures around a dying donkey. I should talk to someone, if only to get this awful weight off my mind, and if Helen was still here it would probably have been her. She’d have lit a cigarette, puffed the smoke out of the window, said something acid but appropriate, and sent me on my way. I added Dr Stone guilt to Leon guilt. I know there are people for whom the unburdening of themselves is a relief, but that’s not me. I open my mouth to speak, but somewhere a brake is applied and a voice says, ‘Whoa there, Neddy – do you really want people knowing your weaknesses? Do you want them to know what makes you vulnerable?’ and all the doors slam shut and that’s it.

  He sat silently for a while and some of that must have shown in my face because he said, ‘OK then, try not to worry too much,’ put his hand on my shoulder and walked away.

  I remember being surprised he gave up so easily. I really should have remembered what a devious bugger he was, because the next day I looked up and there was Kalinda, staring at me through the observation window.

  I recoiled. She’s not something you want to come upon unawares.

  ‘Dear God.’

  ‘What ho, Max.’

  He must have telephoned and she’d come roaring down the motorway from Thirsk to sort me out. It was a bit like being hit by an academic version of the Imperial Storm Troopers.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Come to see you. Do you know you look like shit?’

  ‘How did you get in?’

  She shrugged. ‘I walked in through the front doors. What did you think? That I abseiled down the chimney?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. Why are you here?’

  ‘I told you – I’m visiting the sick. Let’s go for a walk.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not allowed out.’

  She stared. ‘OK, I give up. Who are you and what have you done with the real Maxwell.’

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. She was right. I’d torched St Mary’s. And a hunting lodge. I’d wreaked dreadful revenge on those who’d meant me harm. I’d even opened my bowels – two months ahead of schedule but let’s not go there. The person who’d done all that didn’t sit around bleating about not being allowed out.

  She didn’t bother to wait for me, simply saying, ‘I’ll meet you outside by the lake.’ She slapped the door control and walked away.

  I eased open the door and peered cautiously up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight and all the doors were shut, so I just walked out. The lack of people telling me to get back inside again wasn’t suspicious at all.

  I slunk down the stairs, nipped along the corridor, climbed out of a window and set off across the grass. She was waiting for me near the willows where I’d hidden when Leon first brought Matthew home.

  It wasn’t that long since I’d last seen her, but she never changes. Kal is tall, blonde, looks like a Disney princess and drinks the blood of … well, anyone who doesn’t move fast enough. She and Dieter were still together and trust me, if you think Markham and Hunter are weird, you don’t even want to start on those two.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, and we set off around the lake.

  The weather was soft and warm. We walked along the bank, she enjoying the sunshine, and me resisting the urge to cram my pockets with big-leaved plants.

  She didn’t beat about the bush, either. ‘So, what’s this all about then, Max?’

  I tried to assemble words to communicate just how I was feeling.

  ‘I’m lost,’ I said, fumbling and stumbling as usual. ‘I’m neither here nor there. I see things that aren’t here. I’m … unanchored. I’m just drifting in the wind. Sometimes … sometimes I wish I could just blow away completely.’ I imagined climbing to the top of a mountain and letting the wind carry me away until there was nothing left. Which would solve so many problems.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you’ve blown yourself away on the wind – then what?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ I stared back across the grass. To the stables and the henhouse an
d the dovecote that were no longer there. If I closed my eyes I could hear Fat Piers shouting … ‘I didn’t belong there and now I’m beginning to think I don’t belong here either. I don’t know where I do belong. Or even if I actually belong anywhere. And then there’s Leon … and Peterson … and there’s always Matthew … Kal, I just don’t seem able to rouse myself and make the effort. Sometimes I think it would be so nice just to close my eyes and … let go.’

  There – it was out at last.

  ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘That’s very understandable.’ I blinked at her in surprise. I’ve said before, Kal does sympathy like Hitler did Stalingrad. ‘But,’ she continued, ‘I do think it’s very important that you …’ she paused. I leaned towards her so I could hear more easily and she pushed me into the lake.

  People underestimate the weight of wet clothes – even just PJs and a dressing gown. I lost my slippers immediately.

  Icy water closed over my head as I floundered around, swallowing vast quantities of lake liberally laced with pond scum and swan pee and probably topping up all my parasite levels again. I kicked out, struggling to reach the surface, eventually breaking through, coughing and gasping and going straight back under again. I was really glad Major Guthrie wasn’t around to see all his careful training going up in smoke. Or sinking to the bottom of the lake in this case.

  It was embarrassing. We’re supposed to be prepared for this sort of thing. During my training days, we regularly practised rescuing each other and being rescued ourselves. It generally went quite well until one day the tensions between the History Department and the Security Section boiled over and Sussman – a fellow trainee and a bit of a hothead – accused Big Dave Murdoch of trying to drown him and Murdoch proved him wrong by actually trying to drown him – just so he would know the difference in future – and it all got a bit out of hand with quite a lot of other people jumping in, ‘to assist’, they said at the subsequent disciplinary hearing.

  I came up for the third time coughing and gasping and frozen. Managing somehow to overcome my waterlogged dressing gown, I disentangled myself from the clinging pond weed and crawled out of the water onto dry land, getting absolutely no help at all from Kalinda who simply stood back and watched me struggle.