by Jodi Taylor
‘Thus ensuring that everyone in the unit gets a good look at her,’ I said sarcastically. ‘We might as well have a parade.’
‘We throw a cover over her.’
‘She’s not a bloody budgie!’
My voice reverberated around the pod.
‘I bet she’ll stay quiet,’ persisted Sykes. ‘I bet if we cover her up then she’ll stand still as good as gold. If young animals can’t see, they don’t move. Survival instinct. We’ll pile our equipment all around her and take her to R&D.’
It was like arguing with myself in a mirror.
‘Why there?’
‘Have you seen the place? There’s a working Iron Maiden, several half-bandaged mummies, a clockwork catapult, two Roman chariots, a scale model of Clifford’s Tower, a plaster cast of Oliver Cromwell’s warts, a ton of dinosaur coprolites, and a map of Atlantis. They’ll never notice a mammoth in the corner.’
Guthrie was doing that thing he does when he’s trying not to laugh.
‘And then,’ she continued, enthusiasm unabated, ‘we collect her later and ship her off to the Pleistocene Park. To their experimental facility. They’ve been trying to clone mammoths for years. And now, they’ll have a whole one. It’s as if it was meant to be.’
I put my head in my hands. Again.
‘Are you ever coming out?’ said Leon’s voice in my ear.
‘Training session,’ I said. ‘Give us another few minutes.’
‘OK.’ He closed the link.
‘We’ll hammer out the details later. First things first, let’s get her out of this pod.’
‘I’ll get a flatbed,’ she said, and disappeared.
Believe it or not – and I didn’t – it went without a hitch. Note to mammothologists: if you drape a blanket over a baby mammoth, she stands like a statue. We camouflaged her as best we could, piling odd bits of kit around her to disguise the outline.
Hoyle, North, and Atherton were despatched to Sick Bay with instructions to say the training session wasn’t quite finished yet but everyone was on their way. Guthrie and his team surrounded the flatbed and did their best to obscure anyone’s view. Sykes and I wheeled everything to the heavy goods lift and took it all straight to R&D. Lingoss had nipped on ahead to explain and we were met by a slightly bemused Professor Rapson.
‘Max, this is astonishing. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.’
‘Don’t get excited, Professor, she’s not stopping.’
‘No, of course not, but nevertheless, just to get a glimpse.’
‘Where do you want her?’
‘Oh, through here, through here.’
We trundled her into a small room that had previously been used as a storeroom. The door seemed solid enough and there were no windows. Someone had put a blanket on the floor. It was pink. I despair sometimes.
‘There’s water,’ he said, indicating a bucket. They’d chalked ‘Mary the Mammoth’ on it.
‘I don’t know why they did that,’ he said, bemused. ‘She can’t read and I don’t drink water. Anyway, someone’s bringing up a bit of hay. She should have milk, of course, but we don’t have any mammoth milk’ – he seemed to take that personally – ‘and she mustn’t drink cow’s milk. Very bad for her. We must shift her as soon as possible or she won’t survive.’
'Will she survive at the Pleistocene Park?'
‘Who knows. But I think they’re her best chance.’
I turned to Sykes.
‘Sykes, Lingoss, get yourselves off to Sick Bay. Try to look normal. Be aware Dr Foster is currently suffering a certain amount of emotional stress. Back here asap. Go, before I disembowel you on the spot.’
‘A little harsh, Max,’ said Professor Rapson, watching them disappear out of the door.
‘It’s been a long day.’
I was on my way to Sick Bay for my own check up when Leon spoke in my ear.
‘Should I be alerting Dr Foster to the dreadful medical condition one of you seems to be suffering from?’
‘What?’
‘There’s the biggest pile of excrement I’ve ever seen in my life on the floor in the toilet and it’s still steaming. What the hell have you all been eating?’
Shit …
‘Oh yes, it was Lingoss.’ Well, it was all her fault anyway. ‘She said she felt a little queasy. She must have eaten something that disagreed with her. Obviously, she didn’t make it to the toilet in time. Poor thing.’
There was an overlong silence.
‘As you say,’ he said. ‘Poor thing.’
‘Leave it,’ I said, suddenly seeing my way clear. I was being presented with an excellent excuse for them all being in TB2 later on. ‘That’s a bit above and beyond for your section. I’ll send her and her fellow half-wits to clear it up later on.’
Another long pause. I did not marry an idiot.
‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘Shall I pull my people out until it’s done? We wouldn’t want them … being exposed to anything contagious.’
‘Excellent idea.’
‘I thought you’d agree.’
I had to jump with them, of course. They couldn’t go alone and I wasn’t about to implicate anyone else. Professor Rapson obtained the location of the Pleistocene Park, and I used my time in Sick Bay to work out the coordinates.
Then, all we had to do was get her back to Hawking again.
For once, everything went really well – most people were in the dining room – and just as I was thinking we might possibly get away with this after all, just as we were exiting the goods lift, there was the Boss, leaning on his stick. Not what you want to see when you’re trundling around a baby mammoth heavily disguised as cleaning materials.
Paralysis set in. We all looked at each other.
‘Good evening,’ he said, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
There was a polite chorus of good evenings. And a pause.
‘Please continue,’ I said calmly to Lingoss. ‘Unload into TB2 and wait there for me.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said, equally calmly, and they all set off, trundling an illegal, pink-blanket-draped baby mammoth back to Hawking.
Dr Bairstow and I looked at each other.
‘Dr Maxwell, has someone been playing a musical instrument in my unit?’
Bollocks! He’d heard her trumpeting. He knew. I knew he knew. Did he know I knew he knew? Stop that, Maxwell. Insanity beckons.
‘Very possibly, sir. I believe Miss Prentiss plays the piano and Mr Bashford’s attempts to render the “Moonlight Sonata” on the triangle have been described as – unique.’
‘No. This instrument has more of a bovine quality about it.’
‘I’m no expert, sir but I don’t think many cows can play musical instruments.’
He changed tactics. ‘There appears to be a very peculiar smell in my unit.’
‘Ah. That might be the History Department, sir.’
He blinked. ‘Are you sure? This seems amazingly pungent even for them.’
‘Mammoth shit, sir,’ I said, grasping the nettle. After all, in how many jobs do you get to use that phrase on your boss? ‘Some of us made intimate contact on our last assignment.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Professor Rapson asked us to have a bit of a dig around, sir, should we encounter any significantly sized specimens. You know, clues as to diet and so on. We did our best to firkle away with sticks and things, but sometimes you just have to get right in there and … delve.’
He stared at me. The silence lengthened.
‘Was there anything else, sir?’
‘Apart from a fervent reassurance from you that you all washed your hands thoroughly afterwards, no, I don’t think so.’
I opened my mouth and at that moment, a tiny trumpeting sound emanated from far, far away.
‘Ah’, he said, unsmiling. ‘Miss Prentiss getting to grips with the Trumpet Voluntary, no doubt. Or possibly Mr Bashford bringing astounding range and volume to an instrument pr
eviously known only for its percussive qualities. How extraordinary are the talents of the History Department.’
He knew. I don’t know how but he always knew. I did my best not to look innocent because that’s always a bit of a giveaway. He regarded me for a long moment. ‘Perhaps you could pass the word that this is not a music conservatory. Musical instruments are all very well in their time and place but I think we both know this is not their time and place. Sort it out, Dr Maxwell. And quickly. While I do not relish the thought of seriously inhibiting … musical prowess … if I have to, I will.’
He limped away into the shadows whence he came.
Leon had been as good as his word. Hawking was deserted. I had considered taking Leon’s pod, but I didn’t want to involve him. The Time Police were never far away from my thoughts. And anyway, five trainees, one harassed training officer, and one mammoth all crowded together in a single-seater pod would bring new definitions to the word ‘overcrowded’.
I bundled everyone and everything into TB2, and began to lay in the coordinates for the Pleistocene Park.
‘When will we arrive?’ said Lingoss, peering at the console.
‘Real time,’ I said, gritting my teeth, because the rule breaking was getting out of hand and even I was beginning to worry.
‘We can do that?’
‘No.’
She had the sense to shut up.
‘Jump initiated.’
The world went white.
‘It’s dark,’ said North, peering at the screen.
‘Too bloody right it’s bloody dark,’ I said. ‘Do you really want people seeing us materialise from nowhere, deposit an illegal mammoth, and vanish again like the backward-flying bird of legend?’
They shook their heads.
‘Thought not.’
Even with night vision there wasn’t much to see. A cluster of oddly shaped buildings, some built off the ground. Of course, you can’t dig into permafrost. I saw chimneys and large cylindrical tanks.
‘What do we do? Knock on the door and run away?’
‘Why not?’ I said.
‘But … OK.’
We got the ramp down and trundled her outside. It was bloody freezing. She was going to feel right at home.
We manhandled her off the flatbed and stood her on the ground.
‘Get back to the pod,’ I whispered. ‘Quick as you can.’
I waited until they’d all disappeared, prised up a small stone, and tossed it at the nearest building. There was the sound of shattering glass.
Shit! Sorry! St Mary’s owes the Pleistocene Park a window.
No time to hang around. Floodlights came on and lit up the area with a sharp white light. I ran towards the pod, remembered the blanket, turned back, whipped it off her, and legged it out of there as fast as I could.
The ramp was down but obviously they’d left the lights off and I ran slap into the side of the pod, which bloody hurt, I can tell you. I cursed a bit, fumbled my way around the pod, and eventually found the ramp. Atherton closed it behind me.
I seated myself at the console and rubbed my forehead and nose. Lingoss opened her mouth.
I said, with what I thought was admirable restraint, ‘No one wearing grey should speak to me for a little while.’
They fell silent. As they bloody well should.
We landed back in Hawking. Ten minutes from start to finish. Not bad. If anyone ever has an illegal mammoth to dispose of, St Mary’s should be your organisation of choice. The trainees clustered around the ramp, all set to go.
‘Well,’ said Sykes, casually, ‘I must get on and write up my report.’ Which is St Mary’s speak for see you in the bar in ten minutes.
I laughed brutally, opened the toilet door, pointed to the still-steaming heap, said, ‘My compliments to Professor Rapson,’ and left them to it.
Finally, back to Leon who very pointedly asked no questions for which I was hugely grateful because it had been a long day. I didn’t get off scot-free, however. Thinking I would have a nice cup of tea and then a long hot bath, I was strongly given to understand that that order of events was unacceptable. Apparently, there was a strong smell of over-excited … something.
‘I really think I should alert Sick Bay,’ he said, keeping his distance. ‘I can’t remember the last time you smelled that bad. Whatever has the poor girl been eating?’
‘It’s mammoth shit incurred in the line of duty.’
He grinned. ‘What is this curious obsession historians have with body waste?’
I gave him a hard look on my way to the bathroom. He was enjoying himself too much.
‘You should get used to it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been the victim of Peterson’s urinary exuberance.’
He stared at me frostily.
‘Not a phrase I ever thought to hear from a wife of mine.’
‘Why? Whose wife did you expect to hear it from?’ and slammed the bathroom door behind me.
I emerged after some thirty minutes’ heavy-duty scrubbing and he again recoiled.
I was not amused. ‘Now what?’
‘What on earth did you put in your bathwater?
‘The entire contents of the bathroom. Magnolia, aloe vera, honeysuckle and jasmine, ylang ylang, lavender oil, something from your end of the shelf that according to the TV advert apparently renders the wearer completely irresistible to members of the opposite sex – I should ask for your money back if I were you – and some stuff from that anonymous green bottle under the washbasin that is probably drain cleaner.’
He sniffed delicately and then put his arms around me. ‘Perhaps you could do with some Mr Muscle?’
I snorted. ‘If you’re involved then Flash might be more appropriate.’
He sighed. ‘That settles it. My next wife will be tall, blonde, and elegant, will look like an angel and will never, ever dream of eating sausages in the bath.’
I wrapped my arms around him. ‘She sounds very dull. Still as one approaches the quieter years of one’s life, that sort of thing must become more appealing. My next husband on the other hand …’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, I’m nowhere near as particular as you. So long as he’s six foot two and ripped, I’m quite happy.’
‘How very undemanding.’
‘Well, at my age, you’re just grateful for what you can get.’
‘Yes, I can imagine you must be fairly desperate. That riot of red hair, those golden eyes, those curves … What man could possibly want you?’
‘Exactly,’ I said calmly, but my little heart was going like an engine. ‘In fact, I suppose I should be grateful you’ve hung around for so long.’
‘I was brought up to be kind to those less advantaged than myself. Now, speaking of sausages …’
I gave them the next morning to recover and write up their findings, and then I summoned them to the smaller training room for a real bollocking, because we needed to get this sorted out now. You can’t go around not telling senior officers things. How can we do our jobs properly if we don’t know exactly what’s going on at all times?
On reflection, it is, perhaps, a minor miracle that I’m never struck down on the spot.
I waited in my office until I knew they were all there and then swept into the training room, quietly closing the door behind me.
I made them wait. I arranged my files, opened and closed a few drawers for the look of the thing, and then stood silently in front of them, leaning on my stick so they would know this was a formal occasion. I had prepared an indictment that would strip the flesh from their bones – metaphorically speaking, of course – although I was quite prepared to be literal if anyone happened to say the wrong thing. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that perhaps I wasn’t the best person in the world to be in charge of young minds.
Silence settled, along with the dust.
I stood in front of my desk, took a deep breath, and suddenly changed my mind. They had an important lesson to learn tod
ay and I had to get this right.
I kept my voice down. Shouting doesn’t help. People don’t listen. But they do if you speak very quietly.
‘Today, we shall begin by reviewing the history of St Mary’s.’
That surprised them. They had that braced for a bollocking look, but I wanted them to think, not just listen.
‘Some little time ago, this unit was visited by the Time Police. We shall be discussing their role more fully in another session, but today, all you need to know is that they are responsible for ensuring St Mary’s behaves itself. On this occasion, they were convinced that St Mary’s had broken the biggest rule of all – that St Mary’s had somehow removed a contemporary from their own timeline. You don’t need me to tell you how serious is that charge.’
I paused so they could reflect on that.
‘They’re not a pleasant organisation – they can’t afford to be – and they have their own ways of extracting the truth. The subsequent enquiry was not pleasant. We managed to convince them their fears were groundless, but they returned, in strength, shortly afterwards, with the stated intention of arresting Dr Bairstow and his senior staff.’
I crossed to the screen and brought up images of bodies, wounded people, and devastation, flicking from one to the other in silence.
Sykes said, hoarsely, ‘What happened?’
‘Eight people died is what happened.’
They sat in silence, staring at the screen, which showed the final, shocking picture of the Great Hall. The roof was on the floor. People sprawled everywhere like broken toys. Clearly visible in the foreground lay Mr Strong, his face covered in blood and dust.
North cleared her throat. ‘And did you?’
‘Did we what?’
‘Bring back a contemporary from their own time?’
‘Fortunately, we were able to convince them that we had not and eventually matters were resolved to more or less mutual satisfaction.’
I wondered if they would notice that I hadn’t actually answered the question.
We all looked at each other. I was in the awkward position of the not-completely blameless, but this really was a case of ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ I had no choice. We’d all had to learn the hard way. The really hard way. The purpose of today was to ensure they themselves never had to learn the really hard way as well.