What Could Possibly Go Wrong (The Chronicles of St Mary's Book 6)

by Jodi Taylor

  She was conscious as the skin on her calves blistered and then began to char. She was conscious as the hem of her robe caught alight. She was still conscious as the flames roared around her thighs and began to creep up her body.

  Burning people bleed.

  They scream, too.

  She held out for a long time, but in the end, she screamed.

  She screamed ‘Jesus’ just as all the chronicles reported, but it wasn’t a plea to take the pain away, or a reproach for being abandoned, or even a demand for help. It was a simple statement of her faith.

  It didn’t end quickly for her, despite the furious shouts from the crowd. She suffered greatly. I was angry for her. She’d served her God and the King of France and where were either of them today when she needed them?

  I wasn’t the only one. The people didn’t like it, either. They were becoming restive again. There was movement in the crowd as waves of people began to surge forwards, shouting angrily, pushing at the line of soldiers holding them back. The soldiers became nervous. At a command, they held their pikes at the ready. The shouting increased. Someone threw a stone. This was becoming ugly. Well, uglier.

  Another stone flew through the air and hit a soldier. He reversed his pike and knocked a woman to the ground. The next minute, we had a full-scale riot on our hands. There’s no mention of this in the history books but history is written by the winners and perhaps the English wouldn’t want it known they’d lost control today.

  Women and children were screaming and trying to run away. Soldiers, with no orders to let them go, pushed them back into the square again, where they collided with those still trying to get out. Chaos reigned.

  Still the flames blazed and still she screamed. I’d heard that some burnings could last for up to two hours. It was unimaginable that she could endure for so long. That she should have to endure for so long. I could turn off the screen, but that would be a betrayal. To look away when something terrible is happening does not mean that the terrible thing ceases to happen. Someone should bear witness to this. Someone must. Most people read about Joan of Arc at school. The chapter always ends with ‘and she was burned at the stake in 1431’ and then the bell rings and we pack up our books and move on to something else.

  Nowhere does it mention that her skin blackened and fell away. That the hot chains seared hideous patterns into her skin. That her hair burned like a flaming halo. That a hideous, greasy, grey smoke lingered everywhere. Or that she screamed and screamed until her voice gave out and the only sounds she could make were barely human.

  I seriously thought about pulling the plug and getting us all out of there.

  I turned the sound down and in the sudden silence, heard a movement behind me.

  I’d been so busy monitoring my stony-faced trainees for any signs of distress that I’d forgotten about Peterson and Randall. Especially Randall, only just back on the active list and by no means as recovered as everyone had thought.

  He turned away from me, but not before I caught a glimpse of his face, white and haggard. He began to rummage around in one of the lockers and I couldn’t think what he was doing until he pulled out a gun and slapped home a clip.

  Even then I didn’t get it. I think I just stared at him with my mouth open. While I was pulling myself together, he pushed past me towards the door and suddenly I knew what he was going to do.

  He looked back once, daring me to say something. Which I should have done, but my throat closed and words wouldn’t come. The voice in my head was screaming at me to do something. To stop him. Now. Before any real harm was done.

  Too late.

  He slapped the switch and slipped through the door. I can’t describe the smell that flooded into the pod. I nearly heaved and by the time I’d steadied myself, he’d disappeared and we were suddenly in a world of trouble.

  Peterson, his face cold and set, pulled out a blanket and wrapped himself in its folds, covering his blues..

  All the trainees’ attention was still on Joan of Arc. There are no words to describe the noises she was making.

  I put my hand on Peterson’s arm and whispered, ‘You must get him back before it’s too late.’

  He nodded and let himself out of the door.

  Atherton looked around.

  ‘What …?’

  ‘Disregard,’ I said. ‘Please continue with your assignment.’

  North peered closely at the screen and said, ‘Is that …?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said calmly. ‘They’ve gone for close ups. Did you want to go with them?’

  She looked at me for a moment, her face expressionless. She was very pale. I could see a line of sweat across her top lip. ‘No.’

  I watched the trainees watching the screens. The light flickered across their faces. Occasionally one would make a minute adjustment to the controls. No one was speaking. They were watching the execution.

  I was watching for Randall and Peterson and I couldn’t see either of them.

  I honestly don’t know whether Randall fired or not. I certainly didn’t hear the shot, but abruptly, those terrible, tortured cries ceased.

  ‘Thank God,’ whispered Sykes. ‘Is she finally dead?’

  A small wind blew the shifting smoke and flames aside just as she spoke, and for one moment, I caught a glimpse of a body, robe burned away, hair gone, legs and body black and bloodstained, but now, mercifully, hanging limply forwards from the stake.

  She was dead. Had Randall killed her? Had Peterson been too late? And where were they now?

  Whatever had occurred and whoever was responsible, it was finished

  I had no idea what was to come.

  The fire would continue to burn for some time. The executioner, on instructions from the English, would rake away the wood to show her burned body and then her bones would be burned twice more before being flung into the Seine. They wanted no martyrs made this day.

  All this would work in our favour. No bones would ever be found. There would never be any evidence. No evidence of a possible fatal shot. I would never say a word. Nor would Peterson. And the trainees, whatever they suspected, would never know for sure.

  I forgot that History knows everything.

  Atherton was issuing instructions to start shutting things down. They turned all the cameras to monitor the crowd. I scanned the screens anxiously. Where the bloody hell were they? They might be taking a moment to get their breath and pull themselves together before struggling back through the crowd to the pod.

  The cameras were still running, but the execution was finished. There was nothing more to see. English soldiers were still fighting with the crowd, trying to keep them away from the fire. Even though it would be hours before the bones were cool enough to touch, they didn’t want anyone trying to pick them up as relics. They would be thrown into the river. No physical trace would ever remain of the young girl whose scorched soul was even now – as they say – in a better place. Looking at the still-leaping flames of her funeral pyre, it was hard to see how she could be in a worse one. I hoped she found her God, although if it had been me, he would have been getting a right ear bashing.

  North said suddenly, ‘What’s that?’

  At the same moment, Atherton said, ‘Who are they? Look. They’re coming this way. Who are they?’

  Shit. Not only had I forgotten about History, I’d forgotten about the bloody Time Police as well.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Time Police.

  What can I say?

  A long time ago in the future, in one of those bizarre coincidences that drives all the conspiracy theorists into a frenzy, the secret of time travel is discovered by several countries almost simultaneously. Governments, as usual, see things only in relationship to their own benefit. The urge to rewrite History in their own favour is too great and for a while, the timeline is so tangled that it’s touch and go. The Time Police are formed to sort things out. They’re given a wide remit and unlimited powers. And they do sort things out. Make no mistake,
disaster is averted only because of the Time Police and their efforts. Unfortunately, although the problem goes away, the Time Police do not and now they travel up and down the timeline monitoring and enforcing. They look for anomalies and it was possible that today they’d found one.

  The trainees were all looking at me. I hoped I looked better than I felt. The important thing was not to let them know that anything untoward had just taken place. That their training officers had just broken one of the most important rules of all. I fell back on my lecturing voice.

  ‘These, ladies and gentlemen, are the Time Police. We have already touched on this subject. I don’t know why they are here. Neither do you. Do not speak unless spoken to. Confine yourself to answering their questions. Do not volunteer information.’

  North said, ‘Are we in trouble? Did we do something wrong?’

  ‘Not that I am aware of.’

  At the console, Atherton said anxiously, ‘Shall I let them in?’

  ‘That would probably be wise, yes.’

  There were three of them, clad in their traditional black uniforms, their only concession to historical accuracy being the all-enveloping black cloaks they wore. I opened the door to Captain Ellis. An old acquaintance. Things could be worse. I’d once saved his life and he’d saved mine.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Max. Why did I not guess?’

  I knew why he was here. My job was to get rid of him asap. Before Peterson and Randall made their way back through the riot and fell into the hands of the Time Police. I couldn’t warn them. I couldn’t do anything to prevent them returning and walking straight into this trap.

  Ellis stepped into the pod, gesturing one officer to remain outside. I like to think it was because of overcrowding, but more likely it was so he could pick up anyone who, for instance, might be making their way back to the pod after doing something horribly illegal.

  ‘So,’ he said, stripping off his gloves and looking around. ‘What’s happening here?’

  I gestured at the screen. ‘Well, it’s Rouen 1431, and Joan of Arc, having successfully led the French forces against …’

  He interrupted. ‘No, what’s happening here in this pod?’

  I looked around in what I hoped was well-simulated bewilderment. ‘Training assignment. Four trainees. One handler. May I introduce Miss Sykes, Miss North, Mr Hoyle, and Mr Atherton.’

  They nodded politely.

  ‘No security?’

  ‘We’re not going outside so it wasn’t considered necessary.’

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew me well. He was also in a position to see the console. ‘And yet, the door has been opened.’

  Bugger. Yes, it had.

  ‘Well, we let you in, of course.’

  ‘Other than that?’

  ‘Ah. Yes.’

  I assumed an expression of complicity, gestured with my head and we moved away. Well, as far away as we could get in a small pod. Sykes and the others politely bent over the console, pretending not to listen.

  I lowered my voice. ‘This is the assignment when they must witness something nasty. You know what I mean.’

  He nodded. ‘You mean the violent death assignment. Well, it doesn’t get much nastier than what’s happening out there. And you opened the door because …?’

  ‘You’ve been out there. What was the first thing you noticed?’

  ‘Oh, right. The smell.’

  I nodded.

  ‘How many actually threw up?’

  ‘None yet, but I’m still hopeful.’

  ‘You’ve really thrown them in at the deep end, haven’t you?’

  I shrugged. ‘They have to learn. They’re no good to anyone otherwise.’ I took a gamble. ‘Good to see you again. Time for a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, but thank you. Just as a matter of interest, do they know who we are?’

  ‘We’ve touched on the Time Police briefly. I’m quite glad to see you, actually. You can be my next session. Would you like to bark at them? Threaten them with your futuristic weapons? You know, just to add a little colour.’

  ‘Again, thank you, but no. I do, however, want to have a quick look at your logs before I depart.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, panicking like mad on the inside and desperately trying to remember if Peterson had made any sort of log entry during this jump. My stupid mind, however, refused to cooperate and all I could do was stare helplessly at the console.

  The other guard stood by the door. Admittedly, there was very little space and unless he kept an eye on us from inside the toilet, there really wasn’t anywhere else for him to stand. A pod is not your traditional time-travelling machine. We are, if anything, smaller on the inside than the outside, and, effectively, we were trapped. Whether they intended it or not, we couldn’t get out.

  I turned to Atherton. ‘Mr Atherton, please make our logs available to —’ I got no further.

  Sykes leaped from her seat and collided heavily with the guard.

  ‘Let me through. Let me through. Oh God, I’m going to be sick.’

  And she was. A great stream of vomit spewed down his front. He stepped back instinctively, bumping into Captain Ellis and while they were sorting themselves out, with a really unpleasant retching sound, she threw up over the console as well. Leon was not going to be a happy man.

  Looking on the bright side, now the former smells of burning meat, cabbage, and stale people were completely obliterated.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Atherton and now he bolted for the toilet. More unpleasant sounds came through the door. My own insides heaved. North had her hand over her mouth. Not the world’s greatest actor, but she was managing to convey her meaning through the medium of mime. Hoyle just stood by the lockers. Queen Victoria was back.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ I said crossly and banged on the toilet door. ‘When you come out, bring a bucket of water, will you?’

  Turning to Ellis, I said, ‘Any chance of some help clearing this lot up?’

  There was the sound of renewed retching and I’m one of those people who vomit in sympathy. I could taste the bitter fluid in my mouth.

  Sykes burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I want to go home.’

  I’d found an old bit of tissue in a pocket and was dabbing at the console, smearing the stuff around all over the place. Why are there always carrots?

  Sykes sank back into her seat and was sobbing away to herself. North awkwardly patted her shoulder.

  I turned to Ellis again. ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘Just look at this place. It’s a bloody shambles.’

  ‘You can’t blame us for that. That’s down to you, Max. Frankly, I think you’re teaching them to run before they can walk.’

  ‘What? We were doing fine until you turned up. Typical Time Police. You’ve been here just five minutes and one trainee has covered the pod in wall-to-wall vomit, one’s locked himself in the bathroom, two of them are in tears …’ North obediently sniffed, ‘and the other one’s in a state of shock.’

  Hoyle’s expression did not change. I despaired of that boy.

  I stormed on regardless. ‘The least you can do is …’

  ‘Nothing to do with us. Not our job.’

  ‘Yes, talking of that. Not that I’m even remotely interested, but why are you here?’

  ‘Not sure. Report of an anomaly to check out. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I see that you’re here …’

  ‘Well,’ I said, folding my arms. ‘I never thought I’d get to say this, but it wasn’t us.’

  ‘No?’ he said, thoughtfully, surveying the wreckage of our assignment.

  ‘Have you thought …? I mean …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know that according to the Time Police, everything is my fault, but this is an important historical event. We might not be the only ones here.’

  The other guard, in some hurry to escape this stinking pod and now presented with a face-saving reason to leave, l
ooked at him hopefully. In the silence, I could hear Sykes’s sick dripping to the floor.

  I didn’t dare say another word but if they didn’t get a move on … Peterson and Randall would be back any minute now … and they’d walk straight into a trap.

  From the toilet came sounds of Atherton apparently bringing up a hairball the size of a kitchen table.

  ‘We’ll go and check it out,’ Ellis said.

  ‘What do you mean, you’ll go and check it out? You can’t just barge in here, wreck my assignment and then push off and leave me on my own to …’

  ‘Yes, we can,’ he said, and gestured his man outside.

  I stood in the doorway and tried not to look over his shoulder for Peterson.

  ‘I know it’s you,’ said Ellis, very quietly.

  I opened my mouth.

  ‘Don’t bother. Quit while you’re ahead.’

  I grinned at him. ‘Nice to see you again.’

  ‘And you. A word of warning. You might have a problem with one of your trainees. And I don’t mean the one who can, apparently, projectile vomit at will.’

  ‘Hoyle?’

  ‘The quiet one? Yes. Don’t like the look of him. Too intense.’

  I nodded and stepped back into the pod.

  They wrapped their cloaks around themselves and disappeared into the milling crowd.

  I slapped the door shut and called, ‘You can come out now, Mr Atherton.’

  Sykes was wiping down the console with her sleeve. I passed her a drink of water. ‘Neat trick.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, beaming. ‘I haven’t actually done anything I didn’t want to since I was about six. Parents, teachers, police, social workers – I’ve vomited over some of the finest in the land.’

  ‘And now the Time Police,’ said Atherton, emerging. ‘Is there no end to your talents?’

  ‘No,’ she said, modestly.

  ‘Look out there,’ said North suddenly. She’d been staring at the screen. ‘Oh my God.’

  They were never going to get back to the pod through this. The riot had worsened. The crowd surged back and forth, as the English battled to regain control. People were prising up cobbles to throw at the soldiers. I could hear cries and screams as people were knocked to the ground and trampled. A voice bellowed instructions and the English soldiers, who surely could not be expecting a rescue attempt at this late stage, formed an outward facing ring around the bonfire, pikes bristling.