A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's)

by Jodi Taylor

  A little hesitantly and not without some emotion, we talked of our deaths.

  ‘Leon, how did I die?’

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand my question.

  ‘An accident. A stupid, stupid accident.’

  ‘You mean I didn’t die on the job?’

  ‘If you mean, was it a work-related fatality – no.’

  ‘You said they found me in my office so I assumed …’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Yes, you were at work, but not bounding around the timeline endangering life and limb. You were actually at St Mary’s, where you were supposed to be safe.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was stupid,’ he said again, angrily. ‘A bird’s nest or something fell down your chimney. And then, over the weeks, a ton of soot and rubbish accumulated on top of it and one day you switched on your gas fire …’ He stopped.

  I said nothing.

  ‘And there was no battery in your detector. It was sitting on the window sill.’

  He was angry. Angry that I, of all people, should have done such a thing. I know my Leon had always chased around St Mary’s, yelling at people for disconnecting their alarms. People took them out because, they said, they kept going off and it’s very irritating when you’re trying to work. St Mary’s, sadly, has never made the link between the detectors going off and there actually being a reason for this happening.

  Except for me. I’d always tried to show a little solidarity. Obviously, his Max hadn’t and it had cost her her life. That’s probably irony.

  ‘Why didn’t you return to the future?’

  He and Dr Bairstow were from the future. Sent back to found St Mary’s and – I remembered – keep it and us, safe.

  ‘Many reasons. They would have reassigned me. You would have been even further away. I didn’t want to be in a world that didn’t have echoes of you bouncing around it …’ He tailed away.

  ‘But you didn’t stay at St Mary’s.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t. I … We … I made myself the perfect life I wanted to have with you.’

  Something in his voice made me look up. It hurt me to look at him. His face was so unutterably sad …

  I said softly, ‘Leon …’ and he reached out for me.

  We held hands in the dark, each taking and giving comfort to the other. His hands were warm and strong and rough. Just as I remembered.

  I tried desperately to keep the exhaustion and fear from my voice. ‘Leon, how did this happen? How could it happen? Why am I here?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I don’t have the physics for this. I’m not sure anyone does.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘You mean explain physics to an historian? I don’t have any crayons.’

  I said nothing in a way that could clearly be understood and he relented.

  ‘OK. Here’s our two lives, running parallel to each other, sometimes similar, sometimes not, but never touching. And then – something happens. Some event somewhere – maybe you weren’t supposed to die in this world, I don’t know – but somehow, our two worlds touched. Just briefly. Just long enough for a door to open and for you to step across into my world.’

  He stopped for a moment, gripping my hands so tightly that it hurt.

  Should I say anything about Mrs Partridge? But how would that help?

  He was speaking again.

  ‘I will be forever grateful, eternally thankful that you did that. The door has closed now. I know you can’t ever go back, but – if you will let me – I will devote the rest of my life to making sure that you never, ever, for one moment, regret it.’

  For some moments, there are no words.

  And then we got going.

  Chapter Six

  Pompeii.

  The day of the eruption.

  I nearly kicked the whole thing into touch right there and then.

  Vesuvius didn’t suddenly erupt, right out of the blue. The eruption was preceded by a series of violent seismic tremors, which, in those days, nobody associated with imminent volcanic activity. We landed right in the middle of quite a strong one. The pod shuddered a little, but the locker doors remained closed. Nothing fell out. We sat quietly and waited for what seemed a very long time for it to be over.

  All throughout the tremor, Leon very pointedly said nothing.

  To make it easy for them to find me, I was wearing clothes they’d seen me in before. The first century was about to be gifted with its first sighting of yellow-and-white-spotted PJs, over which I wore my blanket, poncho style. I could use it to cover my head when things started dropping from the sky. The inhabitants of Pompeii would soon be walking around with pillows tied to their heads for protection, so I didn’t have to worry too much about fashion statements.

  I tucked the bottoms into my wellies, because I would soon be wading through layers of hot ash and pumice.

  I half expected the tremors would cause Leon to change his mind, but he kept his attention on the screen and called me over.

  ‘Memorise this street. This is where I’ll pick you up. I can’t guarantee when, but certainly not longer than a few hours. Remember, they usually turn up after an hour or so. Find somewhere safe and stay there. Be aware that as well as being pursued by the Time Police, a volcano is about to erupt, so don’t concentrate on the one to the exclusion of the other.’

  ‘I’ll lead them away from here, show myself, and then double back.’

  ‘At least take the pod remote. If things get bad, you can call the pod.’

  ‘No. You’re taking as much of a risk as I am. I’m not going to call the pod when you might need it yourself.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘It makes sense, Leon. If you’re not able to come back for me then I’ll die here, so the priority is to keep you safe. And we’re running out of time. Just a few short hours and then our problems will be over.’

  ‘In that case, make sure you’re here when I get back. Don’t make me come looking for you.’

  There was an awkward pause, which I broke by saying, ‘Good luck. Don’t forget the Jaffa Cakes.’

  He smiled and put out his hand, just as we always used to when I was setting off on assignment and we were surrounded by milling crowds of techies and historians. Memories crowded my mind. As always, his hand was warm and rough.

  ‘Good luck. Don’t forget the eruption.’

  He opened the door and I slipped outside into the heat of the day. I walked to the deep purple shadow of a high wall and turned back.

  He had already gone.

  My heart knocked against my ribs. I’d been alone before but this was the first time I had ever been alone with no way to get home. Just to cheer myself up, I reminded myself I didn’t have a home any longer. If anything happened to Leon then I’d die here, along with most of the inhabitants. I was more alone than I’d ever been in my entire life. Out of my own world. Out of my own time. I’ve been in some dodgy situations before, but, always, St Mary’s had been in the background, somewhere. Eventually, Peterson or Guthrie or Markham or someone would explode out of the woodwork and I’d be saved. This was different.

  I stared at the place where the pod had been. I’d tried to avoid thinking too much about my previous life, and thanks to the cluster-catastrophe that was our existence at the moment, I’d been largely successful. Now, typically, just when I needed to keep all my wits about me, a great surge of sadness for my loss rolled right over me. No matter what happened, there was no way I’d ever see any of my St Mary’s again.

  Actually, if I didn’t get a move on, I’d never see anyone again. Think cheerful thoughts, Maxwell.

  We’d argued for ages over where, in a doomed city, would be the safest spot in which to land, and finally fixed on the south-east quarter – somewhere between the Porta Stabia and the Porta Nocera. Of course, the pod had its own ideas and plonked us in the north-east corner, between the amphitheatre and the palaestra. It could have been worse. Vesuvius was to the north-west and the high walls of the amphitheatre wo
uld offer some protection. I hoped.

  The ground shook again, slightly. I moved into an open space and looked around. From the position of the sun, I judged it to be about noon – later than I would have liked. The first eruption – a big one – would occur in about an hour.

  However, at the moment, people were coming and going about their daily business as much as they were able. They were used to this.

  This area was not residential and there were few women around. Men bustled in and out of the palaestra, looking important and talking in loud voices. My Latin returned, as it always does whenever I hear it spoken, and I listened. Three of them, the loudest and presumably the most important – in their eyes, at least – were strolling along the portico, enjoying the shade and discussing the dismal performance of their chosen chariot team – the Greens.

  Few men wore togas. Tunics seemed to be the accepted garb. I saw a variety of colours – ochres, browns, some reds. One or two wore blue – next to purple, the most expensive colour there is, but sadly prone to fading.

  No one paid me the slightest attention. In this world, as in any other, people don’t see the bizarrely dressed, the odd ones who live outside normal society. Nobody would catch my eye in case I demanded money. I told myself I was as good as invisible.

  The high, arched walls of the amphitheatre reared up in front of me. Posters advertising future events covered the lower levels. An external stone staircase led to the higher tiers. Two slaves in dingy tunics were slowly sweeping the steps. Very slowly. This was light work. They would be in no rush to finish.

  The surrounding area was filled with tiny taverns and eating places. Here and there, temporary booths had been set up, to sell snacks and souvenirs to the hungry and gullible.

  The ground shook again, reminding me why I was here. I needed to keep moving. I needed a crowd to get lost in and a densely built area in which to hide.

  I headed west to one of the main streets, the one which ran right through town, more or less north-east to south-west. The crowds here were much more diverse and some women were present, going about normal household duties. It was still a little early for the other sort of commercial transactions. I skipped past a bakery, with its distinctive smell of hot flour and scorched bricks. I passed a wine shop. The owner, a stocky man in a dingy tunic and with an unlovely roll of fat around his neck, was still setting up his amphora. He had no idea what was about to happen. None of them did.

  In twenty-four hours’ time, Pompeii and its neighbour, Herculaneum, would be gone – lost under vast layers of volcanic ash. I looked at the people around me, all shouting, arguing, laughing, and haggling. All living out the last hours of their lives. This time tomorrow, they would be dead and, when the world saw them next, they would be pitiful, hollow shells, their shapes preserved over the centuries, long after their bodies had gone. I always remember the woman, trying to shelter her child and the little dog, still chained, unable to escape, twisted in his death throes …

  The temptation is to jump on a cart, wave your arms and shout, ‘Run! Run for your lives. You still have time.’

  But I didn’t.

  I pulled myself together. I needed to get an idea of the layout. I had only about half an hour and then I was going to be running for my life.

  Again.

  I made my way down to the Forum, using the stepping-stones to cross the road and jumping on and off the raised pavements. The Romans used their streets as storm drains. I could imagine the floodwaters flowing down from Vesuvius and coursing through the streets, sweeping away everything in their path. Only this time the flood would consist of volcanic debris, pumice, super-heated mudflows …

  I mingled with the crowds outside the Forum, which was packed. Ironically, there was a great view of Vesuvius, its summit wreathed in what might be light cloud but was more probably smoke.

  My wrist beeped. Leon had lent me his watch. One hour gone. The Forces of Darkness should be turning up any minute now.

  The town was laid out on a grid system. I’d concentrated on the north-east corner and had the rough layout in my head. I had my route planned. I’d found two or three spots where I could conceal myself for long enough to hold them up. I couldn’t do any more. All I could do now was stay alert, keep moving, and stay ahead of them. And the volcano, of course.

  Another half hour passed. I stood with my back to a wall, admiring the Temple of Jupiter and watching the crowds go by.

  They were late. The bastards were late. Wouldn’t it be just typical if they didn’t turn up at all and I was jumping around a major volcanic incident for absolutely nothing?

  I sighed with frustration and then everything happened all at once.

  I was cupping my hands at a street fountain when a large cart clattered by. I turned at the noise and there they were in their black cloaks, standing at the street corner. Faintly, I heard the electronic beep. They were triangulating. Time to go.

  I’d just hopped down off the pavement when the world erupted in the biggest noise I’ve ever heard. Not a bang or a crack. Just a huge, loud, indescribable noise. My ears rang and for a moment, I thought they’d hit me with the sonic thing again and it was all over before it started.

  I’d forgotten. Just for a moment, I’d forgotten about the volcano.

  The sound echoed around the streets, bouncing off high walls, followed by a long, low, never-ending reverberation that found an echo in the tremors beneath our feet.

  All around me, life had stopped. Some people had dropped to their knees, holding their heads. Even the mule pulling the cart had stopped dead. Everyone was staring up at the mountain, which was belching thick, black smoke high into the air. Pliny would describe it as shaped like an umbrella pine and he was spot on.

  It had begun.

  I had the advantage, because I’d been expecting it. While everyone was still frozen with shock, I slipped between the cart and the wall and down a narrow, dirt alley. I turned left at the bottom, and left again, then back on to the main road. I moved slowly between groups of people still staring in stunned belief at the mountain. I had no time to look myself.

  I’d thought long and hard about whether to stay on the streets, dodging around and making it difficult for them to get a fix, or to nip through a garden gate and find some quiet corner, stay put, and trust that Leon turned up before they found me. I decided to stay on the streets. For the time being, anyway.

  In the distance, the massive column of smoke grew taller and wider. It must be all of ten miles high. Despite the dangers of falling roof tiles, more people were running out of their houses to look. Shopkeepers left their premises to join others on the street. Customers from the caupona on the corner were gathered outside, many of them still chewing. Not one of them had put down his drink. Even now, there was more curiosity than panic. People pointed, and exclaimed and chattered. I wanted to shake them because they could still escape. It wasn’t yet too late for them.

  I was just oozing around the wine shop when the ash started to drift down, hardly discernable first, just the odd flake here or there. If I hadn’t seen it settling gently on my blanket, I might not have noticed anything.

  Children ran out into the streets, dodging around, trying to catch the flakes as they drifted silently downwards and still there was no major panic or terror-stricken exodus to the gates. There was nothing I could do. Those who didn’t try to get away within the next hour or so wouldn’t get away at all, and now the Time Police were here, I couldn’t afford to draw attention to myself by trying to persuade people to leave.

  The ground rocked again. I dropped to a crouch and waited for the tremor to subside but this time, it didn’t. The eruption had begun and the ground wouldn’t stop shaking now until long after everyone was dead. I would just have to cope.

  The next half hour was no fun at all. I had to make haste slowly. I checked each street before venturing forth. At all times, I had to be aware of my position in relation to our rendezvous point. I had to keep returning there to ch
eck if Leon had returned, without making it obvious that that location was in any way important. I didn’t want them setting an ambush. I should be seeking shelter, but there was no chance. If I stopped moving then I was dead in the water. Or the ash.

  The tremors were increasing in strength. I could hear pots toppling over and bricks or roof tiles crashing into the street. The baker had, very sensibly, doused his fires and the wine shop owner had long since stopped trying to right his toppled amphora. People were shuttering their windows against the ash and dust. It wouldn’t do them the slightest bit of good. Many had returned to their homes, thinking they could wait it out as they always had in the past. There were fewer people on the streets.

  The ash fluttered more thickly now and I was caked in it. It was evil stuff and I was coughing, because volcanic ash contains silicone. When it gets in the lungs, it liquefies, making it difficult and then impossible to breathe. Take it from me; covering your face doesn’t help much. I had a ghastly metallic taste in my mouth. I stopped at street fountains at every opportunity, but now the tanks were full of ashy scum. With the continuing tremors, it was only a matter of time before the pipes cracked or the tall water towers came down and then there would be no fresh water at all and they still hadn’t finished repairing the water system from the last eruption.

  And where the bloody hell was Leon? This is what happens when you let men go off by themselves. They don’t have a bloody clue. They might be able to fold maps but they certainly can’t bloody read them. I should have drawn him something in crayon, which said, ‘I am here.’ He was off enjoying a bit of a holiday while half a volcano was falling on me. I swear, when I saw him again, he was going to get the biggest ear-bashing of his life.

  If you ever see him again , said the nasty little voice that always surfaces in the middle of a sleepless night. I pushed it away. If I let myself believe, even for one minute, that I’d never see Leon again, then I might as well give up now. He would be here. He would rip time apart to get to me. If he had to get out and push the bloody pod – he would come for me.