Angus pushed him off.
Jack rushed down the stairs. “You all right?”
Angus groaned, “I thought I was a gonner.”
“You look like crap.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s going on?” Christie rushed back into the lower entrance from the cloister and Jack waved a hand towards the prostrate figure of Fenton. “We had a problem with a gatecrasher.”
“So I see.”
Jack gestured at the Principia lying nearby – “But Sir Isaac and I asked him to leave…”
“Can you stand, Angus?”
“Think so…”
“I think we might be about to lose this time signal… come on…”
They touched the time phone and, just as Jack started to get that strange tingling feeling before the Taurus transport kicked in, Angus turned and bellowed at the prostrate figure of Fenton on the floor.
“Mate – you are HISTORY…”
And Jack smiled.
Harmwell Asylum
LONDON, ENGLAND, 1830
Christie raised an index finger to his lips and the three of them listened intently, trying to catch the conversation between two men who sat huddled in the booth next to them in the Duke of York. The pub was only half full and near their table a log fire was spluttering to life, adding smoke but so far little warmth to the dank air. The three tankards of ale in front of them remained untouched.
Christie had navigated them to Harmwell only an hour earlier and they had taken refuge in the nearby Duke of York, waiting for 9.05 p.m. and the event when, as Backhouse put it, ‘everything changed’. He had not gone on to describe the nature of the ‘unfortunate accident’, but the notion that they might be about to witness something unpleasant had lodged itself worryingly in Jack’s mind.
On entering the Duke of York they had been astonished to see the bedraggled figures of Babbage and another man, whom they concluded must be Herschel, also sheltering from the cold fog outside, holed up in one of the wooden booths at the far side of the inn. Surreptitiously, they had positioned themselves in an adjoining booth and now Jack strained to catch the men’s conversation.
“…it is the money, John, always the money. These rumours… that the Engine won’t work, has no value, that it is a waste of money…” Babbage said.
“Have faith, Charles. I support you, the Royal Society supports you. You are the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics. Never forget that. I know the Treasury will support you – you will have your money,” Herschel reassured his friend. “You have already built part of the Engine… you have shown the way. And your vision…” there was wonder in his voice, “it is extraordinary… a machine that can perform calculations on numbers. A machine that’s accurate… consistently. An end to human error. It is revolutionary.”
Babbage seemed to appreciate his friend’s encouragement. “Thank you, John, I hope you are right.” There was a pause before Babbage reflected on Backhouse’s predicament. “Trust Backhouse to get himself into trouble again. Locked up in Harmwell Asylum. He is lucky he has friends like us to look after him.”
Just then, the door opened and a tall, thin man wrapped up in a large black overcoat came in. He spotted Babbage and Herschel and hurried over.
“A dismal night, gentlemen. Can’t see a thing out there.”
“Indeed. Well, is he there, Simpson?” Herschel said.
“Yes, sir. It is confirmed, Mr Backhouse is in Harmwell Asylum. They picked him up off the street yesterday – he was babbling and incoherent they say – a danger to himself and to others. Apparently he was talking about having had some sort of vision, some sort of religious experience. I have left the carriage up the street. We can go there now, but I warn you that they are not being very helpful at the asylum.”
Babbage and Herschel got up and followed Simpson out into the night.
“Come on. We need to follow them,” Christie whispered. “Keep a safe distance.”
The street was deserted but there was no risk of Babbage, Herschel or Simpson noticing them – the three men were wrapped up well against the cold and there was a thick blanket of London fog. A little further up the street an imposing building loomed into view and as they got closer Jack noticed that the windows had bars on them. A gas lamp threw an eerie light over the entrance to the building. The three men ahead stopped by the gate and then Babbage and Herschel went through whilst Simpson carried on a little further up the street. Jack could make out the vague shadow of a waiting coach and horses through the mist.
“There!” Christie whispered.
They found a good hiding place in some bushes just beyond the gate, near the steps to the entrance. They sneaked forward and crouched down, melting into the shadows. Jack caught snippets of conversation.
“Well, let’s get on with it,” Babbage said.
Herschel banged on the door. The noise triggered a cacophony of screaming, shrieking and laughter from inside the asylum. Jack heard a scraping of metal as a hatch was opened. A gruff voice spoke from inside.
“What do you want?”
“We are here to collect one of your patients.”
“Come back tomorrow. You are causing too much of a disturbance.”
The hatch slammed shut.
Herschel grabbed the knocker, bashed it with all his might against the door and kept knocking, harder and harder and louder and louder. The shrieking and wailing from inside the asylum became more and more frenzied until finally the hatch opened again.
“What is the meaning of this…?”
Babbage was nearly shouting, “We would like to speak to your superior. Tell him that the Cambridge Philosophical Society is here. I am the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics and we have come to release one of our colleagues, Josiah Backhouse… You might wish to add that we offer a modest reward… but if you keep us waiting much longer in this miserable cold it shall be rescinded.”
It seemed to do the trick and Jack heard the door creak open. Babbage and Herschel disappeared into the building.
Christie flashed his time phone in front of Jack, “Nine o’clock…” he whispered. “Whatever’s going to happen, is going to happen in five minutes.”
But as Jack looked out from their hiding place all he could see was the weak light from the gas lamp reflecting eerily on the fog. It was difficult to imagine how some momentous event was about to happen that would change the future, forever.
Backhouse’s words flashed through Jack’s head, “unfortunate accident…”
Two minutes later and the door of the asylum opened again.
“Here we go – they’re out…” Christie whispered.
A dishevelled-looking man appeared alongside Babbage and Herschel. He seemed thinner than Jack remembered him, but it was definitely Josiah Backhouse. The men walked down the steps from the asylum, back towards the gate.
“Thank you again, my friends,” Jack heard Backhouse say.
“It might be the last time, Josiah,” Babbage said. “I am not sure how long we can keep doing this…”
“I understand, I don’t know what happened to me…” Backhouse replied, apologetically. “These episodes… they come upon one and are impossible to control. I am lucky to have friends who understand.”
“Indeed. Anyway, it’s late and cold and we need to get out of this god-awful place. Simpson has the carriage waiting.”
Jack, Angus and Christie watched as the three men walked up the street towards the waiting carriage. A moment later they heard hooves on the cobbles as the carriage set off back down the street, towards where Jack, Angus and Christie were hiding. They watched in dismay as the carriage, ghostlike in the fog, rattled passed them and off down the street.
“They’ve gone…” Angus said, “and nothing’s happened… I don’t understand…“
No sooner had the words come out of Angus’s mouth than there was a sudden flash of white light. There was a loud thump and then a scream from the middle of the street. The horses reared and the carriage
slewed violently before righting itself and disappearing at top speed into the fog beyond.
“What on earth…?” Christie said under his breath, “Look – I think there’s something in the street – there!”
They crept forward.
“It’s a body – someone was hit by the coach,” Jack said.
Christie knelt down beside the man.
“He’s dead,” Christie said. “I don’t know where he’s come from… but that flash could only have been one thing…”
“A time-travel event,” Jack said.
“Landing right in front of the carriage like that and getting mown down. Poor guy, he had no chance in this fog.”
“But who is he?”
“I don’t recognise him…”
Suddenly, Jack saw something lying next to the body. “Look!” he said.
The object was rectangular in shape but with smooth, bevelled edges. Jack picked it up. It was made of a bright, light material and fitted in the palm of his hand. Along the top there were some indentations and on the middle at the bottom there was a circular depression which looked like some sort of button. The letters on the device were difficult to make out in the dim light, but they already knew what they spelled:
VIGIL
“It’s a VIGIL smart device, it must have been knocked from him in the impact,” Christie said, glancing back up the street. “I think the carriage has stopped up there. They must know they’ve hit someone. In a minute, they’re going to come back down here…”
“That’s how they get the VIGIL device,” Jack said. “It must be it, Dad, Babbage is going to walk back down here, discover the body and then discover the device. This is the Point of Divergence. We’ve found it. The end of the trail.”
“But then how did this chap get hold of it?” Christie said, “He’s not a VIGIL agent. He looks like an ordinary worker.”
“If he’s a time traveller, he must have a time phone,” Angus said, “That will tell us where he’s come from.”
Christie did a quick search. “Nothing… help me roll him over. Quickly, they’ll be here in a moment.”
“There!” The unfortunate time traveller was clutching a time phone in his hand.
“Let me check the co-ordinates…” Christie said.
“It says he’s come from the future, present day… location… central London. Trafalgar Square.” Christie shook his head. “Makes no sense…”
But it did to Jack and the truth suddenly dawned on him. “I know what’s happened Dad. Trafalgar Square – that’s where I left the time phone when we travelled back to 1940. I left it up at the top of Nelson’s Column. VIGIL were planning to send an agent to retrieve it. Something must have gone wrong. I think this guy somehow got hold of that time phone from the top of Nelson’s Column, fiddled with it, and ended up being transported back here by mistake.”
“Of course – so we’re not at the end of the trail. We need to make another jump. Take the time phone, but leave the VIGIL device here for Babbage to find it.”
“What?” Jack said. “But…”
“Just do it, I’ll explain later.”
They crept back into the shadows and Jack looked back up the street. They could hear voices and the noise of the horses. Suddenly, Babbage emerged from the fog. He spotted the figure lying in the street. Babbage put a hand to his mouth in horror and ran towards the body.
“Herschel come here, help me!” Babbage shouted. He looked down at the body and muttered to himself, “This is dreadful.”
Then Herschel emerged from the fog.
“Look here, the poor wretch… we ran him over.”
“Just when we saw that bright flash,” Herschel said. “But I can’t explain it, there’s been no thunder. Why the sudden flash of lightning?”
Babbage frowned, “Yes, it is most strange. And the man’s clothes – short trousers and only a shirt, and his sleeves are rolled up. Like it was a hot summer’s day – not mid-winter. A most terrible accident. Go and get Simpson and Backhouse to come and help us. I will search him – maybe I can identify who he is.”
Herschel disappeared back into the fog to find Backhouse and Simpson whilst Babbage searched the man. He surveyed the area around the body to see if there were any further clues to his identity. Then he saw it. The small shiny object lying on the street. Babbage picked it up and looked at it. The object might have been some sort of mechanical device – but it was engineered in no way that Babbage had ever seen before. He was mystified. He flicked the device over in his hand and peered closer. He thought he could see some letters, but it was impossible to read what they said in the dim light. Later, Professor Charles Babbage, Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University, inventor of the Difference Engine and the father of modern computer science, would discover what the letters were.
However, he would never learn what ‘VIGIL’ actually meant.
At the Feet of the Admiral
Jack had been here before and he hadn’t liked it the first time. He stood up against a curved wall of stone. Angus and his father were next to him. They were perched on a narrow platform of stone jutting out from a very tall pillar, high above a city. Jack’s feet were close to one of the edges of the platform. The square below contained fountains and four large bronze statues of lions, lying down, arranged around the bottom of the pillar. Just above them was a huge statue of a man, which must have been nearly six metres high. The man gazed out across the city. He wore a broad admiral’s hat and his left hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The sleeve of his right hand was pinned to his tunic. He had only one arm.
However, there was one important difference from the last time that they had been at the top of Nelson’s Column in central London. There was scaffolding built around the tower.
“Repairs going on,” Christie said, “or cleaning?”
Suddenly a man dangling upside down on the end of a rope swung into view right in front of them.
“Get me out of this stupid thing!”
“Gordon?” Christie said. “Gordon McFarlane – from VIGIL?”
“Yes, I am, and I’m very glad to see you gents, ’cos, I don’t think I can take any more of this.”
“What happened?”
“If you help me down, I might tell you. Now, please, GET ME DOWN…”
With great effort, they managed to untangle Gordon from the rope and protective netting. Finally free, Gordon tried to calm himself. “Remember that time phone, Jack, the one YOU left here, back in 1940? It was too much of a risk to leave it up here, so muggins got the job of coming to retrieve it.”
“But you got into a bit of trouble…”
“No one reckoned on any cleaning work happening to the column. So the Taurus delivered me straight into that stupid netting on the scaffolding and then I got myself all tied up in that rope and was stuck. Next thing all my stuff is falling out of my pockets…”
“Don’t tell us – including your VIGIL device.”
Gordon looked sheepish, “Don’t tell the boss, I’ll get it in the neck…”
“And then?”
“Luckily, there was only one stonemason up here when I arrived – first day of work. He was a little surprised to see me. As I was untangling myself, he picked up my VIGIL device. Then he spotted your time phone on the ledge there… and started fiddling around with that, I told him to leave it of course, but then it powered up, he pressed a few buttons, I don’t know, and WHOOSH, he was zapped off who knows where…”
“I think we know…” Jack said.
Christie shook his head in dismay. “Good to see that VIGIL are keeping up their usual high professional standards… But never mind. I think we’re at the end of the trail. It’s time to go home and fix this mess for good.”
A Woman’s Touch
“The blood trail is still here from your injury,” Jack said, as they stepped from the Taurus transfer platform and onto the gantry.
“I was lucky…” Christie said. “It looked worse than it
was.”
The Revisionist base was just as they had left it: messy and in need of maintenance. Jack felt disorientated and queasy. His head throbbed, a nasty side-effect of time travel, but he didn’t care. He was just glad to be alive.
Christie led them through to the laboratory.
“Where are we?” Angus asked. “I mean when are we?”
“We’ve returned to the point just after you followed Fenton Pendelshape and me to the future. And I need to do one thing, so stupid, I nearly forgot.”
Christie logged onto his computer and started typing a message.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to contact VIGIL and tell them that if they are going to send Gordon back to retrieve your time phone from the top of Nelson’s Column to do it before they start the maintenance work.” He finished typing and pressed ‘send’. “That should do it – one email saves the world…”
“Gordon going to Nelson’s Column – that’s what caused all the change? That was the real Point of Divergence?”
“Yes. VIGIL sends him to get your time phone back and from then on it all goes horribly wrong. A chain of events is set off which changes the future. Maintenance work is starting on Nelson’s Column – the first since the war. That poor stonemason gets hold of your time phone, presses the wrong button and ends up run over by our friends in their carriage outside Harmwell Ayslum in 1830. He also gets hold of Gordon’s VIGIL device which Babbage picks up from the street. Babbage’s curious and brilliant mind gets to work and he realises he is in possession of something incredible. Using the app that shows how certain machines and technologies are put together, Babbage and his team of scientists in the Cambridge Philosophical Society start to recreate them. Soon, the industrial revolution has been massively accelerated, with technologies spreading to other parts of the world…”
Day of Rebellion Page 16