by Sara Pascoe
‘Appreciate it.’ How weird had her life become that she was looking to a cat for help?
There were more small buildings with thatched roofs. Both sides of the road were lined with market stalls brimming with pots and pans, shoes, hand tools, cheese, fish, and meat. The aroma of warm bread was welcome amidst the earthy human and animal smells. A thick crowd of adults and children pulsed throughout.
‘How could I even DO this?’
Oscar stopped at a corner, looked in all directions and sighed. ‘I can’t teach you everything in five minutes.’
‘Well excuse me for asking, Mr Cat.’ Raya marched off down a smaller, quieter road lined with a few shops and more cottages. Oscar trotted to catch up.
‘Calm down,’ Oscar said.
A cart clattered by, laden with rolls of cloth. The driver nodded ‘hello’.
Somebody jumped off the back – Gavan.
‘Let me go! Put me down!’ Raya shrieked as Gavan jumped back on the cart holding her like she was a sack of onions. He stuffed her in between the large bolts of cloth and held her there – her screams muffled. Oscar jumped on while the man’s back was turned and burrowed in as the cart lurched forward. Gavan bent over her, his face inches from hers. His breath reeked of stale ale and bad teeth. His eyes were angry coals.
‘You have had your fun me with – now it is my turn!’ He kept her pinned down and muffled her every time she tried to scream or say anything by shoving a wodge of cloth into her mouth, gagging her. This made him laugh.
‘Oscar, are you here?’
‘Yeah – I’m under a bunch of cloth.’
She made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat. Gavan leaned his arm against her face. It hurt.
The metal cart wheels were noisy against the cobbled road, the vibrations went through her bones. It seemed like an hour before they rattled to a stop, but it was probably only minutes.
‘I will hold him here whilst you fetch the lads,’ Gavan snarled to the driver. Raya could feel the driver jump off of the cart and heard the bridle clinking as he tied up the horse.
‘We’re in front of some inn,’ Oscar said. ‘I’m jumping off while I have the chance.’
‘Don’t go – please. I’m so scared. I may not be around much longer, anyway.’
‘I said I’d stick around. No need to be a drama llama,’ Oscar said.
Raya gave a choked whimper.
The driver returned with a young man. They stood at the back of the cart. Gavan flung Raya to a standing position, still on the cart and held her arms so tight he left bruises.
‘This is him. An odd lad at that. Scrawny, with a girl’s voice. But strong and scrappy.’
‘They think I’m a BOY?’
‘Go with it. The only women with short hair had it cut off as punishment – if we are when I think we are.’
‘How do you know all this stuff?’
‘Tell you later.’
The lad staring up at her wasn’t much older than she was. He looked kind enough, with a shock of dark hair that could use a cut, not to mention a wash. He cocked his head looking at her.
‘Does he speak English? Looks foreign,’ the lad asked Gavan.
‘English of a sort. Could be a Dutch accent,’ Gavan said.
‘What a numpty, I’m not–’ Raya said to Oscar.
‘Shh, you’ll need an explanation for sounding different and there’s loads of Dutch here in these times,’ the cat interjected.
‘Guess he’ll do. We are in dire need of help since we lost Edward to the ague,’ the lad said. He reached up and gave Gavan a coin who quickly pocketed it. He spun Raya around to face him. Spit flew as he spoke.
‘I get half your wages for six months. If you fail to pay me, even once, then off to the workhouse with you. Understand?’ He shoved her off the cart. She stumbled onto her knees. She glimpsed Oscar under a bush.
‘What’s “ague”?’ Raya asked.
‘Malaria.’
‘Oh great.’
‘Hey, you want plague? They got that, too.’
Raya ignored the cat.
‘So when is this? How do you know?’ Raya asked, but the cat didn’t have time to answer.
‘I’m Samuel,’ the young man said, smiling awkwardly. ‘Sorry about all that.’ He gestured towards the cart as it left. ‘I didn’t realise this arrangement was a surprise to you. Working here is better than the workhouse, from what I hear anyways.’
Another lad, taller and leaner with ginger hair, handed the reins of a horse to a waiting customer, then turned towards them. ‘And what with the war on, we have trouble finding help. I’m Nehemiah, by the way.’
‘The Civil War?’ Raya asked her cat companion.
‘I think so.’
They were in front of a sizeable inn on a wider road. Raya was shaking with relief, but tried to hide it. She thought she was going to be killed and likely beat savagely beforehand, but there was no time to recover or contemplate, thrown into this next scenario. Her life as a foster kid with an unwell bio-mum looked like a day in the park from here.
A sign hung over the large wooden door, ‘The Bull’. A horse-drawn carriage stopped. People got out and workers crawled over it collecting trunks and heavy sacks. The carriage horses huffed and shuddered, hoofed the ground. Sweat steamed off their backs.
Suddenly, the empty carriage bolted forward. They were hit with the warmth and odour of the hard-worked animals. Sam leapt onto the side of the team, his feet dragging on the ground. The ginger Nehemiah charged to the front and grabbed the reins. Another customer rode up on a single horse as the boys brought the errant team back.
‘You take that mare, mate – didn’t get your name,’ Sam called over his shoulder as the lads led the team through the archway at the side of the inn.
‘Rach… Ralph,’ she said, lowering her voice. Raya took the reins from the customer. She looked around for Oscar.
‘You coming?’
He poked his head out of a bush. ‘I’m not keen on horses.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake. Horses are the least of our problems.’ She scooped him up with her free hand and carried on through the arch.
It opened up to a large courtyard, another world behind the road. Raya stopped with the horse. The two lads were unharnessing the team.
Oscar scrabbled against her, ears back, eyes slits. He climbed onto her shoulder.
‘Ow – cut it out – you’re digging into me.’
He jumped onto the horse, then clung on spread-eagled.
‘Now who’s the drama llama?’
‘Shut up.’
A man sitting at a rough wooden table raised his tankard and called out, ‘Aye, a menagerie act!’ Others around the table started clambering for the act to begin.
‘Could you give us a hand?’ Oscar still looked frightened. ‘I’ll be nicer.’
‘And you’ll help me get back home?’
‘Yup.’
Raya took a slight bow, and lifted Oscar off the saddle. He unfurled his ears and opened his eyes. ‘Thank you, kind gentleman, but I am afraid my cat has retired from menagerie work due to an injury and will not–’
‘Oy, stop wasting time. You’re not working in a menagerie now,’ Nehemiah said as he walked one of the horses from the carriage team into the barn.
Raya nodded to the customers and made her way to the barn. A couple of old dogs wandered around. There was a patch of green behind the barn. A woman carried a basket of potatoes and onions into the back of the inn. Another dumped rubbish onto a heap. The aroma of roasting meat wafted over Raya. Her stomach growled.
Inside the barn smelled like sweet hay, leather and horse manure. Sam appeared from behind a horse in an open stall. He gestured towards the next box. Raya walked her horse in.
‘Where are you?’ Raya said aloud.
Sam stopped working, looked at Raya, ‘I’m right here. Don’t fret, I’ll show you what needs doing.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m looking for my cat,’ Raya
said. ‘Don’t know where he’s got to.’
Sam laughed, ‘Don’t worry. He’ll find you. You’ll get food and blankets for sleeping…’ he nodded towards a ladder to the loft, ‘…and ten shillings a week if you stay on.’
Nehemiah came out of another stall. ‘Well, five for you and five for Gavan. I wouldn’t try to cheat him.’
Raya got a shiver remembering him. Maybe I should just think of Gavan like a one man employment agency. She giggled to herself – she did that sometimes when she was nervous. Sam and Nehemiah both gave her funny looks.
‘Watch it. You’re a bloke, remember?’
Raya snapped out of her reverie. ‘Right. Sorry. Where ARE you?’
‘Meow,’ Oscar said from his perch on top of a beam. Raya jumped. She wasn’t used to him making regular cat sounds.
Sam took a saddle off for cleaning. ‘If he doesn’t frighten the horses, he can earn his keep by mousing. Plenty around, and the rats look healthier than most people.’
‘Lucky me,’ Oscar said.
* * *
Samuel showed Raya what to do. She took the saddle off the mare, rubbed the sweat off her with a rough blanket, then brushed her before leading her out to the small green behind the barn. She beat blankets, cleaned saddles and tack, pretty much whatever Samuel pointed to. The hardest part was bringing water from the well. After she spilled the heavy buckets she was supposed to balance on a pole across her shoulders a couple of times, Samuel got fed up and did it for her, if she mucked out the stalls. Oscar had disappeared again – she figured for a nap. The sun started to set.
Nehemiah brought fresh straw up the ladder and told Raya to follow him.
‘That’s where I sleep, and that’s Samuel’s spot. You can choose anywhere else. After you bring in that last mare, get some food. Just go to the back door of the kitchen and ask the cook. She’s knows there’s a new stable hand,’ Nehemiah said, then went down the ladder.
Oscar did one of those spine-bending cat stretches on a rafter in the loft.
‘Oh, there you are,’ Raya said.
‘Hey, can you bring me something from the kitchen while you’re at it? Can’t stand hunting – would be a vegetarian if I didn’t like meat so much.’
‘Sure.’
Raya climbed down the ladder and went to fetch the horse. Halfway there, she realised she’d forgotten the bridle and returned to the barn. As she got close, she heard the two guys talking about her, so she stopped outside and listened.
‘Don’t know why Gavan was so rough on him, such a skinny boy,’ Nehemiah said.
‘Yeah, not much muscle to him, not much good with the heavy work,’ Sam said.
‘Well, he’s better than nothing, seems all right with the horses. And we really need the help.’
‘Odd English – Gavan said he was foreign, right?’ Sam said. ‘And from the looks of him, he’s had a rough time of it, what with the bruises.’
Raya stepped noisily as she entered the barn to retrieve the bridle. After she got the mare into her stall, she went to the back door of the inn. A few customers sat at the outdoor tables. Lanterns glowed through windows, the pub was full and noisy. The old dogs were curled up by the kitchen door.
She leaned in the bottom half of the open split door, arms folded across her chest to hide any hint of womanhood. Warmth and delicious aromas came from the kitchen. It made her miss the Cosmic Cafe. A stout woman caught sight of her, wiped her hands on her apron, and came to the half-open door. The smaller dog struggled to stand up, its milky eyes aimed at the cook.
‘Don’t mind Shaggy, always begging. Afraid I don’t help matters, him being my favourite, spoil him when I can,’ the cook said.
Raya bent down, gave the dog a stroke. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I like dogs.’
‘You must be the new stable boy,’ the cook said. She looked Raya up and down. ‘Not much of you,’ she said then put a chunk of bread and cheese in a bowl and spooned a bit of meat stew on top. The woman looked over her shoulder before continuing.
‘Do us a favour, pet, and don’t tell anyone I gave you this,’ she said, nodding towards the meat. The woman turned towards the tankards on the windowsill. ‘I’ll get you some ale to wash that down.’
‘Oh, no thanks. But if you wouldn’t mind, I could kill for a cup of tea.’
The cook turned on her heels. ‘You could do WHAT?’
The cook looked scared and angry. Raya had no idea what she’d done wrong. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll just have some water,’ Raya said.
The cook threw her head back and cackled. ‘You won’t last long then, drinking the water.’ She shook her head and leaned out of the top half of the door. ‘I wouldn’t go round threatening people’s lives, lad, especially not over getting some odd foreign drink.’
Raya thought she might cry. It wasn’t so much the cook telling her off – getting told off was nothing new in her career as a foster kid; it was one more stress at the end of the weirdest day in her life. The scruffy old dog looked up at Raya and whined. She bent down and gave him a good scratch behind the ears. ‘You’re not mad at me, are you?’ she said.
A shadow came over her, blocking the moonlight, the cook leaning out of the door.
‘Leave my dog alone!’ the cook barked. Raya grabbed her bowl of food and ran back to the barn.
Raya, shaken from her interaction with the cook, was glad to have some time alone with Oscar.
She joined the cat in the loft, where they sat on the two rough blankets the lads had given her, and they ate their dinner. The guys had gone to the inn for a drink, and from what Oscar overheard, they would be there a while. Oscar was famished and wasn’t very good at hiding it; he meowed, and rubbed his head against Raya. Raya tried the stew, made a face.
‘It’s all yours.’
‘You sure? Mutton’s lovely.’ But he didn’t wait for an answer.
Raya started on the chewy bread and sharp cheese. ‘So you think we’re sometime during the English Civil War?’
Oscar took a minute to come up for air. ‘Yeah, I’d say so. I’ve been trying to contact IHQ – to confirm,’ Oscar said.
‘What’s IHQ? What – like on a special mobile? This is all so bizarre. And anyway, how do you know all this stuff?’
The last of the sun beamed through the small window at the end of the loft. Oscar took his time washing his face, collecting the last drops of gravy.
‘That’s easy, at least. I went through familiar training – takes about eighteen months. You learn a human language, speaking and reading, two or three special skills and at least one topic in history.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
Oscar blinked at her. ‘Do you want my help or not?’
‘God, you’re touchy.’
They heard sounds of people at the tables behind the inn, and evening birds. Oscar suddenly looked away as though he was focusing on something Raya couldn’t see. He put a paw up as if to say ‘be quiet’. Then he jumped on her lap and turned to face forward. ‘Here, they want to talk to you. Put your hands out.’
‘What?’
‘Just DO it!’
She put her hands out and he put his paws in her open palms. She didn’t know cats’ paws could sweat.
Then she saw it – like TV without a TV. She was looking at some sort of command centre. People working on computers, talking to each other, big screens on one wall, piles of papers, mugs of forgotten tea. A woman came ‘on screen’. She was older, maybe fifties, slender and smartly dressed, like a BBC newsreader. She gave a business-like smile.
‘Oscar, great to see you. Glad your microchip is still working. Thanks for all your good works out there – we have noticed.’
He gave a gaping yawn. ‘Ms Watts, you know I didn’t sign up for this mission and I expect–’
‘Yes, you will be properly compensated when you get home. But right now we need to concentrate on getting you two home.’ She gave that official smile again.
Raya gulped. Ms Watts continued. ‘I tak
e it that’s Miss Rachel Hollingsworth with you?’
‘Hi, Miss. Yes, I’m Raya… um Rachel.’
‘Nice to meet you, although of course I’m sorry it’s under these difficult circumstances. I’m Sonya Watts, your social worker, Bryony Braxton’s supervisor. I’m one of the directors here at IHQ – Integrator Headquarters in London. We’re overseeing your case of mistaken time travel. These can be quite tricky, but nothing we haven’t seen before.’ Someone asked her something off screen. She signed some papers, then returned to Raya and Oscar. ‘We will be your team working on getting you home. But first, I have someone here who wants to say hello.’
Pavel appeared on the screen.
‘Omigod, Pavel! You don’t know how good it is to see you! How’s Jake? Is he OK?’ Raya fought tears.
‘He made it through the surgery – not quite himself yet, but getting there,’ Pavel said.
A sob escaped her. ‘Thank goodness! Will he be OK? And how’re Emma and Ian? And how did I get here – back in time? How is this even possible? Do you know exactly when we are? Some horrible things have happened, and it’s SO much to get my head around and–’
‘OK there, little sister. Slow down.’
She had a rush of relief, yearning and a fear of never returning home.
Pavel took a sip from a mug. ‘Our time travel techies have been working on quadrangulating your position – you know, three dimensions plus time?’ But he didn’t wait for a response. ‘Anyway, we think you’re in Colchester, Essex, mid-July 1645 – do you know what was going on then?’ He looked away.
‘Well, the Civil War, right? People have mentioned it.’
Pavel looked uncomfortable. Raya wondered if she had done something wrong – besides time travel and bringing someone else’s cat with her.
‘If it’s about the cat–’
‘I’m right here,’ Oscar said.
‘Right, sorry. Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong by bringing Oscar. That was just as much an accident as–’
Pavel smiled, but still looked troubled. ‘I’ll let Ms Watts explain it to you.’ He bowed out of view.
Ms Official returned. ‘You’ve landed a few days before some of the worst witch trials – if you can even call them trials – in British history.’