He reined in so hard his horse sat back on its haunches, foam flying. Flinging himself from his horse before it had even stopped moving, he shouted again, looking wildly about him.
‘What’s going on?’ said Sykes, adjusting the cameras and turning up the sound.
‘No,’ I said, in disbelief. ‘We couldn’t be that lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ said Bashford, and then realisation dawned. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Quick, turn up the sound.’
The messenger was standing, hand on his knees, struggling for breath and trying to talk at the same time. Someone passed him a wineskin, but he waved it aside, grabbing a man by his arm and speaking urgently. The man pointed at Harold, standing quietly at one side of the clearing, hands still on hips. The messenger hastened over, flung himself on his knees in front of his king, speaking fast and gesturing south.
Yes, we really were that lucky. I couldn’t believe it. He was gabbling so fast that we couldn’t make out the words, but we didn’t have to. We all knew what this was about. I was watching Harold’s face. I was watching the face of a man feeling his kingdom tremble beneath his feet.
It couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
Duke William had landed.
Every man here had only nineteen days to live.
It seemed strange to exit the pod and not find Leon waiting for me, but I pushed that thought aside. I was full of plans. We had three full weeks before the next assignment. Yes, there were reports to write and presentations to plan, but I had three weeks for me and Matthew to get to know each other a little better. Perhaps we could have some fun in the improving weather. I had been planning things out in my mind. I had to be careful. His life had been so narrow and miserable that almost anything was a treat, but I had to take care not to overwhelm him. Perhaps a trip to the zoo. Or we could go shopping and buy him some new clothes. I was surprised to find that the ones I’d bought him were already showing signs of wear and tear. And he seemed to be outgrowing his jeans. They were flapping around his ankles. I couldn’t believe it. He’d only had them a little while. I made a mental note to instruct him to stop growing.
We decontaminated and, led by North, everyone left the pod and trailed through Hawking on their way to Sick Bay. I checked over the console, pulled my bag from the locker, and made to follow them.
Dieter entered, grinned at me, and began to shut things down. ‘Now then, Max. Everything OK?’
I smiled at him and woke up in Sick Bay.
Three birds with one stone.
This was a strange new world. No Helen. No Hunter. My head hurt. I couldn’t focus properly. Shapes swam around, hurting my eyes until I gave up and closed them again.
And opened them. It was night-time. A night light burned above my head. Which still hurt, but now my body had joined the party as well. Peterson sat nearby. His face was in shadow but, even so, I’d never seen him look this bad. He hadn’t shaved and deep lines had etched themselves across his face. And his arm was in a sling again.
Three birds with one stone.
I closed my eyes again.
And opened them again and now it was morning.
Peterson was still here. I turned my head on the pillow and was hit with a huge wave of nausea. I just had time to croak a warning. He seized a basin and saved us both.
Someone wiped my face and hands and I closed my eyes again.
And opened them again. This time for good. I felt much better although I suspected I owed a lot of that to chemical assistance.
Peterson was still here. He saw me looking at him, and grabbed for the bowl again.
I tried to utter a reassurance, and he put down the bowl and picked up a cup with a straw.
‘Sip slowly.’
Obediently, I took two or three small sips of something sweet.
‘Can you see me? Can you hear me?’
I nodded very carefully.
He disappeared. I assumed he’d gone for Hunter, but he returned with Dr Stone, who dropped into a chair beside the bed. ‘Hello, Max. How are you feeling?’
I nodded again because talking was just too much effort.
He looked at Peterson, standing at the foot of my bed.
People laugh about scattered thoughts, but it’s true. My thoughts were all over the place. Every time I tried to get a grip on something, it just sneered at me and slid away. Occasionally, something bubbled to the surface, popped and vanished again but mostly I had nothing.
The chair creaked as Dr Stone leaned forward. I heard the rustle of his clothing. He smelled of soap.
‘Matthew is safe. He’s with Professor Rapson and Miss Lingoss.’
I slurred, ‘Jolly good,’ and wondered if someone would tell me what was going on. It was too much effort to ask for myself.
‘Max, do you remember anything? Anything at all?’
‘Stamford Bridge,’ I said slowly. ‘Harald Hardrada’s seven feet of earth.’
Three birds with one stone.
They looked at each other again and then moved away so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I caught only the words, ‘No point in telling her now. We’ll wait,’ and Peterson nodding agreement.
And still no Hunter.
The next day I was better. I still had a head full of cotton wool but at least now I could string two or three coherent thoughts together and hang on to them. Unkind people might say that was an improvement on before.
Before … what?
Obviously something had happened … But Matthew was safe. I’d lost count of the number of times they’d told me Matthew was safe. Which was good news. I was really pleased for this Matthew. Whoever he was.
They brought breakfast. I nibbled on a piece of toast, because either eating something or opening your bowels is the quickest way of escaping from Sick Bay. Although not simultaneously, as I’d once discovered to my cost.
Peterson turned up again after breakfast. He’d shaved at last but, looking at him now, any peace he’d gained since Helen’s death had been shattered. His eyes were shadowed and heavy.
We looked at each other for a while.
I had no idea what was happening. Why was he here? I sought for something to say and enquired why he had gone back to wearing his blues.
‘I’ve got the History Department,’ he said quietly, ‘until you’ve recovered.’
Silence fell. I felt something was required of me, but what?
He took my hand. ‘You haven’t asked what happened. Why you’re in here.’
Hadn’t I? What was wrong with me? I tried to think. Nothing came to mind.
‘Max, I’m sorry but we felt I was the best one to tell you. They thought it would be easier it if came from me.’
Easier for whom was a good question.
Dr Stone interrupted. ‘Max, do you know why you’re in Sick Bay?’
‘No, but my head hurts. And my back. And my shoulder.’
‘I can give you something for that.’
Silence fell again
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Why am I here?’
I thought they’d be pleased I was taking an interest but, again, they just looked at each other.
In the silence, I became aware of the sounds of heavy machinery outside, and men shouting.
‘What’s going on?’
Tim took my other hand. Whatever had happened between us was forgotten. He looked so distressed that I was distressed for him. ‘Max, there’s been an … explosion.’
My first thought was that Professor Rapson had finally taken out the entire R&D corridor but their faces were … wrong.
And then, something flickered at the back of my mind. I said, ‘Say that again.’
‘There has been an explosion.’
There it was again. Something. I began to claw my way through lumps of cotton wool that fought me every inch of the way.
A white flash. Tumbling. Dieter.
I opened my eyes. ‘Dieter.’
‘We’ve discharged him. He’s fine. Just a sprained wrist and some bruising.’
They both watched me again. I shook my head. ‘No. Sorry. Can’t you just tell me?’
‘The thing is, Max, it’s not good news. I think your memory will return quite naturally in a couple of days and then we could take things from there.’
‘No. Tell me now.’
‘I’m offering you a period of – well, you could say, blissful ignorance, which…’
‘Tell me.’