A huge, red-faced man wearing a stained leather apron stepped out ahead of me, his mighty arms outspread. He should be so lucky. I gave him a quick squirt and he bellowed with pain and, as he covered his face, I managed to squeeze between him and the wall.
Eddie stood by the pod at the end of the alley. Bless him, he’d armed himself with a stick and, from the look on his face, was prepared to use it. Ignoring Major Guthrie’s careful training, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. Not a good idea. I could hear the Major’s voice now. ‘Never mind what’s going on behind you. You’ll find out soon enough if you stop to look.’
There weren’t as many of them as I had thought from the noise. But they were close. I couldn’t afford to be caught. Without me the professor wouldn’t be able to get into the pod. And in the seventeenth century the penalty for theft was hanging. In my case, they’d probably chuck in a few charges of witchcraft as well. I really should get an office job.
Something whizzed past my ear. Great! Now they were throwing stones.
No, they weren’t. Professor Penrose was throwing stones. And old vegetables, bits of wood, pots, anything he could lay his hands on. He’d probably bowled for his college as well. The threatening shouts behind me became warning shouts.
Ignoring everything going on around me, I ducked my head and raced for the pod.
And then, just as I thought we were safe, two more men appeared from behind the pod and seized the professor’s arms. He struggled. They weren’t gentle and I feared for his ancient bones.
Time to bring out the big guns.
I reached behind me for the stun gun under my cloak. We’re really not supposed to do this. I zapped one man and he fell backwards, twitching.
I tossed the pepper spray to the professor, shouting, ‘Point it away from you, Eddie,’ because he was a physicist and you never know.
Hands seized me. I twisted away and zapped blindly. I heard another cry and clatter as someone else crashed to the ground in a convulsing heap. It was only a matter of time now – yes, here we go – ‘Witch! Witch!’
You couldn’t blame them, I suppose. From their point of view, I stretched out an arm and a man fell to the ground. Predictable, but given that this was supposed to be a world-famous seat of learning in the Age of Reason, I was a little disappointed. On the other hand, I’m a Thirsk graduate myself, and nothing other universities do surprises me very much.
We were within about ten feet of the pod. So near and yet so far. Some citizens had drawn back, leaving four or five of their braver brethren to tackle the woman and the old man.
If I’d had Peterson, or Clerk, or Van Owen, or any of them, it would have been a piece of cake. This sort of thing happened so often it was practically the standard end to most of our assignments.
I heard the professor shout, heard another shriek as someone got a face full – with luck not the professor himself – jabbed an elbow into someone’s midriff, swung a fist, and caught something hard. And, once again, I’d forgotten to untuck my thumb, and, once again, it hurt.
It really wasn’t one of those nice, clean, carefully choreographed Hollywood fights where the stunningly beautiful heroine – that would be me – tastefully attired in skin-tight black leather and impractical heels, destroys an entire platoon of heavily armed opponents without even breaking a fingernail.
I slipped and slithered in whatever the good folk of Cambridge had been happily tossing into their streets that morning, aimed punches that missed, got tangled up in my own cloak, was nearly sprayed by an excited Professor Penrose, zapped another one, and worried I would run out of charge.
Then, suddenly, I was free. Two men lay on the ground. One still stood but had his hands to his face, moaning. Two men still had hold of the professor and as I looked, the nearer one let go and reached for me. I zapped him and twisted past. At the same time, Eddie let loose with the spray. All the other citizens had fallen well back by now, but I could hear distant shouting and running footsteps.
I shouted, ‘Door!’ and seized Eddie, who squirted again, following through with the classic knee to the groin. I made a note never, ever to mess with a septuagenarian theoretical physicist.
I whirled him into the pod before he could victoriously trample on his fallen foe. Someone caught my cloak again and tried to drag me back out. I lashed backwards with my foot and caught him, painfully, I hoped, on the shin. But we couldn’t get the door closed and in a few seconds there would be others and once they were inside the pod, we were finished. I reached up to my hair and pulled out a wickedly sharpened hairpin. Always my weapon of choice. I jabbed viciously – once, twice, and someone cursed.
The professor knotted his hands in my assailant’s hair and tried to pull him off me. We all staggered backwards and fell heavily across the console.
Which was not good.
Lights flashed. Alarms sounded.
The computer said, ‘Emergency extraction requested.’