Secondly, on green sheets, anything carried over from the current year. This didn’t happen often, fortunately.
And thirdly, on blue sheets, suggestions and requests from people at St Mary’s. And what a varied lot there were. Major Guthrie wanted Bannockburn. Again. He never seemed to realise he’d stand more chance if he selected a battle that England actually won. There was a request for The Great Exhibition at CrystalPalace. That would be from Kal, impervious to my argument that anything that recent was practically yesterday and didn’t actually qualify as History at all.
I’d got as far as the Famous Assassinations assignment. This was one from Thirsk. In no particular order, we had Archduke Ferdinand at Sarajevo, whose death was a major cause of the First World War, Abraham Lincoln, and Julius Caesar. I rather fancied that last one for myself. One of the worst things about my job is that I don’t get out and about in History as often as I used to. One of the best things about my job is that I can cherry-pick. I definitely fancied Caesar. I wondered if Peterson did as well. A nice little trip out for the pair of us.
There was a tap at the door and Markham and Roberts sidled through. Miss Lee, scenting entertainment, abandoned whatever task she was engaged upon, and I braced myself.
‘You asked for suggestions,’ said Markham, ‘but we were out on assignment and missed the deadline. Is it too late?’
Technically, yes, but I couldn’t be bothered to argue.
‘Show me what you’ve come up with.’
Roberts stepped forwards. Smart, alert, and polite – I was instantly suspicious.
‘Well, we thought we’d go for something a little different. You know, less battlefields and blood and more refinement and culture. So we’ve given the big boys a miss and put together three nice, quiet jumps that encapsulate the rich origins of –’
‘Just get on with it,’ I said.
‘OK. Bohemia, 1265. Belgium, 1366 and Munich, 1385. As you can see, not the most obvious choices, but areas which, we feel, would benefit from a rigorous and thorough examination into the –’
I said, flatly, ‘Bohemia, 1265. King Otakar sets up the new town of Budweis and grants them a license to brew. 1366, the Stella Artois brewery is founded, and 1383 is, I believe, a very important date for lovers of Lowenbrau everywhere.’
Markham stepped back in astonishment. ‘Good gracious. What an extraordinary coincidence. I had no idea. Did you?’
Thus appealed to, the other musketeer shook his head and indicated his own surprise.
I tried hard not to laugh.
They regrouped.
‘Well,’ said Roberts, ‘what about 1374 – the Dancing Mania of Aix la Chappelle?’
I was tempted. Who wouldn’t be? A massive and widespread outbreak of spontaneous dancing. Probably caused by ergot poisoning, but nevertheless …
I looked at the two beaming, guileless faces in front of me and couldn’t find it in my heart to reject them.
‘Leave the details and I’ll consider it.
They scampered from the room.
I laid out the last sheets and stepped back, frowning. There were the usual clumps around Ancient Greece, Egypt, and Rome. Someone wanted the Battle of Hastings. That might be a good one – sort out the controversy over the arrow in the eye, once and for all.
There was another clump in the sixteenth century. The Tudors and Stuarts were always popular. I’d have to be careful whom I assigned. Schiller, Peterson, and I had already been there, sorting out Mary Stuart.
And I had various search and rescue operations to fit in around this lot. The Great Fire of London in 1666 and the destruction of St Paul’s Cathedral. We would nip in, (well, I wouldn’t – I was in Mauritius in 1666, but someone would), save what treasures we could find – and nip back out again. With luck before an entire cathedral fell down on top of us. If the god of historians was with us.
I was wandering around the tables, muttering and moving things around, when the phone rang. Without taking my eyes off twelfth-century France, I groped for the handset.
‘Max?’
What did he want?
The line was terrible. He was obviously in Hawking and they were running some piece of equipment that made him sound as if he was on the other side of the universe.
‘Chief Farrell?’
‘Where are you?’
A burst of static hurt my ears.
‘In my office.’
‘You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?’
‘Apparently, yes.’
‘Lunch?’
‘What? What did you say? I can’t hear you.’
‘I’m waiting.’
The line went dead.
Well, that was odd.
I set off down the stairs, wondering what was going on. The Hall was deserted. Half a dozen historians had obviously decided to be somewhere else.
The dining-room was similarly deserted. Mrs Mack gave me a palms-up where is everyone? shrug and I responded with my palms-up Search me.