‘There’s two separate issues here. The mystery author. And the altered ending. Who? And why? Speculate.’
I ignored the who and concentrated on the why. ‘I think … I think something is happening in 1567 and someone is trying to tell us that. The altered ending is a warning. Suppose the Play comes true. Mary lives and Elizabeth dies. Mary is Queen of Scotland and England. She moves to England – the seat of power. Her son, James, remains behind as nominal king of Scotland. Mary dislikes him – he’s Darnley’s son, after all. His power is minimal – he doesn’t have the freedom to pursue witches. And if James isn’t pursuing witches, Annie may not be arrested. She doesn’t become sick. The whole thing never happens. That’s the reason for all this. Clive Ronan is deliberately trying to change the course of History. For Annie.’ I paused. ‘Except that … why hasn’t History intervened? We all know what happens to historians who even think about interfering. Why is History holding back now?’
He said quietly, ‘I think you haven’t thought this through.’
‘Really, what did I miss?’
‘You didn’t miss anything; you just didn’t go far enough.’
‘Tell me.’
‘If Annie doesn’t get sick then Ronan doesn’t shoot Edward. Or steal Number Nine. Or kill anyone. Edward doesn’t need to travel back to found St Mary’s. I don’t join St Mary’s. Maybe St Mary’s isn’t founded at all. In which case …’
I caught my breath.
‘Paradox.’
He nodded.
I said urgently, ‘So I ask again. Why hasn’t History laminated him across the landscape?’
He looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know … But I may have an idea …’
I was angry. ‘This is ridiculous. This guy is ripping a hole in the timeline and History does nothing. I only think about intervening in a possible robbery and history nearly drops a ten-ton rock on me. Kevin Grant tried to save a woman and child at Peterloo and had his head split open. And these were trivial events. Comparatively. This bastard Ronan is interfering with major events and History does nothing. Why? What’s going on here?’
‘I don’t know at the moment,’ he said again, looking even more unhappy. ‘I really don’t. Don’t press me. There’s something I must check when we get back.’
‘Is Ronan mad to take such a risk?’
‘Yes, I think he’s mad.’
‘Do you think he’s in Scotland?’
Yes.’
‘We should go,’ I said, getting up.
‘No. We should finish this first. We need to neutralise Knox before we go off to deal with Ronan, otherwise one day they’ll catch us in a pincer movement and crush us. One thing at a time, Max.’
I sat down again and thought about the series of events that had led to this moment.
Dr Bairstow, motivated by economic reasons, had had what probably seemed at the time to be an excellent idea and jumped back in time to commission The Play. Which gave someone an opportunity to warn us of events we would otherwise know nothing about. Four centuries later, investigating that had led us to the discovery of that treacherous bastard Knox and the damage he had done.
No incident, however seemingly trivial, is unimportant in the scheme of things.
One event leads to another, which triggers something else and before you know where you are, the ramifications spread far and wide throughout History. Echoing down the ages. Getting fainter and fainter, but never completely dying away. They talk of The Harmony of the Spheres, but History is A Symphony of Echoes. Every little action has huge consequences. They’re not always apparent, and sometimes, in our game, sometimes effect comes before cause, not after.
It makes your head ache.
We took our tea and coffee outside, and that was where Pinkie found us. We were politely invited to join the briefing being held in her office.
I recognised familiar faces, especially from Security, but there were new ones as well. They were getting themselves back on their feet, and if they could nail the bastard who had sold them out, then they would be able to draw a final line under what had happened to them.
It was a snatch squad, pure and simple. Touch down, locate and apprehend; then straight back home again. No messing. They were aiming for three in the afternoon. Quiet time – when he should be working in his office.