Several endless seconds passed and then they moved away. Neither of us attempted to move. We were far too old to fall for that trick.
Time ticked by, as it tends to do when you’re slowly dying of exposure in a frozen, piss-filled alleyway in the late 17th century. I decided our next jump would be to some fragrant tropical island. Still we crouched there. We passed the point where I would be able to move. When the time came, Leon would have to crack my joints to stand me up.
I felt him stand, slowly and cautiously. It took two goes for me to stand upright. We inched our way along the icy wall. Flakes of snow swirled around us. No one could see us, but we couldn’t see a thing, either.
At the end of the alley, Leon crouched and cautiously eased his head around the wall. He straightened and turned to me.
‘They’re here. I know they are, but we have to get back. We’re going to freeze if we stay out here much longer. We can’t risk them finding the pod, but as soon as we’re out in the open, they’ll spot us. I’m going to run and you’re going to get yourself back to the pod. Wait for me as long as you can, but don’t risk yourself or the pod. You can always come back for me. Understood?’
I opened my mouth to protest.
‘Understood?’
I nodded.
‘It’s not far. Across this lane and back over the wall. Turn right. The pod’s opposite the beer stall, next to the red-and-white booth. OK?’
I nodded.
He turned and ran back down the alley, slipping and sliding in the ice. He kicked over a pile of something that made a satisfying clatter and launched himself into the street.
I heard a shout. Then another. Keeping to the wall, I stepped into the lane and looked left and right. There was no one in sight. All I had to do was nip across the wall, back on to the river, and lose myself in the crowds. Except I was nearly frozen solid and nipping anywhere was about as likely as finding a politician who works selflessly for the public good.
I shuffled across the lane, sat on the wall, and tried to swing my legs over. Eventually, I had to pick them up one at a time and lift them over manually. By now, I was chilled to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, and worried that my fingers and toes would just crack off in the cold.
I dropped back down on the riverside, skidded, and fell painfully onto the frozen snow. As I hit the ground, I heard a shout.
Oh, great!
Finally, the weather worked in our favour. As I struggled to my feet, the snow started properly. Swaying lanterns blew out and only the bonfires showed in the sudden darkness.
People laughed, cursed, and generally milled around and I milled right along with them. The crowds were thick and I stayed in the middle, allowing myself to be carried along. I knew I couldn’t miss the beer tent. The crowds outside wouldn’t let a little thing like a snowstorm divert them from their sworn purpose of knocking back as much ale as they could possibly manage.
They had braziers going outside. I stood with a family group and warmed my hands. Worryingly, I could barely feel the heat.
Across from me, I could see the red and white booth through the snow, and next to it, the darker patch of shadow that was our camouflaged pod.
Warmth. Light. Safety.
Despite the fast falling snow, the crowd was still good-natured. Alcohol helped.
I inched my way through the people, laughing and smiling at complete strangers. Fitting in. It was vitally important not to hurry. Not to disturb the flow of people as they streamed past.
Then, just as I thought I’d made it – just as I drew level with the booth, some instinct kicked in. Something about the way the crowd was moving …
I heard a cry of protest as a woman was shoved roughly aside and her escort shouted angrily. Risking a glance behind me, I could see two or three men, wearing all enveloping, black cloaks, which was surprising. Black was a rare and expensive dye before modern times. I suppose it enabled easy identification. Or intimidation, more like. One held something in the palm of his hand. Faintly, I caught an electronic beep. They’d found the pod. They were shouldering their way roughly through the crowd. You could tell they weren’t historians – they didn’t care about careful concealment. Their job was something else entirely.
The crowd liked being shoved about as much as crowds usually do. There’s always someone who’s had that bit too much to drink and whose temper is, consequently, that bit easier to lose. In this case, there was a whole gang of them. Young men – apprentices probably – out for some fun, noisy and belligerent.
I eased away from the shouting. Thoughtful family men were ushering wives and children out of harm’s way. I ushered myself along with them.