He continued. ‘Nations are – induced – to give up time-travel. No one wants it any longer, anyway. By now, they’ve all discovered that time-travel is like holding a snake because, sooner or later, it always twists in your hand and bites you. And they’ve discovered they can’t pillage the past, so there’s all that expenditure and no return on it. And the possible consequences of their actions have been brought home to them in no uncertain terms. Of course, none of them wants to be the first to give it up, but the Time Police broker international agreements and after a lot of pushing and shoving, things settle back down again.
‘As I said, this is all in the future. St Mary’s, who have kept their heads well down during all of this, are allowed to remain in existence, but subject to strict controls. The Time Police move up and down the timeline, monitoring all incarnations of St Mary’s, past, present, and future. All jumps must be approved. We have to submit about a ton of paperwork; risk assessments, perceived benefits, methodology, personnel involved, aims and objectives – the works. We have to get permission for every jump and not much is permitted.’
‘Who gives this permission?’
‘The initial application goes through our employers – Thirsk University. And then Thirsk forwards the application to the Time Police with their recommendations.’
He paused to drink his tea again and I had a bit of a think.
‘So what goes wrong?’
‘From monitoring, it’s only a small step to complete control. Which is what they wanted all along. Complete control over all incarnations of St Mary’s. And largely they’ve succeeded. Can you imagine the power that gives them? A few isolated pockets of independence still exist. Our St Mary’s is one of them.’
‘Is that why they were after us?’
‘No. I think they’ve been alerted to your presence. At best, they’ll want you for questioning. At worst …’
We fell silent, each staring into our empty mug.
‘Come on,’ he said, with decision, pulling me to my feet. ‘It’s getting light. We’ll check through our supplies and then go outside and set up camp.’
We let ourselves out of the pod just as the early morning sunshine swept across the landscape, bringing life and colour back into the world. I stood for a moment, just breathing in the peace. I hadn’t been here for a long time. The last time had been just before Troy. After Troy, my Leon and I weren’t even speaking to each other, let alone indulging in any romantic moments. Everything was as I remembered it and yet I’d never been here before. This was not my world.
A great wave of grief came out of nowhere. Grief for my St Mary’s that I would never see again. For Tim, lying injured and sad. For Kalinda, my friend. For Markham and Guthrie. For the Boss. Even for Mrs Partridge. I remembered the smell of breakfast in the mornings, the clatter of feet on ancient wooden floors, the sound of furious argument – or scholarly debate as they insisted it be called – between Dr Dowson and Professor Rapson. I remembered the click of the Boss’s stick on stone floors. And it was all gone. For ever.
The grief subsided to be replaced by fear. I was alone in a familiar but strange world and now it seemed I was a fugitive as well. I’d jumped into this pod without a second thought and it struck me now (too late) that this might not have been the wisest move.
On the other hand, I’m an historian. I work for St Mary’s. I wouldn’t know a wise move it if it tried to hump my left leg.
Leon interrupted these less than useful thoughts. ‘Shall we sit down?’
He spread a blanket and we leaned against a rock in the sun. Just as I always used to with my Leon.
I closed my eyes and struggled a little.
‘Are you in pain? Does your chest hurt?’
What to say? How to convey the sudden, almost overwhelming feelings of panic, of isolation, of fear?
I kept my eyes closed. He didn’t speak, which I appreciated.
Eventually, I said, ‘Sorry. Just a bit of a moment there. All gone now.’
‘What would you like me to do? Leave you for a moment? Talk about something else? Fetch you another interminable cup of tea?’
I drew a deep breath. ‘Actually, what I want … what I really, really want … is just to sit here for a moment.’
He made a move to get up but I pulled him down again. ‘No, it’s all right. Please stay. Perhaps now … now is the moment to … to …’
He sat again, picked up a stick, and began to draw patterns in the dust as the two most emotionally inarticulate people on the planet circled warily around … feelings.
I said, ‘This must be difficult for you, as well.’
He hesitated. ‘It is, but I think I’m a winner in all this. I’ve not lost anything – I’ve gained. Gained you. But you’ve lost everything and all you’ve gained is me. And I’m not the right me.’
He did understand. I should have more faith.
I smiled. ‘I don’t consider myself a loser at all. And let’s face it, at the moment, neither of us has anything more than each other. And fugitive status, of course.’
‘Yes, that was effortless, wasn’t it? One moment I’m a respectable small-business owner in one of the most sedate market-towns in England, then you turn up and unleash the Forces of Darkness, and now we’re hiding on a small island, five thousand years ago.’
‘With no breakfast,’ I said, highlighting the main issue. ‘I bet you didn’t think to bring my toast with you?’