This was just as much a test, but I wouldn’t let him rush me. I sat slowly at the console and scanned the read-outs. Everything seemed more or less in the right place. I flicked a few switches and nothing blew up.
Dieter handed me the coordinates and taking my time, I laid them in. They both watched my every move. The silence was unnerving. When I’d finished, I sat back and let them check it over.
They looked at each other and nodded.
‘You can’t initiate the jump,’ said Peterson. ‘You’re not authorised for this pod. Or any pod. So you’d better make damn sure nothing happens to me, because, if I’m dead, you won’t even be able to get back inside again. Remember that.’
I refused to be intimidated. ‘The last time I went out with you, you nearly lost an arm. Try to take a little more care this time. It took ages to wash your blood out of my hair.’
I like to think that shut him up for a bit.
Dieter scowled at us both impartially and left.
‘Computer – initiate jump.’
The world went white.
Southwark. A red-light district. Over the river from London. Home of thieves, rogues, actors, prostitutes, and politicians. And now, historians. Yep – all low life was here.
We parked somewhere in the triangle between the Gryne Dragon, St Savyor’s Church, and The Bolles Hede, strolled through Chayne Gate and out into the heaving High Street.
And heaving it was.
Peterson stood stock-still like a trainee, so it was obviously up to me.
I said sourly, ‘You should have brought a clipboard,’ and drew him back against a wall so we could get our bearings.
To our left, the High Street led to London Bridge. The year was 1383. Exactly three hundred years in the future, I would be just a couple of hundred yards upstream, dodging Time Police, and freezing my arse off. Today, however, was summer. The sun streamed down from a cloudless sky. This might actually be quite a pleasant assignment.
To my right, the road widened and became St Margaret’s Hill. Directly in front of me stood the pillory. Mercifully empty. On the other hand, of course, that left plenty of room for an erring historian.
The market was just a little way up the road. People pushed past us, laden with baskets of produce. Two men pulled a handcart filled with cow’s heads and hooves. A cloud of flies hovered above them. Just a little way off, a man was extolling the virtues of his cooking pots at the top of his voice and vigorously banging one with a wooden spoon, just in case anyone was in any doubt. Coils of rope lay on the ground outside a chandler’s, neatly stacked for inspection. A chicken ran past, squawking madly, closely pursued by two laughing children.
The road was thick with dust, scraps of vegetables, and dung – animal and human. A pack of dogs squabbled over something purple and wobbly that had been tossed into the gutter.
The smell was – robust.
This was the Dover road, running south through Canterbury, so it would have been busy, anyway. And it was market day. Add in the hundreds of people setting off for, and returning from, their pilgrimage to the tomb of St Thomas; thirsty sailors on leave from their ships anchored not so far away; young bloods in search of a good time and finding it in the many inns and taverns lining the road; ladies who probably charged by the minute – it was just chaos. Every now and then, a group of drinkers would lurch from one of the many hostelries and stagger through the crowds, singing and shouting and making things even worse.
You couldn’t hear yourself speak. You couldn’t even hear yourself think. People shrieked in each other’s faces. Livestock bellowed, bayed, and clucked at the top of their voices. Somewhere, I could hear the ring of an anvil. A horse neighed and another answered.
The Tabard, favoured starting place for the pilgrimage to Canterbury, was up the road and on the left.
I pointed and mouthed, ‘This way,’ to Peterson, who nodded, and we set off.
We never reached The Tabard.
We never did see Geoffrey Chaucer.
Peterson and I had a major argument in the middle of the street and then he got the plague.
Apart from that, the assignment was a huge success.
He caught my arm.
‘Just one warning. I meant what I said about access to the pod. You don’t have any. So if you had any thoughts of making a run for it and abandoning me here, forget them.’
I was so fed up with this. ‘What a coincidence – I was about to say the same to you.’
‘What?’