I tried to lift my head, but nothing was moving. Everything had stopped. I felt no pain. The ringing in my ears translated into a small musical noise, as if someone was running a finger around a wine glass.
Suddenly, I knew. It was all there. I knew exactly who Mrs Partridge was. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long. The blow to my head must have shaken things into place. Not Cleo – Kleio! She was Kleio. Kleio, the Muse of History. Who was always around at vital moments? Who prevented me asking Barclay to join us at Rushford? Leon Farrell would certainly not have come to my room if she had been there. Who advised a change of scenery? Who kept telling me to do my laundry so I could discover the fir cone? Who guarded my Horse and kept it safe until exactly the right moment? Who tried to keep the Boss out of harm’s way? And now I had an idea who Sibyl De Winter was as well. No wonder she had laughed at King Dave Superbus. I was lucky she hadn’t boxed my ears.
‘You told me to wait. It was you.’
She nodded.
‘You saved my life.’
She nodded again.
‘Why?’ She hadn’t saved Jamie, or Markham, or Murdoch. Why me?
She didn’t answer me.
‘Why are you at St Mary’s?’
A faint voice whispered down the centuries.
‘History is important. Far more important than most people believe. And it is under attack. Something is happening.’
Well, I knew that. It was happening now. Most of St Mary’s finest were either shot or buried under a mountain of burning manure.
The familiar expression of exasperation crossed her face. She was referring to something else.
‘What is happening?’
‘It is under the fourth step.’
‘What is?’
‘The anomaly.’
‘What anomaly?’
But she was gone and I was back.
The sun came up over the mountains, bright and eager. A brilliant shaft of light caught Barclay squarely in the face, causing her to screw up her eyes.
I made a huge effort to dislodge her, but to no avail. I really couldn’t move at all. And then, out of my view, something went ‘thunk’. Her eyes slid upwards and she fell forwards across my face. I fought to breathe.
I thought I heard Mrs Partridge say, ‘I never liked you, Isabella.’
She’d never liked me either, and now it seemed she’d killed two birds with one stone. Literally.
I twisted my head to try to get free. I could hear Helen’s report now. Despite extensive burns, blast damage, crush injuries, head trauma, shock and loss of limb(s), Miss Maxwell managed to die of suffocation.
Someone heaved Barclay away. I sucked in a huge breath and squinted up at Ronan. One side of his face was burned and so was his hair. He should have kept his helmet on. And still the frightening lack of expression, even though he must have been in agony.
He said simply, ‘You,’ and levelled his blaster at me. I was staring at the afterlife again.
Another rattle of gunfire and I heard someone call his name. His blaster was still whining; not charged up yet. I heard another shout. More urgent this time. He looked over his shoulder and then back at me. People were staggering to their feet. Shouts rang out. He could wait those extra seconds for the charge to build and risk capture or he could do the sensible thing. He did the sensible thing. He turned and ran. I said faintly, ‘No,’ and tried to roll over and grab his ankle. I missed.
Our camp was a ruin. The pods were intact, but burning debris and people lay everywhere. All the awnings were down, shredded, and burned.
Thus it was that for the first time, I saw TB2 without its canvas coverings. Some joker had stencilled ‘THUNDERBIRD TWO’ across the side, in yellow paint. I stared at it, feeling my blood congeal. Suddenly, I was back in the Cretaceous, running for my life and seeing a twisted sheet of metal with the letters RD T written across it.
And then I knew what Chief Farrell and Dieter had been doing in Hawking for three days. I knew why they wouldn’t – couldn’t – let anyone in and I knew that scene between Farrell and the Boss had all been a put-up job. But what a risk. What a huge, crazy, unbelievable risk. When I thought about what could have gone wrong …
I opened my mouth, but someone clamped a hot, rough hand across it and said, ‘Quiet.’
I struggled as much as I could, which was not very much at all and Farrell said again, ‘Shut up. Don’t say a word. Keep still.’
I watched Ronan take three men into TB2. The rest had dispersed back to their own pods. The ramp went up. For long seconds nothing happened. I felt the familiar hot air rush and TB2 disappeared. They’d got away.
Slowly, he let me go and helped me to my feet. I took a deep breath and prepared to murder him on the spot.
He said to me, ‘Are you hurt, Max?’
I said, tightly, ‘You bastard.’ And then all the mountains blurred and I fell forwards into darkness.
Chapter Eighteen