And the Rest Is History(13)

I didn’t resist. This was the Time Police. They’d shoot me as soon as look at me.

They rolled me over on to my back. I spat more mouthfuls of sand and tried to blink my eyes clear.

I was crying. Crying with rage and frustration and despair. Crying for that last, lost chance of peace. And in that hot, dry, dust-filled landscape, as the Time Police pointed their guns and shouted at me, I think a small part of me was already crying for all the grief I knew was to come.

I shouted, ‘You stupid, stupid bastards,’ saw something swinging towards me, and closed my eyes.

I half hoped they would drag me away to their pod because it would be less of a walk in this still furnace-like heat. I was assuming they had a snug spot awaiting me in the Time Police dungeons, where I could languish until Dr Bairstow turned up and made them wish they’d never been born. But two of them peeled off, presumably to their own pod, and the rest of us trooped back to mine. I don’t remember much about the trek, two of them had hold of my arms and kept me upright. Someone did plonk my hat back on my head, for which I was grateful.

Actually, it was a good job they were there. Sand had piled up against one side of the pod – the side with the door, obviously, and it took them a good half an hour to clear it away. I sat in the pod’s shade and let them get on with it. Just for once, they were doing something useful.

When they’d finished, they heaved me to my still very unsteady feet and demanded entrance and I was happy to comply.

I said, ‘Door,’ and wobbled my way into the blessed cool of Number Eight. I took the left-hand seat and tried to pull myself together.

They started poking around the console and I told them to pack it in before they broke something. They demanded I return to St Mary’s. I said I had no intention of going anywhere else and told them to get out of my way.

I made them wait. I washed my face and hands, found an icepack in the med-kit, clapped it to my eye and took a good long glug of water before eventually coming back to the console.

The return coordinates were already laid in. I didn’t bother warning them, saying, ‘Computer, initiate jump,’ before most of them were ready. No one actually fell over, but one or two staggered. No one does petty revenge better than me.

I made them decontaminate, refusing to open the door until the cold, blue light had done its business. I couldn’t see any sign of their own pod, but that might be because even for the Time Police, it’s considered very bad manners to appear uninvited. I guessed theirs would be outside Hawking somewhere. Protocol says to park outside and then wait to be identified and invited inside.

Dieter had gone and his place had been taken by Guthrie. Leon stood beside him. I touched my swollen eye said, ‘Wouldn’t want to be you guys,’ and without waiting for permission to exit, opened the door. Still a little white and wobbly, I stepped out.

They shouldered me aside, weapons raised, shouting that confused babble that’s supposed to be so intimidating. At one and the same time we were ordered to get on the floor, put our hands in the air, put them behind our heads, get on our knees and so on.

I ignored them all, saying wearily, ‘Good evening, Dr Bairstow.’

He limped forwards. ‘It’s morning, Dr Maxwell,’ and I realised they’d waited all night for me to come back. ‘You appear to be injured.’

‘Yet another Time Police-related injury, sir. One of oh-so-many over the years.’

He turned to whomever he had decided was in charge.

‘Explain.’

‘Dr Bairstow, you and all St Mary’s personnel are under arrest for…’

‘Shut up,’ said Leon. He stepped forward and tilted up my chin. ‘Which one of them did this?’

Some time ago, Leon had led the rebellion against the Time Police. He’d travelled up and down the timeline, engaging them where and whenever possible. They might not fear me – I imagine I’m about as intimidating as cold rice pudding – but Leon was another matter altogether.

‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘I was on the ground at the time.’

He looked around. ‘Six Time Police to subdue one small historian. Yes, that sounds about right.’

‘I’m not all that small.’

‘In the execution of our duties…’

‘You … will …be … silent,’ said Dr Bairstow and the suppressed fury in his voice frightened even me.

Everyone shut up. I could hear the silence echoing around the hangar.

‘Dr Maxwell, report.’

Just by looking at him, I could see he was more furious than I could ever remember. Even more furious than the time we stole Arthur’s sword back from Thirsk. Deadly, stone-cold furious.

‘As per your instructions, sir…’

I gave him my report in full, ignoring the twitching Time Police around me. Leon never took his eyes off them and I could see he was making them nervous. Guthrie stood well back in the shadows. I wondered if the rest of the Security team was there as well.

When I’d finished, I shut up and waited.

They tried again. ‘You are under arrest for…’

Dr Bairstow spoke quietly, but no one had any difficulty hearing his words.

‘Your clumsiness has jeopardised the safety of St Mary’s and everyone within it. It is my unit that will bear the brunt of your failure today. My unit that will be the focus of his revenge. My unit that will have to deal with the consequences of your unsuccessful and disastrous interference. That Dr Maxwell is not dead is no thanks to you. That Ronan has escaped is thanks to you. That he will now have no other purpose other than to damage my unit and my people is also thanks to you. I congratulate you – this day you have effortlessly restored the reputation for heavy-handed bungling for which the Time Police are so renowned.’