And the Rest Is History(32)

I tried not to feel unwanted, because I wasn’t, but it was hard. I took a deep breath and lifted my chin. Going out on assignment would be good. It would clear my head. I’d only be gone for one day. Two at the most.

‘We’ll have a little party when you get back,’ said Leon. ‘So he learns to look forward to seeing you.’

I swallowed a big lump and nodded. ‘Good idea.’



We assembled outside our respective pods. I was in Number Eight, with Bashford, Sykes and Markham. North, Clerk, Evans and Keller were in Number Five.

‘All set?’ said Dieter, scanning the console one last time.

‘Of course.’

I peered at the screen. Leon stood on the gantry. He’d taken a few minutes to come down and see us off. Matthew was still in Sick Bay. Dr Bairstow had made it very, very clear that Matthew was never to be allowed in Hawking. Whether he thought he’d stow away or break something, I had no idea, but it was fine with me. An additional safeguard for someone who was, at the moment, possibly the most guarded kid in the world. With all the additional security there was no way Ronan could ever get back inside St Mary’s, but no one was inclined to take any chances.

I’d waved at Leon, who’d smiled for me alone, stowed my gear, counted heads and now we were ready to go.

‘Good luck,’ said Dieter. ‘Try not to incur any damage.’

‘Observe and document only,’ I said, reassuringly. ‘We can’t possibly get into any trouble.’

‘I was talking about the pods.’

‘The rectangular thing behind you is called a door. Would you like Miss Sykes to show you how it works?’

‘Just saying,’ he said, grinning.

‘Go away and wind the motor, or whatever it is the Technical Section does do to make these things work.’

‘Ignorance – thy name is Maxwell.’

He closed the door behind him.

I checked everything over one last time, watched Number Five blink out of existence, and said, ‘Computer. Initiate jump.’

‘Jump initiated.’

The world went white.

*

We landed on the outskirts of a small wood. Judging by the number of broken branches lying around, there had been a recent storm. The one that shipwrecked Harold, presumably. Certainly the wind was still strong enough to stream my flimsy veil across my face. I had to keep pulling it out of my mouth. I could tell it was going to get on my nerves.

I opened my com. ‘Miss North, report.’

‘Here and safe. We’re a hundred yards to your left. I can see you.’

I turned and there she was, picking her way delicately through the trees. Her veil streamed gracefully behind her and did not, in any way, wrap itself around her face and try to strangle her, or become entangled in passing trees. It probably wouldn’t dare. Sykes had tamed her veil by tying it in a knot under her chin.

You watch these movies and holos about medieval times and the heroine is always wafting her way around the landscape with what looks like a traffic cone on her head, flowy sleeves and a dragging train and she is never, ever, up to her knees in piss, shit, ordure, offal, dead rats, whatever. If I ever make a movie – and stranger things have happened, to me, usually – my heroine will be cursing buckets as she struggles to move with twelve and a half yards of wet wool wrapped around her legs and stinking like a fish factory on a hot day.

At least when we left the wood, the wind was blowing into our faces, so, for the time being, at least, I could see.

We stood on a slight rise. The river Canche twisted away from us, a glittering ribbon of light as the sun played hide and seek in the scudding clouds. Below, a small town nestled along its banks, the wind shredding the smoke that curled from a hundred and more roofs. We could smell the tang from all the way up here.

‘Must have been a hell of a storm,’ said Clerk. ‘And it hasn’t blown itself out yet.’

‘OK, everyone,’ I said. ‘We all know what to do. Head to the gates and split into the two teams. Team Harold goes through and heads towards the castle. Team William hangs around looking innocent and non-threatening until William turns up. If he hasn’t arrived by sundown, it’s everyone back to the pods and try again tomorrow. But I think it will be today. He won’t want Guy getting any ideas about indulging in a little private enterprise himself.’

Beaurain was a bustling little place, clustered around the usual gloomy Norman donjon. There were many people on the streets. Whether this was normal or the result of recent events, we had no way of knowing.

We picked our way carefully through streets cluttered with debris from the storm. In some places, there was more waterlogged thatch in the streets than on the roofs. Shattered tiles lay strewn across the cobbles.

We stuck tightly together and headed for the castle. The gatehouse was guarded, but people were passing in and out quite freely. We were dressed as richly as we dared. The colours were dark but the material was good. Usually I carry a basket or pack of some kind, but today I had servants to do that. Bashford walked beside me, and I rested my hand lightly on his arm. Sykes followed behind, with Markham bringing up the rear.

The secret is to walk slowly and not to gawp around. I bent my head attentively as Bashford spoke quietly to me. Actually, he was reciting ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ in Latin, but if the guards wanted to assume he was imparting words of wisdom they weren’t important enough to understand, then that was fine by me. Above all, we exuded confidence. As if we had every right to be here.