And the Rest Is History(95)

He flung open a door with something of a flourish.

‘And this is my office,’ said Commander Hay, leading us into a large room. I’m sure there was the usual impressive commanding officer-style furniture scattered around, but I had eyes only for the enormous picture window behind her desk.

She gestured. ‘And this is my view.’

Oh my God, I recognised this place. I knew where we were. So this was the legendary TPHQ. I couldn’t help laughing.

She laughed too. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s … amazing. Of course I do.’

Now I knew why the lift was circular – because Time Police HQ was located inside and under the iconic Battersea Power Station and the lift must have been inside one of the four massive chimneys.

I couldn’t get my head around it. For obvious reasons, St Mary’s is almost as far from civilisation as it’s possible to get. This place was at the centre of the capital city. I remembered our recent explosion. If this place ever blew…

‘We need to be a presence,’’ she said, reading my mind. ‘We need to be visible. Highly visible. A constant reminder of what will happen to anyone – and that ranges from an entire country down to a couple of bored teenagers too clever for their own good –’ She shot me a look which I had no difficulty returning with blinding innocence. ‘– that anyone who takes it into their heads to nip up and down the timeline, will incur our displeasure. Our extreme displeasure.’

I made no comment. It seemed the safest thing to do. Instead, I peered out of the window. Just down there had been the famous Battersea Barricades. Where the resistance had made its final stand and, against all the odds, had prevailed. When the tide had finally turned. Where Mrs Mack had lost her husband. Somewhere down there had been – and maybe still was – the legendary Flying Duck pub, where Dr Bairstow had begun to assemble his people, prior to setting up St Mary’s. I wondered if I’d have time to take a look. He’d like to know if it was still here.

We were high up, looking out over the Thames. I could see Barricade Bridge – the former Chelsea Bridge – painted in pink and yellow, like a huge slice of Mrs Mack’s Battenburg cake.

London spread in front of me. Up and down river. It was an amazing view. I’m not hugely familiar with London even in my own time, but the city itself didn’t look so different. There were the usual eccentrically shaped buildings – because every capital city in the world has to have a skyline like a mouth of broken teeth. I could recognise The Shard – now a national monument. And The Gherkin. And The Cheese Grater. To which we could now apparently add The Pack of Cards, The Folded Napkin and The Startled Hamster.

Except there was no traffic. There were almost no cars anywhere. There was a great deal of river and air traffic, but vehicles on the ground were few and far between. I stared in amazement, first at the crowded Thames and then at the slow-moving airships, the zipping drones, and the dirigibles either hovering, tethered to various buildings, or chugging majestically past on their way to somewhere else. For a brief moment I was completely disoriented. Now I knew how Matthew had felt in my world.

‘This is typical of all major cities now,’ she said. ‘The ground is for people. Pedestrians, emergency vehicles or electric bikes only. Not so long ago, gridlock was common. Cities were dirty and polluted. In London, the air was generally considered to be worse than it was in the 19th century with its famous “pea-soupers”. Something had to be done and then someone realised we had a major water system already in place and running right through the city. Canals were revived or rebuilt, new ones constructed, underground rivers uncovered, and now, as in medieval and Tudor times, people use water to get around. You travel up and down the rivers on public transportation, disembark at the stop nearest to your destination, and either take a bike or a dirigible the rest of the way. Clean, quick, non-polluting.’

‘Dirigibles!’ I said. Matthew and I looked at each other.

‘Auntie Lingoss,’ he said.

‘You must tell her. She’ll be thrilled.’

I craned my neck further. Oh. My. God. ‘Jetpacks,’ I said in huge excitement. ‘Does everyone have their own jetpack? Can I have one?’

‘No.’

More disappointment, but I rather thought I might have a word with Professor Rapson one day. I was certain he could knock something up.

‘There are viewing windows all over the building,’ said Captain Farenden. ‘Please feel free to have a good stare whenever you like. Now, if you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you to your accommodation. Max, there will be a briefing at 17:00 hours this evening. Captain Ellis will collect you. Would you like to come this way?’



Their visitors’ accommodation was large and characterless. We had two small bedrooms, a bathroom between us, and a living room. Everything was painted in shades of beige or magnolia, with accents daringly picked out in cream. I bet some interior designer somewhere had an award for this. The walls were bare and crying out for a small historian and her paintbrush. Or her son and his crayons. But it was very clean, the furniture was much more comfortable than it looked, and the water was hot.

Matthew chose the right-hand bedroom. I was impatient for Ellis to appear, but I made myself slow down, because this was important, too. We unpacked his stuff and I let him choose where he wanted to put everything. I kept any comments to myself. I didn’t want Commander Hay accusing me of undue influence. The priority now was Leon, Markham and Guthrie. I wasn’t happy about leaving Matthew here but he would be safe, no doubt of that, and I could sort out his future later.