A Symphony of Echoes (23 page)

‘What on earth …?’

‘We’re going to break curfew tonight.’

‘We are?’

‘Yes. We need to be more proactive. St Mary’s are all over this city even as we speak. But they’re looking in the wrong time. And I’m getting fed up with waiting. So we leave them a message. As big as we can. On the side of that big white building near the gate. Where even St Mary’s can’t miss it.’

We crept out after curfew, just as the last light died away. I kept watch while Peterson did the deed.

He did his best in the dark. We could only cross our dye-stained fingers.

Stumbling out of our alleyway the next morning, we paused to admire our handiwork. Scrawled hugely across the wall in brownish-red stain, was the date:

681BC

You couldn’t miss it. Even St Mary’s couldn’t miss it. And the beauty of it was that no one here would have a clue what it meant. They might even think it was building decoration. And the BC was the clincher. The message could only be from us.

Search parties would be looking for us. They would start in 680BC. When they couldn’t find us, they would start to fan out across time. We had to leave them some sort of message. Show them where to look. Sooner or later, if no one wiped it off, or the building didn’t fall down, or it didn’t just fade away, next year someone would see it. Then they’d concentrate all their resources on 681BC. We were tagged. Once they had the right time, they’d find us.

They had to. Because something was happening. I could hear marching feet. Trumpets sounded. Orders shouted. Soldiers were on the streets.

The secret was out. You could see it. You could see the news fly from one group of people to the next. Shock and fear were written across people’s faces. Women covered their faces and cried aloud. Men shouted, vainly demanding more details. Even the children stopped running and stood still, unsure what was happening, but aware that something was very wrong.

Soldiers started pushing people around, trying to restore order. Traders hastily shut up their stalls. Trouble was brewing. People vanished off the streets. Children were yanked inside. Doors and shutters slammed shut. Those far from their houses ran along the streets, desperate to be home and safe. Livestock mutinied in the panic and refused to move. Soldiers pushed and shoved, shouting incomprehensibly, but the message was clear enough.

Get off the streets.

People milled around in all directions. I managed to grab a couple of apricots and when we returned
chez nous
, Peterson had a flat loaf tucked under his armpit.

‘What do you think’s going on?’ said Peterson.

‘The news is out. They’re clearing the streets to prevent trouble. It might only be for today. If not, we could have a problem.’

‘We should eat all this bread now,’ said Peterson. ‘It’ll be uneatable tomorrow.’

True. Never, ever underestimate the wonderful properties of food preservatives. In this dry climate, bread was as hard as nails after only an hour or so. Bakeries produced small batches all day non-stop. Loaves were snapped up and often eaten warm and on the spot. So we ate the bread and kept the apricots for later.

I was so thirsty. My tongue seemed too big for my mouth. I had the beginnings of a dehydration headache. And it was hot. And getting hotter.

‘Keep your mouth closed,’ advised Peterson. ‘Don’t breathe through it.’

For the first time ever, I entertained the possibility that St Mary’s might not find us in time. That they would find us, I was sure, but they might be too late.

Years ago, we lost five historians in two separate incidents. It was before my time, but I know they searched and searched for months afterwards. Not a trace of any of them was ever found. And that was our worry. Not whether we would be rescued, but whether we would still be alive to be rescued. Which we wouldn’t be if we didn’t get some water soon.

The long, hot day wore on.

The well was only a hundred yards away. The question was whether to break curfew and go at night, when the dark would be both friend and enemy, or try it during the day when we could see but as easily be seen. If soldiers were stopping everyone on the street then, as all foreigners are in times of unrest, we could be in trouble. And they might still be looking for their witnesses as well.

We both plumped for breaking curfew. It was like being back at school. If you’re going to break the rules – go for it big-time. There are only so many detentions you can possibly attend in one term. Sadly, the penalty for being caught on the streets was probably slightly harsher than detention, but the need for water was becoming imperative. And we now had a bowl. A bit brown, but we didn’t care. We could bring water back to the alley at night and wait out the day. It seemed a good plan.

We left it as late as we could, partly to give the heat time to dissipate and partly to let the moon rise. Finally, we set off.

We slunk out of the alley like a couple of street cats up to no good. Hugging the walls, we groped our way down the streets, flitting from shadow to shadow. Three soldiers lounged at the corner. One leaned against a wall, one squatted on his heels, and one was staring vaguely in the other direction. They’d have to wait more than twenty centuries before they could pass round a cigarette.

We slipped past them and out on to the main road.

Peering anxiously up and down, we could see no one. The entire area was deserted. I could see the darker shadow, which would be the top of the steps leading down to the well. Already I could picture the cool damp cistern, the wet slap of water against the stone walls … taste the ice-cold water … And there was no one in sight. Surely we couldn’t be that lucky.

Of course we couldn’t.

We were just easing our way cautiously along the front wall of someone’s house, when I heard Guthrie’s voice in my ear.

‘Max?’

I jumped a mile and knocked over something that fell with a clatter. A dog barked. Inside the house, a nervous voice called out.

‘Shit,’ said Peterson.

We’d have been all right if it hadn’t been for that bloody dog. It just wouldn’t shut up. A shutter was thrown back and a light appeared.

We ran. No choice.

‘We’re in trouble, Major,’ I said to Guthrie. ‘You’re going to have to get us out. And quickly.’

A voice shouted behind us. The dog was having hysterics.

I followed Peterson.

In the surrounding houses, other, flickering lights appeared. Doors opened. Men stuck out their heads, presumably demanding to know what was happening. We pressed back hard into a patch of darker shadow.

And then someone let the bloody dog loose.

‘Go up,’ directed Guthrie.

We went up, scrambling up on to the low roof.

Not the best idea he’d ever had. In the summer heat, half the city was sleeping on their roof.

All around us, people sat up, heads appeared, children started to cry, women shrieked.

‘For crying out loud …’ muttered Peterson and we dropped off the roof again, abandoned any attempt at silence and just ran for it.

‘No go, Major,’ I panted. ‘And no time to chat. Just find us.’

We had no idea where we were going. Getting away from all this racket was our main aim. We could work out the details later.

I could see a light bobbing ahead of us. Soldiers. We swerved to the left, but they saw us. They shouted. I could hear a strange metallic clatter. They must be bashing their swords against their shields to alert others nearby. I could hear the clatter taken up in the distance.

More shouting now, closer at hand. What to do? To stay on the main road, or risk one of these narrower streets with the possibility of being trapped?

The decision was taken out of our hands.

Four men stepped out of a doorway. One swung a shield and Peterson went down like a tree. He didn’t move.

I should have run. I should have left him. At least one of us would escape. But this was Tim. My friend Tim.

I stood over him and snarled defiance. They laughed at me and someone grabbed me from behind. He stank of onions, leather, sweat, and dust. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t want to give them any excuse to rough us up. Maybe I could tell them we were only looking for water and they’d let us go. Maybe a pig would fly past with a nice cup of tea.

I’d dropped the bowl, but I cupped my hands together, mimed drinking and pointed back down the street to the well.

They held up the light and stared at me.

As well they might. My hair had come down. I was covered in dust and grime. My hands were still stained brownish-red from the dye and there were splashes of the same colour all over my tunic. It looked like blood.

I knew exactly what they were thinking.

Looters.

People out after dark, taking advantage of the prevailing confusion to help themselves to anything of value. To steal. Maybe even to kill.

There’s never any mercy for looters in any age. Throats cut. Dropped back into the dirt for the cart to collect the next morning. They’d think no more about it. We would lie, dying, watching the lifeblood pour out of our bodies to soak into the ever-thirsty desert dust.

The most peaceful assignment I’d ever had was not going to end well.

‘Major, where are you?’

No reply. Were we in a dead spot?

I struggled but I might as well not have bothered. I don’t think my captor even noticed.

‘Water,’ I said, desperately. ‘We were looking for water.’ If they realised I was foreign they might think we hadn’t understood the curfew and let us off.

They weren’t even listening.

Peterson stirred. They glanced at each other and nodded.

One crouched alongside him, grasped his hair and pulled his head back. Dimly realising what was happening, he tried to struggle.

I said urgently, ‘Major, now would be a really good time.’

One of them said something that even I realised was, ‘Get on with it.’

I heard the rasp of steel as a dagger was drawn.

My own head was pulled back so hard it hurt.

I looked up at the beautiful, uncaring stars.

I felt the cold touch of metal.

A voice that was both in my ear and above me said, ‘Max, hold on,’ and Major Guthrie dropped from a nearby roof at the same time as Markham and Evans stepped out from the shadows.

With their usual disdain for historical accuracy, the security section was wearing full body armour and visored black helmets. Our captors must have thought the desert demons had risen against them. But not for long. Seconds later, all four guards were lying in the dust.

‘Good evening, historians. Can I be of any assistance?’

I glanced down at the four unconscious soldiers.

‘Why did you do that? We were winning.’

They helped Peterson to his feet.

Guthrie spoke into his com. ‘Mr Clerk – we’ve got them. Send everyone else home and await our arrival.’

Along the street, someone shouted. We weren’t out of the woods yet.

‘This way.’

Following Guthrie, we set off. Weller and Evans supported the still-not-firing-on-all-cylinders Peterson.

‘Pod Five. Two streets down. On the left. Can you walk?’

‘Of course I can.’

More shouting. Even closer.

‘Can you run?’

‘Can you keep up?’

I took off like a rocket.

The whole city was waking now. Shouts and clanging metal echoed off the buildings. Every dog in the city was yelling his head off. You could tell St Mary’s was in town.

‘Good job this is a stealth operation, Major. Imagine if people knew we were here.’

‘Just shut up and run.’

The pod was just ahead of us. Clerk had the door open. Ritter covered our approach.

We hurtled into the pod in the traditional St Mary’s manner with everyone yelling for the door.

We were safe.

I braced my hands on my knees and tried to get my breath back.

‘Well,’ said Guthrie, stowing his weapons, ‘you made a complete dog’s breakfast of this one, didn’t you?’

I slid gratefully down the wall to sit on the floor. ‘Don’t know what you mean. We saw Sennacherib die.’

‘You must be thrilled. Because that worked out so well for you, didn’t it?’

‘And did you notice,’ said Peterson groggily as they lowered him to the floor, ‘they were infantry – not archers.’

I glugged some water.

‘Yes – no ear flaps on their helmets.’

‘And we discovered The Hanging Gardens of Nineveh. Not Babylon.’

Guthrie took my water off me. ‘Not too much.’

He began to feel my arms and legs.

I took the water back. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Trying to see where all this blood is coming from.’

‘It’s not blood – it’s dye. Can’t you tell the difference?’

‘How’s Mr Hopwood?’ said Tim.

‘Completely recovered. Why are you both covered in dye?’

‘Didn’t you see our message?’

‘What message?’

‘We left a message for you. On the wall. For God’s sake – it was in big writing. Even the security section couldn’t have missed it.’

‘We didn’t need a message. We just followed the riot. And surprise, surprise – there you were.’

‘You cut it a bit fine, didn’t you?’                                                                                            

‘We’d been with you for a good five minutes. We were just waiting for an opportunity to get you out quietly. Which never came.’

‘You could have given us a clue you were so close.’

‘You seemed to be managing perfectly well in your mission to wake the entire city. You didn’t need us.’

‘How long have we been missing?’

‘Six weeks.’

‘What?’

For us, it had been two, no, three days.

Reaction set in. I closed my eyes and felt again that cold touch of metal.

Guthrie laid a gentle hand on my arm and I clutched at it for a moment and nodded my thanks to him.

He stood up. ‘All right, Mr Clerk. Has everyone else jumped?’

‘Confirmed, Major.’

‘Let’s get them home.’

The world went white.

The whole world was waiting for us in Hawking. Armed and armoured people milled around, shouting and cheering. Miss Prentiss, Mr Dewar, and Mr Hopwood stepped forward.