A Symphony of Echoes (9 page)

The Society for the Preservation of Historical Buildings people were old enemies. Over the years, St Mary’s has had a long and exciting relationship with the ancient building in which it was housed. The Clock Tower had inadvertently participated in an experiment based on the guns at the charge of the Light Brigade and was never quite the same again, and various fires, explosions, collisions, and catastrophes had taken their toll on the fabric. On one memorable occasion, swans had occupied the library for two days. SPOHB inspectors arrived nearly every month. Sometimes, they got a bit tight-lipped.

‘I’m going to hold a small competition. Each department can design and build a flying machine. It is important that at least one machine will not fly. There will be a small accident, resulting in damage to the steps. The subsequent inspection will reveal the sonnets. SPOHB will verify the discovery. St Mary’s sells them on for a fortune. Any questions?’

He goggled a bit.

Before he could recover, I said, ‘There’s one other thing. I need some of your people for a small building project.’

I explained again.

He groaned.

‘Can you do it?’

‘Probably.’

‘This needs to be done with flair and panache.’

‘I haven’t got to know all my team yet. Who are they?’

‘I made you,’ I said darkly. ‘I can break you.’

He snorted.

And back to Leon. I had no idea being the boss was such hard work.

I entered his room warily, expecting God knows what, and he was awake and sitting up.

‘Hey,’ he said, as I walked in.

‘Hello, you,’ I said. ‘Any chance of any –?’ and Katie appeared with a mug of tea. I really liked being Director.

He smiled at me, still heavy-eyed with drugs. ‘You always come for me, don’t you?’ And fell asleep again.

I went to see Pinkie and she definitely seemed better. I fished out the data cube she had asked for, handed it over, and asked no questions. As usual, that tactic paid off.

She balanced it on the palm of her hand and looked up at me.

‘This is what I thought they had come for. It seems I worried for nothing. If they knew what this was, they wouldn’t have wasted their time trying for our pods.’

She fell silent again.

I still said nothing. I knew she’d been making enquiries about me. About all three of us. She was making up her mind … The silence went on so long that I guessed we hadn’t made the cut and got up to go.

‘Max, I’ve had an idea. I’m sure I can get it to work and if I do, believe me, it will change everything. For everyone. I haven’t written much down, but there are some preliminary – thoughts – on this cube. I was terrified they’d stumble across it while looking for the location of the remote site. Please tell me they’re all dead.’

‘Most of them, yes. One or two got away, including Ronan, but he has other things on his mind at the moment. Who else knows about this? What about your Director?’

‘No. Nor any of the other senior staff. To be honest, it sounds so crazy on the face of it, that I’m reluctant to mention it to anyone until I’ve got a better handle on things.’

‘Well, no one will hear about it from me.’ I was intrigued, but knew better than to ask. This was future stuff and nothing to do with me. ‘So, when may we expect the honour of your company?’

‘Maybe the day after tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Excellent. You just lie there and heal and I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.’

I announced the deadline at the next morning’s meeting.

‘She’s healing as fast as she can,’ I said, ‘and I don’t want to be the one telling her we’re not ready, so let’s get cracking.’

We pretty well made it. She limped from Sick Bay after lunch on her designated day to a round of applause from everyone in Hawking. They immediately formed some sort of techie huddle and after that, no one’s feet touched the ground. We scheduled the pods to return in two days. IT protested and Pinkie told them to move it up a gear. Words were exchanged and I experienced the novelty of peace-making. The kitchen worked overtime to keep us all fed and watered, and the rest of the unit pitched in. Barely in time, we were ready for our pods.

I had wanted flags and bunting to mark their return, but the remembrance service was that afternoon. It wouldn’t have been appropriate, and I wanted the service held as soon as possible, so everyone could say their personal goodbyes to friends and colleagues, and move on.

Mrs Partridge gave me brief personal details of those who had died and somewhat nervously, I spoke. I paid a small tribute from us all, which seemed to go reasonably well. There were tears and tissues were passed and hands were held but we all got through it together. Now, we looked to the future.

I chose Number Three for the first assignment – the pyramids at Giza. Techies swarmed all over it like orange ants and it was pronounced fit for purpose. The jump was scheduled for the next morning, and now we really could make a fuss.

Everyone crowded on to the gallery and gave them a round of applause – Tim, Evan, and three very apprehensive, newly qualified historians. I walked with them to Number Three. We stopped at the door.

‘Right,’ said Peterson. ‘Has everyone been to the toilet and got their lunch money?’

Evan snorted, but the three trainees found a small chuckle from somewhere. I shook hands and retreated behind the line. Pinkie looked knackered but fairly relaxed, so I wasn’t going to worry either.

They seemed to hang around for a very long time. Certainly long enough for me to panic and imagine three terrified trainees clawing at the door to get out. Just as I was about to use my com link, they jumped, and the collective sigh of relief nearly blew me over.

I made sure the whole unit assembled for the return. I dragged everyone out of offices, kitchens, toilets, everywhere. There were too many for the gantry, so some of us gathered behind the line, ready to cheer. Peterson and I had a pre-arranged signal should disaster have occurred, but everything seemed OK, which didn’t stop me shifting from foot to foot, imagining the worst, muttering under my breath, and generally annoying Guthrie.

The door opened, and Evan led them out, smiling and waving. I will never forget the great roar that echoed around Hawking, and my heart swelled in response. Some people jumped up and down, cheering. Others hugged or shook hands, depending on their people skills. R&D staff unfurled a huge banner reading: ‘One Down. Six To Go’. It seemed to be made of bed sheets stapled together and I could see I would have Housekeeping talking at me for an hour or so later on. I began to feel a certain sympathy for Dr Bairstow.

Peterson followed them out, quietly effacing himself, which I appreciated. He looked for me in the crowd, then made his way over.

I said, ‘Nice one, Tim. Any problems?’

‘No, none at all.’

‘What was the delay setting off?’

‘Oh, someone farted and the nervous tension set them all off. It took ages for them to stop giggling, pull themselves together, and make the jump.’

I looked at him. ‘So who farted then?’

He grinned evilly. ‘That would have been me.’

Guthrie said, ‘Can’t speak for Max, of course, but when we go home, mate, you go alone.’

After that, it was easy. The second jump, the Colossus of Rhodes, went really well. The third, the Hanging Gardens less so, because they couldn’t find them. Which was interesting. I added it to the pile of things to think about.

St Mary’s got noisier. People ran up and down the stairs shouting at each other and doors slammed everywhere. R&D blew the cistern off the wall in the third trap of the gents’ toilet on the second floor. Actually, we never really got to the bottom of that.

We removed the more obvious signs of battle and strife and I asked Mrs Partridge to get the SPOHB people in to oversee the repairs so they could witness our ‘discovery’ of the sonnets.

‘Actually, Director, they’re not the Society for the Preservation of Historical Buildings any longer. Some time ago, they merged with a similar organisation and are now the Society for the Preservation of English Regalia and Monuments.’

‘You’re kidding,’ I said, astounded and remembered, too late, that this was Mrs Partridge. The room temperature plummeted.

‘Sorry,’ I said, hastily. ‘I was just – a bit surprised.’

‘As were we all,’ she said, dryly. ‘However, they are the people who should supervise our repairs, so I’ll contact them immediately. When would be convenient?’

‘Two weeks. We’ll get our flying machines built – please emphasise they are to be unmanned – and then we’re ready for anything.’

‘Surely there must be a simpler way.’

‘Yes, probably, but there’s a certain symmetry to this. And, it’s more fun, I think. Don’t you?’

One lovely sunny afternoon, Guthrie took teams from each section up on to the roof, for our Flying Machine Competition. He was there to ensure fair play. And that no one fell off the roof. Peterson was with me on the ground to ensure things went according to plan. Wings of various shapes and sizes had been cobbled together by the different sections, including a monstrosity from R&D, which looked to be about as aerodynamic as the Isle of Wight.

‘That’ll never fly,’ said Evan scathingly, stroking the history department’s offering, lovingly constructed and painted in shades of blue and purple.

‘It had better not bloody fly,’ muttered Peterson. ‘If it does, you’re in trouble, Max.’

It didn’t. Accompanied by cheers from R&D and jeers from everyone else, it slid down the roof like public confidence in the banking system and crashed heavily onto the steps below. St Mary’s personnel scattered. Large lumps of stone and wooden shrapnel shot in all directions, and two of the steps were badly damaged.

‘You’re up, Max,’ murmured Peterson.

I moved smoothly into Irate Director Mode, shouting up at the roof.

‘What is the point of me knocking myself out putting this bloody unit back together if you lot are wrecking it even before the bloody glue’s dry? Someone get down here and check out the damage. Now, please.’

Members of R&D hung over the edge of the roof. Laughing historians inspected the steps. Someone pointed. Others bent over and peered. Someone else shouted and waved an arm. The doctor strolled over.

‘Oh! My goodness! Has something occurred?’

‘Jesus,’ muttered Tim.

‘Good heavens, whatever could it be?’

‘Kill me now,’ said Tim. ‘Max, stop laughing and get going.’

I joined the crowd on the steps. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Never mind that, Director,’ said someone. ‘There’s something under there.’

I stepped back and made way for the Regalia and Monuments lady, who was actually very sweet and certainly deserved better than she got from us.

‘Perhaps, Miss … um … you would like to see …’

She knelt, tilted her head and peered. ‘Yes, there’s certainly something there. This is most exciting. This won’t be the first time something remarkable has been found here at St Mary’s.’

‘Goodness gracious,’ said Peterson. ‘How remarkable. I had no idea.’

‘Yes, yes and I believe a member of our organisation was present on that day too. We were SPOHB then, of course, the Society for the Protection of Historical Buildings. I think it only fair to say that then, as now, the Institute of Historical Research was not always as careful with the fabric of this wonderful old building as it might have been.’

‘Wouldn’t it be exciting,’ said Peterson, clasping his hands to his chest like a Victorian heroine, ‘if something similar occurred on this occasion? Although now, you are in your … Regalia and Monuments … incarnation, rather than SPOHB, of course.’

I shot him a look.

‘Well, yes, it would,’ she said, wistfully, polishing her glasses. ‘It would certainly be one in the eye for our critics. It’s hard to believe, but there are many who question our relevance and importance.’

I suddenly felt quite sorry for her. It can’t have been much of a job, arriving regularly at St Mary’s to view the results of our latest careless … incident.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we certainly hope you’ll stay around for this one. Imagine the additional prestige if this artefact can be witnessed and verified by such a reputable organisation as …’ my voice wobbled.

Peterson moved smoothly up a gear. ‘Yes, indeed. An important body such as SP … yours … can only enhance the reputation of this artefact, whatever it is. I am hoping very much that you will supervise its removal and assist in conveying the artefact to a safe place, pending inspection and verification.’ He smiled down at her and she blushed.

Guthrie turned up. ‘Oh! Goodness me! It would appear the apparatus slipped from their grasp, Director, and rolled down the roof, generating enough velocity and mass to shatter the third and fourth steps thusly. Oh! Is that a hole? Could something perhaps be concealed beneath?’

‘It would appear so,’ said Peterson, quickly, before I could take Guthrie away and shoot him. ‘Fortunately for us, the lady from … the monument society is present and has agreed to supervise the extraction, so we really have no need to keep any of you from the rest of your day. I believe you may safely leave this to us. We will report as soon as we can.’

He took her arm, she blushed again, and we were home and dry.

I went to see Mrs Partridge.

‘That seemed to go well,’ she said.

‘Yes, it was quite plain sailing really, although I’ve seen less ham on a pig. Are the press releases all prepared?’

She passed them over. ‘On behalf of this unit, Director, may I thank you?’

‘Not me,’ I said, skimming through them. ‘Dr Bairstow is the one to thank. He’s the one who actually reburied the sonnets for you to find. I just had the idea.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s a very generous gesture which will certainly solve our financial problems for more than the foreseeable future.’

‘Well, my St Mary’s still has The Play.’

Yes, we still had a more-than-dodgy Shakespeare play based on the life of Mary, Queen of Scots – or the Tartan Trollop, as I always thought of her – in which they executed Elizabeth by mistake. Something else I was going to have to sort that out when I got back.