The Empire of Time (49 page)

Manfred didn’t like it that I refused to talk, but for some reason he’s loath to torture it out of me. Or maybe he’s trusting to Gudrun telling him everything he wants to know.

Guards take me back to the guest quarters. There’s no sign of Heusinger, and when I ask, they refuse to tell me where he is.

I sit on the bed and wait. I could jump, sure, but why jump until I need to? Why not see first where this time-strand leads?

An hour passes and then, at last, someone comes.

It’s Tief. He looks at me, a grave sadness in his eyes, then shakes his head. ‘You should never have intervened,’ he says. ‘You should have let things take their course.’

I frown. What does he mean by that? Does he know I’m a
Reisende
? Has Gudrun told him everything?

‘How is she?’ I ask.

‘Alive.’

It’s an ominous answer.

‘Will she be punished?’

‘That’s not for me to say.’

‘She had no part in it, you know.’

Tief says nothing. But it’s noticeable how he won’t even look at me now. As if, like Manfred, he’s badly disappointed in me. After a moment he says, ‘You must come now. The King wishes to speak with you again.’

I go with him. I have no choice, unless, of course, to jump, and as I said … I want to know where this all leads.

Manfred is in his War Room, one great wall of which is dominated by a giant map. Germany is in black, to the left of the great screen; Russia, in red of course, is to the right. And that is all there is, almost as if nothing else exists.

Death and blood
, I think, looking at the stark contrast of the colours.

‘Herr Behr,’ he says, greeting me. ‘Come, take a seat. I want you to see this.’

That seems my role, as far as he’s concerned. To be his witness. To sit there watching while
he
acts. And so I shall, for a time.

There’s a nest of computer-stations just below where we are sitting, between Manfred and the giant map. In each small semi-circular station sits one of his commanders. As he speaks to each, so they swivel round in their great padded chairs and look up at him through dark glass visors on which quick strands of colourful lettering run.

Ge’not
, I note with surprise.

‘Marshal von Pasenow …’

‘Yes, Your Majesty?’

‘You can begin the assault.’

Von Pasenow gives a beaming smile of pride within the darkness of the glass, then swivels back. On the map a bright line of gold begins to glow in the most northerly sector, broadening by the moment.

Manfred looks to me, then gestures towards the map.

‘They’ll hit back. Or try to. Only this time my commanders will be operating under zero restraint. This time it’s total war.’ He meets my eyes. ‘
Us
or
them
.’

The thought of it chills me, but only because I know. Billions dead, and the great Earth itself a wasteland.

We could stop it, only if we did, we too would disappear, and immediately it would happen yet again, for this alone is ‘locked in’, like there’s some sick set of scales at work, creating this warped balance. We get time travel, yes, but at the greatest cost imaginable.

So it is. For this is how it happened. And how it’s happening now, for all my attempts to meddle.

I might have known. Only … Ernst is still trapped, and if I don’t free him then I won’t get back to Katerina. And that – though it seems so very little in the great scheme of things, so
selfish
– is, for me, unthinkable.

‘What if they use their bombs?’ I ask.

‘We’ll shoot them down.’

‘And what if they’ve bombs in place, right here, in Neu Berlin?’

He looks at me pointedly. ‘Have they?’

‘If I were them, I would. Wouldn’t you?’

He almost smiles. ‘We have. In Moscow.’

‘Then …?’

‘Our agents are at work right now. Rounding them up.
Neutralising
them.’

‘You’re that confident?’

He nods. ‘We infiltrated them long ago. Sleepers. Counter-agents. It began last night, after we freed Reichenau.’

‘You let him go?’ That
does
surprise me.

‘And watched where he ran to.’

‘So you have him under observation?’

Manfred looks away, for the first time uncomfortable. ‘We did. But he vanished.’

‘Vanished?’

‘Into thin air. One moment he was standing there, the next …’

My mouth falls open.
Reichenau … Reichenau the patriot. Another fucking Russian
.

I stand. ‘Forgive me, but I have to go.’

‘Go?’ Manfred looks both confused and annoyed. ‘But I haven’t said you could go anywhere.’

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ I say and bow. And as I do, so I jump, leaving him staring at the air in shock.

Hecht, for once, is anxious to see me. He hurries me from the platform to his room, and there, an infinity of space between us and any listening ears, I tell him what I know.

‘And that’s it?’ Hecht looks almost as disappointed as Manfred was in me.

I nod. ‘Gehlen wouldn’t speak. He just wouldn’t cooperate. If I could get in closer to him, make friends with him somehow …’

Hecht laughs. ‘No one makes friends with Gehlen. Even his wife was a stranger to him.’

‘But he has children.’

‘Yes, but they die, along with everyone else. What use are they?’

It’s harsh, but I know what he means. ‘Maybe they’re the key. Maybe if I can get close to
them
, then I can get close to Gehlen.’

Hecht sits back, staring at me sceptically. ‘I thought
Gudrun
was the key.’

‘She was, only …’

‘Look, Otto, you’re playing blind man’s bluff, and you know it. Your instincts …’ Hecht sighs. ‘There’s something you ought to see. To make you understand why I’m taking you off this case.’

‘But …’

Hecht raises a hand and I fall silent. ‘Just come with me. Back to the platform. I think it’s time you understood something.’

I stand there, staring about me in awe.

Bare rock climbs from the green, a half mile and more, into a vividly blue sky, the deepest blue I’ve ever seen, while down here, on the floor of the valley, a crystal-clear stream meanders its way through the lush grass that covers the lower slopes like moss in a bowl.

I reach down and pluck a blade at the base. It’s thick and long and as broad as a man’s hand, greener than green, so it seems, and fat with moisture; a sword of greenness, the very grass of Eden. Among its rich, ripe verdancy, the great nodding heads of flowers – their massive petals garishly bright, red, yellow and purple – tower over me on every side, while great orange and blue butterflies the size of dinner plates flutter and dance in the air wherever I look.

The encampment is further down, nestled at the lower end of the valley, alongside the network of caves that pepper the limestone walls. It’s hot, humidly so, the sun a large, flattened ball of orange at our backs. A tropical sun.

Hecht turns to me and smiles. He looks transformed out here; a new man. His grey eyes gleam as he looks about him, taking in deep lungfuls of the sweet-scented air.

‘Urd save us, Otto. Just
look
at this place!’

But I don’t need to be told. I am already struck by its beauty.

‘Where are we?’

‘Three hundred and ten thousand years bc. Give or take a century or two.’

I stare at him, astonished. As far as I know, this is the furthest back any of us have ventured. Here, we are on the very edge of things, the very limit of the platform’s reach. Not that there isn’t power enough to go back further, but beyond this we can’t guarantee the accuracy. Beyond this, as Hecht’s assured me many times, it’s all hit and miss.

We walk on, and as we descend towards the far end of the valley and the huts come into view, so someone steps out of the largest of them and, raising his left hand to shade his eyes from the sun, waves to us with his right. It’s Hecht – another, younger Hecht, but him, definitely him.

Beyond the huts are a few tended plots and pens for the animals, innovations Hecht has clearly brought with him, for the natives of this age were mainly hunters, and were for the best part of a million years.

‘Are those what I think they are?’ I ask, the slightest anxiety in my voice.

‘They are,’ he says. ‘See if you can tell the men from the women.’

The creatures are gathered in a tiny group to the right, a dozen or so of them, the long auburn hair that totally covers their bodies making them seem more ape than human, but these are no apes, these are Neanderthal.

As we come closer, young Hecht calls out to us.

‘Did you remember the gifts?’

Hecht lifts the sack he’s carrying, and as he does, so there’s an excited keening among the creatures.

Closer to, we see how they hold back, as if shy or frightened, keeping their distance. But as Hecht takes the sack and turns to them, they crowd about him, stroking his arms and back and shoulders as he hands out the gifts, a low, deeply burred murmur of sound coming from the creatures.

They’re much shorter than us, but stouter and, I’d guess, much heavier. Though their arms and legs are shorter, they’re built like bulls, their heads especially. And, of course, they have those famous pronounced brows, which give their eye sockets a deep, almost cavernous appearance.

Hecht’s eyes are shining with an excitement I’ve never seen in them before. ‘Look at their hands, Otto,’ he half whispers. ‘Look how delicate they are!’

I’ve noticed it. And though one cannot call these people gentle exactly, they seem quite sensitive. You only have to see their paintings in the caves to realise that.

The gifts given out, Hecht turns back to me, still smiling, a very different Hecht from the one I’m used to. He’s relaxed and totally off guard here in the distant past.

‘They call themselves the
huuruuhr
,’ he says, making a deep rolling sound in the back of his throat. ‘As you saw, they have their own language. But I’ve been teaching one or two of them our language, and you’ll have a chance later on to talk to them. First let me show you around.’

I want to ask him what we’re doing back here, wasting time, when Ernst is still trapped; only I know that no time’s passing up the line. We can step back a second after we’ve left and carry on. But Hecht seems to need this break. Indeed, I can see now how he manages to carry on.
This
is how he recharges. By coming here.

The creatures have begun to wander away, yet as they do I note how one of them – a female? – looks back at us, an expression of pure curiosity in her deep-set eyes. She has a picture book, I see, holding it to her thickly haired chest as reverently as any priest ever held a bible.

‘Who is that one?’ I ask Hecht quietly.

‘That’s Ooris. You’ll meet her later. I think you’ll be surprised. But first come and meet my older brother, Albrecht.’

His
older
brother. That, naturally, surprises me. Even that Hecht
has
a brother is a revelation. Yet it makes sense now that I know. I always wondered who it was
he
confided in. Who shared
his
thoughts, the way he shares ours.

Albrecht leads us inside, into his hut. It’s one big, open room, with a large bed in one corner and a desk in another. All very simple and unadorned. Albrecht smiles and offers me the chair, but I’m happy to stand.

‘So you’re Otto,’ he says, his eyes taking me in. ‘The
Einzelkind
.’

I look to Hecht, surprised. But Hecht seems unperturbed. ‘Albrecht knows everything,’ he says. ‘And I mean
everything
.’

I wonder what that means, because there are surely things that even Hecht doesn’t know, if I’m anything to go by.

‘He’s the Keeper,’ Hecht says. ‘But you’ll see that later.’

I’m not sure what Hecht means by ‘Keeper’, but I let it pass.
All in good time
, I think, trying to take in what this all means.

Hecht has a brother, who knows everything.

I look about me, taking in small details. There’s a picture of a woman in a silver frame on the table beside the bed. Their mother? If so, I’ve never seen her before.

Albrecht, meanwhile, is looking to his brother. ‘It didn’t work, I take it?’

‘No.’ Hecht hesitates, then: ‘It was another blind alley.’

I guess he’s talking about my last trip back to Asgard.

‘That’s why we’re here,’ Hecht says. ‘I thought it was time Otto knew.’

Albrecht nods. ‘I thought so. But why now?’

Hecht shrugs. ‘Because …’

I don’t quite follow, but it would seem that our failures have brought Hecht to a decision.

‘It’s becoming impenetrable back there,’ he says after a moment. ‘There has to be a path through the maze, but what it is …’

Albrecht nods. Then, looking to me, he smiles again. ‘Forgive me, Otto. I’m being a dreadful host. You must be hungry after your travels. Would you like something? A sandwich, perhaps, or a drink of some kind?’

It’s an odd thing to be asked when you’re back in Neanderthal times, but I smile and nod. ‘That would be nice,’ I say, and watch as he goes to the door, and in fluent Neanderthal, bids one of the natives bring me something.

An hour later the three of us are climbing the grassy, tree-covered slope beyond the cabin, emerging on to a broad ridge, from which we look down across a landscape which – though I’ve seen many landscapes in many times – is the most spectacular I’ve ever seen. In the distance, running the length of the horizon there’s a mountain range, its seemingly endless peaks dominating the skyline from north to south.

‘The Alps,’ Hecht says, and I nod, realising where – geographically – we are.

Between us and the mountains is an Edenic country of rock and pool and tree; an undulating landscape of such magnificent wild beauty that it makes me think that there really
was
a Fall, and that this is what we yearn for when our imaginings turn to such things.

‘They’re out there now,’ Hecht says, ‘hunting.’

‘
They?
’

‘The rest of the
huuruuhr
.’