Tomorrow's Guardian

CHAPTER TWENTY – FLIGHT

  "Here he is!” A voice shouted from within the ruins of the house. Startled, Tom glanced round, saw Edward standing there along with Septimus, and behind them both was Mary. All three were looking at him with relieved expressions on their faces.

  “Boyo, you had us quite concerned for a while. We thought Redfeld had got to you. Thanks to Edward here we were able to track you down,” Septimus said and then, seeing Tom’s red eyes, put a hand on his back. “I’m sorry, Tommy! I should have known you would be here. Have a moment alone, if you need it.”

  “A moment alone? Where the hell have you been?” Tom snarled.

  “Round and about – but I came back by all accounts only an hour or so after you had left the Professor’s office. We got worried when we couldn’t find you. We can talk later, so have a few moments rest and we will get away from here.”

  Tom was hardly satisfied with that explanation, but now Septimus turned to Edward and the two had a whispered conversation. Alone with his despair, Tom sat in silence. Then, he noticed that Mary had come forward and was looking at the burnt out wreck of his house.

  “Mary, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “When Mr Mason said that they were coming to seek for you at the house of your parents, I asked to be allowed to come as well. You see, my home was destroyed by fire ...” she trailed off, looking around at the blackened walls and scorched timbers, “... I do not know what happened to any of my family in the fire. So, I understand a little of how you feel and I wanted to come and say how sorry I am for you.”

  Tom looked at Mary’s face and noticed that she too had been weeping; her eyes were all red and her face marked by tears. Then he remembered that for her, the Great Fire of London was only a few days in the past and her grief was still almost as new as his own. Something recorded in dusty old school books was for her more than just history. It occurred to him that he could help her answer some of her questions. Tom wiped his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Maybe in the library at the Hourglass Institute there might be some information about your people,” he suggested.

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t have my letters – I was never taught to read – but Lieutenant Dyson has already helped me look. Everywhere around Pudding Lane was destroyed by fire it seems but, praise God, my master and his family did get away. My mam and pa rented a house a few streets towards the river, but about them we could find nothing. My family were not rich and owned no land, so were not important enough for anyone to write about.”

  “Everyone is important, Mary, most particularly if they’re your family or friends,” Tom said and then felt the despair come back again. The two of them stared at his home, sharing their grief in silence for a moment.

  Septimus and Edward had finished their conversation and Tom saw Edward nodding; a moment later he disappeared. The Lieutenant seemed to be getting good at Walking now, thought Tom, wondering what they had been talking about.

  When Edward had gone, Septimus strolled over to join Tom and Mary. He had almost reached them when suddenly he gasped and stepped forward to seize Tom’s arm.

  “Ow!” Tom squealed. “That hurts; stop pinching me!”

  “Sorry, but a very important thought just occurred to me about your parents and ….”

  He never completed the sentence. His eyes widening in fear Septimus dropped to the ground yelling, “Get down!” and dragged Tom and Mary down next to him. Nearby, there was a loud bang and the brickwork behind where Tom’s head had been only moments before, exploded. A shower of bricks and rubble rained down on them.

  Mary screamed and cowered down even lower. Peering through the cloud of dust, Tom could see two pairs of boots standing about where his front door would have been. They started moving towards him through the bracken.

  Before Tom could react, Septimus shouted, “Got to go!” He grabbed the pair of them and, with a sudden lurch, the burnt out house was gone and the trio where lying in a heap on the stone paving slabs of a huge cathedral. Mary looked shocked and stared about her. Tom thought she might scream and start on about devils and demons again, but she just gulped and took a few deep breaths. Tom got up.

  “Who were they?” he asked.

  Septimus had his little box out and beeps and squeaks were coming from it. “Don’t know, not sure. But it seems that they want us – or at least you – dead,” he grabbed Tom again and pushed Mary along and they all started running down the aisle. As they came out into the nave at the back, they collided with and knocked over a figure in a hooded cowl.

  “Mon dieu!” came a curse from under the hood as the monk fell over onto his back. The three Walkers did not stop to apologise and seconds later they burst out through the cathedral’s main doors. They emerged on a large town square crowded with a bustling market. The population wore tunics and britches or, in the case of the women, long dresses. Two of them spotted Tom, Mary and Septimus and stared open mouthed at them and their clothing. Septimus was dressed, as he usually was, in dark blue jeans and a leather jacket, whilst Tom had on a t–shirt and tracksuit trousers. Mary wore a plain linen dress, but together they must have looked very strange to the townsfolk. Septimus did not wait to talk, but rushed on with Tom and Mary in tow, along the front of the cathedral and down a side alley, before shifting them both out of that time.

  An instant later, they were now standing in a formal garden near a fountain. In the distance was a large stately home. It was dusk and the garden was empty. Septimus crouched down and pulled the boy down as well. Mary joined them. They were all breathing fast and hard after the last few minutes’ exertions.

  “Ok, Septimus. What just happened? Where are we now?” Tom was the first to recover his breath. It took a moment for Septimus to answer.

  “As I explained when we first met, there is more than one power at work in this universe. I don’t know who they are. They might be Redfeld’s men or someone else, but in any event, your death seems to be part of their objective. I needed to get us away from there, so I took a detour through fourteenth century Rouen before coming here. This is near Paris in the eighteenth century. Best not to linger here though: they will be after us and, besides, this is not a safe time. The French Revolution is just around the corner.”

  Septimus slumped back against a low stone wall and puffed out his cheeks. “Phew, but I’m getting exhausted. I can’t really Walk more than just me, normally, so I’m tapping your talents to let me do a lot of this. I’m not as powerful as you, Tommy boy, and it seems it’s beginning to tell. I need a rest,” he said, yawning. Tom too felt very tired, confused and bewildered. He also wanted to ask Septimus about his family, but felt too weary to ask right now. He just nodded.

  “Yes, indeed, we all need a rest,” Septimus said, “so, we must find somewhere to hide. I know just the place and just the time. Whoever they are, they won’t find us there.”

  He stood up but then slumped back down, looking pale and weak.

  “You can’t manage anything, Septimus,” Tom said. “Let me Walk us all. Where are we going?”

  “Rome ... let’s say, AD 25. It’s a busy city at the heart of a mighty empire: very easy to hide and hard for anyone to follow us there.

  Tom nodded and tried to move them back to ancient Rome. He found it difficult to concentrate on the task, however. He was still depressed over his failure to save his family, as well as scared about being chased by these men armed with guns. So it transpired that, distracted by these feelings, they found themselves appearing not in the bustle of ancient Rome, but in a field. Tom stared around, realising that he had no idea of where they were or, indeed, what year it was.

  There was a shout from nearby. As they turned at the noise, they saw a dozen men advancing on them from twenty yards away: men wearing tunics and sandals, helmets of bronze, and carrying large round shields, brightly painted with different symbols, and long, very sharp spears. Mary gave a gasp of terror and Tom felt his heart pounding, half with fear and ha
lf with excitement. These were Greek warriors: he recognised them from the movie Troy, which had been about the hero Achilles.

  “Well, that could have gone better!” Septimus observed, as they were surrounded.

  “Sorry!” Tom said weakly. He tried Walking again, but the journey they had undertaken, along with those earlier on in the day, not to mention that he had hardly slept the night before, had drained him.

  One of the warriors said something, presumably in ancient Greek. To Tom’s surprise, Septimus answered in the same language.

  The warrior scowled and snarled a reply to the Welshman. Septimus’ face blanched and he whispered a few words to Tom and Mary.

  “Sorry to say, but we’re in deep trouble. They think we are spies from their enemies and they want to execute us!”

  The warriors now levelled their spears and advanced upon them.