New Pompeii (16 page)

“We copied the layout from Pompeii, of course, but the juxtaposition of the temples and theatres is a bit unsatisfactory, don’t you think?”

Nick smiled to himself. Another test of his knowledge. “They may hold the occasional religious ceremony in the larger theatres,” he said. “Especially given the additional seats. Have you seen any yet?”

“Yes.”

From the architect’s tone, Nick guessed he’d just robbed Astridge of a bit of trivia. Still, he didn’t want to get into any further disagreement, especially since Whelan wasn’t around to referee. He turned his attention towards Noah. “So, have you been exploring?”

“Yeah,” the kid shouted. “We’ve been to the forum.”

“And have you visited the amphitheatre?”

“No… but that would be great!”

Maggie frowned at her son. “Please don’t encourage him, Mr Houghton.”

Nick fell silent, focusing his attention on the people in the crowd around him. A surprising number of them showed signs of disease or deformity. One man seemed to have rickets. He wondered if NovusPart was doing anything to help them.

“Here we are!” announced Astridge, sweeping his arm out in front of him.

The theatre itself was relatively small. They entered via a short passageway and soon found themselves at the foot of a horseshoe of tiered stone seating. It faced directly on to the square bulk of a wooden stage and its backdrop – all of which was open to the elements and the afternoon sun. Nick eyed the tiers, noting that many people had already taken their seats. The stepped seating looked steep and difficult to climb, but at least it was littered with cushions to make it more comfortable.

Astridge led them to the front row and they took their seats. It didn’t take long before a few murmurings of discontent began to come from behind them, loud enough for the architect to take notice. It was clear he didn’t appreciate the cause.

“Women sit at the back,” Nick whispered. He pointed up, and now they saw the crowd was segregated. Women at the back. Men at the front.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a second-class citizen, Dr Houghton.”

Nick nodded, but didn’t remind her that she wasn’t a citizen at all, and never would be. She lacked the basic requirement of full Roman citizenship. Behind them, the murmurings grew louder.

“We’ll get a better view from the top,” said Astridge, rising. The architect didn’t wait to hear Nick’s opinion, and started to climb. The others followed, and they settled into their new seats at the top of the tier, Nick and Maggie flanking Astridge, Noah next to his mother. After a few minutes Nick was squirming, but only partially due to the heat of the sun which was now searing his scalp. The people sitting lower in the stands were continually glancing over their shoulders to stare at the strangers sitting in completely the wrong part of the theatre, their guards looming behind them.

And yet if Astridge was conscious of the stares and whispers, he didn’t show it. Instead, the architect leant closer to Nick. “Whelan brought you here to find faults with my town.”

“No,” Nick replied. “He just wants a second pair of eyes on the street.”

“Bullshit. I’ve put a lot of effort into this, Dr Houghton. And I’m not going to let some trumped-up student pick holes in it.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“Good. Because as I understand it you’re here for only six weeks.”

“Well, hopefully it will be for longer than that.”

“Is that what Whelan told you?”

Nick hesitated. He could feel his cheeks burning. The sooner the performance started the better. “The trial period is six weeks,” he said. “With a view to a permanent contract.”

“And that decision will be McMahon’s. And I’m damn sure that if I don’t wear the right-coloured tie, then neither do you.”

Nick held back a caustic reply, looking down at the seats below. The people of New Pompeii were watching them. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious to know what these people think of us? If they suspect anything?”

Astridge wiped sweat from his forehead. “How can they possibly comprehend what’s going on?”

“These people aren’t stupid,” said Nick. “They can see and hear, just like us.”

“But they lack the benefit of two thousand years of evolution.”

“Haven’t you been to the Colosseum? The Pantheon? What they built with concrete has lasted a lot longer than the office blocks put up in the 1960s.”

“It’s easy to forget about their slums, isn’t it? And we’ve already had a few of the new buildings they’ve put up themselves collapse. Hardly master builders.”

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when there was movement from the stage. An actor had appeared – a big, beefy man. He brought his hands together in five slow claps and instantly had the audience’s attention. Within a few seconds, Nick knew they were going to be watching a comedy. And he also knew Maggie wasn’t going to enjoy it.

Sure enough, a series of stock characters began to roll out. An old man appeared and started making lewd suggestions towards a young woman. Nick waited for the dialogue to reach its crescendo, and counted down the seconds before the older man’s wife would come on stage to scold him. Now the son. He, in turn, looked longingly towards the girl…

Despite knowing all the jokes, Nick found himself laughing along with the crowd. Two-thousand-year-old slapstick humour and farcical dialogue were one thing, but there was something about a good knob joke that was pretty much universal. And the language was getting increasingly crude. All in all, it was an interesting mix of classical theatre and the bawdiness of the Roman mime.

Nick turned towards Maggie, interested to see her reaction. Sure enough, she looked disgusted. If they’d been watching a melodrama or tragedy, she could just have sat there as if watching an opera without needing to understand the details. But it was all too clear what was happening down on the stage – and Maggie was trying her best to protect her son from it. It didn’t take long for Astridge to lean in close. “We’re going when there’s an interval.”

“Fine,” said Nick, concentrating on the actors. To one side, a man dressed as a god tiptoed into view. Probably waiting to intervene in a helpful manner. “I’m happy to wait for the
deus ex machina
.”

K
IRSTEN WOKE AND
felt herself slipping down. The water lapped over her face, and bubbles streamed upwards towards an indistinct light.

She should have been used to it, but this time was different. It felt like she was drowning. She was under the water and slipping fast. Instinctively she shot out a hand, groping for the side of the bath. She found nothing but water and air.

Because she was falling. Not drowning.
Falling
. It took a couple more seconds for her brain to register the new sensation. But her stomach screamed a clear message that gravity was pulling her down. Far too fast to be sinking through water.

She was falling through air.

Kirsten screamed. She felt a jarring pain. Starting in her left ankle, then tearing into her calf and thigh. She screamed again as the pain reached her hips and back. Her head lashed backwards and her skull smacked down. She heard herself cry out as the breath was forced from her lungs.

She sucked in air. Tried to sense if anything was broken. It didn’t feel like it. Although rattled, she seemed to be in one piece. She was lying in sand, in what looked like a circular pit. Above her, light swirled and twisted. It took a while to realise that more people were falling into the sand around her. Men. Women. Children. All wearing the same expressions of terror as they plummeted through the air.

Kirsten stared around the pit. It was huge, its stone walls lost in darkness except where spotlights shone down, nearly blinding her, but it was open to the sky; she could see stars above her. It certainly didn’t look like any part of the college grounds. No, she was a long way from Cambridge. And she was visible. The other people in the pit could see her. She was real. No longer the body in the bath.

She gasped. A man was crawling towards her. He was dragging his legs behind him. They looked broken, probably from the landing. He was wearing a bright shirt and shorts, clothes that wouldn’t have been out of place on a beach. She looked around. Many of the other people were also wearing summer outfits.

Kirsten started to get to her feet. Others were already standing. They waved at her, grinning. The expressions of confusion and terror on their faces had been replaced by a growing sense of relief.

The spotlights dimmed. Kirsten blinked. Although difficult to see, there were clearly people circling them. They were dressed in black, and some were carrying long sticks. Prowling around the edges of the pit. Like a pack of lions hunting antelope.

Fuck.

They weren’t sticks.

Kirsten started to scrabble away, heading for the wall.

They’ve got swords
.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The words echoed out of the darkness. A man stepped forward. He held a large, angular handgun and was pointing it directly at her. His stern expression turned to one of adolescent amusement. He’d noticed she was naked. “What? Looking to join the mile-high club, were you?”

Kirsten took a few steps backwards. The man leered, his gun still raised. His eyes flicked between her breasts and crotch.

“You think you can get away from me, bitch?”

Behind her, a shot rang out. The other men with rifles were holding back. But the men carrying swords were moving in. Each wore a metallic mask, twisted into an expression of fury.

Kirsten turned back to the man. He waved his gun at her. The message was simple. She wasn’t going to be allowed to get away. He was going to keep her in the killing zone so the men with swords could have their fun. So he wasn’t the primary source of danger. She turned to see a woman standing in the centre of the pit – the arena – long blonde hair halfway down her back. She was gazing upwards, her arms open, screaming for help even as the swords closed in. Other people were starting to run.

She looked frantically from left to right. She froze. In the shadow of the wall stood McMahon. He wasn’t looking at her. He watched the action with no emotion, and certainly no empathy. Mark Whelan stood close by, his brow furrowed.

She was already dead.

“Trying to work it out, bitch? Wondering when you’re going to wake up?”

Kirsten snapped her attention back to the man. Back to the gun. The student had told her she’d already been murdered. All that was needed was for the trigger to be pulled. And there it was. Right in front of her. Her days of wandering the college were finally over.

But the man didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry. He looked around, and relaxed the grip on his weapon. “How about you give me a show?” He waved his gun. Grinned. “Spread ’em.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

For the first time in a long time, Kirsten recognised her own voice. And she didn’t regret her choice of words. If this prick was going to kill her, then he could just do it. Because there was only one way out of this.

She charged forward. Tried to ignore the dizziness ringing around her skull, and focused instead on making a last ditch dive to the right.

The man just laughed and jerked his gun up so that it pointed directly at Kirsten’s head. “
I’m going to kill you, bitch!
”

Kirsten didn’t wince. Didn’t even close her eyes. She heard the hammer pull back, and the crack of the shot. She felt the bullet hitting her forehead. Tingling as it passed through and out the back of her head.

She didn’t know if the man fired a second time. The white haze had already started to surround her. Moving across her vision and taking her away.

Like a stone, skipping across a pond.

Maybe she hadn’t stopped bouncing yet.

H
E’D ONLY JUST
drifted off to sleep when the first wagon rumbled past. It came as a soft approach of thunder that only just faded before the next one came. The pattern continued until the first rays of light pierced into his room. Groaning, Nick levered himself up and pulled on his tunic.

A tablet computer sat on the cabinet beside his bed. On arriving back from the theatre, he’d viewed it with some irritation and left it switched off. However, after an uncomfortable night on his Roman bunk, it now seemed easier to accept its intrusion. He reached for the device, and waited for the screen to load.

What he found was limited. Most of the icons – internet, email and settings – were ghosted out. How long that would remain the case, would likely be down to Whelan. However, he’d at least been provided with a direct link to Samson’s notes.

The bastard had written everything in Latin. Nick frowned. This wasn’t going to allow him an easy view into the professor’s thinking. He’d need to translate it line by line. But that wasn’t the most irritating aspect. Instead of using modern words where no Latin equivalent existed, Samson had taken the convoluted approach of
describing
anything invented after the fall of Rome. Simple words – computer, telephone, aspirin – became entire sentences of Latin.
Extract of willow bark distilled and pressed into disks, ingested for the relief of pain
. It was going to be very hard work.

He first tried to make sense of the index. It looked as if Samson had focused on two main areas, starting prior to the creation of New Pompeii with what might happen to the timeline if they carried on with the project. Nick read a few paragraphs but quickly realised Samson had been working at a very theoretical level. And none of it was very interesting. After all, the population of Pompeii
had
been transported. What was done was done, and there was no going back.

The second thread was more interesting. Just like Whelan had said, NovusPart had transported an initial batch of Pompeians and Samson had spent a long time interviewing them before transporting the rest of the town. One name stood out from among the others:
Felix
. The man he’d met at the control villa.

Nick read a few of the entries, and then felt his stomach start to grumble. It would take him a long time to get through, and was probably a task best left for the evening. After all, there was now an entire town to interview. Putting the tablet back on his bed, he wandered into the atrium in search of breakfast.