Sapphire Blue (6 page)

“What sort of freaks are you all?” said Xemerius, jumping up from the sofa to hang head down from one of the gigantic chandeliers. “Time travel—I ask you! I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but this is new even to me.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” I said. “Why were you expecting to find something about our visit in those
Annals,
Mr. George? I mean, if there had been, then you’d have seen it already, and you’d have known that we were going there that day
and
what would happen to us. Or is it like that film with Ashton Kutcher,
The Butterfly Effect
? And every time one of us comes back from the past, the whole future has changed?”

“That’s an interesting and very philosophical question, Gwyneth,” said Mr. Whitman, as if we were in one of his classes. “I don’t know the film you’re talking about, but it’s true, according to the laws of logic, that the tiniest change in the past can have a great influence on the future. There’s a short story by Ray Bradbury in which—”

“Perhaps we can put off philosophical discussion to some other time,” Falk interrupted him. “At the moment I’d like to hear the details of the ambush in Lady Tilney’s house and how you managed to get away.”

I looked at Gideon. Right, it was up to him to give his pistol-free version of the story. I helped myself to another biscuit.

“We were lucky,” said Gideon, his voice just as calm as before. “I realized that there was something wrong at once. Lady Tilney didn’t seem at all surprised to see us. The table was laid for afternoon tea, and when Paul and Lucy turned up and the butler stationed himself in the doorway, Gwyneth and I escaped into the next room and down the servants’ stairs. The cab had disappeared, so we got away on foot.” He didn’t seem to find lying difficult. No giveaway red face, no batting of his eyelids, no artificial looking up, not a trace of uncertainty in his voice. All the same, I still thought his version of the story lacked a certain something to make it credible.

“Strange,” said Dr. White. “If the ambush had been properly planned, they’d have been armed and would have made sure that you two couldn’t get away.”

“My head’s still spinning,” said Xemerius, back on the sofa. “I hate all these crazy verbs, using a subjunctive to get what’s happened in the future and the past mixed up.”

I looked expectantly at Gideon. If he was going to stick to the pistol-free version, he’d have to come up with a bright idea now.

“I think we simply took them by surprise,” said Gideon.

“Hm,” said Falk. The others didn’t look entirely convinced either. No wonder! Gideon had botched the job! If you were lying, you had to come up with confusing details that wouldn’t interest anyone.

“We really did move fast,” I said hastily. “The servants’ stairs had obviously just been polished, and I nearly slipped, in fact I more or less slid down the stairs instead of running down them. If I hadn’t held on to the banister rail, right now I’d be lying in the year 1912 with a broken neck. Come to think of it, what happens if you die while you’re away time traveling? Does your dead body travel back of its own accord? Well, anyway, we were lucky that the door at the bottom of the stairs was open, because a maid was just coming in with a shopping basket. A fat blonde. I thought Gideon was going to knock her over, and there were eggs in that basket, which would have made a terrible mess, but we managed to run past her and down the street as fast as we could go. I have a blister on my toe.”

Gideon was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. I couldn’t interpret the look on his face, but it didn’t seem to be either appreciative or grateful.

“Next time I’m going to wear sneakers,” I said into the general silence. Then I took another biscuit. No one else wanted to eat them.

“I have a theory,” said Mr. Whitman slowly, toying with the signet ring on his right hand. “And the longer I think about it, the more certain I feel that I’m on the right track. If—”

“I’m beginning to feel rather foolish because I’ve said it so often already. But
she
ought not to be present at this discussion,” said Gideon.

I felt the pang in my heart turn to something worse. I wasn’t just offended anymore, I was downright cross.

“He’s right,” agreed Dr. White. “It’s sheer stupidity to let her take part in our deliberations.”

“But we also need to know what Gwyneth remembers,” said Mr. George. “Any impressions, however small—what they wore, what they said, what they looked like—could give us a good idea of Paul and Lucy’s present time base.”

“She’ll still remember all that tomorrow and the day after tomorrow,” said Falk de Villiers. “I think it really would be best for you to take her down to elapse now, Thomas.”

Mr. George crossed his arms over his fat little paunch and said nothing.

“I’ll go down to the chronograph and supervise her journey,” said Mr. Whitman, pushing his chair back.

“Right.” Falk nodded. “Two hours will be plenty. One of the adepts can wait for her to travel back. We need you up here with us.”

I looked inquiringly at Mr. George. He only shrugged his shoulders, resigned.

“Come along, Gwyneth.” Mr. Whitman was on his feet. “The sooner you get it behind you, the sooner you’ll be in bed, and then at least you’ll be fit for classes at school tomorrow. I’m looking forward to reading your essay on Shakespeare.”

Good heavens. What a nerve the man had! Starting on about Shakespeare now … it really was the end!

For a moment I wondered whether to protest, but then I decided not to. I didn’t really want to listen to any more idiotic babble. I wanted to go home and forget this whole time-travel business, Gideon included. Let them go on mulling over mysteries in their stupid Dragon Hall until they dropped with sheer exhaustion. I wished that on Gideon most of all, plus a nightmare after he’d showered and gone to bed!

Xemerius was right, they were freaks, the whole lot of them.

The silly thing was that, all the same, I couldn’t help glancing at Gideon, and thinking something crazy along the lines of
if he’d only smile just once now
,
I’d forgive him everything.

Of course he didn’t. Instead he just looked at me expressionlessly. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. For a moment, the idea that we’d kissed was miles away, and for some reason, I suddenly thought of the silly rhyme that Cynthia Dale, our authority at school on everything to do with love, always liked to chant. “Green eyes, cold as ice, no idea that love is nice.”

“Good night,” I said with dignity.

“Good night,” all the others murmured. All of them except Gideon, that is. He said, “Don’t forget to blindfold her, Mr. Whitman.”

Mr. George snorted crossly through his nose. As Mr. Whitman opened the door and propelled me out into the corridor, I heard Mr. George saying, “Have you stopped to think that this policy of excluding her could be the very reason why the things that are going to happen do happen?” Whether anyone had an answer to that I didn’t hear. The heavy door latched shut, cutting off the sound of their voices.

Xemerius was scratching his head with the tip of his tail. “That’s the weirdest secret society I ever came across!”

“Don’t take it to heart, Gwyneth,” said Mr. Whitman. He took a black scarf out of his jacket pocket and held it under my nose. “It’s just that you’re the new factor in the game. The great unknown in the equation.”

What was I supposed to say to that? Three days ago, I didn’t even have an inkling about the existence of the Guardians. Three days ago, my life had still been perfectly normal. Well, reasonably normal. “Mr. Whitman, before you blindfold me … could we stop in Madame Rossini’s sewing room and fetch my things? I’ve left two sets of my school uniform here now, and I’ll need something to wear tomorrow. My school bag is there too.”

“Of course.” Mr. Whitman waved the scarf cheerfully in the air as he walked along. “In fact, you can change your clothes there. You won’t be meeting anyone in the past. What year shall we send you to?”

“Makes no difference if I’m shut up in a cellar, does it?” I said.

“Let’s see, it has to be a year when you can land in … er, in the aforesaid cellar without any problems. That’s all right after 1945—for a few years before that, the cellars were used as air raid shelters. How about 1974? The year when I was born, a good year.” He laughed. “Or shall we try 30 July 1966? That’s when England beat Germany in the World Cup final. But I don’t suppose you’re very interested in football, are you?”

“Particularly not when I’m holed up in a cellar without any windows, a long way below ground level,” I said wearily.

“It’s all done for your own safety.” Mr. Whitman sighed.

“Hold on a moment,” said Xemerius, who was flying along beside me. “I can’t quite keep up with all this. Does it mean you’re going to get into a time machine now and disappear into the past?”

“Yes, exactly,” I told him.

“Then let’s go for the year 1948,” said Mr. Whitman happily. “The year of the London Olympic Games.”

He was walking ahead, so he couldn’t see me roll my eyes.

“Time travel! Wow! Interesting girlfriend I’ve found myself!” said Xemerius, and for the first time I thought I detected a note of respect in his voice.

*   *   *

THE ROOM
where the chronograph was kept was deep underground, and although I’d always been brought down here and led up again blindfolded, by now I had some idea where it was. If only because in both 1912 and 1782 I’d been allowed to leave the room without a blindfold. When Mr. Whitman led me, blindfolded now, away from Madame Rossini’s sewing room and along the corridors and staircases, the way began to seem quite familiar, and it was only at the end of it that I felt Mr. Whitman was taking an extra detour to confuse me.

“He really piles on the suspense, doesn’t he?” said Xemerius. “Why did they hide this time machine down in a deep, dark cellar?”

I heard Mr. Whitman talking to someone, then a heavy door opened and latched again behind us, and Mr. Whitman took off my blindfold.

I blinked at the light. A red-haired young man in a black suit was standing beside Mr. Whitman. He looked slightly nervous and was sweating with excitement. I glanced around for Xemerius. He was putting his head back through the closed door, just for fun, while the rest of him was here in the room with us.

“Thickest walls I ever saw,” he said when he reappeared. “So thick they could have walled up a bull elephant here sideways, if you see what I mean.”

“Gwyneth, this is Mr. Marley, Adept First Degree,” said Mr. Whitman. “He’ll wait here for you to come back and then take you up again. Mr. Marley, this is Gwyneth Shepherd, the Ruby.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Shepherd.” The redhead made me a little bow.

I smiled at him, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Er … pleased to meet you, too.”

Mr. Whitman was doing something to an ultramodern safe with a display of flashing lights. I hadn’t noticed it on my last two visits to this room. It was hidden behind a tapestry on the wall embroidered with what looked like scenes out of medieval fairy tales—knights on horseback with plumed helmets, ladies with pointy hats and veils obviously admiring a half-naked young man who had killed a dragon. As Mr. Whitman tapped a sequence of numbers into the keypad of the safe, Mr. Marley discreetly looked down at the floor, but you couldn’t make anything out anyway, because Mr. Whitman’s broad back hid the display from our eyes. The safe door swung open gently, and Mr. Whitman took out the chronograph in its red velvet wrapping and put it on the table.

Mr. Marley held his breath in surprise.

“This is Mr. Marley’s first sight of the chronograph in action,” said Mr. Whitman, eyes twinkling at me. With his chin, he indicated a flashlight lying on the table. “Take that just in case there’s any problem with the electric light. So you needn’t be afraid of the dark.”

“Thanks.” I wondered whether to ask for an insecticide spray as well. An old cellar was bound to be full of creepy-crawlies—and what about rats? It wasn’t fair, sending me off all on my own. “Please could I have a stout stick too?”

“A stick? Gwyneth, you’re not going to meet anyone there.”

“But there could be rats—”

“Rats are more scared of people than vice versa, believe me.” Mr. Whitman had taken the chronograph out of its velvet cloth. “Impressive, don’t you think, Mr. Marley?”

“Yes, sir, very impressive, sir.” Mr. Marley stared at the device in awe.

“Sucking up!” said Xemerius. “Redheads always suck up, don’t you agree?”

“I’d have expected it to be larger, I must say,” I said. “And I wouldn’t have expected a time machine to look so like a mantelpiece clock.”

Xemerius whistled through his teeth. “And look at those clunking great rocks! If they’re real, I’m not surprised this thing is kept in a safe.” The chronograph did have gemstones of an impressive size set in it, glowing like the crown jewels in among the painting and writing on the surface of the strange device.

“Gwyneth has opted for the year 1948,” said Mr. Whitman, as he opened flaps and set tiny little wheels turning and whirring. “What was going on in London at the time, Mr. Marley, do you know?”

“The Olympic Games, sir,” said Mr. Marley.

“Show-off!” said Xemerius. “Redheads are always showing off.”

“Very good.” Mr. Whitman straightened up. “Gwyneth will arrive at twelve noon on the twelfth of August and spend exactly a hundred and twenty minutes there. Are you ready, Gwyneth?”

I swallowed. “I really do wish I knew … are you sure I won’t meet anyone there?” Not to mention rats and spiders. “When I was on my own before, Mr. George gave me his ring to take with me so I wouldn’t come to any harm.…”

“That was when you traveled back to the documents room, which has always been much used. But this room will be empty. If you keep quiet and don’t leave it—it will be locked, anyway—you definitely won’t meet anyone. Hardly anyone ever came into this part of the vaults in the postwar years. They were busy with reconstructing buildings aboveground all over London then.” Mr. Whitman sighed. “An exciting period.”