TIME QUAKE (30 page)

A thought flashed through Peter’s mind as he was propelled through the water. If the Tar Man
was
trying to untie the rope, surely that implied that he
didn’t want
to pull them in. On the other hand, if the Tar Man did not resist the pull of the rope, then he, too, would be dragged into the Thames by the same tidal current that was sweeping Kate and Peter towards London Bridge. But who had worked out that little scenario? And, for that matter, who had tied the rope? Gideon was in the water so it couldn’t have been him. And, come to that, how had Kate managed to fall into the river, unnoticed, at exactly the same spot? What on earth was going on?

Now they were less than a man’s length from the boat. Then Peter saw Gideon stagger over to the Tar Man and grab hold of the twisted cotton rope. Together the two of them hauled Peter and Kate over the side, grasping at their elbows and knees and at their sodden clothes. For a few seconds all four of them sat panting at the bottom of the boat. Kate, alone, did not seem bewildered.

Without warning Gideon leaped up, made his hand into a fist, and thumped the Tar Man hard enough on the jaw that he lost his balance and fell backwards, cracking his head on the edge of the wooden boat. Like a farmer getting ready to shear a sheep, Gideon turned the Tar Man over in one swift movement, knelt on his back, extracted his knife from its scabbard and threw it into the black water. Peter heard the splash as it hit the river.

‘Sit on his legs!’ Gideon cried to Peter and Kate. ‘This time he shall not escape us!’

Peter and Kate did as they were told and shuffled along the
bottom of the boat in their wet clothes, manoeuvring themselves onto the Tar Man’s white-stockinged calves.

‘Sir Richard is in an agony of pain,’ said Gideon between teeth clenched with the strain of pinning the Tar Man down. ‘’Tis not the first time I have seen you use that heartless trick and I know you have the secret to mend what you have broken. As you value your life, you will come back with me and attend to his arm.’

The Tar Man’s face was pressed into the bottom of the boat but he managed to raise his face sufficiently to produce an indulgent laugh.

‘Ha! A single evening’s combat with me has taught you to raise your game. I admit I did not even feel you tie the rope around my hand. Just think what a week in my company would achieve. Why, Joe Carrick could use an extra footpad – I fancy you could make a tolerably good one—’

Peter flashed Kate a look of surprise as Gideon smashed the Tar Man’s head against the boat’s floor. ‘I did not tie the rope around your hand. Agree to attend Sir Richard and I’ll agree not to throw you to the fishes, which is less than you deserve!’

‘I am not minded to tend your good Sir Richard. I fancy he can afford the services of a doctor, and I do not like to steal business from that honourable profession . . .’

Gideon ground his knee into the Tar Man’s back causing him to expel his breath in a barely controlled cry. ‘And
I
am not minded to let you go before you do . . . It is your stock in trade. I’ll warrant the doctor who attends Sir Richard has never performed such a procedure in his life, whereas barely a month goes by without you putting some cove’s arm back in its socket – leastways, once he’s agreed to squeak on his fellows or has handed over the pickings. Sir Richard has shown me too much kindness for me to stand by while a doctor ruins his arm. No,
you
must do it. I ask you in the name of our dead mother who would be ashamed—’

The Tar Man interrupted him with a growl and began to push the flat of his hands against the bottom of the boat, raising up his own mass, as well as that of Gideon and the children, off the damp wooden planks. Gideon bore frantically down on him but the Tar Man had slipped out from under the dead weight of three bodies and was already scrambling to his feet. Gideon followed suit and the two men stood, grappling with each other, causing the boat to list violently to one side and then the other. Peter and Kate exchanged desperate glances, pressing their bodies into the sides of the boat to avoid being trampled.

‘Stop! Both of you!’ screamed Kate in a sudden, shrill cry that echoed over the river. ‘There’s something you should both know!’

Her tone was so urgent and convincing that the two brothers paused, still grasping each other’s biceps. The Tar Man turned his head and looked hard at Kate and, whatever it was that he saw in her eyes, he appeared all at once unnerved. She watched him put a hand to his cheek.

‘I know the secret code,’ she said.

Peter turned to her. ‘How?’

Kate glared at him. ‘I just know. Okay?’

Peter nodded, furious with himself for opening his mouth.

‘You know the secret code that will allow me to return to the future?’ asked the Tar Man.

‘Yes.’

‘Is this the truth?’

‘Do not judge her by your own standards. Mistress Kate is not a liar!’ exclaimed Gideon.

‘It’s not a lie,’ said Kate gently. ‘I
swear
. I know the secret code.’

A shadow of a smile appeared on the Tar Man’s lips. ‘And so, Mistress Dyer, you have come to bargain with me?’

Kate nodded. Peter looked at her in astonishment. His friend was full of surprises.

‘Let me guess the nature of your bargain. You will furnish me with the code if I will take you home?’

‘Yes,’ said Kate.

‘Agreed,’ replied the Tar Man.

Kate turned to Gideon and Peter. ‘That was easy! Do
you
agree?’

‘Well . . . I . . .
Yes!
’ said Peter.

Gideon slowly released the Tar Man’s arms and frowned. ‘I do not trust him. I agree to the terms if first he sets right Sir Richard’s arm.’

The Tar Man looked up to heaven. ‘Agreed. I shall, however, keep possession of the machine on our arrival in the future.’

Kate looked at the others.

‘I just want to get home,’ she said.

‘Me too,’ said Peter.

Gideon nodded.

‘In which case,’ said the Tar Man to Gideon, ‘you had better return the key which you took from my mantelpiece . . .’

Gideon put his hand to his side as if to take the key from his pocket but his face fell. ‘My jacket was too heavy in the water. Your key is at the bottom of the Thames.’

Peter turned to Kate and whispered in her ear: ‘Did
you
tie the rope around the Tar Man’s hand?’

Kate smiled at him innocently and shrugged her shoulders.

They all agreed to meet at Sir Richard’s house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields at noon to discuss how they were to proceed. Grudgingly, the Tar Man returned to his house with Gideon, Peter and Kate. The driver was waiting at the door and, looking warily at the Tar Man, informed the party that a gentleman at St Paul’s coffee-house
had recommended his own doctor whom he had delivered here but a moment ago. In the hall they passed the old gentleman and Parson Ledbury, both of them sound asleep on each other’s shoulders, the bottle of brandy still clasped in the Parson’s hand.

‘I am pleased to see your friends have made themselves comfortable in my house during my absence,’ commented the Tar Man.

Gideon opened his mouth to comment on his brother’s notion of hospitality but thought the better of it. Peter looked over at Toby, still unconscious on his owner’s legs.

A doctor, thin and stooped, and wearing a dusty black jacket, was at Sir Richard’s side. He was instructing Hannah to hold a bowl to catch the blood from the incision he had just made in his patient’s good arm. The Tar Man pulled the doctor to his feet and practically kicked him down the stairs, throwing a couple of gold coins after him to quell his complaints.

‘Get him to his feet,’ barked the Tar Man. ‘That way I can get sufficient purchase for the twist.’

The Tar Man opened a cupboard in the corner of the room and brought out a bottle of brandy. Then he stooped over a basket of kindling by the fire and picked out a stout twig. He gave both to Hannah.

‘Let him have a swig of bingo then give him the gag to bite on. I can’t abide screaming.’

So, wooden gag in mouth, brandy dripping down his chin, the trembling Sir Richard was heaved to his feet in the arms of his friends. The Tar Man grabbed hold of his arm, raised it to shoulder height, and started to manipulate it, getting a feeling for the precise position when he should turn and push. Satisfied at last, and ignoring the muffled cries of Sir Richard and the streams of cold sweat that ran down his face, the Tar Man took a deep breath
and, with an explosive cry and a deft twist, forced the arm back into the shoulder socket. The resounding click announced that the arm was finally back in place. Sir Richard slumped to the floor. No one spoke for a long moment and the only sounds to be heard were the hiss of the fire and Sir Richard’s laboured breathing. The Tar Man went to his table, covered with jumbled artefacts, and stained with the Parson’s blood, and came back with an earthenware jar plugged with a cork, which he gave to Kate.

‘This will revive him. I shall take a turn to London Bridge. On my return I expect my house to be clear of all visitors.’ The Tar Man turned to Gideon. ‘I have done as you asked.’

‘I hope you do not expect my thanks.’

‘No, but I expect you to keep your side of the bargain.’

‘Do you doubt me?’

The Tar Man made no reply but disappeared into the dark stairwell, leaving Sir Richard in the tender care of his friends. They heard a door shut downstairs. Peter walked over to the circular window and watched the Tar Man stroll down the street towards the river. Kate joined him at the window, holding the jar. Another peal of thunder rumbled over the city although the sky was still clear.

‘This is weird weather,’ she said, rubbing her arms through the wet sleeves of her dress and shivering. ‘I’m a bit worried that I might have set it off.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Peter incredulously.

He looked at her with such intensity that Kate had to look away.

‘Just what is going on, Kate? When are you going to tell me what’s up? I know I’m not a genius like your dad, but I’m not stupid either. I thought we were supposed to be in this together.’

‘We are!’

‘Well, you could have fooled me . . .’

Kate tried to remove the cork from the jar and when she couldn’t Peter helped her. Inside was a spherical pomander. Kate opened it to reveal a small compartment covered with a fine metal mesh. A sharp, vinegary odour met their nostrils. Kate bent her head and sniffed it.

‘Oh! that is
disgusting
!’ she said, holding the pomander away from her with watering eyes. ‘The Tar Man is right – that will definitely bring Sir Richard round!’

Peter grabbed hold of the pomander, sniffed it and thrust it right back into Kate’s hands.

‘Phwoah! That’s supposed to make him feel better? It’s lethal! It’s worse than hot chilli ice cream!’

Kate laughed and pointed to his dripping nose. She offered him a damp handkerchief that smelled of the river. Peter used the back of his hand instead.

‘When are you going to tell me?’

‘I’ll tell you in the morning – it’s not simple. And I’m tired . . .’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘I
promise
.’

‘You know, you don’t look so good, Kate.’

She held out her hand and looked at it. ‘Thanks.’

‘Maybe it’s the light . . .’

She shrugged. ‘I think Sir Richard’s been through enough already without having to smell this, too. I might try it on the dog, though.’

‘You’ve seen Toby? After he bit the Tar Man’s ankle he kicked him clear across the room. He sang a duet with the old gentleman – you should have heard them!’

‘Molly joins in when I sing, too, it always makes me laugh.’ Kate was trying to close the pomander. The hinge suddenly felt stiff. ‘That’s weird. I can’t close it. Can you have a go?’

Kate held it out towards him but no hand came forward to take it. She turned to look up at him but it was a statue that Kate saw staring back at her. A sinking feeling that began in the pit of her stomach spread right through her. Kate returned Peter’s stare with blank, expressionless eyes and fought back the tears. It’s like I no longer belong in my own time any more. Through the window she saw the Tar Man, caught in mid-step on his way to the river. She spun around to look at Hannah and Gideon tending Sir Richard. Gideon was moistening his lips with a drop more brandy and Hannah was cleaning the cut inflicted on him by a doctor determined to bleed him, no matter what his complaint. The scene reminded her of a museum display with particularly life-like dummies enacting a typical domestic scene from the 1760s. She imagined the explanatory notes: Tended by a maid and a reformed cutpurse, an aristocrat recovers from a dislocated shoulder inflicted on him by a time-travelling henchman.

But at least she knew where Peter was this time around. He was a mere arm’s length away. A question occurred to her. Why had she not touched him straight away? She looked out again at the Tar Man, his unmistakeable contour black against the glittering river, the memory of the explosive consequences of her slapping him still vivid in her mind. And it was precisely that slap, she realised, which accounted for her not touching Peter. She was curious. She wanted to know why it had happened and if it might happen again. She wanted to know what she was becoming. The loneliness of fast-forwarding filled her with dread, and Kate worried about what it might be doing to her. Yet, at the same time, there was the undeniable lure of the unknown. In truth, a part of her must enjoy being the first human to experience existence at such high speeds. It was like being the first person to climb Everest or to reach the North Pole. And, as with any scientific experiment, an initial observation
was not sufficient – there had to be proof. An expression of her mother’s popped into her head which she chose to ignore as, she told herself, curiosity doesn’t
always
kill the cat. In any case there was only one way to reproduce this experiment.