Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings Read Free Page A

stand around looking stupid and refusing to budge because it’s snowing out there and they don’t want to get their precious selves cold and wet. A good hour, I reckon.’
    â€˜Brilliant,’ I said in awe. ‘Absolutely bloody brilliant.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ he said modestly. ‘Aren’t I?’
    â€˜On this occasion – yes.’
    He produced a torch and we slipped out of the door.
    It was chaos out there. It’s bedlam at St Mary’s when the lights are on. It’s a hundred times worse when the lights are out.
    All around us was a maelstrom of raised voices shouting conflicting instructions, supernova-bright torches blinding everyone they shone on, dreadful language, and the odd scream as someone fell over something. We crept cautiously along the corridors, but quite honestly, they wouldn’t have noticed if Napoleon’s army had swung through on their way to Moscow, singing the 1812 Overture scored for full chorus, twenty-one cannons, and a tambourine.
    We battled our way through the crowds. ‘Like salmon swimming upstream,’ said Markham at one point, eventually arriving at the paint store. We oozed inside and closed the door, shutting out the noise behind us. In the sudden silence, I heaved a sigh of relief. Difficult part over with.
    No it wasn’t. Peterson was waiting for us.
    We stopped dead and everyone looked at everyone else.
    When it became apparent he wasn’t going to speak, I said, ‘How on earth did you know?’
    He raised his eyebrows at me, his expression enigmatic. At that moment, he looked very like Dr Bairstow. He was going to make a wonderful Deputy Director.
    â€˜Is that a serious question? It’s Christmas. The two of you are whispering in corners looking mysterious. Grey’s in tears. Then, mysteriously, the lights go out. Why didn’t you just make a public announcement?’
    Markham shuffled his feet and muttered something.
    I sighed. ‘Does everyone know?’
    â€˜If you mean Chief Farrell and Major Guthrie – Leon’s racing around trying to get the lights on and the fire alarms off, and Guthrie’s gearing up for the invasion he’s convinced is imminent. Of course, neither of them is going to be pleased when they discover the true cause of the emergency.’
    â€˜I may have to live abroad for a while,’ said Markham gloomily.
    â€˜You should live so long. So, what’s this all about?’
    I was uneasy for him. ‘You oughtn’t to be involved.’
    â€˜Tell me or I grass the pair of you up to Dr Bairstow right now.’
    â€˜You tell him,’ I said to Markham, and pushed my way past them to retrieve our equipment and load up the pod.
    Pods are our centre of operations. We use them to jump back to whichever time period we’ve been assigned. We live in them and work in them. Occasionally, we die in them. They’re small, cramped, and smelly, and that’s even before you add a couple of historians to the mix. Leon’s pod is a single-seater, so this one was even smaller and more cramped than usual. I activated the screen and watched the two of them indulge in a heated discussion while I laid in the coordinates.
    When I emerged, task done, Markham was just finishing. ‘And let’s face it, it wouldn’t be Christmas if we weren’t stealing Chief Farrell’s pod and breaking all the rules for a good cause.’
    â€˜Once. We did that once.’
    â€˜All traditions have to start somewhere.’
    Peterson sighed. ‘So how is this going to work, then? Don’t tell me you haven’t got a plan?’
    â€˜We jump to the original coordinates. Very carefully ensuring we are not seen by Bashford and his gang, we shadow them. We follow their every move. With luck, we can identify the exact moment the gun goes missing. As soon as they’re clear, we swoop in, grab the bloody thing, and jump back to St Mary’s. Markham