There, as they stood dripping on the patterned marble floor, Vivian seized the chance to tell Elio about the credit on her belt. Elio asked to look at it. Vivian took off the heavy wet leather and passed it over. Elio’s straight pale hair dripped on it as he ran the belt between his fingers. He looked annoyed with himself.
“I weighed the odds,” he said, “and decided against having a rain-shield-function on any of our belts. My calculation was that we would be outside in only two percent of the year’s rainfall. What I forgot is that two percent is as wet as any other rain. No, this belt is in perfect working order. The fault must be in the City computer.” He passed Vivian the belt back. “I will check the computer tomorrow,” he said. “Just now I shall be busy. The Sempitern is going to be very wet and very cross when he comes in.”
But Vivian discovered what was wrong with her belt next morning, long before Elio did. It was a moist, blue, after-rain morning. She and Jonathan set off for school and found that Sam was not waiting at the fountain as usual. Vivian thought she saw him lurking under the archway. But Jonathan said quickly, “No, that’ll be Leon. I asked him to meet me there if he’d found out anything. You go over and ask about Sam—it’s that house there—while I talk to Leon.” And he went racing off to the archway, pigtail flying, obviously very excited.
Hm, Vivian thought as she went towards the rosy brick house Jonathan had pointed out, I think Jonathan doesn’t want me to know what he says to Leon Hardy. I wonder why?
She stood and looked at the front door of the Donegals’ house. There was no knocker and no bell. But there must have been some other device. While Vivian was standing there wondering what to do, the door opened and Sam’s father came out, pulling the pyjama top of his uniform down through his belt, obviously ready to leave for work.
“Morning,” he said. “I waited for you. It’s no good calling for Sam. He won’t get to Duration today. He’s had another butter-pie orgy and made himself sick as a suicide, I’m afraid.”
As soon as Sam’s father said that, Vivian knew what had gone wrong with her belt. “Oh,” she said. “Thank you.” And she turned to go back to the archway. But Mr. Donegal shut his front door and stepped out beside her in the most friendly possible way. This made Vivian feel very awkward. For one thing, she was very angry with Sam. For another, she wanted to hear what Leon Hardy was telling Jonathan. And on top of all this, she found she was rather shy of Sam’s father. He had a fierce, active feel about him, which she had not met in the other people of Time City. She was sure this was the feeling you got from someone with a lot of power, who gave orders and got obeyed, and that was alarming in itself. But she remembered that Mr. Donegal was supposed to be her uncle and did her best to give him a niece-like smile. “I thought Sam didn’t have any credit,” she said.
“He hasn’t. He went into Patrol Building during the ceremony last night and tinkered with my computer outlet,” said Mr. Donegal. “Got it to give him a credit strip from someone else’s account—cunning little devil!” He sounded stern, but Vivian could tell he was secretly rather proud of Sam. “He won’t say whose account it was. Can’t get it out of him.”
But I know! Vivian thought. Just because he was annoyed that Jonathan and I are going to go off without him, and we haven’t even gone yet! She was angrier than ever with Sam. But she did not say anything to Mr. Donegal, because she wanted to be revenged on Sam for herself. “How many did he eat?” she asked.
“A hundred units’ worth, would you believe that!” Mr. Donegal said.
Vivian did believe it. It was the final proof. She would have liked to tell Jonathan, who was standing under the archway talking to Leon Hardy. But, frustratingly, both of them looked round, saw Vivian and Mr. Donegal walking across Time Close, and set off out into Aeon Square, talking hard all the time.
“I was wanting to speak to you,” Mr. Donegal said, “about Twenty Century.”
“Yes?” Vivian said nervously.
“It’s gone critical all right,” said Mr. Donegal. “World War One is affected now. It’s run right back into a thing called the Boer War. War Two starts in nineteen-thirty-seven at the moment. It’s getting pretty nasty out there. I won’t lie to you, but I don’t want you to worry either.”
But I do! Vivian thought as they went into the shadow of the archway. She forgot about Sam, and about Jonathan and Leon Hardy. All she could think was: what about Mum and Dad?
They came out into the brightness of Aeon Square, where Jonathan and Leon were small shapes out beyond Faber John’s Stone. “Your mother and father are quite safe,” Mr. Donegal said. It was just as if he could read Vivian’s thoughts, except that he was talking about the wrong mother and father. “Observers are given plenty of protection, and Time Patrol keeps going in and checking. I won’t deny that I was a little annoyed with your father for being so slow to report the deterioration, but that doesn’t mean I’m neglecting him or Inga. I’m putting a Zero Hour request to Chronologue to recall all the Observers from that era. I thought you’d want to know that Chronologue will do it, but they’ll be a bit slow because of all these Foundation Ceremonies. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time for us! But not to worry. You’ll have your father and mother safe back in Time City in three or four days at the most.”
“Th-thanks,” Vivian managed to say.
They walked on towards Faber John’s Stone. Mr. Donegal went on talking. Vivian dimly heard him say that Time Patrol had still not caught the cause of all the trouble, and she rather thought he went on to say that the Second and Third Unstable Eras were in a mess too, but she did not attend to any of it. When at last he patted her cheerily on the shoulder and went off to Patrol Building at a rolling trot just like Sam’s, Vivian’s legs were almost refusing to move her. Jonathan was at the doorway of Duration by then. Vivian saw Leon wave to him and stride off along the bottom of the square, past a line of children hurrying towards Duration. With a great effort, she managed to cross the rest of the square at a weak run. She was almost too alarmed to think straight.
In three or four days the Lees would be back, and the real Cousin Vivian would be with them. Somehow, she had never really thought of that happening. And that was quite stupid of her. Jenny had talked about Observers being recalled days ago.
“I’ve been living,” Vivian panted to herself, “in—what does Mum call it?—a fool’s paradise. That’s what I’ve been—a fool in paradise. How daft!”
She was glad of school to take her mind off it, even though the morning’s lessons did not seem so lively without Sam making a noise every few minutes. But at least Universal Symbols were something to think about beside the Lees. She almost looked forward to Dr. Wilander that afternoon, because he made it really very difficult to think of anything else at all.
Then halfway through the morning, the message stud flashed on Vivian’s belt. She was quite pleased with herself for noticing, considering what was on her mind. She pressed the stud and the empty space of her desk shone with the words:
Hakon Wilander to V. Lee. Sorry forgot beastly Ceremony this afternoon. See you tomorrow instead.
Oh bother! Vivian thought. Now I’ve got a whole afternoon with nothing to do but worry!
But as soon as she went into the lunch room, Jonathan grabbed her arm. “Get some food and come back to the Palace,” he whispered. “Leon’s going to meet us in Hundred and One Century.”
Vivian looked at him and realised he was wearing the suit with diamonds. She looked down at herself. Her suit was a brownish orange with small white stripes, which had not shown up very well in the darkness of the passage. But she recognised it now as the suit her ghost had been wearing. And Sam had made himself ill.
This is it! she thought excitedly. I have to go and come back. Then, with any luck, I can leave before the real Vivian Lee gets here!
11
THE AGE OF GOLD
Jonathan rushed straight off, but Vivian treated herself to four butter-pies before she left. Her only regret was that
she might not have time to get her revenge on Sam. Otherwise, she walked across Aeon Square eating the last butter-pie, full of pleasant thoughts. By tonight, she could be home. She saw herself telling Mum how awful Cousin Marty was, and she saw Mum being very understanding and letting her stay in Lewisham in spite of the bombs. She saw Dad coming home for the weekend and being really surprised. This wonderful day-dream was enough to set her making little skips as she crossed the square. And when she got to Time Close, where there was no one about to see, she did a silly dance round the fountain, waving the stick of her butter-pie.
“What kept you?” said Jonathan. He was waiting by the chained door with the diamond-shaped pockets of his suit bulging. Vivian could see he was in a fever of impatience.
“Sorry,” she said, not really, meaning it. The best thing about time-travel, as Vivian had seen almost straight away, was that you could waste hours on the way and still arrive at the exact right time. “Why do we have to meet Leon Hardy in One Hundred and One?”
Jonathan hurried her down the passage. “He knows all about the Dark Nineties,” he said. “He says we’ll need protective equipment to go then and he’s going to get us some from the nearest Fixed Century he can get to. But of course he has to leave by an official time-lock down the river, so he can’t get to an Unstable Era himself. So he’s going as close as he can. He’s being awfully kind.”
Jonathan stopped and gave the secret door an expert kick. It swung smoothly round. They squeezed in and pressed the light studs on their belts. The spiral stair did not seem either so endless or so frightening by now.
“And why are we going to the Dark Nineties?” Vivian asked as they scrambled down.
“It’s one of the long Unstable Eras,” Jonathan called up. “So it must be either the Age of Lead or the Age of Gold. I thought we’d find the Guardian and tell him to bring his polarity back to Time City before the thief gets it, like the Iron Guardian said.”
This seemed a good idea to Vivian. In fact she thought as she slithered off the last step into the little room, where the slate still flickered and their Twentieth Century clothes lay where they had thrown them off, that she had told Jonathan they should do this a long time ago.
Jonathan picked the egg-shaped control off its stone and installed it carefully in one of his pockets. His pockets chinked.
“What else have you brought?” Vivian asked.
“Metal detector, map, compass, torch, emergency rations,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to do this properly. Now be quiet while I focus my mind on Leon.” He concentrated. Nothing happened. “Leon Hardy,” he said loudly. Still nothing happened. “Oh no!” Jonathan almost screamed. “The control’s run out!”
“It can’t have done,” said Vivian. “We were coming back—I mean our time-ghosts were.”
Jonathan took the egg out of his pocket again and held it in front of his face. “Leon Hardy,” he told it, loudly and slowly. “The first year of One Hundred and One Century.”
That did the trick. The slate cleared into light that was so dim that they hardly realised that the egg had worked at first. A cold wind blew in at them, smelling strongly of sawdust and wet grass. Jonathan switched his belt light off and walked cautiously forward. As Vivian switched hers off and fumbled after him, she heard a blackbird sing, loud and clear, from somewhere near. Funny that there are still blackbirds! she thought, looking round for Leon Hardy. If this is right at the other end of history, of course. It felt just like any dark morning anywhere.
Leon Hardy was there, sitting on a fallen tree just behind them. As Vivian’s eyes adjusted, she saw him get up, shivering and rubbing his arms. That little kilt he wore did not look very warm. “You made it!” he said, in a low cautious voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d get here before the people came to work. I’ve got the stuff. I’ve been sitting over it half the night. Let me help you get it on.”
There was a heap of what looked like tree bark beside his feet. Leon picked up a piece of it and it proved to be the top half of a sort of suit of armour. There was too little light to see more than that it was dullish, with wrinkled places at the elbows and shoulders where it was supposed to bend.
“Do we really need that?” Jonathan said.
“I’ll say you will!” said Leon. “There are gangs of wild men and wild dogs and Time knows what-all back there in the Nineties. We still have trouble with them in this era.” He helped them fasten themselves into the armour, rather hurriedly, as if there were not much time. It was made of some tough bendy stuff Vivian had never met before, and it was far heavier than she had thought it would be. The lower part was only for the front of their legs. Vivian was glad. She did not think she could have walked otherwise. The light was growing brighter all the time and she began to wonder what colour the armour was. It looked almost as if it might be red.
As the light grew brighter, Jonathan became more and more uneasy. Vivian knew that it was his fear of the wide open spaces of history. But Leon belonged to history, and he seemed more and more uneasy too. Vivian caught his uneasiness when he said, trying to joke, “Jonathan tells me there are a couple of time-ghosts of you back in the Annuate, so it looks as if both of you come back, armour or not. He tells me you know London.”
“That’s right,” said Vivian. She had caught the uneasiness too and kept trying to see all round her. They seemed to be in a large timber yard. Felled trees lay everywhere. The place where they were was hidden from the main part of the yard by a pile of sawn planks.
“Well, London is where that Casket is,” Leon said, calling her attention back. “That’s certain, and I’m certain that you’ll find it’s the Gold. But the records I looked at mentioned three places and I’ve no idea which of them it’s going to be in. Does Buck House mean anything to you?”
“Buckingham Palace?” Vivian said.
“And the second place is Spauls,” Leon said hurriedly. “Does that mean anything?”
“Saint Paul’s?” Vivian said dubiously.
“And there’s Laununsun—that’s the third,” said Leon.
It was nearly daylight now. Leon was bending over Vivian with his face close to hers. She felt the uneasiness stronger than ever. He seemed far too interested in knowing. “Laununsun, Laununsun,” she said looking away from Leon while she tried to think. There were deep ruts in the grass where trees had been dragged. A dark lump beside the pile of sawn planks was resolving into a patient-looking horse that must have done the dragging. “Laununsun,” said Vivian. “Oh, I see! Lord Nelson! That’s Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square.”
Leon smiled flashingly at her and turned to help Jonathan do up the buckles on his legs. “So you’ve got your three places,” he said to him. “Have you any further thoughts on where the Lead Casket might be? My research hasn’t come up with a clue.”
Jonathan has told him a lot! Vivian thought, more uneasy than ever. By now she could see that Jonathan’s armour was red. As she looked down at her own, she heard a man singing somewhere behind the pile of planks.
Leon jumped rather and looked round furtively. Then he hurried to the horse standing so patiently beside the planks, unhitched it from the plank it was tied to and brought it over, clopping in huge strides on huge round feet. “Up you get,” he said. “Quickly.”
They looked up at it in dismay. It was bright brown and it was gigantic, bigger than the biggest carthorse Vivian had ever seen. It must have been a new breed.
“Get your helmets on and get up,” Leon said impatiently. “The workforce is arriving.”
Jonathan picked up the heavy spiked helmet. It looked almost the colour of blood in the new pink light. “But that creature won’t fit into our time-lock,” he said. “It’s only a tiny room.”
“But you told me you’d got one of the old controls,” Leon said. “You can go straight to the Nineties from here with one of those. Or do you want the foreman to arrive and find us stealing a horse? Horse-stealing’s a serious crime in this era.”
T
here were now quite a few voices ringing out from behind the pile of planks. Some were calling good mornings, but one at least was swearing angrily. “Where’s that brown logging-horse?” Vivian heard among the swearwords. “Anyone seen my damned horse?”
Vivian and Jonathan crammed the helmets on their heads. Leon led the horse alongside a felled tree, and somehow, largely because the man behind the planks was shouting more and more angrily, Jonathan and Vivian managed to scramble first on to the tree and then on to the horse’s wide slippery back. There was no saddle and the horse was so huge that there was no way Vivian could get a grip with her legs. She had to hang on to Jonathan’s shell-like armour, while Jonathan grabbed the horse’s mane with one hand and fumbled the egg-control out with the other. Luckily the horse seemed as placid as a table—a very high table, Vivian thought, staring down at Leon’s face a long way below. Leon was smiling up at them in a way that looked very relieved indeed.
“Buck House in London, year Ninety-five hundred,” Jonathan said.
And they were there. Or Vivian supposed they must be. It was broad daylight, slanting green through a thick summer forest. Instead of Leon standing there in the pink light, there were trees everywhere, ancient enormous trees with moss on them and rows of large ear-like fungus growing down their trunks. The smell was the mushroom smell of deep woodland, and the sounds—the rustles and creaks, the distant squawks and flaps—were the sounds of a forest that stretched for miles. Jonathan felt those miles and shifted uneasily. Vivian did for an instant wonder what Leon was saying at that moment to the man looking for his horse, but Jonathan’s movement drew her attention to a cloud of midges circling them and the horse. And their armour was indeed red. It shone bright as blood against the crowding green of the trees.
“Does this mean London’s all overgrown with trees now?” she said.