Gideon the Cutpurse (11 page)

* * *

The NASA scientists--Dr. Jacob, a youngish man with thinning blond hair, and Dr. Pirretti, a neat dark-haired woman in her late thirties--were dressed formally as a mark of respect, but they looked uncomfortable in their dark suits. Their golden tans and rich West Coast accents seemed exotic in this chilly Derbyshire laboratory. They were embarrassed about bothering Kate's father at a time like this and spent a long time saying how sorry they were about the children's disappearance, asking about Mr. and Mrs. Schock, and offering to help in any way they could. In the end Dr. Dyer stopped them.
"You must have had a compelling reason to fly over here to see me," he said. "Please tell me what it is, because I don't want to leave my wife alone for too long at the moment."
"I'm so sorry," said Dr. Pirretti. "I'll get to the point directly. You see, Tim Williamson has been working on an antigravity project very similar to one in the States--which is why we were particularly happy to fund his research here. We hoped that one project would complement the other. Anyway, Russ Merrick, at MIT, built a device that was different in design from Tim's but that had pretty similar aims. They were both working on the premise that the
casimir effect
isn't just theoretical--although Russ was using static metal plates inside the vacuum chamber rather than a mirrored belt moving at high speed. Russ, like Tim, felt that he was getting nowhere fast with his experiments. He hadn't managed to generate any measurable amount of antigravity. But--and this is why we're here today--a couple of months ago he contacted us to say that his machine had vanished. Russ assumed that someone had broken in and stolen it, although he couldn't work out why someone would want to risk breaking into a high-security lab for such a low-profile experiment. However, on precisely the same night as the theft, one of the cleaners who was scheduled to clean Russ's lab disappeared without a trace. Up until now we had not connected the two events--and, sure, the chances are there isn't any connection. But, hey, if there is, we really want to know about it."
Dr. Dyer's eyes widened. "Does Detective Inspector Wheeler know about this?" he asked.
"No. And if it's not asking too much, I'd prefer he didn't. Unless some concrete evidence turns up. I'm sure you understand...."
"I'm not sure that I do understand," replied Kate's father. "What do you think could have happened? Why don't you want the police to know?"
"Obviously we don't
know
what happened, but until we've investigated the incident ourselves, we'd prefer not to have the interference of the police, who, with no disrespect, could only be a hindrance. We'd just be glad if we could count on your cooperation just in case...something turns up."
"Yes, of course I'll cooperate," replied Dr. Dyer. "Why on earth shouldn't I? But tell me, for pity's sake, what do you think
could
have happened?"
Dr. Jacob cleared his throat and looked at Dr. Pirretti. "Shall I tell him?"
Dr. Pirretti nodded.
"It's a shot in the dark, you understand, but we have got to at least question whether these disappearances are linked."
"How could they be linked?"
"What if the theory that minivirtual wormholes are spontaneously created and destroyed in a quantum vacuum turns out to be true?"
"You're talking about space-time foam?"
"Yes. Well, just supposing you wanted to turn a virtual wormhole into a real wormhole. In theory, although it's never been proven, you would need
anti-energy
. We're considering the possibility that both Russ's and Tim's machines have provided the anti-energy needed to do just that."
Dr. Dyer frowned and shook his head. "I don't get it. How is a machine that--on a subatomic scale--
may
have an effect on virtual wormholes going to make people disappear?"
"Let's just say that we're thinking along the lines of the relationship between
gravity
and
time
."
Dr. Dyer sat down in a chair with a thump. "But that's ridiculous! Surely you'd need massive amounts of anti-energy to create a wormhole big enough to warp time. You're not serious?"
Dr. Pirretti slowly nodded her head. "Well, it's not exactly a case of
warping
time, but, yes, we are serious."
"Good Lord," Dr. Dyer exclaimed. "I can see that you are."
"Russ is rebuilding his equipment in Houston as we speak," said Dr. Jacob. "And we'd like Tim to return to the U.S. with us to recreate his experiment. We need to throw every test we can think of at these machines. It is almost certainly a red herring, but we cannot discount it--yet."
Dr. Pirretti put her hand on Dr. Dyer's arm. "Can we count on your discretion? We felt that we owed it to you to share our thoughts, but we must ask you to talk about this to no one--not even your wife. Even though it is highly unlikely that this gravity-time hypothesis will come to anything, we all know that if the newspapers got hold of something like this, all hell would break loose."
"You can imagine the headlines," said Dr. Jacob. "'NASA scientists inundated with requests to become time traveler test pilots,' 'Paleontologists beg for the chance to prove their theories,' 'More dangerous than the atom bomb--Protect our history!' 'Worldwide demonstrations against new invention.'"
Dr. Dyer nodded. "I see what you mean. No, you needn't worry. I won't say anything. I wouldn't want to say anything to my wife that would upset her any more than she is already. Besides, what you say is so far-fetched, I find it difficult to take your fears seriously."

* * *

When Mrs. Dyer heard the key in the lock, she ran to meet her husband. He could tell that she had been crying and that she was now having to try very hard not to.
"What is it?" he cried, fearing the worst.
"Kate's friend Megan just telephoned. She said that half of the Year Eleven prefects were in hysterics at school this morning because they saw a ghost walking through the common room...."
Mrs. Dyer covered her face with her hands.
"A ghost! But you don't believe in ghosts!" Dr. Dyer exclaimed. "What's that got to do with us?"
"They all swore the ghost was Kate--they said she was wearing a long white gown!"

* * *

Kate gave a huge yawn and stretched her arms high above her head. The sound of sixteen hooves striking the cracked earth for mile after mile was hypnotic. It was all she could do to keep awake in the stifling heat with Peter falling asleep in the opposite seat and Hannah snoring quietly next to her. She and Jack had both given up leaning out of the window, because the dust thrown up by the wheels made their eyes water. Kate invited Jack to sit on her knee. It was the heavy, warm weight of a young child on her lap that provoked a sudden pang of longing to see her family again. She could rarely watch television or sleep late on Sunday mornings without Milly or Sean or the twins snuggling up to her. And poor Sam--he was such a worrier. If she was ten minutes late from school, he would start asking Mum to phone the school secretary. He was going to be beside himself by now. Jack sensed her distress and turned round to look at her. He stared at a small tear running down her cheek.
"Why are you crying, Mistress Kate?"
"I've got some dust in my eye.... Why don't you tell me what nursery rhymes you know, Jack?"
Kate had never heard of some of the songs he wanted her to sing. They both knew "Three Blind Mice," although they could not agree on the words. With the unmoving stubbornness of a five-year-old, Jack insisted that Kate's version was not just different, it was wrong. In the end Kate learned his version to keep him from complaining. At least the tune was the same.
Three blind mice, three blind mice,
Dame julienne, dame julienne,
The miller and his merry old wife,
She scraped the tripe, lick thou the knife,
Three blind mice, three blind mice.
Kate was a good singer and her high, melodious voice rose through the roof of the carriage to where Parson Ledbury took up the rhyme and sang it as a round, starting one line as Kate and Jack had finished it. Then the carriage driver joined in, and together they made a fine noise as they progressed through the Derbyshire countryside.
Kate and Jack had just taken in a deep breath to start the round again when Jack let out a shrill cry. Looking up, Kate saw why. Directly opposite them the dozing form of Peter was beginning to blur. Terrified yet fascinated, Jack hid his head on Kate's shoulder but could not resist peeping out with one eye open a tiny crack. "Why is he doing that?" he whimpered, pointing a small accusing finger at Peter's flickering, liquefying form. "I don't like it."
Aware that Hannah was beginning to stir, Kate kicked out in panic at Peter, who was now smiling in a most disconcerting fashion and looking around from side to side as if he were sightseeing. When her foot entered the space apparently occupied by Peter's left leg, Kate felt the sensation of intense cold, as if all the living heat was being sucked out of her. Her knee was pushed up and backward as she felt her foot being expelled with some force from Peter's blurring body. At the same time, luminous spirals started to form in front of her eyes. She felt a strong urge to join him, to detach herself from this reality and...
"Make him stop it!" cried Jack.
The parson was still singing "Three Blind Mice."
"Peter!" Kate cried out as loudly as she dared. "Peter, come back!"
Hannah opened her eyes at the same moment that Peter, whose face had turned a livid greenish white, said, "I think I'm going to be sick." Peter promptly hung himself over the window, and the rest of the carriage watched as his back heaved.
"Oh, the poor soul!" Hannah exclaimed, and rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. "By your leave, Parson Ledbury, Master Schock is ill; will you kindly stop the carriage as soon as you are able?"
Jack tugged at Hannah's skirts. "Hannah," he said, "Peter turned very strange while he slept."
"Well, Master Jack," she replied, "it is what happens to some people on long journeys. You are fortunate it did not happen to you."
Jack's eyes grew very large.

* * *

The whole party got down to stretch their legs. Peter stood trembling and pale in the shade of some bushes.
"You look terrible," Kate remarked.
"Thanks a lot," said Peter.
Hannah came over and poured some clear amber liquid from a rather dirty glass bottle into a tumbler and told Peter to swallow it in one gulp.
"It will make you feel better," she urged.
Peter looked at it suspiciously but did what he was told. The medicine certainly brought the color to his cheeks, but he did not feel exactly better. He clutched his stomach.
"Not found your sea legs, yet, eh, Master Schock?" said Parson Ledbury without a great deal of sympathy. "Perhaps you had better sit up on top as long as you can keep the contents of your stomach to yourself!"
Peter dived into some bushes.
"Upon my word the journey to London is going to seem an eternity for that poor child," said Hannah.
"How long will the journey take?" asked Kate.
"It will take no time at all with horseflesh of this quality," declared the parson, patting the flank of one of his chestnut mares. "Why, you shall be supping in Lincoln's Inn Fields this Wednesday evening."
"Two and a half days!" exclaimed Kate.
"Indeed," agreed the parson, "an amazing short time, is it not?"
Kate nodded her head. "Amazing."

* * *

Kate was tactful enough to wait for a moment before going after Peter to see how he was doing.
"Please don't ever, ever do that again," he said. "I thought I was going to die. When your foot went into me, it felt like I was being turned inside out. Stop laughing! I'm serious--it felt really dangerous. I wondered for a moment there if I was going to disintegrate. Like every molecule of me was unsure which way to go."
"I'm sorry," said Kate. "I didn't mean to do it. Did you blur deliberately or did it just happen?"
"I'm not stupid enough to try and blur in a carriage full of people!" snapped Peter, who still looked distinctly green.
"Okay, there's no need to get so cross!" retorted Kate. "Where did you go, anyway? For a moment back there you looked like you were having a nice time."
"Yeah, I was. Actually it was great. I was floating over a country road at the same speed as the carriage, only minus the carriage. It felt like flying. It was only spoiled when a farmer spotted me and insisted on driving right up next to me in his tractor with his jaw open like this." Peter put on a half-baked expression and let his mouth sag open. Kate giggled.
"And when you decided to invade my body space," he said, knitting his eyebrows together, "it hurt so much I couldn't see. The farmer probably drove into a ditch, for all I know."
"Look, I said I was sorry. I won't do it ever again, I promise. Come on," she said, "we'd better be getting back."
"Kate..."
"Yes?"
"I'm not going to dare go to sleep now."
"It doesn't happen every time, but I know what you mean. If I'm going to blur, I want to know it's happening," Kate replied.
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. Get very tired I suppose. The sooner we get that machine back the better."
"Only if we can get it to work," said Peter.
"Yeah, well, I don't think we've got much choice--though maybe one of these times we'll blur back to the future and stay there. Then it doesn't matter if anyone sees us."
"It's as if there's a homing device in us, isn't it?" said Peter. "Like dogs that get lost on holiday and then walk hundreds of miles back home."
"Or maybe that machine damaged us in some way," said Kate. "I don't know. But I bet my dad has got it sussed. He'll come back and get us, you wait and see. Anyway, we'd better be getting back."
Peter did not understand why he felt quite so irritated when Kate went on about her dad like this, but he did.
If he was so totally wonderful, how come he let this happen in the first place?
he thought.

* * *

Once they were back on the road, Parson Ledbury announced, "I know a tolerable inn some three or four miles hence. The innkeeper's wife is as ugly as sin, but she cooks like an angel. I dined handsomely off a plate of tripe the last time I was there."
"What's tripe?" whispered Peter to Kate.
"Believe me, if you're still feeling sick, you don't want to know," she replied.

* * *

Half an hour later they found themselves seated around a long wooden table in the dining room of the New Inn. In comparison to the sweltering heat outside, the inn felt blissfully cool and comfortable. It was a large low-ceilinged room with oak beams, and sawdust scattered on the scrubbed wooden floor. There were half a dozen large tables crammed into the room, although Peter and Kate's group were currently the only guests. A serving wench brought out jugs of foaming ale and water, and the parson whispered something into her ear that made her smile and blush and scamper back into the kitchen. The innkeeper was busy stacking bottles in the cellar, and through the open trapdoor came the sound of his cheerful song echoing in the cavernous space--although he could not keep in tune from one note to the next. So it was the innkeeper's wife who presented them with a whole loin of pork roasted with potatoes. She had pretty blond hair and fine blue eyes, but every inch of her skin, even that on her eyelids and the palms of her hands, was horribly pockmarked, covered in deep pits and craters like a lunar landscape. It was impossible for Jack to stop staring. Hannah did her best to distract him, but to no avail--his wide blue eyes swiveled constantly back to the woman's disfigured complexion.
"Don't you fret at him, mistress. If I was apt to take offence, I'd never come out of the kitchen. There's not many that's had the smallpox as bad and lived to tell the tale. My mother lost two of my brothers and my only sister at the same time. When I took to feeling sorry for myself, she always said to me, 'Better to have skin like a honeycomb than be six feet under.' And of course she was right. Count your blessings, for you never know when they might be taken away."
"Well said, madam!" said Parson Ledbury, his chin glistening with pork grease. "You set an example to us all. Life is what you make of it. But tell me, why is your establishment so unseasonably quiet? I have never seen it so empty. I trust your husband has not taken to singing to his guests."
The woman laughed. "No, sir. Much as I love him I've too sharp an eye for business to let him do that. No, it's on account of a highwayman. He's struck five times between Derby and Lichfield this past fortnight. Folk reckon it's Ned Porter that's responsible, though they do say that there's a vicious gang of footpads abroad too. I advise you to take extra care and arm yourself in case of need."
The parson drew out a wooden cudgel from his belt and brandished it in the air.
"Do you have a pistol, sir?" asked the innkeeper's wife. "He is armed to the teeth, so they say."
Everybody stopped eating. Peter and Kate looked at each other in alarm, and Hannah clasped Jack to her. Sidney stood up suddenly and cried out, "Fear not! The parson and I will show no mercy to any gentleman of the road foolish enough to waylay us!"
"Bravo, my lad!" shouted the parson.
"Well, I admire your bottom, young sir," said the innkeeper's wife, ignoring Kate's snigger. "But if you change your mind, there's a gunsmith's shop in the village."
"You don't think we're in real danger, do you?" whispered Kate to Peter.
Peter shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? But I shouldn't worry. Sidney here will protect us!"