* * *
It was eleven thirty p.m. And still nothing. Denny’s stomach lurched. This was all wrong. He found Tamar staring stubbornly out to sea. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered, roughly. ‘There’s something you have to see.’
‘What? What the hell is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Showing you the consequences.’
He faced her grimly. ‘The world is splitting,’ he told her. ‘Like it did when Askphrit went back to face himself and changed his own history. It’s splitting into two worlds and look.’ He drew out the Athame, and cut a symbol in the air, which shimmered and then faded. ‘There’s the world you’re about to create, where all these people survive.’
‘What …?’
‘Look!’
She looked. It was like a screen seen through a window, while wearing 3D glasses. And she saw … ‘The future?’ she looked at him questioningly.
‘From our perspective it’s the past. But see …’
‘Hitler, Jack-booting through Europe unfettered. We didn’t stop him, why?’
Denny handed her the Athame. Then she understood. ‘I see, because a man on this ship, who should have died, didn’t. And his son became a Nazi spy. One man made all that difference.’
‘No! One
woman
– you. There are other things too. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t need to see any more.’ She handed the Athame back to him. ‘Close it.’ She ran away from him.
‘Tamar!’
She turned back briefly, ‘don’t worry, I’ll do it,’ she said, and left him standing there, feeling guilty and depressed as the warning bell rang out.
* * *
The ship lurched sickeningly as it hit the berg, why the hell Tamar had insisted on remaining until it was over, was a mystery to Denny. ‘It’s morbid,’ he had said. But she had been adamant, and so he had not pushed it. Apart from that, she was not speaking to him – and that he
could
understand.
It was strange, but it seemed that it was true that the majority of the passengers really did not seem worried at all yet.
Denny leaned against the rail and watched their excitement and fun (they were actually playing hockey or football or something with the chunks of ice – Denny was not a sporty person, so he could not identify the game). He was overcome with a terrible depression. All too soon, there would be panic and screaming and death. Why had she wanted to stay, when they could not interfere, not even in the smallest way? Where was she anyway? He looked about him, but there was no sign of her.
Bloody hell!
He ran.
She was down in steerage freeing the trapped passengers. Denny grabbed her by the waist in a fury and slung her aside. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he screamed in fury. ‘You lied to me!’ He came closer in that moment than he ever had to hitting her. A different kind of man would have.
‘I didn’t – I wasn’t –
listen
to me.’
‘How could you? After what I … when I showed you …’
‘I’m not! This is different, these people are
supposed
to get out, but we changed it somehow,
trust
me.’
Denny sagged. ‘We shouldn’t even be here, if we weren’t …’
She nodded. ‘But we are, and we have to put right what I made wrong. There’s a reason why those files aren’t supposed to be accessed by the likes of us.’
He looked unsure.
‘Use the Athame,’ she said. ‘You’ll see, I’m telling the truth.’
Denny drew it out and weighed it in his hand. Then he brought it down on the lock, and it split. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.
The word best used to describe the experience that followed, from the point of view of Tamar and Denny, was “cold”. As they bobbed in the freezing water, Denny eventually asked. ‘
Now
can we go?’
‘Close file.’
~ Chapter Ten ~
‘T
here,’ said Hecaté, ‘that is definitely not right.’
‘No kidding,’ said Stiles dryly. ‘So we’ve found one?’
Stiles’s idea was to search for the historical anomalies that might represent a person out of time, just as they had been searching for Tamar and Denny. What made it easier in this case was that they already knew which files to search. Unfortunately, though, Tamar and Denny were still moving on and as they did, more and more people from different files kept appearing and then suddenly disappearing back to where they came from. This was all fine as far as it went, but it was distracting in the extreme and made the search for previously visited files more than necessarily confusing.
‘All right,’ said Stiles. ‘Send me through, I’ll go and fetch him.’
‘My God!’ he knocked himself on the head suddenly. ‘How stupid we all are.’
‘What?’ said Hecaté, alarmed. ‘What is wrong?’
‘Don’t you see?’ he said irritatingly, since she clearly could not. ‘We can get into any file we like, straight from here – any file at all, now that we have the password.’
Hecaté’s eyes widened. ‘But how foolish we are,’ she said.
‘That’s what I said.’
‘We must get this done and done quickly,’ she said. ‘So that we can find our friends and bring them back here to end this.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Stiles. ‘Send me in.’
The moment Stiles disappeared into the file one of their “guests” vanished – hopefully back to where he had come from.
Stiles reappeared looking harassed. ‘I did what you said,’ he told her. ‘I grabbed him and said “close file”, but I must have lost him or something …’
Hecaté smiled. ‘All is well,’ she told him. ‘Both are now back where they belong.’
Stiles rubbed his head ruefully. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he said.
* * *
‘Knock, Knock.’
‘What?’
‘Knock, Knock,’ repeated Denny. ‘Just humour me.’
Tamar sighed. ‘Okay, who’s there?’
‘Sahara.’
‘Sahara wh… do we
really
have time for this?’
‘Sahara who.’
‘Sahara who?’
‘Sahara the hell did we end up here – no that didn’t really work did it? Sorry.’
‘I don’t think we’re in the Sahara,’ said Tamar pragmatically. ‘I’m pretty sure we’re in Egypt.’
‘Ah, close but no cigar. What makes you think we’re in Egypt?’
‘Well, those Egyptians over there were my first clue.’
‘How do you know they’re Egyptians? They could be… er … they could be … I got nothing.’
‘They’re building a pyramid.’
‘How can you tell it’s going to be a pyramid? So far, it could be anything.’
‘I can just tell.’
‘Well, whatever. No one’s seen us, for a change, so we might as well get out of here.’
Tamar grabbed his arm. ‘No,’ she said, ‘there’s something here, something … I think we might have found him.’
Denny was excited. ‘Really?’ then he frowned. ‘What makes you think so? And what the hell would he be doing
here
of all places? I’m bloody certain I haven’t got any ancestors in ancient Egypt.’
‘Which question would you like me to answer first?’ Firstly, I can sense him, or something very like him, which is worth investigating, don’t you think? And no, I don’t know why I can. Secondly, how the hell should I know why he would come here? But you know as well as I do, that nothing is ever simple with him. Maybe he’s got some other plan up his sleeve.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Or, maybe, you
do
have ancestors here, how the hell would you really know? You didn’t know that you had ancestors in Troy, did you?’
Denny gave in. ‘Okay, so what do you want to do?’
Tamar hesitated. Well …’
‘I guess the first thing to do is to blend in,’ suggested Denny. ‘What
is
the well-dressed ancient Egyptian wearing about town these – those days?’
‘Something like this,’ she said, snapping her fingers. Denny gasped. He was accustomed to Tamar’s beauty, but this was something else. She was stunning in gold and white, which left little to the imagination. Her customarily pale skin was golden and seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. The black wig, square cut over her brows, emphasised her eyes, which were heavily rimmed with charcoal or something, making them look huge. The whole effect was hypnotic. He was sure that he did not look nearly so impressive. For one thing, he appeared to be wearing a nappy. He was just glad he could not see himself.
‘So, what now?’ he asked, biting back the impulse to drag her behind the nearest sand dune and ravish her.
‘Well, not that,’ she told him, picking up on his thought. She smiled. ‘Maybe later.’
‘Let’s just look around,’ she said, sounding a lot more certain than she felt.
As they drew nearer to the crowd of men working on the nascent pyramid, Denny was staggered at how like modern construction workers they seemed. They lounged about drinking, laughing and chattering. He heard loud music coming from somewhere and, as they approached, he would not have been at all surprised to hear one of them wolf whistle at Tamar, at whom they were staring with unconcealed interest.
There were no slave driving gang bosses with whips, nor did they see the ropes and pullies that have been hypothesised by archaeologists. How was the work being done? Actually, these men seemed to be in no hurry to be getting on with the work at all (rather like council workers.) Denny was even sure that he saw one man reading a paper. ‘Tea break?’ he wondered aloud.
In the distance, they saw a cloud of dust approaching at some speed. It reminded Denny irresistibly of a truck rattling along one of those dusty roads in American road movies.
A man who was, in any guise, quite unmistakably some sort of foreman, starting shouting through some sort of megaphone and waving his arms about, all that was missing was his hard hat. His voice had the distinctive distortion that one expects through one of those thing, and he could have been saying anything, but the gestures were remarkably explicit. “Get off your lazy arses,” was one, and “get out of the way,” was another. The men all rose slowly and carelessly and looked expectantly towards a point beyond where Denny and Tamar were standing. Like people who join a crowd all looking up at the top of a building, Denny and Tamar followed their gaze.
As they watched, over the horizon, they saw what appeared to Denny, to be a large JCB, hove into view. His mouth dropped open. Tamar did not look at all surprised, and only Denny could know what that was costing her.
Denny had no such scruples. ‘What the hell is
that
doing here?’ he hissed. Then he slapped his forehead. ‘It’s
him
, isn’t it?’
I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t see why, though. I mean, what’s the point?’
‘What does it matter? He’s obviously here. This proves it.’
Tamar shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure,’ she said.
Denny shook his head impatiently. ‘You said you sensed him here, and now this! What more evidence do you need? What else could it be?’
She shook her head again. ‘I don’t know, but I just think that we shouldn’t be too hasty. There could be a dozen explanations for this’
A dozen?’ Denny rubbed his chin wearily. ‘Okay, name one.’
Tamar opened her mouth and then shut it again, and then, ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said.
* * *
In the end, they got quite a lot of information out of the workmen, who, after the fashion of workmen everywhere (and everywhen), liked nothing better than to loaf about expounding their views and generally informing the ignorant, rather than get on with some work.
The men told them, in slightly condescending tones, as if they were simpletons, that the equipment (by this time, there was a vast array of fork lift trucks and earth diggers – the trucks that had arrived contained scaffolding) came from the “sky men”. These were gifts from these great beings to honour their Pharaoh. Yes, they had seen them with their own eyes, everyone had. They were also teachers. Their fathers remembered them also. No, they were not the gods, they were told, when Denny asked. They were just men who came from the sky – giant men perhaps ten or twelve feet high; some were bigger. They came from the sky.
Even with all they had seen, Tamar and Denny were inclined to take this last piece of information with a pinch of salt. As Denny pointed out, all this talk of giant sky men did not prove a damn thing. Askphrit could still be behind it. Particularly as, when pressed the men admitted that the gifts came from the sky men, but ultimately through the grace of the gods, from whom Pharaoh was descended and with whom he talked on a regular basis.
Tamar said that this was an early example of a religious method, which still existed into the present day, among natives in Africa and Papaya New Guinea and Paui etc, known among the practitioners as “Cargo Cult”, whereby the natives of the land would pray to their god to deliver to them the trappings of western civilisation, such as wristwatches and telephones and even trucks and aeroplanes, believing that all such things came from heaven and belonged to everyone. The fact that it seldom worked, she said, did not put them off, they had obviously just not worded the prayer correctly. The white men, who had plenty of “Cargo” obviously knew something they did not. Pidgin, the language used by many of these people gave an interesting insight into their beliefs at times, she said. A helicopter, for example, they called a “mixmaster belong Jesus Christ”.
Denny yawned. He was more interested in where the giant men came from. Were they Aliens (as seemed most likely) or were they a product of Askphrit’s overheated imagination? If so, they needed to find out, in Denny’s opinion, since this would represent a huge problem. And a possible opportunity.
Tamar thought it unlikely that the giant men had anything to do with Askphrit, but she was even more sceptical about the possibility of their being Aliens. She was quite scathing on the subject, and Denny was crestfallen, until he realised that she was upset with him about the yawning.
‘So, what are they then?’ he demanded.
‘If you really want to know,’ she said, with an elaborate yawn. ‘Why don’t you ask them?’