Adventures in Time Travel: Deeper Undercover (part seven)
Next day’s issue of the Waltham Chronicle of the Universe was sold with the following headline:
DIE NOW SEZ KING JOHN’S KID
“It’s not even accurate,” said John disapprovingly. “I saw one of their monks in the courtroom, but he was drunk as a Moppet.” He dug me in the ribs. “Get it? Come on Moppet, be a good sport! Seriously, I think you’re right. There should be a Chronicle Complaints Commission.”
While I wasn’t over-fond of Mrs Kensington, I felt it my duty to save her from her impending death. I decided I’d have to request assistance from the SWAT team. But I had to make sure John wouldn’t suspect my complicity.
The following night at midnight I texted Debrett-Burke:
Plan A is go.
At four in the morning I shook John awake.
“Darling, I’m frightened. I think I can hear someone creeping about.”
He flung back the furs and reached for his sword.
“No-one there,” he said after a prowl round the room. “You must have been dreaming. Dammit, Moppet, you woke me up for nothing.”
“I wasn’t dreaming,” I said indignantly. “The noises seemed to come from the privy. You don’t think an assassin could have been trying to climb up the shaft?”
John ordered the castle guards to make an immediate search around the latrine tower for the putative assassin. As he existed only in my imagination, they were unsuccessful.
The hanging was scheduled for that afternoon. Late in the morning I found John in his private chamber, humming to himself as he selected jewels to wear for the execution.
“Am I enjoying all of this a bit too much?” he mused. “Probably.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” I said. “The wickeder you are, the more I love you.”
“Where were you all my life? My other mistresses are always trying to reform me. It’s tedious.”
“I don’t even want to reform you. Promise me you’ll stay just as bad as you are.”
“Get out, you fool! Can’t you see we’re busy?” John yelled at the hapless Constable of Marlborough, who interrupted us ten minutes later.
“Sorry, Sire, but there’s a problem with the prisoner.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“She’s not there.”
“Where the hell is she then?”
“As of the present moment, we don’t exactly know, but – “
John was white with anger. “Bloody well find her and find her now!”
“I love it when you get cross,” I whispered in his ear.
When it transpired that Mrs Kensington was nowhere to be found, he got even crosser.
“Remember that noise I heard?” I said. “It must have been whoever set Mrs Kensington free. He deliberately decoyed the guards to the latrine tower and while we were all searching that side of the castle he got into the dungeons.”
Over the next few days a framework of iron bars were installed inside all the latrine shafts in the castle.
***
“Went off perfectly,” said Debrett-Burke as soon as the footman had served us tea and departed. “Locks were a bit rusty, but the WD-40 took care of that. Good idea of yours.”
I sipped my Earl Grey demurely. “Well, thank you, Simon. Is Mrs Kensington all right?”
“She is now. Little Princess are offering her early retirement in return for her silence. Oh, and you won’t hear any more about those outstanding fees.”
“John will be pleased about that. He hasn’t a clue I was involved, you know. It’s hard to keep my face straight sometimes.”
“Well, that sounds like a healthy relationship,” he said sarcastically.
“I’m not going to leave him, Simon.”
“He’s changing you, Moppet. You’re doing things you wouldn’t have dreamt of six months ago. Dating a married man. Getting drunk in the afternoon. Wearing fur, for goodness’ sake.”
He gestured at my ermine collar, a present from John which I had decided to wear over my suit, as the London day was rather cold. I’d got some admiring glances in Harvey Nichols. Some less admiring ones in the organic supermarket.
“How did you know about me getting drunk?” I demanded.
“We have other operatives in your area. They can keep tabs on the Little Princess situation. Seriously, Moppet, it’s time for you to step back.”
“I won’t leave Oscar. And I won’t leave John. Yes, yes, I know, he’s amoral, unstable, dangerous, worst king England ever had and all that, but he can be awfully sweet when he thinks no-one’s looking. Anyway, now the Kensington situation is sorted I’m looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Shortly after this John decided to tour the west of England. I went with him; the Queen and the children were left behind. Oscar didn’t seem too distressed by my departure (as soon as I explained I wasn’t taking the Maltesers), and I decided it would be good for him to learn to cope without me for a week or two.
We got as far as Ludgershall Castle before disaster struck.
I was trying to explain to the kitchen staff how to make hot chocolate (due to its dark colour there was some muttering about it being “the devil’s brew” which I was ignoring) when I was summoned to the solar. John was pacing up and down, in the middle of a heated conversation with William of Salisbury, which they broke off as soon as I came in. They were both rather white in the face.
“I thought you’d gone hunting,” I said.
“A messenger from Marlborough met us on our way out,” said William. “There’s been an – incident.”
“Not Oscar? Tell me nothing’s happened to Oscar!”
“It does involve Oscar – “
“Someone’s given him lampreys!”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Moppet, shut up about lampreys!”
That was John. I turned on him. “Tell me what has happened to our son.”
“What has happened – “ began William.
“What has happened,” said John through his teeth, “is that the power-mad vixen who calls herself my wife has taken him hostage.”
“Not just Oscar,” said William. “Joanna and Ela too. And the three Scottish princesses.”
“How can one eight-year-old girl be holding six other children hostage?”
“The Queen,” said William, “is a very determined young woman. In any case, we’re going back there immediately. I’ve ordered the horses saddled – “
“HORSES? HORSES? MY CHILD IS IN DANGER! DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT HORSES!”
***
“I’m not sure how we’re going to explain this,” muttered John as the stealth helicopter descended towards the flat roof of the keep.
“When you said stealth,” said William, “I thought it would be invisible. Didn’t you think it would be invisible, John?”
“Yes!”
“WELL. IT’S. NOT. GET. OVER. IT. NOW.”
They glowered at me.
It was Debrett-Burke who sprang down from the helicopter, bowed to John and nodded to Salisbury and me.
“Simon! I didn’t realise you would be leading the SWAT team,” I said.
He looked at me seriously. “Moppet, there’s a lot more to me than engraved stationery and forebears who were at the Battle of Hastings. I had hoped you would realise that. One day.”
What a time to choose. I didn’t even bother to ask myself what Mary Sue would do. “Simon. Can We Please Focus On My Child.”
We arrived at Marlborough in under five minutes, which was long enough for William and Simon to discover a common ancestor.
“Have you slept with him?” hissed John in my ear, jerking his head towards Simon.
“No.”
Unexpectedly, he repented. “Sorry Moppet.”
“It’s all right.”
“Don’t worry about Oscar. We’ll rescue the little chap.”
“I know.”
He ostentatiously drew me to his side, glaring from time to time at Simon, who was quite oblivious.
“The Battle Abbey Roll! One of the greatest pieces of fiction of our time,” he was saying. “Right, we’re here. OK, team. We’ll establish a perimeter – “
“Establish a perimeter? What the hell do you think the moat is?” demanded John.
As we clattered in to land I saw a familiar figure darting around. It was Brother Walter.
“He’s going to get his head lopped off if he’s not careful,” observed the pilot.
“Sire!” gasped Brother Walter, falling to his knees as we got out of the helicopter. “Lady Moppet! Can you tell the Waltham Chronicle of the Universe what this great black metal bird portends for the hostage situation?”
John kicked him over, and we strode on.
***
