Tervisan awoke
to a concerningly loud beeping that sent a significant part of his brain
immediately into panic mode.
His eyes shot
open and he bolted upright – or tried to, as his wrists jarred painfully and
refused to move from where they were bound behind him.
He uttered an
oath that cannot be written here, partly because of the severity of its
rudeness but mostly because it is part of a long dead language that cannot be
accurately converted into the Roman alphabet.
“Did you say
sponge-biscuit?” a voice asked, and he
groaned.
“You’re
totally mangling the pronunciation.”
He was in a
shed of some description – light shining in thin rays through cracks in the
wooden walls, the floor around him heaped with rudimentary tools. He seemed to be tied to a supporting post
that ran from the floor to the roof, his wrists bound with thick, rough
rope. Reclining on the arm of what
looked like a plough of some kind was the woman in the fedora. In her hands, she held the source of the
beeping - Tervisan’s watch.
“What’s the
noise mean?” she asked, flicking the watch-face with a dainty finger.
“Something
truly god-awful,” Tervisan sighed.
“Quite possibly the end of the space-time continuum as we know it,
depending on what happens now.”
“Sounds fun,”
the woman said humourlessly. “Care to be
more specific?”
“I mean I’ve
arrived.”
“Oh!” the
woman said, beaming suddenly. “You mean
the other you. The one who healed baby
Shakespeare.”
“You mean I’ve
already done that?” Tervisan asked,
straining at his bonds. “How long has
that alarm been going?”
“Half an hour
or so?” The woman waved a hand
vaguely. “You disappeared off as soon as
you dropped Bill back at his house. I
watched, and came back here – figured you were due to wake up, and I was
right.”
“But…”
Tervisan stammered. “That meant there
were two versions of me present within, what a mile of each other at once? Do you have any idea of the potential paradox that could have caused? If anything that’s happened with me here now
changes what my past self does in the slightest?”
“Not really!”
she laughed. “But relax, seriously. The space-time continuum is clearly
fine.”
“You stupid,
stupid idiot,” the Librarian moaned.
“You haven’t a clue, and neither have I.
You could have done any amount of damage with your recklessness.”
“My
recklessness?” She raised a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “I think you’ll find it’s you who decided to
travel back so close to your last visit.”
“I’m only here
for you!” Tervisan cried. “This wouldn’t
have happened if you hadn’t decided to go around murdering baby playwrights!”
“Oh come on,”
she replied, waving the watch in the air.
“You lot weren’t going to let that happen.”
“Us lot?”
“You…
people! Time Lords, History Monks,
whatever you are.”
Tervisan
looked at her levelly. “Those are
terrible names.”
“Well, what
are you called then?” She dropped down
off the plough and walked over to where he was tied. “Are you even human?”
Tervisan shook
his head. “I’m not going to tell you any
of that.”
“Why not?”
“Because
knowing is dangerous! We can’t just
start handing out cosmic secrets to every infanticidal nut-job who happens to
hit one of us with a tranquiliser, can we?”
The woman
frowned at him. “The baby was always
going to be fine.”
“It died!” Tervisan shouted. “I brought it back to life, sure, but first
it was hit by a bloody cart! You can’t
undo that – no one can.”
The woman
raised a hand for a moment like she was going to hit him, and turned suddenly
away. Tervisan wondered if he’d managed
to get through to her.
“How do you
know about us, anyhow?” he asked after a moment’s silence.
“By looking,”
she replied quietly, not turning around.
“You’re all over history for anyone who pays attention. You try to cover it up, but the signs are
there. The organisation I work for
noticed. They sent me to find out what
the deal was with you, and attacking a figure like Shakespeare was the only way
to get your attention.”
“I suppose
that makes sense…” Tervisan muttered begrudgingly. “Still, it’s pretty callous, isn’t it?”
She
sighed. “I was only following
orders.”
“Whose
orders?”
She shook her
head and turned back to face him.
“Nuh-uh. If you’re keeping your
secrets, I’m keeping mine.”
Tervisan
shrugged as much as was possible with his hands bound behind him. “Well, since we seem to be chatting more or
less amicably now, would you care to untie me?”
“Not
particularly.”
“Oh. That’s a pity. And we were getting along so well.”
“The thing
is,” the woman explained, reaching for the hilt of the laser blade hanging at
her belt, “I have more orders.”
Tervisan
shuffled backwards nervously, flattening himself against the wooden
support.
“I was told to
use whatever means necessary to find out who you are and who you work for,” she
continued, flicking a switch on the hilt, igniting the shimmering green
blade. She walked slowly towards him,
letting the watch fall to the floor.
“Is this
really necessary?” Tervisan asked.
“You tell me,”
the woman replied, and pointed the blade at his throat. “Who are you?
What are you? How do you travel
in time? Any of those questions will
do.”
Tervisan
gulped, and shook his head.
“Trust me, I
can’t tell you. You’d understand if you
knew.”
“I can’t
accept that,” the woman replied sadly.
“Tell me.”
“Nope.”
“I hoped I
wouldn’t have to do this,” she said, and sounded genuinely sorrowful. “But needs must.”
And the blade
came down.