Day of Deliverance Read online

  Jack leafed through the first few pages.

  “Who’s that?” He pointed to a picture of a confident young man in what he took to be flashy Elizabethan clothes.

  “That’s him – Marlowe,” said Miss Beattie, “Only portrait ever made of him – he was just twenty-one and dressed up to the nines.”

  “What does that mean?” Jack pointed to some Latin words beneath the picture.

  Miss Beattie laughed. “‘What feeds me destroys me.’ Just about sums Marlowe up. How shall I put it – he liked to live life on the edge.”

  The auburn-headed Queen Elizabeth I in ‘the Armada Portrait’

  Jack didn’t really understand what she meant but he was already leafing through the rest of the book. There were pictures of ships: great Spanish galleons stuffed with treasure from the New World; terrifying fire ships let loose by the English on the anchored Spanish fleet off Calais; The Revenge demasted in the Azores, where, in a fit of macho bravado, Sir Richard Grenville took on twelve great Spanish galleons single-handed, only to die. There were extraordinarily beautiful new buildings, soaring edifices of glass and stone – a far cry from the brutal castles of the Middle Ages. Then there were the people: kings and queens, princes, players and poets… One chapter was called ‘The English Renaissance’ – and it seemed to live up to its billing. As Jack leafed through the volume, he noticed a small frame at the bottom of one of the pages. The caption read, ‘Elizabethan Troupe’. It was a colour plate of a group of actors in various costumes. There was one dressed as a court jester and next to him, in stark contrast, another dressed as a priest or, more likely, a monk. There was a third who looked slightly more important – a country gentleman with a fine cloak and a neat, pointed beard.

  “Head in a book again?” Angus leaned over Jack’s shoulder.

  It looked like nearly everyone else had gone. “Do you want to get something at Gino’s?”

  Jack snapped the book shut.

  “Why not?” He stuffed it in his bag.

  “Well, stop reading that rubbish and let’s go.”

  Jack sat pillion on Angus’s motorbike. He was nervous. Usually trips on the back of Angus’s bike did not go well. Angus was seventeen now and had passed his bike test. His old 125cc Husqvarna two-stroke had been left in one of the sheep sheds at his place up at Rachan and he had taken to riding one of the farm’s more powerful four-stroke Yamaha 250Fs. When he could afford the petrol, he took the bike to school – avoiding the one-hour journey on the bus that picked its way painfully round the hamlets of the upper Soonhope valley.

  Angus turned back the throttle and the engine wailed; he dropped the clutch and they set off. Thankfully, Angus omitted the wheelie he usually performed just to frighten Jack. Soon they reached the bridge over the river, which was quite low from a dry spring. The big Presbyterian church at the head of the High Street loomed ahead of them and Jack remembered what Miss Beattie had been saying about the ‘struggle for the soul of man’. Even in Soonhope, with fewer than two thousand inhabitants, he knew of at least five churches, all of different denominations. It occurred to Jack that he hadn’t actually been inside any of them, and he wasn’t sure how many of the local population had either.

  The High Street was busy but Angus managed to squeeze the bike right in front of Gino’s and, as they went in, the welcoming smell of warm coffee and ice cream wafted over them. Gino was manning the espresso machine while Francesca, his daughter, polished glasses grumpily. Gino was as jolly as ever.

  “What can I get you, lads?”

  “Hi, Gino.” Angus looked up at the endless menu of drinks and snacks pinned to a board above the counter. But he already knew what he wanted. “I’ll have the double Gino-chino, extra shot, full fat, with caramel and extra cream… and don’t forget the cherry.” He looked over at Francesca and winked provocatively, adding in a deep voice, “Shaken, not stirred.”

  Francesca rolled her eyes and tutted loudly. Gino glanced up. “You have no chance there, the Turinelli family’s outta your league.”

  Angus shrugged. “Oh well – I’ll have four chip butties as well, please, Gino.”

  “Cutting back?” Jack asked.

  “Not exactly. We’re playing Melrose the day after tomorrow – last game of the season. If we win, we’re champions. Need to bulk up.”

  “And Jack, my friend, what are you having?”

  “Thanks, Gino. I’ll go for a Gino-chino as well – but without the bells and whistles and make it just one chip butty.”

  “Coming right up. Take a seat, boys.”

  Gino had recently tried to convert his popular Italian bistro into an American diner – he had even got himself a juke box (which didn’t work). It had been a brave attempt, but somehow it all looked a bit out of place in the traditional High Street of Soonhope. Jack and Angus settled into one of the booths and soon, in hushed tones, they were discussing their favourite subject.

  “Do you think we did the right thing?”

  It was Angus’s first question. Jack thought for a moment and came up with his usual answer.

  “Yes – we did the right thing. I’m sure of it. Dad and Pendelshape created brilliant computer simulations to test out the changes they wanted to make in history, but you could never be certain that by going back in time you might not do something that would have unforeseen consequences for the future. That’s the risk. That’s the whole reason VIGIL was set up. And that’s why we had to side with them.”

  “Suppose. Pity though.”

  “Why?”

  “Well… I know going back to 1914… Well, it was dangerous and stuff, and a lot of bad things happened…”

  “Yes, Angus,” Jack said slowly, making sure the point sank in, “that’s why nobody wants to be doing it again. Time travel and especially using the Taurus to make changes to history… it’s a bad idea. Remember your great grandfather Ludwig in the trenches? If that bayonet had been a few inches to the right, he might have died and, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I know, but…” Angus grinned. “You’ve got to admit, it was pretty cool.”

  Jack shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder about you. We can say that, sitting here now. But it didn’t feel cool to me at the time. We were lucky to get away with our lives. Meddling in time is definitely to be avoided. VIGIL – and their leaders – the Rector, Councillor Inchquin – all of them – they’re trying to do the right thing. Dad and Pendelshape, the Revisionists, for all their brains and good intentions, are just plain wrong. We’re on the side of VIGIL now.”

  Angus shrugged.

  Gino ambled over to their booth. “Two Gino-chinos, one chip butty for you and… four for you.”

  “Great Gino. Thanks a lot.”

  Jack looked at Angus’s plate, “You’re not seriously going to eat all that are you?”

  “I don’t really want to… I’m doing it more out of a sense of duty to the team,” Angus replied regretfully, as if he were making some terrible sacrifice. He opened one of the butties and poured salt, vinegar and ketchup onto the chips inside before quickly re-sealing them within the bread. Then he took a large bite and the contents leaked out from each side.

  “Gross.”

  “Actually, very tasty,” Angus replied, his mouth full. It didn’t stop him from continuing their conversation.

  “But what about your dad? Don’t you feel bad about him? If VIGIL ever gets hold of him, they’ll do him for sure.”

  Angus was never one for subtlety and Jack grimaced. “Thanks for reminding me.” There was an awkward silence and then Jack shrugged. “I try not to think about it.” He swallowed. “And, I don’t know, maybe one day there will be a way… a way that VIGIL and Dad can be reconciled.” He looked down at his plate. “Maybe then Mum and Dad could even get back together.”

  Angus swallowed and took a swig of his Gino-chino. “Sorry Jackster – didn’t mean to…” He shrugged. “Well – you know.”

  “It’s all right. Anyway – we’re fully signed-up members
of VIGIL now. Don’t forget what that means.”

  Angus wiped his mouth and his eyes lit up. “How could I forget?”

  Jack remembered the VIGIL inauguration ceremony that he and Angus had taken part in after their return from Sarajevo. As things settled down, they learned that VIGIL’s aim was not only to be ready to counteract any Revisionist attempts to meddle in history, but also to identify and train promising students and enrol them into VIGIL. This recruitment was one reason for secreting the Taurus complex and VIGIL headquarters in an ordinary school: it was easy to identify potential candidates. In this way, VIGIL would ensure the continuation of its cause from one generation to the next and ensure the future safety of mankind as well. This was critical, particularly while the Revisionist threat was still alive. Jack and Angus’s experiences in 1914 had made them instant VIGIL veterans and obvious candidates for enrolment.

  *

  Jack’s mobile went off and he pulled it from his pocket. “Text from Mum probably, wondering where I am…”

  Angus returned to his chip butty.

  Jack peered at the screen. “Don’t recognise that number…” He opened the message. “Funny…” Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you reckon to this?”

  “To what?”

  Jack read out the text. “Jack – meet at old lookout. Very urgent. Come now.”

  “What can that mean?”

  “You’ve got an admirer – finally.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “The old lookout – that’s the fire tower, isn’t it? You know, top of Glentress… we used to go up there on the bike.”

  “Yeah – but who’s this from? There’s no name.”

  Angus grinned mischievously. “Only one way to find out.”

  “But I can’t do that without alerting VIGIL… I’ve got this stupid tracker on my ankle – remember?” Jack pulled up one leg of his trousers a little to show Angus the discrete wireless tracker that ensured VIGIL always knew his whereabouts. Jack was a valuable asset to VIGIL, and the tracker was just one of the ways they made sure he was properly protected. Most of the time he forgot about it, but sometimes it made him frustrated and even angry about the responsibility that rested on his shoulders.

  “Oh yeah.” Angus thought for a moment and then a twinkle came to his eye. “On the other hand, it might be a laugh to see how quickly they send in air support when they know you’ve gone AWOL. It’s good to keep them on their toes.”

  Jack was not sure. “I don’t know, Angus.”

  “Come on, Jack, who dares wins and all that.” He nodded at Jack’s butty and stood up. “Scoff that and let’s go and find out who your mystery girlfriend is.”

  In a moment they were back on Angus’s bike heading out of town and towards the forest. The Forestry Commission owned large tracts of land above Soonhope, and had populated it with pine and spruce plantations that spread for many kilometres across the hills. Soon they were powering up one of the forest tracks, a plume of dust rising from the back tyre. At intervals there were fire warning signs with a picture of a red flame and lists of ‘DON’TS’ beneath – ‘DON’T’ do this and ‘DON’T’ do that. It was as if they’d been put there by VIGIL themselves. But you would need more than that to deter Angus. He worked his way up and down the gears as they ascended steadily. At one point the forest track swept round to the right and a steep path rose through the thick woodlands at an angle from the bend.

  Angus pulled up and shouted through his helmet. “Hold on – I’m going to take a short cut.”

  Before Jack had time to object, Angus had re-selected first gear and the bike shot up the narrow path. All Jack could do was hang on. After a while, the steep path levelled off and they picked up speed, the densely packed conifers whizzing past on each side of the narrow track.

  Suddenly, a shape appeared in front of them, right in the middle of the path. It was a man, just standing there, looking at the oncoming bike as if caught in a trance. Angus hit the front brake and then the rear a split second later. He twisted the handlebars to avoid the man and, as he did so, both tyres lost their grip on the loose track surface. In an instant, the bike, Jack and Angus were horizontal and sliding along the ground. The man leaped free, moments before impact, and the boys slid to a halt in the tall grass on the verge. Jack’s heart was pounding. His leg hurt from where the bike had pressed down on it as they scraped along the track. Thankfully nothing seemed to be broken. Angus was first to his feet.

  “What the…?”

  Jack groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. He looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. He felt nauseous.

  The man looked at them from the side of the track. They had slid past him by a good twenty metres. He was, maybe, mid forties, slim and fit-looking and wore jeans, hiking boots and a grey fleece jacket. He had not shaved for a few days and his yellow hair was ruffled.

  “What the hell are you doing – trying to get us all killed?” Angus bellowed.

  The man did not reply. It was as if he were weighing up something in his mind. Then, still saying nothing, he turned and melted back into the thick, dark woodland.

  Angus was apoplectic. “What? He’s just run off!”

  Jack pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself down. He could see the grazing on his leg through rips in his jeans.

  “You okay?” Angus said. “Can’t believe that guy!”

  “We probably shouldn’t be on this track anyway.” Jack looked down at the bike, still lying on its side. “Will it start?”

  Angus hauled the machine up, inspecting the scrapes to the petrol tank and chrome.

  “What a mess. If I ever see that bloke again…”

  He straddled the bike and tried the engine. It fired immediately.

  “Thank God for that.”

  “What now?”

  “Well we might as well finish what we came up here to do.” Angus looked at Jack’s pale face. “If you’re still up for it.”

  “I’ll survive.” Jack mounted the passenger seat gingerly and Angus set off, this time at a more sedate pace.

  *

  After a while, they left the cover of the dark green canopy and were released onto the open heather moorland above the treeline, where they re-joined the main track. Apart from the mystery hill walker they had nearly hit on the way up, there was no one around and the fire tower loomed into view as they crested a final ridge.

  Angus cut the engine and the air became still. They took off their helmets and walked towards the tower. Jack moved with a slight limp but Angus seemed to show no ill effects from coming off the bike. Sometimes it seemed like he was indestructible.

  “Can’t see anyone here at all. No sign of your mystery admirer.”

  Jack shrugged. “Weird. Shall we go up?”

  They clambered up the wooden ladder to the lookout cabin.

  Angus knocked on the rough wooden door. “Hello! Anyone at home?”

  There was silence, except for a light spring breeze which teased the top of the trees in the distance.

  “Nothing. Come on, let’s check it out.”

  The door opened into a crude wooden room with panoramic views of the surrounding forest and hills. It was like being in a small boat in a big green ocean. Far below you could see the river meandering its way down the valley, shining like a silver ribbon in the late afternoon sun. In the middle of the cabin was a rough, three-dimensional model, a sort of topographical map of the surrounding area. It showed the hills, the main plantations, tracks, streams, the river, each peak, each village and the positions of the other fire towers. The whole world was suddenly defined in detail across a square metre of plastic and modelling paint. From this lofty position you could see how the fire wardens would have a sense of control… of watchful power.

  “Nothing here. Certainly no clue as to your mystery texter.”

  Jack peered into the one adjoining room. It was a bedroom – but it was more the size of a large cupboard.

  “Hey – looks like ther
e’s been someone sleeping here.”

  In the room, there was a sleeping bag, a gas burner and a couple of books.

  “One of the wardens?”

  “Bit early in the year.”

  “And I’m not sure they’d be reading these.”

  Jack picked up a couple of books that had been left behind. One was entitled Principles of Quantum Mechanics. It looked old, and was by someone called Paul Dirac. The other book was a complete works of William Shakespeare. It was open at one page and the reader had circled an extract in pencil. Jack peered down at the book.

  “That’s funny – this guy’s been reading Hamlet.”

  “Please no, I’ve had enough of Hamlet for one day.” Angus looked around furtively. “Beattie’s probably got this place wired, just to check I don’t say anything dodgy.”

  Jack read the circled extract from the book:

  “Let us go in together;

  And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

  The time is out of joint; O cursed spite,

  That ever I was born to set it right!”

  “Sorry, Jackster that sounds like complete gobbledegook… as per usual.”

  Jack smiled. “It’s actually one of my speeches from Hamlet.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me what it means and make me feel stupid?”

  “Of course. From what Beattie says, Hamlet’s basically saying that things in Denmark, which he calls ‘the time’, are all messed up because of what his uncle, King Claudius, has done – killing Hamlet’s father and marrying his mother. Hamlet’s thinking about what he has to do to put it right… and he’s kind of worried and also resentful that he’s the one who’s got to sort it out. Do you understand?”