MISSION SUMMARY:
"The established family solicitors of Cordless, Cordless & Fraser have existed in the heart of Edinburgh's old city for over 200 years. In the Summer of 1980, the young Clerk who looks after the basement archives of the firm, informs the Senior partner; Sir David Fraser, that its time to deliver the old document pouch to the address marked upon it; except the pouch was lodged with the Solicitors way back in 1780, to be delivered on it's Bicentennial year! Mr. Tibbs is now on the case."
Concept date: 12th January, 2019
First published: 19th June, 2019Status: COMPLETED.
Version: EXTENDED.
Age recommendation: 15+
Average Reading Time: Approximately 75 Minutes.
Revisions: 4. [Last Edit: August 2019]
Angel-in-charge: Margret
Angel-in-charge: Margret
Team Assigned: Team 74
Mission: 6 - 479134 - 1- 1780
Mission: 6 - 479134 - 1- 1780
Human years:
Gregorian Calendar: MDCCLXXX
Muslim Calendar: 1193-1195 [AH]
Hebrew Calendar: 5540-5541
Christian Calendar:1780AD
Episode may contain the following warnings:
Alcohol - smoking - strong foul language {including historical language and opinions that are certainly not woke!] - sexual references [including sexual violence and BDSM] - Violence [including torture, combat, domestic and sexual] - references to prostitution, human trafficking, classic slavery and treating women as chattels - Supernatural & paranormal experiences - Horror - Terror induced fear and threats of violence. Reading about historical and past events which have NOT BEEN SANITISED in any way! Oh, and some episodes contain Nazi's; new and old.
OTHER VERSIONS OF THIS EPISODE AVAILABLE:
[1] "THE TEMPORAL DETECTIVES" VERSION.
There is an "TEMPORAL DETECTIVES" version available:
"CORDLESS, CORDLESS & FRASER (SOLICITORS.)"
[2] "THE ADVENTURES OF ALEXANDRA" VERSION WHICH IS ALWAYS RATED AT 18+
There is an "ALEXANDRA" version available:
"ALEXANDRA INVESIGATES CORDLESS, CORDLESS & FRASER (SOLICITORS.)
"CORDLESS, CORDLESS & FRASER (SOLICITORS)."
By Stephen J. Williams
1. EDINBURGH CITY (LATE SEPTEMBER 1780)
The two horsemen entered through the old North gate amid little flurries of early winter snow. Several English soldiers manning the gate made no effort to stop or search the two old men; they could see no weapons and both were wearing breeches - weapons and kilts had been banned after the battle of Culloden in 1746. There was talk that the ban would soon be lifted - but for now it was still in force.
The pair threaded through the busy traffic of people, horses and carriages looking for a specific street and set of offices. The taller one pointed down an alley and nodded. 'Cable Street' was their destination and they slowly passed down the narrow thoroughfare until stopping before a little wooden sign, hanging above a dark entrance, which declared: 'John Cordless - Solicitor'.
They exchanged smiles and dismounted, shaking snow from their long coats and the taller of the two old men, pulled a canvas sack from his saddle bag and patted it like a puppy dog. "John Cordless is young, hungry for business and won't ask too many questions." He grinned broadly, showing only a couple of remaining yellow teeth - most had been knocked out by an English musket; smashed into his face at the battle of Falkirk Muir. But Willy McKenzie knew that the injury he received, had actually saved his life; because he missed the slaughter at Culloden Moor.
Whereas, old Danny Brown had fought on that dreadful Moor and lost an eye in the process - he escaped being shot by English soldiers, as he lay upon the battlefield, with nearly two thousand other dead and wounded Highlanders.
A woman camp follower called Edith Ross braved the bullets and bayonets of the English to drag him and her younger brother from that bloody field. Later that year he married the woman and had seven children by her - her young brother sadly died of his wounds, just days after the battle - he was sixteen.
The two battered old warriors stared at the sign hanging above their heads and nodded in agreement - they headed up the stairs to the office of young John Cordless, who greeted them with some enthusiasm, especially after they slapped the bag of Spanish Doubloon coins upon his desk - they would be worth thousands upon thousands of pounds today.
So impressed with his 'clients' was John Cordless, that he actually produced a bottle of whisky to seal the deal. With his eyes hardly leaving the sack of gold coins, they discussed what was required: Now that did make John sit a up and take notice.
John Cordless sat sipping his whisky; watching the two old men throwing glass after glass of his precious whisky down their throats. Willy McKenzie leaned across Johns polished [and quite empty] desk and pulled a large, leather document pouch from the canvas bag slung about his shoulders.
"You understand that no-one must open the pouch whilst it's in your care. That you'll care for it until it's delivered by hand to the addressee, which has been sewn onto the bag and it must be delivered on or after the day shown. This transaction between us and your company must remain totally confidential - we are paying you a good deal of money to EXACTLY carry out our instructions. Do you understand lad?"
John Cordless quietly accepted the bag which had little weight and nodded his agreement; he would draw up a contract, so that all the pair stipulated would be done under law. He stared at the address and coughed a little; "Wasn't Lord …."
Willy McKenzie stopped him in mid sentence and smiled; "Aye, we know the good Laird [Lord] was hung by the English at Fort William, but this fellow will." Willy corrected himself and continued; "is a relative who will inherit his title."
John finished his whisky and scribbled more into his note book and looked up to see Danny Brown refilling the glasses. "Well, I have everything I need except the date you wish the commission enacted." He lifted his glass in salute and again watched the two men empty the glasses in one swallow.
Willy grinned; "By enacted, you mean delivered?" Both old men exchanged a glance and John nodded; yes. He picked up his quill and waited to write in his notebook.
Danny wiped his mouth and nodded to the document pouch; "Your firm will deliver the pouch on 30th September nineteen hundred and eighty."
John started to write, but stopped suddenly; "Sorry Mr. Brown, but just for a second there, I thought you said nineteen hundred and eighty?"
Both men grinned and Willy McKenzie spoke softly; "Aye, you heard right lad, that's why your company has been given a big bag of Spanish gold; to pay for it's rest in your hands until the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and eighty."
Everyone sat in silence for some seconds until John Cordless, staring at the bag of gold coins [yet again!] spoke; "All what you wish will be done as you specify gentlemen." The three men shook hands upon the deal and John told them to return in three days and sign the contract, which he would draw up himself.
John stood at his small window and in the gathering gloom of snow and nightfall, watched the strange pair depart upon their plodding horses. They would stay at the 'Crown Hotel' until the contract was ready to be signed.
John Cordless poured himself another - large - whisky and started to laugh.
With such an amount of money, he could now marry young Mary and set up a fine and proper household for her. He would also spend some on the offices and employ more clerks; John Cordless Solicitors would be a law firm of note in Edinburgh, in Scotland and quite possibly, the British Empire. All because two crazy old men wanted a pouch delivered in the hereafter!
He walked back to his desk and picked up the pouch; "Well gentlemen, thank you for your trust and whilst a Cordless runs this company, your wishes will be adhered too." He chuckled to himself and placed the pouch into the small safe, which was hidden inside a large and imposing set of drawers.
Sipping his whisky, John picked up his notebook and read again, the date specified by the pair; Nineteen hundred and eighty. That was exactly two hundred years hence - two hundred years!
He sat thinking about the bags contents; how relevant could anything written [he assumed it contains papers because of the weight - or rather lack of it] in the year seventeen hundred and eighty would be two hundred years later?
Still, he pushed the little mound of gold coins about his desk, feeling each in his hands and fingers, grinning broadly. He lifted his glass and said quietly; "Well Mister Brown and McKenzie, none of us will surely be around when the bloody thing is delivered!" Laughing, he gathered up the coins and secured them in a leather bag, which he placed in his frock coat. Jauntily, he slapped his hat on and wound a scarf around his neck against the chill of the night. John Cordless walked home a happy man that night - and now a rich one!
2. EDINBURGH CITY (LATE SEPTEMBER 1980)
Young Peter Davidson pushed his bike against the black iron railings and secured it with a large padlock and chain. He pulled his trousers from his bright red socks and clutching his holdall, headed for the offices of Cordless, Cordless & Fraser where he held the grand title of 'Archives Manager' - or filing clerk in the real world!
But today he had a task to fulfil that would take him, to the very high offices of the Senior Partner of the firm; Sir David Fraser. Today he would inform Mr. Fraser that the old document pouch, held under lock and key, for two hundred years should now be delivered. It had actually put a spring in his step and with a cheery 'God Morning!' to the Security Guard sitting with Liz, the receptionist [who he really fancied] made for his basement office.
Peter sat at his desk, eating a strawberry yogurt with a small plastic spoon, reading a photocopy of the original agreement - he wondered who Daniel Brown and William McKenzie really were. They gave their joint address [at the time] as "Prospect House, Inverness." He had actually looked it up with no success, going right back to the 1690's. But the address sewn onto the old document pouch, well, that was a different matter!
The phone ringing made him jump and spill yogurt on his trousers, he lifted the receiver carefully, wiping strawberry yogurt from his knees. It was Sir David's Secretary; Margret, informing him that he was required in Sir David's office - with the pouch - at exactly midday. He mumbled his agreement and slowly replaced the phone.
Peter's assistant had arrived and slumped into his chair, blowing his nose and coughing; "I'm sure that bitch I snogged last night has given me the chill's." Carl wiped his face and grinned; "Today's the day my friend. After two hundred years of low paid, abused and bored filing clerks, you have been chosen, only you have the honour of delivering 'old crinkly' and getting your picture in the papers." He grinned broadly; "All the girls will think your famous, your bound to get laid once or twice!"
Peter just grunted; "Some fucking luck I don't think. Sir David will probably do the honour himself. I've already been summoned to his office at midday."
Carl shrugged his shoulders; "They probably know what's inside despite it remaining unsealed for all those bloody years, you've heard the legend about Sir David's Grandfather and Edinburgh Infirmary."
Peter nodded, he knew that story all too well. Sir David's grandfather; Sir Alistair Cordless, it was rumoured, had taken the pouch one night (in great secrecy) to an old friend at Edinburgh Infirmary and had it X-rayed. The legend tells that, all they could discover was the pouch contained several sheets of paper and what appeared to be a small ring. But it was just a story.
Peter sighed; "Pieces of paper are worth shit - unless they point to hidden treasure." He had also heard the legend of their founders acquisition of old Spanish Gold - lots of it - apparently, because of the pouch.
"I dunno about that, look at the American Declaration of Independence; that little piece of paper changed the world." Carl, pulled several files from his desk drawer and shuffled the contents about his desk.
"After that fixed referendum, that's what we fucking need; a Scottish Declaration of Independence." Peter muttered and imagined himself dressed in a kilt, waving a broadsword at Mrs. bloody Thatcher! Peter could hear Carl laughing; "What the fuck are you doing mate?" Peter eased back into his chair after standing and waving his imaginary sword about - bloody Thatcher he repeated to himself and smiled.
"You taking that bird to 'Buster Browns' Saturday night?" Carl asked and threw a ball of screwed up paper at Peter, who grunted. The 'bird' Carl had mentioned was Liz the Receptionist and Peter still hadn't worked up the nerve to ask her out on Saturday night. "Maybe, maybe - I'll have to see." He said softly and the thought of Liz sitting naked behind her desk made the young man grin broadly. Hamish, a young Junior Clerk from the third floor appeared in the doorway and jerked a thumb towards the ceiling; "The fucking press have turned up, there's a totally gorgeous tart reporter heading for Sir David's office with a cameraman. Jesus, she's all tits and long legs - fucking stunning." Peter and Carl exchanged looks; "Must be about 'old crinkly' - Sir David loves getting his name in the papers, he's a real tosser about publicity." Carl explained, looking over his shoulder and past Hamish in the doorway, who scratched his arse and added; "You on for 'Buster Browns' Saturday night?"
Both Carl and Peter nodded; Yes. "Fuck, I'll have to ask her now or be a fucking real lemon in front of these twats." Peter whispered, then sighed and chewed his pencil, then a wonderful idea came to him and he shouted; "Yes!" punching a fist into the air. Carl and Hamish just chuckled; "What a knob." and headed back upstairs, hoping to get another look at the reporter from the 'Scottish Record'.
Peter constantly looked at the office clock until it read eleven-thirty, then unlocked the wall key box and removed the old key for the basement safe. "Do you want me to make trumpet noses?" Carl giggled and stood; saluting.
Peter stuck up two fingers and headed for the safe.
With 'old crinkly' tucked safely under his arm, Peter slipped quietly into Reception and waved Liz over to him. His 'brilliant' idea actually worked, he showed Liz the package and managed to turn the conversation around to Saturday night. A very happy filing clerk headed for Sir David's office; Liz had said: yes.
Peter was shown into the outer office of Sir David's by Margret and stood waiting. He stared through the clear glass partition and grinned broadly; 'What a fucking piece of skirt!' he said to himself. Peter simply couldn't take his eyes of the female reporter who sat upright in a small office chair, with Sir David standing over her. The reporter had a short skirt, well above her knee and a matching blue jacket. Her white blouse simply couldn't hide her magnificent breasts. She was scribing notes and smiling at Sir David. She was simply stunning - in all respects.
Peter actually groaned a little, when she crossed her legs which seemed to go on forever. "Best put you tongue back in your mouth and do try to stop dribbling." Margret smiled at Peter and carried a tray with coffee into the main office. That's when he bothered to look at the cameraman and was well surprised; a big black man in a smart suit with a couple of expensive looking camera's hanging around his neck. "Jesus, that's a big man. You don't get many of him around here." He spoke softly and straightened his tie, as Margret indicated to join them.
He gripped the old document pouch with both hands and glanced down at the address, which had been hand sewn onto one side. "How the fuck did those two know, that there would still be a Lord Falkirk two hundred years later and still living in Falkirk Palace?" He whispered and smiling, walked with pretend purpose into the presence of Sir David and his gorgeous guest.
3. WAR OF THE WHITE ROSE (FEBRUARY 1985)
Jericho wrapped his coat around and pointed down the quiet street towards the well built barricade; "There are several rebels manning it, they're armed and clever, so be really careful in how you act and speak." He cautioned his team, who stood amid the snow flurries and shared a hip-flask of brandy amongst themselves.
Alex adjusted her little woollen bonnet and allowed her long dark hair to fall about her shoulders. She pulled down her short skirt - again - and straightened her coat. "They do know we're reporters and won't be trigger happy: will they?" Alex asked Jericho, who nodded and pushed his mirror back into the folds of his long coat. "Baby sister, no man in his right mind would shoot a piece of cake like you - keep your coat open and show them legs; you'll be safe as houses." Wilson chuckled, then added, as an after thought; "And they may not shoot at us either - just in case they hit you!" Jericho raised his hand; "Best American accents now people." He said and the little party, very slowly, started to head towards the wall of over turned vehicles, paving stones and shop doors.
They were challenged by two large, red faced men with rifles and kilts. They were wearing old army uniforms, covered with thick dark trench coats and black berets - each with a little white rose attached. Jericho pointed to a large plastic card around his neck, hanging from a red tape; "Hello boys, we're the press team from CNN as arranged by your Captain Davidson." Even Wilson was impressed with his 'New York' accent and muttered; "You really do sound like a damn Yankee." Owen chuckled at that and whispered to Alex; "And he should know!" They all showed their Press cards and smiled - broadly.
The two men lowered their rifles and one called over his shoulder for Captain Davidson. A small gap was made and the little group squeezed through, bending low, and found themselves in a busy street. Several old army vehicles were parked down one side, including a red cross ambulance and two jeeps - both flying the Scottish flag. There must have been thirty soldiers milling around - including several women, a couple were wearing red cross arm bands - everyone seemed to stop and watch the reporters approach.
Alex received a couple of 'wolf-whistles' from two young soldiers sitting on the tail-gate of a lorry. She smiled and pulled her coat around, as the snow seemed to be falling more quickly and increasing in density. That's when she saw the tired looking young Captain, emerge from a shattered shop doorway. She gripped Jericho by the arm; "Shit! That young man knows me and Wilson - he handed the pouch to his old boss back in 1980. Change of role I think." She nodded to Wilson, who had also recognised the former filing clerk.
"Hi, good to meet you - Jerry Tibbs - CNN." Jericho held out his hand, pulling the glove off. The Captain gripped his hand firmly and smiled. Alex could see that the young man had changed some over the last five years; he seemed much older than his true age - but his eyes were still bright.
Jericho introduced his team in a wonderful 'New York' accent; Wilson his cameraman, Owen the production assistant and local liaison was Alexandra, a reporter from a National paper, who was assisting and guiding the team from New York. Captain Peter Davidson of the SDF [Scottish Defence Force] smiled; "Hello Miss, I do remember you and your cameraman from the day the pouch was opened. I don't think any man could forget meeting you - or the big man." He indicated towards the shop doorway and added; "Follow me. Colonel McIves has his HQ in the basement of that shoe-shop, he's the one who authorised your Press visit. Like you Alex, I'm local liaison."
The little group exchanged glances at the mention of 'McIves'. "Is that Alexander McIves - from the Highlands?" Alex asked quietly and saw the look upon Jericho's face when the Captain replied yes, and did she know the Colonel?
"By reputation only." She muttered and the group followed the Captain into the shop doorway and descended some wooden stairs into the basement which was lit by candles. Colonel McIves was sitting at metal folding table, smoking a pipe and reading various pieces of paper. The big man was in army uniform and gripped a glass of whisky in one hand. The Captain saluted and introduced the group. The Colonel looked up and smiled broadly; "Jerry Tibbs?" He said and stood, holding out his hand, telling the Captain to check the radio room for messages.
Nothing was said between them until the Captain left, then McIves indicated for them to seat. Several fold-up chairs, stacked in a dirty corner, were pulled out and everyone was seated. The Colonel passed several plastic cup around and produced a bottle of whisky from the canvas bag at his feet. "Jerry Tibbs." He repeated softly and chuckled. Then passed the bottle around.
There was a little silence as everyone filled their cups, then the Colonel scratched at his pipe with a small pen knife and refilled the bowl from a fat drawstring bag. He re-lit it slowly, peering over the top at Jericho. "I'm amazed that you let this slip by you Jericho, I'm sure Alex and Wilson reported back the contents of that pouch and what it could mean to the Scottish people - especially after that bent referendum that Thatcher concocted." He leaned back in his chair and puffed his pipe - smiling.
Jericho raised the plastic cup and shrugged; "Not my call McIves, I was running an errand for Angel Margret and the team were temporarily managed by Inspector Patrick O'Brien; who made the call - despite what Alexandra and Wilson reported. His decision has been called into question; that's why we're here."
"Ah, now I see. My faith in your abilities have been restored Jericho. But is your Mission to restore or damage limitation?" The Colonel sipped his whisky and placed his pipe down and shuffled some papers on his desk. Jericho sighed; "Neither really, our brief is to report the changes, so that Time-Control can run a few scenario's and see where it all ends up. Then the Boss will, apparently make the call himself." ['Boss' is GOD should you wonder!]
"I think, we would all love to know how you did it McIves." Alex spoke softly and tapped her plastic cup with a finger; "We really would." The Colonel grinned and waved a hand into the air; "Jesus I do love it when you use that Scottish accent Alex - makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck." He offered the bottle around for refills and slumped back in his chair. "I can't take all the credit for it. The real brains behind it was a certain French ship's captain; a Monsignor Francis de Ville - late of his French's Majesty's navy - a fellow who hailed from 1766, I believe."
Owen was already consulting his mirror and coughed; "He's a missing soul Jericho; his departure date is logged at 1787 - he never appeared and is believed to have gained the ability to travel." Owen replaced his mirror in a coat pocket and refilled his cup, adding; "The only Scottish connection shown, is that his mother; a certain Lady Alice MacKinnon was from Ayr. His father was a French merchant who traded with Scotland in the 1740's."
"That's not quite accurate Owen; his father was no French merchant, but the true King of Scotland." The Colonel smiled broadly; "All the proof needed was contained in that pouch; along with an incredible and iconic relic that tied everything up in nice fat ribbons." Jericho scratched his chin; "I don't understand that, the current Pretender [1985] to the Scottish Throne is some German Duke I believe; a direct descent of the Stuart's."
"Had it not been for the pouch and its incredible contents, you would be right." The Colonel re-lit his pipe and tapped the desk gently, adding; "The pouch had evidence, that the original line of Scottish Kings from Robert the Bruce were still in existence and that dear Francis de Ville, had a better and totally legitimate claim to the old Scottish Throne. He was a direct and legitimate male descendant of King Robert. That sole fact changed everything - Scotland had a real Scottish King in the form of the Earl of Falkirk - Francis' direct descendant and heir."
"What was the relic that proved everything?" Wilson asked, quite intrigued and sipped his whisky. McIves chuckled; "Something that has been missing since 1329." He shifted on his chair and passed the whisky bottle around. "The pouch contained a simple gold ring inscribed with the word 'Fuimus' - which was the Bruce clan motto - it was Robert the Bruce's coronation ring and had been missing for centuries. Experts examined the ring and declared it genuine. Then of course, there was the marriage contract between King David II [Robert the Bruce's son] and a certain Lady Mary Stratlain in 1363 and provisions for the King's son, another David, by that Lady. The Earl of Falkirk is his direct descendant and true King of Scotland by blood and Clan."
"I know my Scottish history is a little shaky, but wasn't King David married to Margaret Drummond who gave him no children?" Owen looked quite puzzled; his research was normally top=notch in these matters. McIves nodded his agreement and smiled - again; "Yes he did marry the woman. but in 1364. He desperately needed her family's support and so he simply hid his earlier marriage for political convenience and survival. It wasn't exactly uncommon in those days. Remember, in Scottish law, the earlier marriage would remain valid."
There was loud knocking at the door and a voice shouted; "An English patrol has been spotted east of the city Sir!" The Colonel jumped up, buttoning up his tunic and fixing his beret; "The captain will look after my guests until I return." He said to the young soldier who now appeared in the doorway - rifle in hand.
He patted Jericho on the shoulder and grinned; "Stay around Jerry and make yourself at home. I'm sure the great American public will love what you produce for CNN." He also winked and buckled his pistol belt on, disappearing up the staircase; shouting orders.
The group sat in silence for about a minute, considering what had been uncovered in that dark little cellar. "Shit, if that's all true, then Inspector O'Brien has made one of the greatest cock-ups in the history of the Temporal Department." Owen stated and shook his head, downing his whisky in one.
"No shit Sherlock." Muttered Wilson and slung the video camera back over his shoulder. Alex saw the concerned look on Jericho's face and whispered; "IF it is true, then surely the Boss will allow the new Time-Line to exist?" Jericho shook his head; "I don't really know, an independent Scottish Kingdom formed in the 1980's will cause major changes down the Time-line and could alter the history of humanity. Maybe not for the best either."
Jericho finished his whisky and eased from the uncomfortable little chair and said dourly; "I think we need to take a closer look at this story." Alex replaced her mirror and looked quite grim, saying; "People, the Time-Controller is holding this existence for twenty-four human hours. So we only have one day to discover any truth about what's been discovered."
4. THE SIEGE OF EDINBURGH CASTLE.
Captain Davidson had found the team some reasonable accommodation in a looted town house and they settled in. Alex found a an armchair with a foot rest and sat back, shoes off, massaging her feet. "If this snow gets any heavier, I'm going to need my wellingtons - these little ankle boots won't cope."
She noticed that Owen was staring at her feet with a little smile on his face. "I'd swear young Owen is turning into a pervert." Wilson declared and chuckled, having noticed where Owen was staring. Alex sighed; "Owen, they are just feet. I'm not rubbing my breasts or anything like that." Owen grinned; "I know, but its the way your doing it." She rolled her eyes and sighed; his father forcing the boy into the Monastic life, at a young age, had done him no favours.
Wilson wandered over to the damaged table placed by the window and poked the plate of sandwiches, which had been provided by a very pleasant young women in uniform, wearing a red cross armband. "There's cheese or corned beef and a big pot of tea." He picked up a cheese sandwich and took a massive bite, adding; "Hey, they're not bad." Alex stared at the plate and asked Owen why the girl had called them 'pieces'. Owen explained that was Scottish for a sandwich. She shrugged and picked up a cheese one; "Who wants tea?"
They didn't get time to finish their 'pieces' or even try some tea. Captain Davidson burst through the broken door shouting; "They have broken our lines just south of the city and we've been ordered to reinforce the castle garrison - the castle can never fall into English hands - that would be a disaster." A little calmer, he informed them that the unit was leaving immediately for the castle; and the reporters would be coming with them.
"What castle?" Wilson asked and Owen replied simply; "Edinburgh."
As they packed up the few items they carried, Owen spoke quietly to Jericho; "The papers and ring from that pouch are stored in the castle's archives, we won't get a better chance to examine then - given the time we have left." Jericho nodded his agreement and the group quickly descended the stairs into the street which was in chaos; "You'll go in the ambulance. There's less chance that the bastards will shoot at it." Captain Davidson told them and they jumped in, accompanied by the young female Medic, who slammed the doors shut.
"There's serious fighting to the south of the city and casualties have to be taken to the castle infirmary now, they've over run the hospital we've been using." She didn't smile and adjusted her beret adding; "Still, the poor sods in that hospital will get much better treatment from the English surgeons than we could ever provide." Everyone gripped something as the ambulance pulled away at speed, driven by the other girl, who shouted back; "Hold on - it's gonna be a bumpy ride!"
The little convoy arrived at the castle just before midday; amid a heavy snow storm and the sound of fighting could now, actually be heard in the distance. The young medic helped Alex down and pointed to a dark doorway; "Apparently there's a couple of small rooms put aside for us, the boy's have one to themselves, but you have to share with me and Rosie." She indicated to the ambulance driver, who Wilson made laugh when he asked her; if she drove stock cars for a living.
Jericho gathered the team in the little dark room which was lit by two weak candles, stuck in egg cups. "There can be no better time to sneak around and get a look at the pouch's contents, everything is in chaos and they won't pay too much attention to people already inside the castle. I've pulled up a map to the archives and where the pouch is stored." He tapped his mirror and checked the doorway; "Right, there's no time like the present - lets go!"
They carefully and quietly navigated the dark corridors, to the sound of gunfire and small explosions outside. "The castle is under siege." Owen said softly, lifting up his mirror to illuminate way. They found the Lower West corridor and stairs down to the archives. The room containing the pouch was just around the next turn, but Owen stopped suddenly and snapped the light out. "A guard outside the door, sitting on a stool - he is armed." He whispered, adding; "Looks very young, probably stuck him down here because of that."
"I doubt he'll just let us wander in and read the damn thing." Wilson muttered, lowering the video camera down and wiping his face. But Jericho smiled and tapped Alex on the shoulder; "Over to you, I think." Alex didn't look impressed, but tidied up her hair and straightened her short skirt, pulling the hem up a few more inches; then opened some more buttons on her blouse. "Run your mirror over each page." Owen spoke softly and grinned. "I do know that." She muttered and took a few little breaths.
Alex switched her mirror light on and and said loudly; "Hello, is anyone there?" They heard the young soldier jump up, his stool falling to the floor. "Halt, who goes there!" He shouted - quite nervously. Owen glanced at Wilson and said; "Do you think he'll fall for the oldest trick in the book?" Wilson grinned; "With our girl? - Hook, line and bloody sinker." They both nodded at that and even Jericho managed a smile.
Alex stepped around the corner with a big grin on her face, and with a little wave of her free hand, introduced herself. The remaining team waited in silence, but ready to spring if Alex needed assistance.
They could hear a conversation, but couldn't actually make out what was being said. But they all grinned at each other, when after a few minutes, they heard a heavy door being unlocked. They heard it close and they edged round to find the stool on the floor - the guard and Alex were gone.
"Hook, line and bloody sinker. "Wilson whispered and they stood outside the door; waiting. After a while Owen glanced down at his mirror; "It's been almost ten minutes." He sounded a little concerned. But the door creaked open and Alex stepped through and smiled; "Mission almost complete. But the ring is not there, apparently the new Scottish King; Alexander, is wearing it." She pulled down her skirt to its original length and quickly buttoned her blouse up. "Come on, back to those dismal rooms." Jericho said and nodded to Alex; "Well done."
The team passed through the empty corridors and reached their 'dismal' rooms before anyone even realised they had disappeared. "You were right about why the boy was guarding that door Owen." Alex said, checking her mirror; "Colonel McIves told him, that it was one of the most important tasks in the castle and that, he could depend upon young Colin from Aberdeen."
Wilson shrugged his shoulders and seemed quite surprised; "So the black hearted git does have a conscious." He turned to her and smiled; "It didn't take you long to achieve what we needed." Alex waved the compliment away, saying softly; "He's not much older than Owen and I told him that I really needed to see the papers for my newspaper and that I would be grateful - very grateful indeed - and would do really anything to get my story."
Wilson gave Alex a questioning look and said; "How grateful?"
Alex chuckled; "I slowly - very slowly - lifted my skirt so that he could have a good look at what's on offer and that done the trick. He had the door unlocked without a second thought." Owen actually groaned at the thought of that scene, which made Wilson and Jericho chuckle.
"He let me 'photograph' the papers because I promised him a little fun, when he came off duty in a couple of hours. But as down payment, I had to let feel round my bum, while I took the 'pictures'. He had very cold hands." Owen shook his head in a mix of frustration and disappointment that it wasn't his hands on Alex's bum. "I take it you won't keep that appointment?" Wilson muttered and Alex whispered; "I like men - real men - not boys. Sorry Owen." The look she gave Wilson didn't go unnoticed by the big man and he smiled to himself. Dancing naked around that dam tree stump did have it perks. Young Owen shrugged his shoulders and said quite sadly; "Lucky bastard."
Wilson passed around his hip-flask and everyone enjoyed the brandy, whilst they waited for Human Records to analyse the papers. But loud sobbing from the room Alex shared with the medic's, drew her attention; Jericho indicated she should investigate and Alex hurried out. It was some time before she returned - she had been clearly crying - but was now quite composed. Wilson gripped her arm and asked what happened.
Alex drew a very heavy breath; "Young Rosie the ambulance driver went to help a badly wounded soldier and was caught by machine gun fire. She died instantly. Morag was quite distraught, but pulled herself together and went back to work in the infirmary." They stood in silence for a few seconds, then Jericho said simply; "Brave girls." Everyone muttered their agreement with that.
Alex took a long swig from Wilson's flask and looked at their faces; "What's wrong?" She said slowly. Owen ran a hand over his face; "The papers are fake - made around the 1780's - but very good fakes." Alex stared at the floor and whispered with real emotion in her voice; "So young Rosie died for a bloody fake." She sighed deeply and sat slowly on a nearby chair; "For a bloody fake." She repeated; angrily.
"I wonder if McIves knows the papers are fake?" Owen asked and sipped some brandy. Jericho grunted; "Our friend has been fighting other peoples wars for centuries; I don't suppose he would care either way." Alex looked up from her chair and ran a hand through her long dark hair; "Thanks for reminding me about mercenaries; Young Colin told me that the Colonel intends to hold the castle, until a certain General Munroe arrives with the Scottish Northern Army: apparently in a couple of days. The army has many American volunteers, American descendants of Scots or Irish settlers. A lot of them have apparently served in the US forces and so they're professional soldiers; that could make a big difference to the rebellion."
Jericho nodded at that and eased himself onto a wobbly chair; "Now I understand why the English haven't used their heavy weapons on the Scots - planes and tanks -because of public opinion back in the states, which has large populations descended from Scotland and Ireland. Their President is a staunch supporter of the current Prime Minister; Mrs. Thatcher. But I bet, he has made it plain that such tactics would not be acceptable. The English are fighting a civil war with both arms tied behind their backs. Interesting that."
"You were always too clever for your own good." Colonel McIves stood in the doorway, unsmiling, with his arms folded. He placed a whisky bottle on an empty chair, with several decent looking glasses. He smiled at Alex; "A young, but very loyal trooper, has told me about your little visit to the archives and your promise. I'll be quite envious when he comes to collect his prize."
Alex smiled and shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing. McIves chuckled; "I've given him a couple of hours off to spruce himself up and the keys to a VERY SPECIAL and lovely state bedroom. You should be undisturbed there. He'll be here shortly, so that you can keep your end of the bargain." He slowly unscrewed the whisky bottle and spoke directly to Jericho; "May I ask what you discovered by allowing our Alex to offer sexual favours to young men? Tut-Tut; very naughty!" He grinned and handed the bottle to Jericho.
Jericho accepted the open bottle and a glass from McIves and slowly poured whisky out. He sipped and spoke softly; "That this rebellion is based on lies - very well made lies - but lies, nevertheless." He raised the glass in salute. "Where does 'Black Sword' stand, now he knows he's fighting for a lie. A lie that's killing people who should never have died yet and plunging his beloved, adopted country, into useless bloodshed?"
5. BLACK SWORD SURPRISES JERICHO.
McIves said nothing, but indicated to the doorway; "May I introduce Monsignor Francis de Ville to you all." He said loudly and stood to one side. The little dark haired Frenchman sauntered in and bowed; "So I finally meet the famed Temporal Detective Jericho Tibbs and his loyal foot soldiers." He bowed again to Alex; "Your are as beautiful as I imagined. The young soldier is much privileged to be pleasured by you."
"Did the little shit run an advert on the TV about the archives visit?" Alex groaned, adding; "Does everyone bloody know?" Wilson shook his head and quietly showed Alex the little glass orb: it had turned red: completely.
They exchanged looks, but said nothing; they were in the presence of a very powerful minion of the 'Dark One'. Wilson caught Jericho pushing his orb back into the folds of his long coat.
The group stood in silence as the Frenchman lifted a glass and sipped some whisky, he grinned at Jericho and pulled a small black jewel - no bigger that a thumb - from his jacket pocket. "You will discover, my friends that your mirrors will not work anymore. You now have no more power that a mortal human and completely at my command." Jericho stared at the gem and said quietly; "A Judas Stone." That's when three armed soldiers appeared in the doorway, including an excited looking young Colin from Aberdeen.
Owen pulled out his mirror and stared at the blank screen, each of the team checked their mirrors with the same result; they were off line. Jericho slowly pushed the mirror into the folds of his coat - he didn't smile, but folded his arms and spoke quietly; "Only certain minions of the 'Dark One' can temporally close down a mirror." Monsignor Francis de Ville smiled; "And so I am - you may know me as Kiri." He whispered. Jericho's face did not betray the fear building inside; Kiri was a Class 1 Demon - the only person who could tackle him, in the human world of the living, would be a Knight of God.
Monsignor Francis de Ville pointed to Alex; "Young Colin, this lady will keep her promise to you - take her and enjoy yourself." Wilson and Owen jumped forward but Alex shouted for them to stop. She took a heavy breath and said with no emotion in her voice; "He could easily kill you without breaking into a sweat. Stand down. Stand down I say." She walked to the doorway and didn't look back. She heard Wilson calling the Minion something very unpleasant and she half smiled; until Colin gripped her arm and walked her to a nearby staircase.
"The Colonel gave me the keys to the Old Queen's state bedroom, we'll be OK there." He sounded quite excited and took hold of her hand; "Best thing I ever did, letting you see the parchments. I've been told I can take all the time I need, So I want to do it a couple of times, understand?" Alex forced a smile at the boy; she could almost sense a change in his demeanour - and it wasn't a pleasant one. But then McIves words passed through her mind; 'to spruce himself up and the keys to a VERY SPECIAL and lovely state bedroom' - was there a message there?
Was the infamous 'Black Sword' throwing her a life-line? Can he really be trusted? Alex was quite distracted by Colonel McIves words.
They arrived at the room in the old quarter of the castle and Colin nervously unlocked the door. Alex stepped in and stared about the room; it was quite stunning with a huge four poster bed covered with thick curtain in bright colours. There were many portraits and tapestries hanging on the walls.
"Well, the is absolutely stunning. I wouldn't mind this as my bedroom." Alex was impressed and then she realised she had 'young Colin from Aberdeen' to disappoint. "Women can change their mind at any time." She spoke quietly and turned around to speak to Colin about this 'agreement' - he was stark naked, holding his erection with both hands.
Alex sighed and folded her arms; "Colin, about this....." But she never finished her sentence. Colin walked straight up to her - grinning broadly and pushed his hand up her short skirt - his groping hand grabbed through her panties and touched her crotch. She slapped him so hard that he actually fell on the bed. He lay stunned and slowly rose; cursing. "You don't grab a woman like that - ever." She shouted at him and stared about the room. He was trying apologise and pleading with her to forgive him; when she spotted the mirror against the wall, opposite the window.
"A Jerusalem Mirror!" She exclaimed and walked over and shook her head in relief - "You clever, cunning bugger McIves." She whispered and realised that 'Black Sword' must have decided previously, whose side he was on. With the bloody demon hanging about, he had to be really careful - and clever.
Colin crept over and took hold of Alex by the waist from behind; forcing a hand into her blouse, taking a fierce hold on her left breast - it hurt. "You will keep your fucking promise!" He shouted, Colin was bloody angry and frustrated - he was losing control - and now tried to kiss her.
Well, Alex knew that the time for pleasantries was over. She turned slowly, with a lovely smile on her face and gently pulled his hand from her breast. "I think this should visit a better place." She guided it back up her skirt, staring into his eyes. He grinned and turned her to him, which she wanted; "That's more fucking like it; I'm going to fuck you like a fucking dog you bitch!." He spoke angrily, with a contorted smile, pushing his hand down into her panties and between her legs. He tried to push his tongue into her mouth, whispering; "So you fucking like it rough. Well I'm gonna fuck your arse so hard, you won't sit straight for a week." He actually giggled and started to force his fingers into her. Alex was utterly calm and smiled. He never saw it coming.
'Young Colin from Aberdeen' was in such pain after Alex had smashed her knee straight into his testicles, that he slid to the floor. He was suffering excruciating pain - he could not even cry - but just lay whimpering on the carpet, unable to breath properly or speak.
"Turned out, not to be a very nice young man. But one of us, has certainly been fucked now" She muttered and straightened her blouse and adjusted her panties, Then stared at the young man curled upon the floor - now sobbing. "By the way, the agreement is off," She said quietly and strode over to the mirror and stepped through.
She was in the Queen's bedchamber; in 1568. Luckily the place was empty and she peered through the thick glass window, to the late medieval streets of old Edinburgh. "Better view here, than where I just came from." Chuckling with a little relief, she quickly pulled out her mirror and with some delight; saw it was on line. Alex disappeared, before the Queen's Ladies-in-waiting arrived to prepare the bed for Her Majesty.
"It was the perfect decade for rebellion. Margret Thatcher was unpopular with her Poll Tax here, her attempts at smashing the Miners and selling state industries, that were actually owned by the people. There were riots and strikes and Scotland had just been cheated out of Independence by a crooked referendum - so the people thought. It was the best opportunity for a successful rebellion in over two hundred years." Monsignor Francis de Ville smiled and sipped his whisky.
"But for success, it had to start way back in 1780. With two old friends of mine and a very famous forger - at the time - who could recreate historically accurate documents. By the way, the ring is actually genuine. I took it from the Kings body just hours after his death." Monsignor Francis de Ville sighed and walked to the door; "Goodbye Mister Jericho Tibbs. I will now take the place of that lucky young soldier. but I'm sure, that I will not be as pleasant with Lady Alex as the boy would have been. But he is quite a devoted follower of my Master - that's why I choose him to guard the door - I told the boy it was McIves idea." Laughing, he departed and the door was slammed and bolted. The three sat in silence, Jericho checked his mirror again - it was still off line.
A 'Judas Stone' was a powerful weapon in the armoury of the 'Dark Prince's' 'minions. It basically disrupted communication between the forces of light and prevented travel between the dimensions of Time. They sat waiting in the darkness - the two miserable candles had long since died - All with one real concern on their minds; Alex.
A little stream of light started to appear through the doorway and they jumped up, as the old door swung slowly open. McIves stood in the doorway and gestured for them to come. "Quick lads, the fucking demon has gone after Alex." Wilson shouted something about ripping off a certain male appendage and stuffing it somewhere unpleasant. That's when they all stood still at the sight, standing in the corridor.
"Oh fucking shit." Whispered McIves, very slowly pulling his famous black sword, from the scabbard that hung upon his back. Jericho checked his mirror; it was still off line. Monsignor Francis de Ville had reverted to his true form as the demon Kiri; a senior Minion of the 'Dark Prince' - and it wasn't happy. "Where is the bitch?" It hissed and rolled dark eyes about and licked its sharp teeth. "Where's the bitch?"" It repeated and crashed its tail against the corridor ceiling; bringing down plaster and age old dirt.
Jericho whispered to McIves; "Alexandra must have escaped." McIves smiled and lifted his sword slowly; "I knew she was clever enough to de-code my message about the 'Jerusalem Mirror'. She's jumped!"
"Not quite, I'm still here actually and I've brought an old friend." Everyone turned behind them and saw Alex standing in the doorway, hands on hips and not looking happy. "You see, you scaly bastard, you don't need working mirrors when you have one of these." She stepped aside and James - Knight of God -stood in the doorway, gripping his sword, he dropped his visor and said softly; "I think its best, you people wait in the Great Hall." Everyone disappeared at his command; you certainly didn't need a mirror with him around!
Jericho and his team surprised several sleeping soldiers; who jumped from chairs, sofa's and tables as the group appeared in the middle of them. McIves slowly sheaved his sword and grinned broadly at Alex; "I hope you didn't hurt that horny young twat too much." He chuckled and started to speak to the amazed soldiers, who gathered around him.
Alex walked up to McIves and placed a smacker of a kiss upon his lips and stayed there for some time. Finally, she broke the kiss and smiled; "That's a little thank you for being a really clever git and staying true to who you really are - Gracias Rodrigo, eres verdaderamente un hombre de gran honor." 'Black Sword' nodded his head and stared into her eyes; "So you know."
Alex whispered; "Yes we know." There was silence between the two, until one of the young soldiers asked if he could have one as well and received it for sheer cheek alone!
"They're back on!" Owen exclaimed and held up his mirror, and received a little admonishment from Jericho about showing a mirror near living humans. Wilson tapped Alex on the shoulder; "Glad to have you back with us, how's your new boyfriend?" Alex stuck up a single finger - but smiled.
Young Peter Davidson pushed his bike against the black iron railings and secured it with a large padlock and chain. He pulled his trousers from his bright red socks and clutching his holdall, headed for the offices of Cordless, Cordless & Fraser where he held the grand title of 'Archives Manager' - or filing clerk in the real world!
But today he had a task to fulfil that would take him, to the very high offices of the Senior Partner of the firm; Sir David Fraser. Today he would inform Mr. Fraser that the old document pouch, held under lock and key, for two hundred years should now be delivered. It had actually put a spring in his step and with a cheery 'God Morning!' to the Security Guard sitting with Liz, the receptionist [who he really fancied] made for his basement office.
Peter sat at his desk, eating a strawberry yogurt with a small plastic spoon, reading a photocopy of the original agreement - he wondered who Daniel Brown and William McKenzie really were. They gave their joint address [at the time] as "Prospect House, Inverness." He had actually looked it up with no success, going right back to the 1690's. But the address sewn onto the old document pouch, well, that was a different matter!
The phone ringing made him jump and spill yogurt on his trousers, he lifted the receiver carefully, wiping strawberry yogurt from his knees. It was Sir David's Secretary; Margret, informing him that he was required in Sir David's office - with the pouch - at exactly midday. He mumbled his agreement and slowly replaced the phone.
Peter's assistant had arrived and slumped into his chair, blowing his nose and coughing; "I'm sure that bitch I snogged last night has given me the chill's." Carl wiped his face and grinned; "Today's the day my friend. After two hundred years of low paid, abused and bored filing clerks, you have been chosen, only you have the honour of delivering 'old crinkly' and getting your picture in the papers." He grinned broadly; "All the girls will think your famous, your bound to get laid once or twice!"
Peter just grunted; "Some fucking luck I don't think. Sir David will probably do the honour himself. I've already been summoned to his office at midday."
Carl shrugged his shoulders; "They probably know what's inside despite it remaining unsealed for all those bloody years, you've heard the legend about Sir David's Grandfather and Edinburgh Infirmary."
Peter nodded, he knew that story all too well. Sir David's grandfather; Sir Alistair Cordless, it was rumoured, had taken the pouch one night (in great secrecy) to an old friend at Edinburgh Infirmary and had it X-rayed. The legend tells that, all they could discover was the pouch contained several sheets of paper and what appeared to be a small ring. But it was just a story.
Peter sighed; "Pieces of paper are worth shit - unless they point to hidden treasure." He had also heard the legend of their founders acquisition of old Spanish Gold - lots of it - apparently, because of the pouch.
"I dunno about that, look at the American Declaration of Independence; that little piece of paper changed the world." Carl, pulled several files from his desk drawer and shuffled the contents about his desk.
"After that fixed referendum, that's what we fucking need; a Scottish Declaration of Independence." Peter muttered and imagined himself dressed in a kilt, waving a broadsword at Mrs. bloody Thatcher! Peter could hear Carl laughing; "What the fuck are you doing mate?" Peter eased back into his chair after standing and waving his imaginary sword about - bloody Thatcher he repeated to himself and smiled.
"You taking that bird to 'Buster Browns' Saturday night?" Carl asked and threw a ball of screwed up paper at Peter, who grunted. The 'bird' Carl had mentioned was Liz the Receptionist and Peter still hadn't worked up the nerve to ask her out on Saturday night. "Maybe, maybe - I'll have to see." He said softly and the thought of Liz sitting naked behind her desk made the young man grin broadly. Hamish, a young Junior Clerk from the third floor appeared in the doorway and jerked a thumb towards the ceiling; "The fucking press have turned up, there's a totally gorgeous tart reporter heading for Sir David's office with a cameraman. Jesus, she's all tits and long legs - fucking stunning." Peter and Carl exchanged looks; "Must be about 'old crinkly' - Sir David loves getting his name in the papers, he's a real tosser about publicity." Carl explained, looking over his shoulder and past Hamish in the doorway, who scratched his arse and added; "You on for 'Buster Browns' Saturday night?"
Both Carl and Peter nodded; Yes. "Fuck, I'll have to ask her now or be a fucking real lemon in front of these twats." Peter whispered, then sighed and chewed his pencil, then a wonderful idea came to him and he shouted; "Yes!" punching a fist into the air. Carl and Hamish just chuckled; "What a knob." and headed back upstairs, hoping to get another look at the reporter from the 'Scottish Record'.
Peter constantly looked at the office clock until it read eleven-thirty, then unlocked the wall key box and removed the old key for the basement safe. "Do you want me to make trumpet noses?" Carl giggled and stood; saluting.
Peter stuck up two fingers and headed for the safe.
With 'old crinkly' tucked safely under his arm, Peter slipped quietly into Reception and waved Liz over to him. His 'brilliant' idea actually worked, he showed Liz the package and managed to turn the conversation around to Saturday night. A very happy filing clerk headed for Sir David's office; Liz had said: yes.
Peter was shown into the outer office of Sir David's by Margret and stood waiting. He stared through the clear glass partition and grinned broadly; 'What a fucking piece of skirt!' he said to himself. Peter simply couldn't take his eyes of the female reporter who sat upright in a small office chair, with Sir David standing over her. The reporter had a short skirt, well above her knee and a matching blue jacket. Her white blouse simply couldn't hide her magnificent breasts. She was scribing notes and smiling at Sir David. She was simply stunning - in all respects.
Peter actually groaned a little, when she crossed her legs which seemed to go on forever. "Best put you tongue back in your mouth and do try to stop dribbling." Margret smiled at Peter and carried a tray with coffee into the main office. That's when he bothered to look at the cameraman and was well surprised; a big black man in a smart suit with a couple of expensive looking camera's hanging around his neck. "Jesus, that's a big man. You don't get many of him around here." He spoke softly and straightened his tie, as Margret indicated to join them.
He gripped the old document pouch with both hands and glanced down at the address, which had been hand sewn onto one side. "How the fuck did those two know, that there would still be a Lord Falkirk two hundred years later and still living in Falkirk Palace?" He whispered and smiling, walked with pretend purpose into the presence of Sir David and his gorgeous guest.
3. WAR OF THE WHITE ROSE (FEBRUARY 1985)
Jericho wrapped his coat around and pointed down the quiet street towards the well built barricade; "There are several rebels manning it, they're armed and clever, so be really careful in how you act and speak." He cautioned his team, who stood amid the snow flurries and shared a hip-flask of brandy amongst themselves.
Alex adjusted her little woollen bonnet and allowed her long dark hair to fall about her shoulders. She pulled down her short skirt - again - and straightened her coat. "They do know we're reporters and won't be trigger happy: will they?" Alex asked Jericho, who nodded and pushed his mirror back into the folds of his long coat. "Baby sister, no man in his right mind would shoot a piece of cake like you - keep your coat open and show them legs; you'll be safe as houses." Wilson chuckled, then added, as an after thought; "And they may not shoot at us either - just in case they hit you!" Jericho raised his hand; "Best American accents now people." He said and the little party, very slowly, started to head towards the wall of over turned vehicles, paving stones and shop doors.
They were challenged by two large, red faced men with rifles and kilts. They were wearing old army uniforms, covered with thick dark trench coats and black berets - each with a little white rose attached. Jericho pointed to a large plastic card around his neck, hanging from a red tape; "Hello boys, we're the press team from CNN as arranged by your Captain Davidson." Even Wilson was impressed with his 'New York' accent and muttered; "You really do sound like a damn Yankee." Owen chuckled at that and whispered to Alex; "And he should know!" They all showed their Press cards and smiled - broadly.
The two men lowered their rifles and one called over his shoulder for Captain Davidson. A small gap was made and the little group squeezed through, bending low, and found themselves in a busy street. Several old army vehicles were parked down one side, including a red cross ambulance and two jeeps - both flying the Scottish flag. There must have been thirty soldiers milling around - including several women, a couple were wearing red cross arm bands - everyone seemed to stop and watch the reporters approach.
Alex received a couple of 'wolf-whistles' from two young soldiers sitting on the tail-gate of a lorry. She smiled and pulled her coat around, as the snow seemed to be falling more quickly and increasing in density. That's when she saw the tired looking young Captain, emerge from a shattered shop doorway. She gripped Jericho by the arm; "Shit! That young man knows me and Wilson - he handed the pouch to his old boss back in 1980. Change of role I think." She nodded to Wilson, who had also recognised the former filing clerk.
"Hi, good to meet you - Jerry Tibbs - CNN." Jericho held out his hand, pulling the glove off. The Captain gripped his hand firmly and smiled. Alex could see that the young man had changed some over the last five years; he seemed much older than his true age - but his eyes were still bright.
Jericho introduced his team in a wonderful 'New York' accent; Wilson his cameraman, Owen the production assistant and local liaison was Alexandra, a reporter from a National paper, who was assisting and guiding the team from New York. Captain Peter Davidson of the SDF [Scottish Defence Force] smiled; "Hello Miss, I do remember you and your cameraman from the day the pouch was opened. I don't think any man could forget meeting you - or the big man." He indicated towards the shop doorway and added; "Follow me. Colonel McIves has his HQ in the basement of that shoe-shop, he's the one who authorised your Press visit. Like you Alex, I'm local liaison."
The little group exchanged glances at the mention of 'McIves'. "Is that Alexander McIves - from the Highlands?" Alex asked quietly and saw the look upon Jericho's face when the Captain replied yes, and did she know the Colonel?
"By reputation only." She muttered and the group followed the Captain into the shop doorway and descended some wooden stairs into the basement which was lit by candles. Colonel McIves was sitting at metal folding table, smoking a pipe and reading various pieces of paper. The big man was in army uniform and gripped a glass of whisky in one hand. The Captain saluted and introduced the group. The Colonel looked up and smiled broadly; "Jerry Tibbs?" He said and stood, holding out his hand, telling the Captain to check the radio room for messages.
Nothing was said between them until the Captain left, then McIves indicated for them to seat. Several fold-up chairs, stacked in a dirty corner, were pulled out and everyone was seated. The Colonel passed several plastic cup around and produced a bottle of whisky from the canvas bag at his feet. "Jerry Tibbs." He repeated softly and chuckled. Then passed the bottle around.
There was a little silence as everyone filled their cups, then the Colonel scratched at his pipe with a small pen knife and refilled the bowl from a fat drawstring bag. He re-lit it slowly, peering over the top at Jericho. "I'm amazed that you let this slip by you Jericho, I'm sure Alex and Wilson reported back the contents of that pouch and what it could mean to the Scottish people - especially after that bent referendum that Thatcher concocted." He leaned back in his chair and puffed his pipe - smiling.
Jericho raised the plastic cup and shrugged; "Not my call McIves, I was running an errand for Angel Margret and the team were temporarily managed by Inspector Patrick O'Brien; who made the call - despite what Alexandra and Wilson reported. His decision has been called into question; that's why we're here."
"Ah, now I see. My faith in your abilities have been restored Jericho. But is your Mission to restore or damage limitation?" The Colonel sipped his whisky and placed his pipe down and shuffled some papers on his desk. Jericho sighed; "Neither really, our brief is to report the changes, so that Time-Control can run a few scenario's and see where it all ends up. Then the Boss will, apparently make the call himself." ['Boss' is GOD should you wonder!]
"I think, we would all love to know how you did it McIves." Alex spoke softly and tapped her plastic cup with a finger; "We really would." The Colonel grinned and waved a hand into the air; "Jesus I do love it when you use that Scottish accent Alex - makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck." He offered the bottle around for refills and slumped back in his chair. "I can't take all the credit for it. The real brains behind it was a certain French ship's captain; a Monsignor Francis de Ville - late of his French's Majesty's navy - a fellow who hailed from 1766, I believe."
Owen was already consulting his mirror and coughed; "He's a missing soul Jericho; his departure date is logged at 1787 - he never appeared and is believed to have gained the ability to travel." Owen replaced his mirror in a coat pocket and refilled his cup, adding; "The only Scottish connection shown, is that his mother; a certain Lady Alice MacKinnon was from Ayr. His father was a French merchant who traded with Scotland in the 1740's."
"That's not quite accurate Owen; his father was no French merchant, but the true King of Scotland." The Colonel smiled broadly; "All the proof needed was contained in that pouch; along with an incredible and iconic relic that tied everything up in nice fat ribbons." Jericho scratched his chin; "I don't understand that, the current Pretender [1985] to the Scottish Throne is some German Duke I believe; a direct descent of the Stuart's."
"Had it not been for the pouch and its incredible contents, you would be right." The Colonel re-lit his pipe and tapped the desk gently, adding; "The pouch had evidence, that the original line of Scottish Kings from Robert the Bruce were still in existence and that dear Francis de Ville, had a better and totally legitimate claim to the old Scottish Throne. He was a direct and legitimate male descendant of King Robert. That sole fact changed everything - Scotland had a real Scottish King in the form of the Earl of Falkirk - Francis' direct descendant and heir."
"What was the relic that proved everything?" Wilson asked, quite intrigued and sipped his whisky. McIves chuckled; "Something that has been missing since 1329." He shifted on his chair and passed the whisky bottle around. "The pouch contained a simple gold ring inscribed with the word 'Fuimus' - which was the Bruce clan motto - it was Robert the Bruce's coronation ring and had been missing for centuries. Experts examined the ring and declared it genuine. Then of course, there was the marriage contract between King David II [Robert the Bruce's son] and a certain Lady Mary Stratlain in 1363 and provisions for the King's son, another David, by that Lady. The Earl of Falkirk is his direct descendant and true King of Scotland by blood and Clan."
"I know my Scottish history is a little shaky, but wasn't King David married to Margaret Drummond who gave him no children?" Owen looked quite puzzled; his research was normally top=notch in these matters. McIves nodded his agreement and smiled - again; "Yes he did marry the woman. but in 1364. He desperately needed her family's support and so he simply hid his earlier marriage for political convenience and survival. It wasn't exactly uncommon in those days. Remember, in Scottish law, the earlier marriage would remain valid."
There was loud knocking at the door and a voice shouted; "An English patrol has been spotted east of the city Sir!" The Colonel jumped up, buttoning up his tunic and fixing his beret; "The captain will look after my guests until I return." He said to the young soldier who now appeared in the doorway - rifle in hand.
He patted Jericho on the shoulder and grinned; "Stay around Jerry and make yourself at home. I'm sure the great American public will love what you produce for CNN." He also winked and buckled his pistol belt on, disappearing up the staircase; shouting orders.
The group sat in silence for about a minute, considering what had been uncovered in that dark little cellar. "Shit, if that's all true, then Inspector O'Brien has made one of the greatest cock-ups in the history of the Temporal Department." Owen stated and shook his head, downing his whisky in one.
"No shit Sherlock." Muttered Wilson and slung the video camera back over his shoulder. Alex saw the concerned look on Jericho's face and whispered; "IF it is true, then surely the Boss will allow the new Time-Line to exist?" Jericho shook his head; "I don't really know, an independent Scottish Kingdom formed in the 1980's will cause major changes down the Time-line and could alter the history of humanity. Maybe not for the best either."
Jericho finished his whisky and eased from the uncomfortable little chair and said dourly; "I think we need to take a closer look at this story." Alex replaced her mirror and looked quite grim, saying; "People, the Time-Controller is holding this existence for twenty-four human hours. So we only have one day to discover any truth about what's been discovered."
4. THE SIEGE OF EDINBURGH CASTLE.
Captain Davidson had found the team some reasonable accommodation in a looted town house and they settled in. Alex found a an armchair with a foot rest and sat back, shoes off, massaging her feet. "If this snow gets any heavier, I'm going to need my wellingtons - these little ankle boots won't cope."
She noticed that Owen was staring at her feet with a little smile on his face. "I'd swear young Owen is turning into a pervert." Wilson declared and chuckled, having noticed where Owen was staring. Alex sighed; "Owen, they are just feet. I'm not rubbing my breasts or anything like that." Owen grinned; "I know, but its the way your doing it." She rolled her eyes and sighed; his father forcing the boy into the Monastic life, at a young age, had done him no favours.
Wilson wandered over to the damaged table placed by the window and poked the plate of sandwiches, which had been provided by a very pleasant young women in uniform, wearing a red cross armband. "There's cheese or corned beef and a big pot of tea." He picked up a cheese sandwich and took a massive bite, adding; "Hey, they're not bad." Alex stared at the plate and asked Owen why the girl had called them 'pieces'. Owen explained that was Scottish for a sandwich. She shrugged and picked up a cheese one; "Who wants tea?"
They didn't get time to finish their 'pieces' or even try some tea. Captain Davidson burst through the broken door shouting; "They have broken our lines just south of the city and we've been ordered to reinforce the castle garrison - the castle can never fall into English hands - that would be a disaster." A little calmer, he informed them that the unit was leaving immediately for the castle; and the reporters would be coming with them.
"What castle?" Wilson asked and Owen replied simply; "Edinburgh."
As they packed up the few items they carried, Owen spoke quietly to Jericho; "The papers and ring from that pouch are stored in the castle's archives, we won't get a better chance to examine then - given the time we have left." Jericho nodded his agreement and the group quickly descended the stairs into the street which was in chaos; "You'll go in the ambulance. There's less chance that the bastards will shoot at it." Captain Davidson told them and they jumped in, accompanied by the young female Medic, who slammed the doors shut.
"There's serious fighting to the south of the city and casualties have to be taken to the castle infirmary now, they've over run the hospital we've been using." She didn't smile and adjusted her beret adding; "Still, the poor sods in that hospital will get much better treatment from the English surgeons than we could ever provide." Everyone gripped something as the ambulance pulled away at speed, driven by the other girl, who shouted back; "Hold on - it's gonna be a bumpy ride!"
The little convoy arrived at the castle just before midday; amid a heavy snow storm and the sound of fighting could now, actually be heard in the distance. The young medic helped Alex down and pointed to a dark doorway; "Apparently there's a couple of small rooms put aside for us, the boy's have one to themselves, but you have to share with me and Rosie." She indicated to the ambulance driver, who Wilson made laugh when he asked her; if she drove stock cars for a living.
Jericho gathered the team in the little dark room which was lit by two weak candles, stuck in egg cups. "There can be no better time to sneak around and get a look at the pouch's contents, everything is in chaos and they won't pay too much attention to people already inside the castle. I've pulled up a map to the archives and where the pouch is stored." He tapped his mirror and checked the doorway; "Right, there's no time like the present - lets go!"
They carefully and quietly navigated the dark corridors, to the sound of gunfire and small explosions outside. "The castle is under siege." Owen said softly, lifting up his mirror to illuminate way. They found the Lower West corridor and stairs down to the archives. The room containing the pouch was just around the next turn, but Owen stopped suddenly and snapped the light out. "A guard outside the door, sitting on a stool - he is armed." He whispered, adding; "Looks very young, probably stuck him down here because of that."
"I doubt he'll just let us wander in and read the damn thing." Wilson muttered, lowering the video camera down and wiping his face. But Jericho smiled and tapped Alex on the shoulder; "Over to you, I think." Alex didn't look impressed, but tidied up her hair and straightened her short skirt, pulling the hem up a few more inches; then opened some more buttons on her blouse. "Run your mirror over each page." Owen spoke softly and grinned. "I do know that." She muttered and took a few little breaths.
Alex switched her mirror light on and and said loudly; "Hello, is anyone there?" They heard the young soldier jump up, his stool falling to the floor. "Halt, who goes there!" He shouted - quite nervously. Owen glanced at Wilson and said; "Do you think he'll fall for the oldest trick in the book?" Wilson grinned; "With our girl? - Hook, line and bloody sinker." They both nodded at that and even Jericho managed a smile.
Alex stepped around the corner with a big grin on her face, and with a little wave of her free hand, introduced herself. The remaining team waited in silence, but ready to spring if Alex needed assistance.
They could hear a conversation, but couldn't actually make out what was being said. But they all grinned at each other, when after a few minutes, they heard a heavy door being unlocked. They heard it close and they edged round to find the stool on the floor - the guard and Alex were gone.
"Hook, line and bloody sinker. "Wilson whispered and they stood outside the door; waiting. After a while Owen glanced down at his mirror; "It's been almost ten minutes." He sounded a little concerned. But the door creaked open and Alex stepped through and smiled; "Mission almost complete. But the ring is not there, apparently the new Scottish King; Alexander, is wearing it." She pulled down her skirt to its original length and quickly buttoned her blouse up. "Come on, back to those dismal rooms." Jericho said and nodded to Alex; "Well done."
The team passed through the empty corridors and reached their 'dismal' rooms before anyone even realised they had disappeared. "You were right about why the boy was guarding that door Owen." Alex said, checking her mirror; "Colonel McIves told him, that it was one of the most important tasks in the castle and that, he could depend upon young Colin from Aberdeen."
Wilson shrugged his shoulders and seemed quite surprised; "So the black hearted git does have a conscious." He turned to her and smiled; "It didn't take you long to achieve what we needed." Alex waved the compliment away, saying softly; "He's not much older than Owen and I told him that I really needed to see the papers for my newspaper and that I would be grateful - very grateful indeed - and would do really anything to get my story."
Wilson gave Alex a questioning look and said; "How grateful?"
Alex chuckled; "I slowly - very slowly - lifted my skirt so that he could have a good look at what's on offer and that done the trick. He had the door unlocked without a second thought." Owen actually groaned at the thought of that scene, which made Wilson and Jericho chuckle.
"He let me 'photograph' the papers because I promised him a little fun, when he came off duty in a couple of hours. But as down payment, I had to let feel round my bum, while I took the 'pictures'. He had very cold hands." Owen shook his head in a mix of frustration and disappointment that it wasn't his hands on Alex's bum. "I take it you won't keep that appointment?" Wilson muttered and Alex whispered; "I like men - real men - not boys. Sorry Owen." The look she gave Wilson didn't go unnoticed by the big man and he smiled to himself. Dancing naked around that dam tree stump did have it perks. Young Owen shrugged his shoulders and said quite sadly; "Lucky bastard."
Wilson passed around his hip-flask and everyone enjoyed the brandy, whilst they waited for Human Records to analyse the papers. But loud sobbing from the room Alex shared with the medic's, drew her attention; Jericho indicated she should investigate and Alex hurried out. It was some time before she returned - she had been clearly crying - but was now quite composed. Wilson gripped her arm and asked what happened.
Alex drew a very heavy breath; "Young Rosie the ambulance driver went to help a badly wounded soldier and was caught by machine gun fire. She died instantly. Morag was quite distraught, but pulled herself together and went back to work in the infirmary." They stood in silence for a few seconds, then Jericho said simply; "Brave girls." Everyone muttered their agreement with that.
Alex took a long swig from Wilson's flask and looked at their faces; "What's wrong?" She said slowly. Owen ran a hand over his face; "The papers are fake - made around the 1780's - but very good fakes." Alex stared at the floor and whispered with real emotion in her voice; "So young Rosie died for a bloody fake." She sighed deeply and sat slowly on a nearby chair; "For a bloody fake." She repeated; angrily.
"I wonder if McIves knows the papers are fake?" Owen asked and sipped some brandy. Jericho grunted; "Our friend has been fighting other peoples wars for centuries; I don't suppose he would care either way." Alex looked up from her chair and ran a hand through her long dark hair; "Thanks for reminding me about mercenaries; Young Colin told me that the Colonel intends to hold the castle, until a certain General Munroe arrives with the Scottish Northern Army: apparently in a couple of days. The army has many American volunteers, American descendants of Scots or Irish settlers. A lot of them have apparently served in the US forces and so they're professional soldiers; that could make a big difference to the rebellion."
Jericho nodded at that and eased himself onto a wobbly chair; "Now I understand why the English haven't used their heavy weapons on the Scots - planes and tanks -because of public opinion back in the states, which has large populations descended from Scotland and Ireland. Their President is a staunch supporter of the current Prime Minister; Mrs. Thatcher. But I bet, he has made it plain that such tactics would not be acceptable. The English are fighting a civil war with both arms tied behind their backs. Interesting that."
"You were always too clever for your own good." Colonel McIves stood in the doorway, unsmiling, with his arms folded. He placed a whisky bottle on an empty chair, with several decent looking glasses. He smiled at Alex; "A young, but very loyal trooper, has told me about your little visit to the archives and your promise. I'll be quite envious when he comes to collect his prize."
Alex smiled and shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing. McIves chuckled; "I've given him a couple of hours off to spruce himself up and the keys to a VERY SPECIAL and lovely state bedroom. You should be undisturbed there. He'll be here shortly, so that you can keep your end of the bargain." He slowly unscrewed the whisky bottle and spoke directly to Jericho; "May I ask what you discovered by allowing our Alex to offer sexual favours to young men? Tut-Tut; very naughty!" He grinned and handed the bottle to Jericho.
Jericho accepted the open bottle and a glass from McIves and slowly poured whisky out. He sipped and spoke softly; "That this rebellion is based on lies - very well made lies - but lies, nevertheless." He raised the glass in salute. "Where does 'Black Sword' stand, now he knows he's fighting for a lie. A lie that's killing people who should never have died yet and plunging his beloved, adopted country, into useless bloodshed?"
5. BLACK SWORD SURPRISES JERICHO.
McIves said nothing, but indicated to the doorway; "May I introduce Monsignor Francis de Ville to you all." He said loudly and stood to one side. The little dark haired Frenchman sauntered in and bowed; "So I finally meet the famed Temporal Detective Jericho Tibbs and his loyal foot soldiers." He bowed again to Alex; "Your are as beautiful as I imagined. The young soldier is much privileged to be pleasured by you."
"Did the little shit run an advert on the TV about the archives visit?" Alex groaned, adding; "Does everyone bloody know?" Wilson shook his head and quietly showed Alex the little glass orb: it had turned red: completely.
They exchanged looks, but said nothing; they were in the presence of a very powerful minion of the 'Dark One'. Wilson caught Jericho pushing his orb back into the folds of his long coat.
The group stood in silence as the Frenchman lifted a glass and sipped some whisky, he grinned at Jericho and pulled a small black jewel - no bigger that a thumb - from his jacket pocket. "You will discover, my friends that your mirrors will not work anymore. You now have no more power that a mortal human and completely at my command." Jericho stared at the gem and said quietly; "A Judas Stone." That's when three armed soldiers appeared in the doorway, including an excited looking young Colin from Aberdeen.
Owen pulled out his mirror and stared at the blank screen, each of the team checked their mirrors with the same result; they were off line. Jericho slowly pushed the mirror into the folds of his coat - he didn't smile, but folded his arms and spoke quietly; "Only certain minions of the 'Dark One' can temporally close down a mirror." Monsignor Francis de Ville smiled; "And so I am - you may know me as Kiri." He whispered. Jericho's face did not betray the fear building inside; Kiri was a Class 1 Demon - the only person who could tackle him, in the human world of the living, would be a Knight of God.
Monsignor Francis de Ville pointed to Alex; "Young Colin, this lady will keep her promise to you - take her and enjoy yourself." Wilson and Owen jumped forward but Alex shouted for them to stop. She took a heavy breath and said with no emotion in her voice; "He could easily kill you without breaking into a sweat. Stand down. Stand down I say." She walked to the doorway and didn't look back. She heard Wilson calling the Minion something very unpleasant and she half smiled; until Colin gripped her arm and walked her to a nearby staircase.
"The Colonel gave me the keys to the Old Queen's state bedroom, we'll be OK there." He sounded quite excited and took hold of her hand; "Best thing I ever did, letting you see the parchments. I've been told I can take all the time I need, So I want to do it a couple of times, understand?" Alex forced a smile at the boy; she could almost sense a change in his demeanour - and it wasn't a pleasant one. But then McIves words passed through her mind; 'to spruce himself up and the keys to a VERY SPECIAL and lovely state bedroom' - was there a message there?
Was the infamous 'Black Sword' throwing her a life-line? Can he really be trusted? Alex was quite distracted by Colonel McIves words.
They arrived at the room in the old quarter of the castle and Colin nervously unlocked the door. Alex stepped in and stared about the room; it was quite stunning with a huge four poster bed covered with thick curtain in bright colours. There were many portraits and tapestries hanging on the walls.
"Well, the is absolutely stunning. I wouldn't mind this as my bedroom." Alex was impressed and then she realised she had 'young Colin from Aberdeen' to disappoint. "Women can change their mind at any time." She spoke quietly and turned around to speak to Colin about this 'agreement' - he was stark naked, holding his erection with both hands.
Alex sighed and folded her arms; "Colin, about this....." But she never finished her sentence. Colin walked straight up to her - grinning broadly and pushed his hand up her short skirt - his groping hand grabbed through her panties and touched her crotch. She slapped him so hard that he actually fell on the bed. He lay stunned and slowly rose; cursing. "You don't grab a woman like that - ever." She shouted at him and stared about the room. He was trying apologise and pleading with her to forgive him; when she spotted the mirror against the wall, opposite the window.
"A Jerusalem Mirror!" She exclaimed and walked over and shook her head in relief - "You clever, cunning bugger McIves." She whispered and realised that 'Black Sword' must have decided previously, whose side he was on. With the bloody demon hanging about, he had to be really careful - and clever.
Colin crept over and took hold of Alex by the waist from behind; forcing a hand into her blouse, taking a fierce hold on her left breast - it hurt. "You will keep your fucking promise!" He shouted, Colin was bloody angry and frustrated - he was losing control - and now tried to kiss her.
Well, Alex knew that the time for pleasantries was over. She turned slowly, with a lovely smile on her face and gently pulled his hand from her breast. "I think this should visit a better place." She guided it back up her skirt, staring into his eyes. He grinned and turned her to him, which she wanted; "That's more fucking like it; I'm going to fuck you like a fucking dog you bitch!." He spoke angrily, with a contorted smile, pushing his hand down into her panties and between her legs. He tried to push his tongue into her mouth, whispering; "So you fucking like it rough. Well I'm gonna fuck your arse so hard, you won't sit straight for a week." He actually giggled and started to force his fingers into her. Alex was utterly calm and smiled. He never saw it coming.
'Young Colin from Aberdeen' was in such pain after Alex had smashed her knee straight into his testicles, that he slid to the floor. He was suffering excruciating pain - he could not even cry - but just lay whimpering on the carpet, unable to breath properly or speak.
"Turned out, not to be a very nice young man. But one of us, has certainly been fucked now" She muttered and straightened her blouse and adjusted her panties, Then stared at the young man curled upon the floor - now sobbing. "By the way, the agreement is off," She said quietly and strode over to the mirror and stepped through.
She was in the Queen's bedchamber; in 1568. Luckily the place was empty and she peered through the thick glass window, to the late medieval streets of old Edinburgh. "Better view here, than where I just came from." Chuckling with a little relief, she quickly pulled out her mirror and with some delight; saw it was on line. Alex disappeared, before the Queen's Ladies-in-waiting arrived to prepare the bed for Her Majesty.
"It was the perfect decade for rebellion. Margret Thatcher was unpopular with her Poll Tax here, her attempts at smashing the Miners and selling state industries, that were actually owned by the people. There were riots and strikes and Scotland had just been cheated out of Independence by a crooked referendum - so the people thought. It was the best opportunity for a successful rebellion in over two hundred years." Monsignor Francis de Ville smiled and sipped his whisky.
"But for success, it had to start way back in 1780. With two old friends of mine and a very famous forger - at the time - who could recreate historically accurate documents. By the way, the ring is actually genuine. I took it from the Kings body just hours after his death." Monsignor Francis de Ville sighed and walked to the door; "Goodbye Mister Jericho Tibbs. I will now take the place of that lucky young soldier. but I'm sure, that I will not be as pleasant with Lady Alex as the boy would have been. But he is quite a devoted follower of my Master - that's why I choose him to guard the door - I told the boy it was McIves idea." Laughing, he departed and the door was slammed and bolted. The three sat in silence, Jericho checked his mirror again - it was still off line.
A 'Judas Stone' was a powerful weapon in the armoury of the 'Dark Prince's' 'minions. It basically disrupted communication between the forces of light and prevented travel between the dimensions of Time. They sat waiting in the darkness - the two miserable candles had long since died - All with one real concern on their minds; Alex.
A little stream of light started to appear through the doorway and they jumped up, as the old door swung slowly open. McIves stood in the doorway and gestured for them to come. "Quick lads, the fucking demon has gone after Alex." Wilson shouted something about ripping off a certain male appendage and stuffing it somewhere unpleasant. That's when they all stood still at the sight, standing in the corridor.
"Oh fucking shit." Whispered McIves, very slowly pulling his famous black sword, from the scabbard that hung upon his back. Jericho checked his mirror; it was still off line. Monsignor Francis de Ville had reverted to his true form as the demon Kiri; a senior Minion of the 'Dark Prince' - and it wasn't happy. "Where is the bitch?" It hissed and rolled dark eyes about and licked its sharp teeth. "Where's the bitch?"" It repeated and crashed its tail against the corridor ceiling; bringing down plaster and age old dirt.
Jericho whispered to McIves; "Alexandra must have escaped." McIves smiled and lifted his sword slowly; "I knew she was clever enough to de-code my message about the 'Jerusalem Mirror'. She's jumped!"
"Not quite, I'm still here actually and I've brought an old friend." Everyone turned behind them and saw Alex standing in the doorway, hands on hips and not looking happy. "You see, you scaly bastard, you don't need working mirrors when you have one of these." She stepped aside and James - Knight of God -stood in the doorway, gripping his sword, he dropped his visor and said softly; "I think its best, you people wait in the Great Hall." Everyone disappeared at his command; you certainly didn't need a mirror with him around!
Jericho and his team surprised several sleeping soldiers; who jumped from chairs, sofa's and tables as the group appeared in the middle of them. McIves slowly sheaved his sword and grinned broadly at Alex; "I hope you didn't hurt that horny young twat too much." He chuckled and started to speak to the amazed soldiers, who gathered around him.
Alex walked up to McIves and placed a smacker of a kiss upon his lips and stayed there for some time. Finally, she broke the kiss and smiled; "That's a little thank you for being a really clever git and staying true to who you really are - Gracias Rodrigo, eres verdaderamente un hombre de gran honor." 'Black Sword' nodded his head and stared into her eyes; "So you know."
Alex whispered; "Yes we know." There was silence between the two, until one of the young soldiers asked if he could have one as well and received it for sheer cheek alone!
"They're back on!" Owen exclaimed and held up his mirror, and received a little admonishment from Jericho about showing a mirror near living humans. Wilson tapped Alex on the shoulder; "Glad to have you back with us, how's your new boyfriend?" Alex stuck up a single finger - but smiled.
6. HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND (1780)
Jericho lowered the small brass telescope and rubbed his face; large snow flurries slapped against his coat and hat, as they rose and fell with the wind. "There's a small farm about two miles south of our position - that's where we will head." He turned and spoke to his team, waiting behind him in single file along the rugged little ridge. Wilson muttered something; he just wanted off this damn horse, even for half hour.
Owen grinned; "Thighs playing up big man?" and received a two finger salute in return; he knew that Wilson did not care for horses or horse riding. Alex shifted on her mount, happy she didn't have to ride side saddle. But she was showing a lot of her boots - considered a little bit shocking for a lady of quality - in this year 1780. She had a black and white, fur trimmed coat, which covered down to her ankles. But was now cast behind her, covering the flanks of her horse. She had pulled the white fur hood, over her head and stared at the gathering snow clouds.
"Does it always snow in bloody Scotland?" She asked no-on in particular. Owen wiped snow from his face and pulled his bonnet down a little; "It does, if it's winter in the Highlands." Jericho waved the little group forward and they started to head out of the shallow valley, towards the thin column of grey smoke, coming from the house's chimney.
"At least they must have a bleeding fire on." Wilson commented, bundling his dark riding coat around his large frame. "And some whisky." Owen grunted, shaking his hip-flask which was empty of brandy. "I might be able to get this refilled." He added, smiling a little at that thought. Wilson was chuckling to himself and he turned to Alex, who was now aside of him. "Is that really true what our little pervert asked you?"
Owen groaned and slumped in his saddle. "Does every bugger know?" He said - not a happy young man. Wilson just smiled at him, but spoke to Alex; "Well, is it?" He certainly wasn't going to let the subject drop - it was too good an opportunity; to take the rise out of his young colleague. Alex smiled at Owen and nodded. That made Wilson's day and he laughed out loud - drawing a strange look from Jericho - who was consulting his mirror.
"I only meant that..." Owen said softly, but was interrupted by Wilson; "You asked our lovely colleague and friend to show you her fanny because you've never seen one?" He laughed again, adding; "My God, I wish I had been there to hear that request." Alex stopped brushing snow from her arms and gloves; "Don't be mean Wilson, if poor young Owen has never seen a woman properly, then he's bound to be curious. Especially since that father of his, dumped him in that bloody crappy Monastery at such a young age. He never got the chance to find out about girls or women." She grinned and spoke to Owen, but winked at Wilson; "I'm still thinking about your request. I bet you couldn't ask anyone at Moorland Monastery."
Owen sat bolt upright in his saddle and smiled broadly; "Christ Alex, are you really considering my request - I mean that would really help me cope." Wilson shook his head and smiled; "Your not serious Alex?" She spurred her horse forward and glanced over her shoulder at the pair. "If it really helps poor Owen to cope with his feelings, I just may have to do so." Then joined a very amused Jericho at the front, adding; "After all, what are friends for?"
"Now that's a real friend." Owen said to Wilson; "Not like some." Wilson just grunted and slapped his horse gently. "Come on you mangy beast." The team made the farm house, just as night was dropping and the temperature was following it down. Jericho dismounted and pointed to the barn; "The horse's will be alright in there. I'll speak to the owners about us staying the night. I'm sure they will like some coins in payment. Times are hard around here after the rebellion was defeated in 1746."
Owen pointed his mirror down and activated its light. In the bright glow everyone could see the three bodies, half buried by the falling snow. Everyone drew their pistols and Alex dismounted and knelt down by the bodies. "Three men - all shot apparently." She lifted one arm of the nearest corpse and nodded; "They haven't been dead long and if I had to guess; I would say they were lined up and shot - by the way they fell - executed." Owen joined her and pushed about in the snow; "No weapons - if they had any." He then stood up and raised his hands nodding towards the barn.
Several British 'redcoat' soldiers were pointing their muskets at them - having emerged quietly from the barn. The Officer lifted his hat and bowed a little; "Please place your weapons upon the ground. You know that carrying weapons in Scotland is an offence and I would be most reluctant to shoot such a pretty lady and one that clearly is not squeamish about examining dead bodies - I find that fact alone intriguing." He replaced his pistol and pointed to the ground; "Very slowly now - no quick movements please."
Jericho, with raised hands, smiled and indicated to his coat pocket; "Lieutenant, I applaud you for your diligence to duty and your application of our laws, but please read the papers that I carry. Then we can all get inside out of this damn weather and have some whisky." The officer glanced at his sergeant; "They are English - fetch whatever is in his pocket." The sergeant walked slowly over and with his pistol still pointing at Jericho, reached in and pulled out - tied and sealed. - a rolled parchment. He walked back to the officer and handed it over.
A lamp was produced and the young lieutenant slowly opened the document and read it with great interest for some minutes. "You recognise the signature and seal of the Lord Advocate Sir?" Jericho said softly, adding; "May we please lower our arms and replace our pistols?"
The lieutenant nodded yes; this strange little group were carrying a very powerful document signed by the Lord Advocate himself; Henry Dundas, 1st Viscount Melville and de-facto ruler of Scotland. "We're all his men - well, except the lady of course - she works for me." Jericho smiled as the soldiers shouldered their muskets at the sergeants command. "Let's get inside and have some damn whisky." Jericho produced a black bottle of single malt and gestured to the door, adding; "May I have my instructions returned please - if all our officers are as diligent as you - we may need it more than once!"
Owen, with the help of a couple of soldiers, stabled the horses in the barn, where the 'redcoats' had made their beds - the officer's black mare was tied up with a pack mule. Jericho and the officer, with Alex and Wilson following pushed into the farmhouse, The sergeant came too, unloading his pack upon the floor and pulled a small pipe from his pocket and started to fill the bowl.
The officer pulled a chair close to the fire and indicated for Alex to sit and warm herself. She unbuttoned her coat and gracefully eased herself into the seat. Alex was wearing a low cut bodice and her magnificent breasts were almost showing. She smiled at the young lieutenant, as she accepted a glass of whisky from him.
"Another moth to the flame." Muttered Wilson and smiled, gripping his glass and sipping a most welcome drop of whisky.
Jericho and the officer sat at the table, drinking and talking. Owen had returned and was placing more coal on the fire. He downed his whisky in one throw and refilled his - and the sergeants - glasses. The sergeant was from Yorkshire and he and Owen got on like a house on fire. He was veteran of the war in the American Colonies and liked his whisky. He was fascinated by Wilson's story; how he had served the crown in the America's [he was a free born man] and being loyal to the King. had been driven from his home by the American rebels; he now worked for the Lord Advocate here in Scotland.
The sergeant admitted to Owen, that the lady travelling with them, was the best 'piece of skirt' he had seen in years and wondered about what services she performed for Mr. Tibbs, on behalf of the Lord Advocate. Owen just smiled and re-filled his glass. Alex leaned back in her seat and sipped her whisky, she had already noticed that the lieutenant kept throwing glances at her - despite his ongoing conversation with Jericho - she sighed and leaned forward, tapping an escaped piece of coal back into the fire with her boot - unintentionally giving the young man a real show of her magnificent breasts, barely constrained by her bodice. The look on his face priceless and he coughed a little, as he gulped down his whisky.
Alex was given the sole bedroom of the house, whilst Jericho's team and the officer [with the sergeant] bedded down in the living room. The night passed without further incident and over a breakfast of tea, bread, cheese and apples, Jericho briefed his team.
It appears that Willy McKenzie and Daniel Brown were known to the British authorities and had been incarcerated at Scone Castle on suspicion of treason to the crown - but they had produced a smart talking lawyer from Edinburgh and it looked like they would walk from the charges; free men. So the decision was made; Jericho and his team would accompany the English patrol to Scone castle.
Finally, Alex asked the lieutenant about the three dead men and would they receive a decent Christian burial. He shrugged his shoulders - it appears they were caught with a old broadsword and a pistol that had seen better days. The youngest had the outlawed Scottish flag wrapped around his chest. The lieutenant's orders were clear and concise; they were shot where they stood as traitors to the crown. But just to salve Alex's conscious, he would have them buried and a prayer read over them - he didn't even know their names.
But he was intrigued how Alex knew about medicine and accepted her explanation about her father being a surgeon, who pandered to his daughter's strange fascination with all things medical. The lieutenant was greatly amused by Alex's comments regarding the future; where women would be allowed to practise as Licensed Doctors. "A wonderful dream Alex; but who would trust their health to a woman?" He chuckled and re-filled her glass with a big smile.
They set out for Castle Scone in light snow, but the fallen snow was quite deep - it had snowed all night - but the infantry seemed to cope well enough. Owen overheard a few ripe comments about Wilson riding a horse, when 'decent white men' had to 'fucking' walk. He didn't pass them onto Wilson - the big man was unhappy enough, having to ride the bloody horse in the first place!
The journey would take three days slogging through the snow and the highlight of the trek was finding a small village with a tavern. That made Alex very happy because the owners wife was genuinely delighted to have a 'Lady of quality' under her roof. She even arranged for a hot bath to be provided and had Alex's travelling clothes cleaned. The hot water wasn't wasted on just bathing Alex; when she had soaked long enough and dressed properly, the tavern's serving girl was allowed to bath - apparently she needed it after servicing four of the soldiers in the small back room - kept aside for such fornication.
When the group left the next day, Jericho paid the tavern owner with silver coin and arranged for the soldiers to have beer and a hot breakfast taken to the stables where they were billeted. They actually gave their benefactor three cheers for that act of kindness - orchestrated by the happy sergeant. Alex gave the tavern owners wife some silver coin too and they parted like old friends.
The officer smiled and spoke quietly to Owen; "Working for the Lord Advocate must pay really well?" Owen nodded; "Mr. TIbbs is his best servant; he ALWAYS gets the job done - regardless of what the task entails - he gets it done." The officer said nothing further and the convoy headed out into the snow covered hills.
Late the following afternoon, Castle Scone came into view across the river. Jericho saw through his telescope that several villages were clustered around its imposing walls. As they passed through its grand entrance, everyone saw the two decomposing men hanging from a wooden gibbet; both had small boards hung around their necks, which said simply: Traitor.
Owen whispered to Alex; "There seems to be a lot of them around here - still."
Alex nodded and stared at the pitiful sight, slowing her mount to take a good look. She turned to Owen and said quietly; "I know they are quite ripe, but don't they look familiar?" Owen stared at the bodies hanging before the gates, which were being pulled open by several grunting soldiers, and nodded slowly; "I think your right. Where have we met a tall skinny man and a short fat one together; before here?" The little convoy passed into the courtyard of the castle and the great gates were closed behind them.
7. CASTLE SCONE.
The garrison Commander; Captain Edward Sackville watched the patrol return with their 'guests' in tow, from the bay window of his office. He adjusted his wig and placed his large hat upon his head and checked his appearance in the long mirror that stood by the door. Sir Edward was in his late thirties and was a professional soldier - he had served now for almost twenty years and never advanced beyond the rank of Captain.
The reason was simple; he was a bad soldier and an even worse officer. Captain Sackville simply steered away from decision making; any decision making. his soldier servant often repeated the story about the Captain and breakfast; he actually took several minutes to decide if he wanted one egg or two!
He carefully positioned himself at the desk and moved his chair about; to achieve the best position to portray the air of authority; he needn't bothered - none of his officers or men really had any respect for him. He sat drumming his fingers upon the desk and sat bolt upright when there was a knock at his door. "Enter." He spoke, attempting to inject some authority into his weedy voice. His clerk; Sergeant Robertson stuck his head around the door and informed him that Lt. Dunbar and those servants of the Lord Advocate were here.
Captain Sackville straightened himself and adjusted his hat - yet again. Lt. Dunbar entered, saluted and sat down without even being asked. Sackville said nothing about that slight to his rank. "The one called Mr. Tibbs is carrying the Token and Warrant of the Lord Advocate; he certainly seems to know what he's doing. They in pursuit of William McKenzie and Daniel Brown; that pair of fuckers, have apparently, been forging stuff they should have left well alone."
Sackville nodded and ensured that his jacket was fastened properly; he glanced enviously at the mirror, but his attention was drawn back to Lt. Dunbar when he mentioned the woman travelling with the Tibbs party. A real beauty according to his Lieutenant and being a vain man, he believed he could seduce the lady easily; he smiled so much that Lt. Dunbar actually asked him, if anything was wrong. He snapped back; "No."
He stood and paced by the fireplace for a minute or so, and he did not reproach the lieutenant about remaining seated when he rose from his chair. Whilst it, made it him a little angry, he said nothing; "Did you say William McKenzie and Daniel Brown?" The Captain asked; almost smiling.
The Lieutenant nodded; "That's the pair we have sitting in our cells; Mr. Tibbs has a warrant for them. It appears the dumb bastards have tried their hand at forgery. He needs to speak to them before we hang them for treason." The Lieutenant shifted in his seat; "The Lord Advocate has authorised their pardon, if they co-operate with Mr. Tibbs. The finding of the forger and the document is paramount apparently. It's recovery is critically important for the future of English rule in Scotland."
The Captain grinned broadly and clasped his hands like a child at Christmas; "Well, the Lord Advocate will be impressed with the Garrison Commander of Scone Castle because the very same pair are sitting in it's dungeon." Lt. Dunbar stood and placed his hat on; "I'll inform our guests that their prey awaits in our dungeon." He bowed a little and made for the South corridor, where the 'guests' had been given rooms.
Wilson and Owen held aloft two lamps as the small group - with Lt. Dunbar - passed down the old stone steps towards the dungeons. Alex actually covered her face with a scented hankie; "What is that bloody awful smell?" She asked Owen, who smiled and waved a hand across his face; "Welcome to eighteenth century prison care. There are no showers, bath's or toilets down here, just a big bucket." Alex groaned and held the hankie close. She caught Lt. Dunbar smiling at her - yet again.
"He's real keen Alex and his father is loaded; a mill owner near Manchester I believe, the sergeant told me. " Owen whispered and grinned at her breasts protruding from that tight bodice; "He's seen some of the goods on offer and wants the rest I expect." Alex didn't answer; they had arrived at the cell containing McKenzie and Brown.
The old jailer rose from his rough wooden stall and tipped his hat to Alex and the Lieutenant; "Quiet pair these two, they hardly talk. They just sit there staring at nothing." He scratched his chest under a ragged shirt and then his crotch. "But they eat anything given to them." He added, with a toothless grin, then stared straight at Alex's breasts - licking his lips - he was quite repulsive and Alex turned from him and peered into the cell.
William McKenzie and Daniel Brown sat upon some filthy straw, both chained to the wall with leg irons. They didn't look up as the cell door was pulled open. "On your feet you dogs!" The jailer shouted and kicked Brown, who was nearest to him, adding; "These are the Lord Advocates men and you'll be dancing a jig on the wooden lady sooner than later, if you disrespect them." Brown and McKenzie rose slowly and both stared at Alex, who pulled her cloak about herself.
Brown smiled; "I don't give a fuck about the Lord Advocates men, but the Lord Advocates woman I would fuck." He and McKenzie chuckled and sat back down. The Lieutenant gestured towards them and the jailer suddenly produced a wooden stick from somewhere and struck Brown full across the face. He lay in silence upon the floor, a little blood around his mouth and chin.
"You will show both, the Lord Advocates men and women respect." Lt. Dunbar said quietly, as the jailer lifted the stick again. Jericho stepped in, smiling. "Thank you Lieutenant, we'll take it from here, if you could just post a guard outside while Mister Brown and McKenzie have some words with us." Lt. Dunbar was most reluctant to leave Alex in the room, but she persuaded him with a big smile and some quiet words. There was silence until the Lieutenant and the jailer left; slamming the heavy cell door behind them.
Jericho knelt a few feet from the pair and held up a lamp; "Well gentleman, you seem to have got yourself into some trouble here. If you co-operate with me, I can guarantee that your necks won't be stretched and all I ask is for one name; just one little name and you will walk away from here and not carried out in canvas bag to a dark hole and a nameless grave." Brown and McKenzie exchanged a glance, but said nothing. Brown wiped his bloody face and coughed.
Alex produced a small flask of brandy from her skirts and threw it to Brown; "That will ease the pain a little." Brown took the bottle and pulled the stopper out, he spat a loose tooth from his mouth and took a swig, passing it to McKenzie. "Thank you Ma'am." He said quietly and spat more blood out.
"We know who was the Mastermind behind the forged Scottish Accession document and he has already been dealt with. All we ask is the name of the forger or failing that; where the document is now. Either one given to us will ensure you walk from here free men." Jericho gestured around the room; "Unless you find the King's hospitality too good to forsake?"
McKenzie stared at Wilson and spat upon the floor; "How can a Black man support this bustard King; your people are slaves and all we want is the same freedom your people cry for?" Wilson shrugged his shoulders; "I'm a freeman here in Scotland, at the King's kindness and mercy. But in the land of the so called free, those rebellious bastards that now call them self 'Americans' would have me in chains. It was a very easy choice for me, my friend and now you have a similar choice."
Alex had to smile at the supposed sincerity in Wilson's voice; he had always been a die hard American patriot whilst still breathing, and she believed that hadn't changed since he died!
McKenzie just shook his head and said nothing more. Brown threw the empty flask back to Alex with a crooked grin; "Thanks Ma'am, now if those English bastards are going to hang me, I would like to ask one last thing." Alex folded her arms and said quietly; "And what would that be?" Brown chuckled, then groaned and held his chin; "Just lift those skirts of yours and show me your cunt and I'll swing a happy man or better still, let me kiss heaven's slit!"
McKenzie laughed at his friends words and then turned angry; snarling, he shouted; "Fuck off, you'll get nothing from us; you fucking stinking little lap dogs!" Both men slumped against the stone wall and stared up at the ceiling.
Jericho sighed; "When your ready to talk, let us know - the offer still stands." He then rose and banged upon the cell door and the Jailer opened it slowly and the group left in silence.
The jailer stood in the doorway and chuckled; "I have news for you two fools, that fancy lawyer from Edinburgh has been sent away with his tail between his legs and the Garrison Commander has signed your death warrants for high treason. You'll swing in the morning, so sleep well tonight." He slammed and locked the door; laughing loudly.
Both men sat in the dark, damp cell and contemplated what the morning would bring. Softly at first; they sang and then standing, sung as loud as their voices would allow. The old jailer, perched upon his rough stool, sighed to himself and slowly drank from his tankard. "Stupid brave bastards." was all he muttered.
8. SCOTLAND THE BRAVE.
The dinning room had been laid out for the Garrison Commander and his guests; Lt. Dunbar was joined by Lt. Fairfax, a quiet, chubby young man who seemed uninterested in Alex, but enjoyed Owen's company and conversation at the table. Wilson watched the lieutenant with a growing smile; he certainly did like Owen's company - a lot.
Lt. Dunbar appeared totally engrossed with Alex who sat opposite him, and paid little attention to anyone else - mush to the apparent annoyance of Captain Sackville, who couldn't get a word in with Alex.
Jericho and Wilson exchanged amused looks, but the meal was excellent and enjoyed by all. The Captain lead the toasts to the King and the Ladies present - there was only one; Alex, who gracefully received them with apparent pleasure and modesty. The after dinner conversation turned to Brown and McKenzie; they would be hung at nine o'clock the next morning - unless they decided to co-operate with the Lord Advocates men. Owen cleverly steered the conversation around to the dead men already hanging on the gibbet. Lt. Dunbar managed to pull away from Alex and joined the conversation about the pair.
It appears they were hung last week after a very short trial for treason. They gave their names as Mark Bolland and Clifford Richards; "A very odd pair actually and they died quite miserably, kicking and screaming, they had to be dragged to the scaffold by force. They died disgracefully, not like men at all. There was a good crowd and they ruined it for everyone." Lt. Dunbar sipped his brandy and gestured to the grand window, adding; "With all this snow coming down, Brown and McKenzie will be lucky if Father Stephen bothers to turn up."
"I think they will be happier if the hangman's doesn't show up, rather than Father Stephen." Alex muttered and emptied her brandy glass. Everyone at the table chuckled and Lt. Dunbar seemed quite amazed that a woman could make such a joke - he was impressed - very impressed. Later, he pulled Jericho to one side and asked about Alex; was she married? Promised? who were her parents? He went on so much that Jericho actually held up his hand to cut the conversation and promised they would talk more tomorrow.
Owen discovered more about Mark Bolland and Cliff Richards from Lt. Fairfax; they had been discovered with various letters and documents from the former American Colonies that must have been treasonous in nature. They appeared to show future battle plans and they clearly planned to replace the good King George with some pretender to the throne; a woman called Victoria. They really couldn't believe they were to hang and screamed and shouted right up to their necks being snapped.
"A real strange pair, I think they were from the rebel colonies, here to stir up support and trouble no doubt." Lt. Fairfax then wondered if Owen wished to see his drawings of Highland people and places, that he kept in his bedroom - Owen politely declined.
The following morning, Jericho again attempted to convince Brown and McKenzie to talk; without success and thus a small group gathered below the gibbet just before nine o'clock - it was still snowing and bitterly cold. Wilson passed a flask of brandy amongst the team and Lt. Fairfax again, tried to persuade Alex not to watch the execution - and like Owen before - she politely declined his request. But he walked away with a real smile on his face; 'what a fucking woman', he muttered to himself, as he finished organising the hanging to his satisfaction.
McKenzie and Brown were marched out just before nine o'clock, hands tied behind them and still wearing their leg irons - neither had a coat or hat on in the bitter cold. The two hangman half frog marched and half dragged them to the gibbet, the nooses were slung causally about their necks and they were stood by the edge. McKenzie started to shout something, but Brown remained silent; his face had swollen up overnight following the blow from the jailer the previous evening.
Without further ceremony, the two hangmen simply pushed the pair from the floor of the gibbet and they dangled in the air; kicking and choking. It took a couple of minutes for both men to die; the hangman had fucked up somewhat, but no-one was really bothered about that.
Alex discretely pointed to a small hill about half a mile away in the snow flurries; standing upon it was a lone piper. The team could just hear the sad lament being played through the wind and snow. Lt. Dunbar shouted for horse's and he, with several men, mounted up to go after the lone piper.
Jericho explained; that by the playing the pipes at a traitor's hanging; they were guilty of treason themselves. Alex watched Lt. Dunbar disappear through the grand gates with his mounted infantry following. They all stared at the small hill; the piper was gone. They turned back to the hung men and saw the strange figure in a nice black suit standing in the snow, just below the dangling pair.
Only Jericho and his team could see the collector standing by the gibbet, soul ledger in hand, he was soon joined by Brown and McKenzie and without a word said, the three walked to the bright light and disappeared. A soldier swung each body back onto the platform and fixed a little wooden sign about their necks; 'Traitor' it sated in chalk. He let them swing back out and there, they hung for several days, until replaced by two fresh 'traitors' the following Monday.
The team assembled in the castle's drawing room and sipped warming brandies in relative silence. A young soldier appeared carrying a bucket of coal and built the fire up until it roared and crackled. Alex slumped in a comfortable chair by the fire and was joined by Wilson; "Well, that's made the mission come to an abrupt end." He said quietly and sipped his brandy. "How so?" A puzzled Alex asked; the document had not been found and they still didn't know who the forger was.
Wilson chuckled; "That dumb pair were hung the week before they originally delivered the pouch to that damn solicitor. They actually knew nothing about what Jericho was talking about because they had not met with our not so friendly demon; Monsignor Francis de Ville, which means it never happened - none of it!" He slumped back into his chair and continued; "Don't need to find the forger now or recover the document; the current Human Time-Line has been restored."
A frustrated Lt. Dunbar returned from his fruitless hunt for the lone piper, cursing his bad luck and the worsening snow storm; but he cheered up whilst sitting and chatting with Alex.
Alex admitted to her friends that young Lt. Dunbar had spoken about marriage and she really needed to exit this mission! After consulting his mirror, that very afternoon, Jericho called the team together in his rooms and they jumped back to the lighthouse together.
John Cordless walked slowly through the snow towards his little office, pulling his heavy coat around and adjusting his scarf and hat. He had money on his mind; if only he could get enough to marry Mary and maybe hire another clerk, his fortunes could rise. He kicked snow from his boots and hung his coat, scarf and hat upon the back of the door, then threw some coal upon the small fire and read the paper with little interest.
Yet another two old Highland warriors had been hung for being traitors; he didn't recognise either of their names and so he turned the page and then an advertisement in the 'Personal' column caught his eye. A Scottish clan leader in the Highlands required a Lawyer for his estates and they could be newly qualified and in-experienced. The pay looked good and a modest house would be provided with two servants included.
John Cordless opened the desk drawer and pulled some sheets of paper from it and dipped his quill pen into the ink pot; working for an ignorant, smelly Scottish Chieftain would be better than going bankrupt and ending up in the street.
THE END.
EPILOGUE:
"A very difficult case for Team 74; especially for Alexandra, who was sexually assaulted at one point But the Team succeeded in getting the forged 'Scottish Accession Document' removed from history and the original human time line restored. That total enigma - as Jericho calls him - McIves, had basically saved them and the mission at one point. Just WHO he actually is, remains a mystery for now."
CHARACTERS:
There would be no 'Cordless, Cordless & Fraser (Solicitors) in the old quarter of Edinburgh City; John Cordless would die of influenza the following winter; in a damp cold cottage of his master who paid little and expected much. The Highlands proved no place for the delicate young man. John never did marry Mary. His soul was collected and processed.
Sir David Fraser obviously never became a Partner in the famous old firm of Solicitors, but had his own practise in Edinburgh during the 1980's. With the time line restored to its original path; he never encountered Alex. He was married three times and had two children. He was tragedy killed in Spring 1991, when his New Mercedes was hit by a speeding lorry on the M9. His soul was collected and processed.
Lt. Dunbar searched Edinburgh and the surrounding towns and villages for Alex. Even obtaining an interview with the Lord Advocate and was bitterly disappointed that a certain Mr. Tibbs and Mistress Alexandra didn't work for him; nevertheless, he continued to search for her in the coming years and died in 1786 when his horse threw him during a fox hunt. His soul was collected and processed.
Young Peter Davidson obviously never worked for Cordless, Cordless & Fraser (Solicitors) and joined the British Army in 1980. He was killed on active service in Bosnia, when his lorry left a broken road and collided with a stone wall in 1994; he left a widow and three children. His soul was collected and processed.
Carl McDonnell [Peter's assistant] also was never employed by the solicitors; he worked for several fast food outlets around Edinburgh in the 1980's and became, sadly, involved in the drug culture of the time. He died in 1987 after consuming a 'cocktail' of drugs whilst drunk. He never married or had children. His soul was collected and processed.
Hamish Brown [Junior clerk at the Solicitors] was found floating in the Forth River in the Winter of 1981. He had been brutally murdered. It was understood that he had connections with a certain Glasgow Gang that didn't like him selling drugs on their 'patch'. No-one was ever arrested or brought to trial for the murder and it remains unsolved to this day. His soul was collected and processed.
Alexander McIves - 'Black Sword - was reported many times in different times and places; always with his legendary sword at his side. He remains an elusive fugitive from the Temporal Detective Department to this day. His soul remains missing.
Colin Coves - 'Colin from Aberdeen' - was killed in a car accident in the Highlands in 1984. He was four times the legal limit for driving, both his two passengers were also killed; two young sisters from a local village. His soul was collected and processed.
Rosemary Alice Cairns [Rosie the medic] worked in a factory during the 1980's and married in 1984. She had three children and seven grandchildren. She died in 2031 and her soul was collected and processed.
Captain Edward Sackville retired from the British Army in 1783 - he never advanced beyond the rank of Captain - and returned to his Uncle's farm in Kent. The pair quickly fell out and on Christmas Eve 1785, his enraged and drunk Uncle took a hunting rifle to Edward. His soul was collected and processed. His Uncle was found 'not guilty' of murder at Maidstone Assizes later that year.
John Dawson Butcher [the 'Redcoat' sergeant] retired from the British Army in 1786 and returned to his native Yorkshire and ran a tavern in the city of York. He lived to be over ninety years old - a staggering good age for the times - and died in 1827. His soul was collected and processed.
Mark Bolland and Cliff Richards [the first pair hung at Scone Castle] were, in fact; Simon John Parks and Phillipe Wallington from Liverpool in 2026. The Temporal Detectives encountered them previously at Gettysburg in 1863. [See the Mission: 'Betrayal at Gettysburg'] The two time travellers had failed to alter the outcome of the battle and had turned up in 1780 in Scotland. That was their fatal mistake; they were mistaken for 'Traitors' and hung. The pair were both humans out of their ordained time period and thus, their souls were lost. They remain missing to this day.
William McKenzie and Daniel Brown have no song or plaque in their names: for their stand against the British. They are totally forgotten to history. Their souls were collected and processed.
Lt. John Fairfax served for some nine years in the wilds of Scotland and returned to his home city of Manchester in 1789. He was embroiled in an early 'Rent Boy' scandal and fled to the new United States of America. There he opened a small bookshop and died, aged 73. he had never married or had children. His soul was collected and processed.
The demon Kiri - defeated by James - returned to his master a failure, but the 'Dark Prince' wasn't too disappointed and treated Kiri well. The demon has vowed vengeance on both Jericho Tibbs and 'Black Sword'.
The very talented 'Forger' remains unknown and the forged Scottish Accession Document has never resurfaced. After three referendums regarding 'Scottish Independence and Scottish Devolution'; Scotland remains part of the United Kingdom - for now.
There would be no 'Cordless, Cordless & Fraser (Solicitors) in the old quarter of Edinburgh City; John Cordless would die of influenza the following winter; in a damp cold cottage of his master who paid little and expected much. The Highlands proved no place for the delicate young man. John never did marry Mary. His soul was collected and processed.
Sir David Fraser obviously never became a Partner in the famous old firm of Solicitors, but had his own practise in Edinburgh during the 1980's. With the time line restored to its original path; he never encountered Alex. He was married three times and had two children. He was tragedy killed in Spring 1991, when his New Mercedes was hit by a speeding lorry on the M9. His soul was collected and processed.
Lt. Dunbar searched Edinburgh and the surrounding towns and villages for Alex. Even obtaining an interview with the Lord Advocate and was bitterly disappointed that a certain Mr. Tibbs and Mistress Alexandra didn't work for him; nevertheless, he continued to search for her in the coming years and died in 1786 when his horse threw him during a fox hunt. His soul was collected and processed.
Young Peter Davidson obviously never worked for Cordless, Cordless & Fraser (Solicitors) and joined the British Army in 1980. He was killed on active service in Bosnia, when his lorry left a broken road and collided with a stone wall in 1994; he left a widow and three children. His soul was collected and processed.
Carl McDonnell [Peter's assistant] also was never employed by the solicitors; he worked for several fast food outlets around Edinburgh in the 1980's and became, sadly, involved in the drug culture of the time. He died in 1987 after consuming a 'cocktail' of drugs whilst drunk. He never married or had children. His soul was collected and processed.
Hamish Brown [Junior clerk at the Solicitors] was found floating in the Forth River in the Winter of 1981. He had been brutally murdered. It was understood that he had connections with a certain Glasgow Gang that didn't like him selling drugs on their 'patch'. No-one was ever arrested or brought to trial for the murder and it remains unsolved to this day. His soul was collected and processed.
Alexander McIves - 'Black Sword - was reported many times in different times and places; always with his legendary sword at his side. He remains an elusive fugitive from the Temporal Detective Department to this day. His soul remains missing.
Colin Coves - 'Colin from Aberdeen' - was killed in a car accident in the Highlands in 1984. He was four times the legal limit for driving, both his two passengers were also killed; two young sisters from a local village. His soul was collected and processed.
Rosemary Alice Cairns [Rosie the medic] worked in a factory during the 1980's and married in 1984. She had three children and seven grandchildren. She died in 2031 and her soul was collected and processed.
Captain Edward Sackville retired from the British Army in 1783 - he never advanced beyond the rank of Captain - and returned to his Uncle's farm in Kent. The pair quickly fell out and on Christmas Eve 1785, his enraged and drunk Uncle took a hunting rifle to Edward. His soul was collected and processed. His Uncle was found 'not guilty' of murder at Maidstone Assizes later that year.
John Dawson Butcher [the 'Redcoat' sergeant] retired from the British Army in 1786 and returned to his native Yorkshire and ran a tavern in the city of York. He lived to be over ninety years old - a staggering good age for the times - and died in 1827. His soul was collected and processed.
Mark Bolland and Cliff Richards [the first pair hung at Scone Castle] were, in fact; Simon John Parks and Phillipe Wallington from Liverpool in 2026. The Temporal Detectives encountered them previously at Gettysburg in 1863. [See the Mission: 'Betrayal at Gettysburg'] The two time travellers had failed to alter the outcome of the battle and had turned up in 1780 in Scotland. That was their fatal mistake; they were mistaken for 'Traitors' and hung. The pair were both humans out of their ordained time period and thus, their souls were lost. They remain missing to this day.
William McKenzie and Daniel Brown have no song or plaque in their names: for their stand against the British. They are totally forgotten to history. Their souls were collected and processed.
Lt. John Fairfax served for some nine years in the wilds of Scotland and returned to his home city of Manchester in 1789. He was embroiled in an early 'Rent Boy' scandal and fled to the new United States of America. There he opened a small bookshop and died, aged 73. he had never married or had children. His soul was collected and processed.
The demon Kiri - defeated by James - returned to his master a failure, but the 'Dark Prince' wasn't too disappointed and treated Kiri well. The demon has vowed vengeance on both Jericho Tibbs and 'Black Sword'.
The very talented 'Forger' remains unknown and the forged Scottish Accession Document has never resurfaced. After three referendums regarding 'Scottish Independence and Scottish Devolution'; Scotland remains part of the United Kingdom - for now.
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