Status: COMPLETED.
Version: Standard.
Average reading Time: Approximately 30 minutes.
Angel-in-charge: Margret Team Assigned: Team 74
Human Time: 1102AD-495AH Mission: 721087 - 4 - 3216
NOTES: This episode contains mild bad language and sexual references.
"This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental." The Author.
The big man said nothing. He stared into the fireplace and simply nodded. The three other Knights stood about the rough wooden table and Sir Hector placed a hand upon the his comrades shoulder and sighed; "The King has been listening to vipers, but you have many jealous enemies at Court Rodrigo. Perhaps, it’s for the best. If you’re abroad, then what accusations can they make against you? At least, this way, your young brother can inherit cleanly."
The other two knights mumbled their agreement with that. Rodrigo rose slowly
and picked up his sword from the table. He eased it slowly into the scabbard
that hung at his waist. He rubbed his chin; "The King has been merciful;
he can have me swinging from his castle walls. I don't think he believes a word
that has been said against me. But with the Cardinal and two dukes
standing against me; what choice did he have, yet another civil war? No,
he needs them against the Moors. They are the real danger here."
He gripped his friend by the shoulders and smiled; "I leave now for more
friendly lands; I hope!" The two embraced like brothers. They had fought
four wars together in the name of the King, who now banished his best Knight
from the kingdom, to preserve a fragile peace between two dukes and the church.
Rodrigo De Garcia was of mixed blood; his mother had been the daughter
of a Moor Prince, his father a King's Knight. But the church
authorities - and much of the aristocracy - could not stomach a knight of such
mixed blood, especially Moor blood; despite Rodrigo being the best man with a
sword. His grandfather’s sword.
The strange black blade had become his, upon the death of his beloved father. Rodrigo had already added blood to its blade in many battles. Few would go against him; with that cursed black sword gripped in his hands. His enemies whispered - always behind his back - that Satan himself had blessed the damn thing. That his grandfather had sold his soul to the Dark Prince in return for the blade; which clearly had been forged in the fires of Hell itself! It was said that any man killed by the sword had his soul taken by Satan. That was part of the pact that Rodrigo's grandfather had made with the evil one; so it was whispered and gossiped. Little wonder that the church sided with the two dukes, who had designs on the De Garcia lands and castle.
The King had publicly ordered the arrest of Sir Rodrigo De Garcia on charges of which craft and devilry. The 'evidence' conveniently supplied by the two dukes and bishops of the church. But privately, had sent three knights to Rodrigo with a warning to flee from the kingdom; he owed the knight that; for his loyalty and the victories that he had provided the king.
That evening, the three knights watched from the battlements of the De Garcia
castle, as Sir Rodrigo left by the North Road, with just his horse - Diego -
and a pack mule. His younger brother - the boy Santiago - had pleaded to go
with him. But Rodrigo had mealy kissed him and handed the boy, their father's
precious ring. Sir Hector watched him depart with great sadness; the
Moor's were - again - gathering on the borders and bloody war would be
upon them yet again. The Kingdom desperately needed men like Rodrigo and Sir
Hector cursed the King's weakness and the greed of the two great dukes.
Sir Diego gripped his friends shoulder and said quietly; "What will happen to him? Where will he go?" Sir Hector shook his head and whispered; "Wherever our brother goes, death will follow him like a shadow. That cursed sword will see to that." The knights returned to the grand reception room and without any real appetite, ate some dinner, before setting out for Madrid. The King was assembling the army. The Moor's were on the march.
Rodrigo travelled for several days, camping at night; well away from any village or town. He had selected the edge of a dark forest for this night’s encampment and secured his horse and mule. He was just making up his fire, when he heard the shouts. He pulled his sword and headed towards the noise. In a small clearing, he saw three men and a goat. The old man was sprawled in the dirt; he looked almost ancient with a long grey beard and dark robes. Just for a minute, Rodrigo thought he might be a priest. The two much younger men had axes and daggers. They were clearly robbing the old man.
He stepped from the trees and said loudly; "I am Sir Rodrigo De Garcia. Let the old man up." The two turned and grinned, the bigger one ran a hand across his dirty face; "My arse is King Phillipe! Fuck off stranger before my axe makes your whore wife a widow!" Rodrigo just smiled and sighed a little. The two, would be robbers, were dead; less than a minute later and Rodrigo helped the old man up.
The old man thanked him quietly, brushing dirt from his beard and robes. He gestured for the goat to follow them and it did!
They walked back to
Rodrigo's camp and the old man accepted the wine goatskin with some gratitude.
The strange pair sat around the fire and the old man introduced himself; he was
simply 'Hernando the healer'. He ate some of Rodrigo's freshly killed
rabbit and made himself comfortable against the remains of a fallen tree. He
eyed the knight with a little smile. "Your fame precedes you my friend. As
does the Kings warrant for your arrest; total codswallop. If a man like you
follows the devil, then Jesus was born from a Bull!" The old man chuckled
at his own words.
Rodrigo ate a little rabbit with his fingers and said quietly; "What brings you to the dark woods, especially at night Hernando?" The old man grinned and waved his thin, almost transparent arms about; "But this is my home. Those two fools were trespassing in my woods. I told them to leave, but they didn't listen. So, sadly they had to die." He wiped his greasy fingers with the hem of his robes and scratched his beard. Rodrigo smiled; "So you told them to leave. A pair of desperate robbers well armed and you had nothing but a goat for protection. I do see that!" He chuckled. But Hernando lifted a hand; "But I had you my friend, so I was in no danger. You were always welcome in my home."
The old man leaned back against the upturned tree stump and smiled. He ran a hand across his face and stared up at the stars and half moon. There was silence between the two for a minute or so. Then Hernando the Healer sat upright and fumbled amongst his robes. He pulled a necklace from them and held it up in the moonlight. Rodrigo stared hard at it; a circle and a snake, probably cast in gold and silver. The old man held it out and said softly; "Just a little thank you my friend. Take it. It will show you many roads and many strange places, where men like you can feel at home; for a while."
Something inside Rodrigo told him who refuse the gift. But he slowly took it from Hernando and held it up in the moonlight. It was truly beautiful. A woman would be most pleased and grateful to receive such a necklace. He turned back to Hernando; "How can it show me so many paths to take, when I don't even know them for myself?" He chuckled.
The old man smiled; "That comes from Egypt. It is many thousands of years old and belonged to a sect of priests that worshipped by the Nile. It's a symbol of their brotherhood, which has always existed and will always exist; as long as men walk the earth. But, you already have the means to travel wherever you wish, and more importantly, when you wish." He gestured to the black sword that lay close to Rodrigo's hand.
"Your grandfather was given that sword by a grateful fellow, whose life he saved. That sword is very old my friend. It will never break, never fail its master. It carries a secret. A very old secret; with the necklace, it will give its holder, the power to travel wherever he wishes and to whenever he wishes. Use it wisely my friend. But remember; you can only stay for a short time. You must never settle and grow content with one place or one woman. That will destroy you. For you will no longer age; as you are, so you will remain, despite the passing of years for other humans. But remember this also; should you wish to die; then you must return here, to this year of our Lord, eleven hundred and two. Otherwise, your precious immortal soul will be lost in darkness forever." The old man rose from the log and gestured to the goat.
"Remember good Sir Rodrigo; when the time comes; return here." The old man patted his goat and thanked Rodrigo for his assistance, food and company. Rodrigo stood and stared down at his sword and recalled the tales, he's father and grandfather had told about the sword. No matter how they ill-used it; the sword had, indeed, never broken or even chipped. He looked up and said; "How do you know these things, Hernando the Healer...." But the old man and his goat were gone. Rodrigo grabbed up his sword and searched about. There was no trace of the old man. He had vanished.
Rodrigo sat by his feeble fire and held the necklace in one hand and his sword in the other. He had a strange feeling inside him and he said softly; "Take me somewhere that I can be of use; a good knight's use, against oppressors of the people." Sir Rodrigo De Garcia was gone. The campfire no longer existed. His horse and mule had vanished too, gone with their master. The two bodies of the robbers had also disappeared; it was like that no time had passed since Rodrigo had encountered Hernando the Healer and his goat of course.
2. EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY, APRIL 1946.
Owen straightened his tie and gripped his books with both hands.
He stopped briefly to
check his appearance in the glass of the lecture room door and then pushed
through. There was about nine or ten other students sitting about the small
lecture theatre. He found a seat by the small raised platform; you really
couldn't call it a stage, and looked about. On the small podium was a
chair, a lectern and a table covered with papers and books. Pinned to the
chalkboard was a sign, handwritten, declaring; 'PROFESSOR John McAllen.'
A very pretty, dark haired girl dropped into the seat next to him. She reminded
him of Ruth, perhaps a little older. She had a wonderful smile and she
gestured to the podium; "He's about the best authority on the Jacobite
Rebellion there is. I've heard that he knows so much about the subject, that he
was probably there!" She held out her hand, adding; "I'm Rachel
Goldman; you must be a new boy around here." Owen smiled and took her
hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. It smelt of hand cream and probably
nail polish. Rachel actually squeaked and blushed a little, she said softly;
"Oh my, a real gentleman."
Rachel adjusted her skirt and pulled up her little white socks; few girls would have the money to buy stockings [tights or panty hose had not yet been invented] and they were still in short supply, despite the war finishing last year. She shuffled her note books and smiled at Owen; "His lectures are popular this year, being the bicentennial of the Battle [Culloden - 1746] and he certainly knows his subject." Owen offered her a mint humbug; which she took quietly and placed in her mouth, with a delicate and ladylike action. That made Owen smile. She really was pretty close up and was glad to have met her.
All the students suddenly rose from their seats as the door, at the rear of the podium, opened and Professor John McAllen casually walked onto the platform. He was about mid thirties, with a dull tweed jacket and matching tie. He had light coloured trousers and brown shoes. He carried an old briefcase that was covered with scratches and marks. He dumped it on the table and ran both hands through his short, but curly black hair. He smiled broadly; "Heaven's! It must be raining outside or the canteen is serving Shepherd’s pie - again!" Gesturing to his audience, who chuckled loudly. His Scottish accent was not pronounced.
Everyone settled down and the lecture lasted about forty minutes. Professor McAllen certainly knew his subject and knew how to present it with some humour interlaced. There was another twenty minutes of questions before the professor called it a day. He gathered up his papers and old briefcase and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He lit up, watching the students departing in little groups. Owen stood at the base of the podium and asked the professor directly, apologizing for keeping him; "Sir, do you know anything about a character called Alexander McIves, who apparently took part in the battle of Culloden?"
The professor stared at him and slowly flicked his cigarette ash onto the floor. Rachel whispered to Owen; "Who on earth is Alexander McIves? I've never heard of him in reference to the Jacobite Rebellion." The professor crushed out the cigarette and shuffled his papers about. He looked directly at Owen and didn't smile; "Young man, I would love to know how, you know about McIves, you would please enlighten me?"
Owen coughed; "He's referenced in the McKinley papers, John Robinson mentioned him in his Chronicles of the Highlands, written in the 1830's. Then, of course, you have David Davidson's book about Highland Legends. He is always represented as quite an enigmatic character and the Mackenzie family mentions; he was an officer of theirs, at Culloden. He was notoriously famous because of his old black, Spanish sword. He is always reported with it. Yet nothing is really known about him. I understand, he's described as a mix of white and North African."
The professor leaned with both hands on the lectern and slowly smiled; "Well, at last, a couple of students who actually have done their research. Come on, we'll discuss this over some well earned beer at Finlay's bar. You look wealthy, so you can buy. Your girlfriend can come; we mustn't neglect the ladies; must we?" He chuckled and gathered up his papers. Rachel looked a little embarrassed at the 'girlfriend' remark; but agreed to come.
They made Finlay's bar in the old quarter of the city, in the Professors very old car. Light rain was coming down and they dived into the little 'snug' of the old fashioned pub. Owen thought he had stepped back to Victorian times and not the mid 20th century. But he really did like Rachel's company. The barman - big Hamish - queried their ages. But the professor waved that away, saying; "Their couple of my students Hamish. They're ok. I can vouch for them." That was good enough for the barman, but Rachel would not be allowed in the main bar, or be allowed to purchase any drinks. There was no law forbidding it; except custom.
The professor seemed a little surprised when Owen followed him to the bar, He jerked a thumb back at Rachel and smiled; "Come on Owen, you know that Rachel cannot sit in a pub on her own. Some drunk will think the poor little cow is a prossie." He took the pound note that Owen offered and ordered the drinks. Owen sat back down; next to Rachel. She looked a little puzzled; "Don't they have the same custom - women not allowed on their own, in bars - in Wales?"
Owen nodded; "Yes, but in the excitement of actually getting to talk to you and the professor; I simply forgot. Sorry about that. I will remain firmly at your side." He smiled at her and she smiled back and fiddled with her hair; complaining about the rain. The professor returned with the drinks; a pint of Tennant's for him, a Guinness for Owen and a small, sweet sherry for Rachel. He didn't offer Owen the change. That made Owen smile and he said nothing about it. "Now, where shall I start about the mysterious Alexander McIves?" The professor sipped his pint and relaxed in his seat.
They left the pub some hours later and the professor dropped them back at the University gates. Rachel was staying in the woman's hall of residence. She couldn't ask Owen up because males were strictly forbidden there; on the pain of expulsion from the University. They stood in the light rain and said goodnight. Owen watched her walk through the big black gates, as did the Night Porter on duty by the gates. He smiled at her and said; "Good evening, Miss Goldman. Nice to see that you’re not late in." Rachel just smiled at him and turned; she smiled and waved at Owen.
When Owen climbed back into the professor’s car, John McAllen chuckled to himself. "Now, that is a lovely piece of arse young Owen; probably untouched. Only her bloody husband will enjoy her charms." He slapped Owen on the arm and the car pulled away. Owen was surprised that the professor - a professional and supposedly responsible man - would not think twice about driving, after drinking in a pub for a couple of hours! But then he remembered the year he was in; it was quite acceptable and no one really bothered about it; there were few cars on the road and even less policemen.
The professor asked where he wanted to be dropped off and Owen said Princess Street. McAllen nodded, but pulled up outside an 'all night café' in Forrest Road. He eased himself from the car and headed for the dimly lit café, which had several patrons inside - mainly Taxi drivers, by the number of cabs parked outside - and ordered coffee with egg and chips. Owen had a coffee and a small steak pie with chips. The big woman behind the counter, smiled at the professor and they had a little chat; he was clearly a regular. She looked Owen up and down; then just sighed.
Owen heard her say something to the cook, who looked up from his paper and stared at him. He just shook his head and slapped his paper down, putting more chips into the fryer. Owen sat opposite the professor, who lit another cigarette. "The food is not bad, never greasy and it’s cheap." McAllen said and moved the ketchup bottle closer to hand. He smiled at Owen; "You’re not one of my student's are you?" He asked and moved the salt and pepper closer to the ketchup bottle. Owen nodded and folded his arms. "Now that Rachel has gone, you can tell me that part of the story about McIves that you couldn't say in front of her."
McAllen chuckled; "I knew you were a clever bastard and about as much a student as my crotch is." He stubbed out his cigarette and sipped his coffee, gripping the cup with both hands. He leaned back in his seat and sighed; "You wouldn't believe me if I illustrated it with bloody moving pictures." Owen just smiled and said thank you to the big woman, as she slapped his pie and chips down in front of him. She did the same with McAllen's egg and chips. "Do you want bread and butter?" She asked, her cigarette moving up and down in her mouth. Owen said no, as did McAllen. "Suit yourself darlings." She muttered and walked away.
The professor picked up the ketchup bottle and unscrewed the top off. "I strongly suspect young Owen that you know more about McIves than most people. In fact, I would say, that like me; you've met the man. Am I right?" He picked up the ketchup bottle and shook some onto his chips. Owen leaned over the table top and nodded. He stared at Owen and carefully placed the bottle down. John McAllen sighed and picked up his knife and fork. "Another bloody one of those." He muttered and started to eat his very late supper. Owen did the same and the pair ate in silence.
"I think the queer boys have fallen out." The big woman told her husband, who didn't smile. "I think someone should tell the university about that sick bastard. It’s full of young men. The dirty fucker must be having a field day. How many has he waltzed in here, with this week?" The man asked. The woman shrugged her shoulders; "Two or three. But he's on a loser with this one. Look, they're not even talking. Ah, a lovers tiff." She laughed and went back to her counter and wiped it down.
Professor John McAllen lit another cigarette after he finished his meal. Owen just sat back and finished his coffee; he held up the cup; "Another one John?" The professor nodded and the big woman appeared with more coffee. She cleared the plates and went back behind her counter.
Owen spoke quietly; "Now about McIves. What were your dealings with him?" The professor stared into his cup and muttered; "Bloody time coppers. He said you were like tenacious bloody bulldogs. I wondered how you knew he was mixed race; that is not mentioned in any historical document; anywhere. The only way you could know that; is by actually meeting him."
Owen just smiled; that is why he said it. He knew that the professor would have to find out how; he knew that important undisclosed historical fact. Hence the hurried and unexpected invitation to the pub and unscheduled stop at the café. After dropping Rachel off. The professor had heard Rachel ask Owen about the man; she clearly didn't know about McIves, and that showed, she wasn't one of 'those'. [A Temporal Detective]. So he wouldn't speak in front of her. Now he could.
3. ABOUT McIVES.
"Why did you search me out of all people, to ask about Alexander McIves - that's not his original name you know - how did you know about his dealings with me?" The professor leaned back and pulled a hip flask from his pocket and poured a little into his empty coffee cup. He offered it Owen, who held out his cup. John poured him some and didn't smile. "You knew far too much about him; stuff you could only possibly know by having met him. We had to find out if you had; hence the comments about his mixed race. You are right; that's never mentioned in any surviving historical text or document. So I know that you have encountered him in the flesh; but how and why?" Owen spoke quietly, sipping his whisky.
John McAllen sighed; "The bloody Spanish Civil war in '36. I was with the International Brigade and we were retreating - as usual - from a small Spanish town and camped down in village loyal to us. He was there with a unit of soldiers. Real hard bastards; they frightened us, never mind what they did to the loyalists." John drained his cup; "Some real characters in that bunch. One was a bloody Mexican - big ugly bugger with an eye patch - who admitted to being a gun runner and bandit. Jesus, you wouldn't like to meet any of them in a dark alley. But they knew how to fight." He placed the cup down and folded his arms. "He [McIves] and I quickly got on. At night i would tell stories about the Jacobite Rebellion and what happened to the bloody Scots at Culloden, He really became interested in that. Then it was like a light going on in my head. I bloody realised he was THE 'Black Sword' legend I had read about. Seeing that bloody evil sword confirmed my astonished fears."
Owen finished his drink and rolled the cup around in his hands; "Did he say what he was doing there? I mean in Scotland in the 1740's." John shrugged his shoulders; "All he said, was that he had unfinished business there, having lived in the Highlands in early 1700's. He told me that, he would go back to 1740 and finish what he had to do. By the look on his face; I think it meant killing someone." He pushed his cup away and started to button up his coat. Owen guessed that the little chat was over and placed his cup down. John stood and picked up his old briefcase. "He may be a nut and a fugitive from temporal justice, but I liked and admired the man. He was a man's man and the women absolutely loved that."
John gestured to the bill that the big waitress had slapped on the table. "What I've told you is worth the bill at least." He grinned and slapped his hat on. Owen nodded and picked the piece of paper up. "Thank you John. What you have told me is helpful." He held up the bill and added; "And certainly worth egg, chips and coffee." John smiled; "When you encounter him, give him my fondest regards - if he remembers me - and wish him well. If he's going to kill someone, you can bet your last shilling, that they deserve to die." He walked to the door and shouted his goodbye to the waitress who just nodded.
Owen buttoned up his coat and rose from the seat. That's when he noticed the old brown envelope on the seat John had just left. He grabbed it up and turned to shout after John; but the professor was gone. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and paid the bill. The waitress grinned at him; "Sorry are we, that you’re not his type?" She and the cook laughed at that. Owen didn't bother to reply and left.
He stood in the doorway opposite the café and slowly opened the envelope. It contained several colour photographs. Owen carefully studied each picture before pushing them back into the envelope. He sighed loudly, but just had to smile. He wiped rain from his face and disappeared into the darkness of the doorway and operated his mirror. He was gone from 1946 Edinburgh.
Jericho studied each picture in turn and passed it around. The team was assembled in his study, drinking brandy and chatting. Wilson chuckled; "I didn't know that the Highland's in the 1740's had colour photography; some two hundred years before it was available?"
Alex stared at the photograph of McIves; resplendent in his Highland outfit and nodded; "What intrigues me, is who the hell took the pictures if McIves is bloody in them?" Owen leaned back on the sofa and held up one picture and passed his mirror over it. "Well, everyone in this picture is from that time period." He tapped the photograph with his mirror, adding; "Except the big man at the back and McIves himself." Everyone turned to him. "The man next to McIves is a certain Atticus Vertis, who we dealt with when we jumped back to bloody 33AD." [See the episode; '33AD' Series 3 – Episode 6]
Jericho nodded; "The bastard was a time traveler and we never picked up on it because he was in his own time period." He sighed and allowed Mr. Harris to refill his glass. "This gets shitty by the minute. McIves and another time traveler together in the same period; that is definitely not co-incidence. They're up to Something; but what?" Wilson held up a photograph and tapped a finger against one figure, also standing next to McIves and added; "This bugger is Franco Cassino, an Italian who was born in 1902 and is a Missing Soul. He missed his departure date in 1941. He fought in the Spanish Civil War with the International Brigade..." Owen interrupted him and said dourly: "So did bloody professor McAllen!"
Jericho finished his drink and placed the glass down; "I think we've opened a big tin of worms with Angel Margret directing us to bring in McIves. Something is not right about all this. Why are so many Temporal Fugitives gathering in the Scottish Highlands in 1740?" Alex sipped her brandy and flopped back in her armchair and stared at the blazing fire. She sighed loudly; "I think they're putting together some kind of grand plan to change the outcome of the bloody battle of Culloden. They're starting six years early for some important reason, once we find that out, we'll know why." Everyone agreed with her assessment. Owen grunted and rubbed his chin; "Why the fuck did McAllen let me see these photographs?" Wilson folded his arms and stretched out in his chair; "Maybe he doesn't want the outcome of the battle altered?"
Jericho stared at the photograph he held and slowly rose from his seat; "Well, whatever they are up too, we need to put a stop to it and fast. I think it’s time for a little trip back there and assess the situation for ourselves." He slapped the photograph down and tapped the picture; "By the way, did you see who's in this one?"
Everyone leaned forward and peered at the picture. Jericho didn't smile; "The old man holding the horse at the back; it’s bloody Wolfgang Leitcher!" [See episodes: ‘The man who died in the future to save his past’ Series 1 – Episode 1 and ‘The Dunmore witch trials’ Series 1 – Episode 2.]
4. HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND; 1740.
The small group of horseman [and woman!] paused on the summit of the ridge and
Jericho scanned the wilderness with his little brass telescope. Nothing. He
lowered the telescope and shook his head. "Not a thing. Not even a bloody
rabbit. But the village of Loch Nase is some seven miles east of us. We'll head
there and stop for the night. According to Operations; there is quite a
decent pub in the village and it’s a Jacobite stronghold. So best
American accents please." Alex nodded; she was next to him, riding
side saddle on her mare; 'Lucy'.
The team was dressed as merchant visitors from the American colonies. Jericho was a 'Tobacco Hawker', sent by his Virginia employers to start a trade in their tobacco products. Young Owen was his assistant; Alex was his wife and Wilson - yet again - was his loyal servant. He wasn't happy about that, but understood the reality of the situation, here in the Highlands of 1740. It was a very believable cover story and that's what mattered.
"He's been known to use the village on occasion and that professor told Owen; the pub was one of his regular haunts." Jericho looked up at the sky and sighed; "I'd bet my hat, that we have more snow on the way." Alex stared at the horizon; it was quite black. She patted 'Lucy' and followed Jericho down the gentle slope; she smiled. She could hear Owen and Wilson arguing over McIves.
"They're at it again. Owen can't seem to get his head around the fact that we've been ordered to bring McIves in." Alex said quietly to Jericho, who just shrugged his shoulders and gave Alex a strange smile; "That's easier said than done."
They travelled for a couple of miles in relative silence, until the snow flurries started. Sparse and melting quickly at first, but the dark clouds rolling overhead soon began to dump the heavier stuff onto the bare landscape. An hour later, they were plodding through a snow storm of biblical proportions [as Owen put it] and it was almost dark as night. Alex had wrapped her scarf about her face and pulled the fur hood on her riding coat well up. "Not much further now!" Jericho turned and shouted; they were in single file; with Owen also holding the reins of their faithful old supply donkey; Freddie.
The village appeared amongst the thickening snow flurries; all the snow covered roofs belching smoke and not a soul outdoors. The stopped outside the pub/Inn and the team dismounted. A frail looking old man appeared in the doorway; coat wrapped about him and smoking a cob pipe. He didn't smile. "You brought some fine weather with you stranger." He addressed Jericho directly and shouted back into the pub.
A young woman appeared, wrapped in a shawl and thick woolen bonnet. She gestured for them to follow her; they saw the stables at the rear and Owen, with Wilson's assistance, settled the horses and mule in. Wilson noticed two big stallions were also stabled there. He put Alex's mare Lucy in a stall, opposite them. They seemed very happy to meet her!
Owen discovered the girl - Anne - was the old man's Granddaughter; he owned the Inn and was also the local Magistrate. He was called Donald MacDonald. Wilson chuckled; "His parents clearly had no imagination." and that made Owen laugh as they hurriedly walked back to the Inn, carrying the bags.
The Inn had only two other patrons; both Highlanders with kilts, swords and whisky glasses. They looked like 'fighting men' from some clan. They both sat back in their chairs and stared at Jericho and his party; especially Alex and Wilson. The Inn keeper poured whisky and pushed the glasses to the team, who settled at a table by the window. The old man asked Jericho how long he would be staying. Jericho replied; "Just overnight." He nodded and said that would be seven shillings; including a charge for stabling the horses.
The two warriors laughed and said something to the old man in Gallic. He just shrugged his shoulders and carefully counted the coins, Jericho had handed him. "If you want breakfast tomorrow; that's another two and six." He said and held out his hand again. Jericho handed him the coins and asked how much for the whisky. The old man rubbed his face; "Six penny’s a glass." Jericho nodded and handed him another seven shillings; "Keep the whisky coming and when that runs out, tell me. Give the two lads over there a dram on us." The old man pocketed the money - with a slight smile - and disappeared behind the bar.
Young Anne took the two warriors their drinks. They accepted the glasses, then raised them, and without a word; downed them in one hit. Alex threw open her coat and sat. She removed her gloves and downed her whisky in one hit as everyone else in the team did. The two warriors chuckled and spoke with each other; again in Gallic. It was quite flattering about Alex's figure; especially her face and breasts. But what they wanted to do to her arse was quite obscene.
Alex turned to young Anne and asked where her room was; she wanted to freshen up and get out of her riding clothes. The fact that she asked this in perfect Gallic made the two warriors sit up; the look on their faces was priceless!
Anne - smiling broadly - took Alex up the stairs, to a small room at the rear. Alex asked her about the two men; "Their fighting men of the Mackenzie clan. You’re on Mackenzie land. We're expecting more, many more to arrive. Their War Chief Hamish too, I think they're gathering to go after some bloody Irish bandits [raiders] who have been raiding around here."
Alex peered out the tiny rear window and could see a lone horseman approaching; a pack mule trailing behind him. Alex rubbed her face a little and stared hard. "Shit! It's McIves. He must be working for the Mackenzie clan." She quickly made her way down stairs and re-joined the boys. She whispered in French that McIves was heading this way; without mentioning his name. Alex also told them about the gathering of the Mackenzie fighting men to go after the Irish raiders. Jericho sighed; "That makes it a little awkward. He will be surrounded by fighting men who probably worship him."
The door was flung open and the big man sauntered in. The two warriors stood. The team noticed that. Clan fighting men would only stand in the presence of their Laird, his War Chief or another warrior they truly respected. McIves threw open his cloak and shouted; "Whisky McDonald! I'm dry as a nun's box!" He was wearing a pistol in his belt, a dagger in his boot, a musket across his back and that infamous black sword hanging at his side. The two warriors raised their empty glasses and shouted; "Aye McIves, there's a lot of that round here!"
He turned to the team, sitting quietly at the table and bowed a little; "Much apologies Mistress for my foul language. I would not have been so profane, had I seen a real lady of quality sitting in the room." He tossed his travelling cloak onto a chair, by the warriors table and turned to the old man. "For God sake McDonald, whisky man; before we curl up and die like a shivering Red coat before a Scottish blade!" The two warriors slapped his shoulders, laughing, as McDonald pulled a whisky flagon from under the counter. He refilled their glasses and handed McIves a fresh glass and filled it for him; smiling broadly.
McIves downed it in one throw and had his glass immediately refilled by McDonald. He turned to the team and smiled; a little. "You must be the tobacco drummers from down south. Over from the Colonies to peddle good Virginian tobacco to us Scots."
McIves gripped the shoulders of his colleagues and said to Alex; "Sweet lady, I must leave your company. My friends and I have a little treason to plot and some Irish dogs to whip." The two warriors both laughed and the three men returned to their table. McDonald placed the whisky flagon on their table and not once asked for any payment. Anne appeared with plates of mutton stew and fresh bread. She served the Mackenzie fighting men first and then the 'American visitors'. Everyone in the team noticed the look she gave McIves. His plate was piled high and she refilled his glass and smiled; broadly.
"I somewhat suspect, that our big friend will be most reluctant to say goodbye to all this." Wilson muttered and dipped his bread into the stew, which, actually was quite good. Jericho lifted his spoon and smiled; "Well, we shall see."
5. A FIGHT IN THE SNOW.
The door burst open and Maggie Graves almost fell through - she gasped and panted, holding up her skirts, exposing her long boots and legs - She shouted; "Bloody bandits at Grandpa's farm!" The effect was electric; McIves and the Mackenzie men leapt to their feet, grabbing swords and cloaks. Old Donald cursed loudly; "That's not more than three miles from fucking where we stand!" He turned and almost jumped behind the bar; gathering up his old musket. Alex rushed to the girl and helped her sit; she looked exhausted. McIves stood in the doorway, wrapping his heavy cloak about his big shoulders; "Maggie my girl, how many of the bastards are there?" Maggie gasped, gripping Alex's hands. "About seven or eight." She managed to blurt out. "I ran all the bloody way in that snow!" She added and accepted Alex's whisky glass.
McIves smiled at old Donald and gestured to his old musket; "Donald, get your horse and ride to Hamish Greg’s farm. I suspect that Hamish [the clan war chief] is there with the men. Tell him to come." Donald nodded; he didn't object. Anne gripped her grandfathers arm and nodded; "Go gramps. You'll do more good fetching the fighting men than you could with that old musket." The old man did smile at the logic of that. Everyone headed for the stables and McIves turned to Jericho; "Not your problem Jericho. I'm sure this isn't part of your mission; whatever that may be." He gave Jericho an inquisitive look; thinking. Jericho nodded, but smiled; "The bandits will count horses. Seven riders will look more impressive that three from a distance." McIves laughed out loud at that and nodded his agreement. "You’re a canny bastard Jericho." was all he replied.
They made the stables and mounted quickly; McIves scooped Maggie up and placed her behind him. The group rode off at speed; within minutes they could see smoke rising from the valley ahead. "The bastards are burning the farm!" Maggie shouted between sobs. Jericho shouted back to Alex and Owen; "When we get there; you two look after the horses!" Both nodded, they knew better that to argue with Jericho when he actually gave an order. They galloped into the small valley and saw the farmhouse ablaze and a body in the snow. There were three desperate looking men trying to pull a reluctant cow from its burning barn. The other four were already mounted with an elderly looking horse in tow. McIves fired his pistol at the gallop and one man dropped into the snow. "Now that's some fucking shot!" Owen shouted to Alex.
The mounted bandits started firing off their muskets and one fell forward in his saddle, but stayed mounted. Alistair [one of the Mackenzie men] came off his horse and hit the snow with a thud. He had been shot through the thigh. James [the other Mackenzie man] fired his pistol and brought down a bandits horse; the rider thrown awkwardly into the snow. Maggie leapt from McIves horse and struggled through the snow to her grandfather. She was screaming, cussing and sobbing in equal measures. The two reevers left the cow and ran for their horses, but McIves got there first; jumping from his mount - sword in hand - and killed one with a single blow to his shoulders; his shocked head almost came off and the other fired his pistol at McIves from just a few feet away. McIves laughed and ran his sword through the man's chest. The reever fell into the blood soaked snow; screaming and cussing. McIves didn't hesitate; he drove his sword through the man’s throat.
The remaining mounted bandits were already galloping away; dragging the old horse behind them. Alex ran to Maggie, who was cradling her dead grandfather and sobbing loudly. Alistair limped over to them, clutching his thigh; "Could I trouble one of you lassies to have a look at my bloody leg?" and actually smiled. Alex could do nothing for the old man - or his distraught granddaughter - and so tended to Alistair. He actually laughed - and cussed - when Alex pulled up his kilt and set about his thigh. "Sweet Jesus woman, you’re not backwards in coming forward with a man's private parts!" But he really did grin. Alex just sighed; "You’re lucky, the ball has passed cleanly through. It just missed what you’re so concerned about." She ripped off some petticoat and bound his wound - after pouring whisky all over it - that made Alistair groan. "Now that's a bloody waste of good whisky!"
Alex handed him the bottle and he took a long swig and smiled; "You know what you’re doing with bullet holes; where does that come from?" Alex wrapped his thigh and checked the dressing, adding more ripped up petticoat, to keep the pressure on the wound. "Both my father and brother were...are surgeons. I paid attention. A lot of attention." She smiled at the big man, who made no effort to pull his kilt down. Alex smiled to herself; So it’s true what Scot's men wear under their kilts; bloody nothing! She tied off the dressing and pulled his kilt down. He was a big man in all respects and that did make her smile.
James had finished off the reever who fell from his horse; he drove his sword through the man; twice. He wiped his sword and brow. "The bastards are heading towards Coolock Hills. A nice place to hide." He spat on the dead body and began to search it; he robbed the dead bandit of anything of value. McIves walked over to Maggie and her grandfather and gripped the girl by the shoulders; he spoke softly and gave her his cloak, to wrap the old man in. He turned to Jericho; "We'll clear a little snow and burn the ground. That way we can bury the old man with some dignity and care, back at the village." He looked down at Maggie, carefully and gently wrapping her grandfather and added; "That'll make the girl happy." Jericho just nodded.
Owen stood next to McIves with real wonderment on his face; "That bastard shot you at point blank range and there's nothing!" McIves laughed out loud; "The bloody thing was so old it fired nothing but smoke. The ball must still be stuck in the damn muzzle. The bastard clearly never looked after or cleaned his pistol." He slapped Owen on the back and asked if the boy had any whisky. Owen smiled and handed McIves his hip flask. McIves slowly unscrewed the top and took a long swing; the brandy was excellent. He whispered to Owen; "You’re the best equipped team of bloody time cops the department has." He chuckled at that and took another long swig. "How's your bloody crotch Alistair?" He yelled and laughed some more.
Alistair now standing and leaning on Alex, also laughed; "It was bloody worth it to have your wedding tackle handled by a woman like this! I won't mind getting shot there again!" Alex just sighed and helped him walk to his horse; which he checked thoroughly for any injures. There was none, but the saddle had a new hole in it. He dug out the ball with his dagger and tossed it in the air. He threw the ball gently at Alex; "You've handled my 'Thomas', now you can have my balls!" The three fighting men all laughed at that. Alex rolled the ball about in her fingers and then stared at it. There were no signs that it had been fired; the ball was still intact with no real damage. "That's really odd." She whispered to herself.
She walked over to Jericho and Wilson and held opened the palm of her hand. "Little wonder it didn't break up in his leg, which would have caused real problems - treatment wise - the bloody thing is a steel ball baring!" Jericho took the ball and examined it; Alex was right. Wilson grunted; "Now that's a few years ahead of its time. I wonder where the bloody bandits get their ammunition?" Jericho tossed the ball into the air a couple of times. "I don't know, but I really think we need to find out who's supplying them with ammunition from the future. What else is being supplied?" Wilson and Alex nodded at that; McIves fate as a time traveler may have to wait.
6. PEOPLE FROM THE FUTURE; BUT WHY?
The little group headed back to Donald's Inn. Maggie was behind Owen, sharing his horse; holding a rope to the only possession she had left - apart from her clothes - the bloody unhappy cow. Her grandfather's body was slung over the back of McIves horse, covered with his cloak. They had left the dead raiders where they fell. The snow was falling in gusts and getting heavy. McIves wiped his face and cussed. "This bloody new snow will cover the bastards tracks. We'll have to bide our time until the weather breaks." He spoke quietly to Jericho, who was riding beside him, deep in thought.
Alistair and James were comparing the stuff that they had taken from the dead Irish raiders. James held up something and asked Alistair if he had ever seen anything like it. Alistair admitted he hadn't. But it caught Alex's attention and she asked to see it. She held the object in her hand and sighed. It was a 'Game Boy' from the late 20th century. She handed it back and rode up to Jericho, explaining what was found on a dead bandit.
He nodded and wiped his face; "Do you realise what we missed back there? Something so bloody obvious that I could kick myself for not noticing it..." Alex sighed; "No bloody Collector turned up. So they were either time travelers or had already sold their souls to the dark side. We need to run a mirror over the bodies." Jericho wiped more snow from his face; "We'll have to wait until the weather clears and then go back. Best let Wilson and Owen know."
Alex agreed and rode back to her colleagues and informed them about the change of plans. Wilson rubbed his face and cursed about the snow; "Well, our plans to grab the fugitive time travelling McIves are now definitely on hold. This could be serious shit, with the Scot's about to rebel against English rule. Bloody Culloden is only six years away; what if they try and change the outcome of that, with some modern weapons? It could change the current time line dramatically."
Alex couldn't disagree with him. They needed to find the Irish raiders and more importantly; who's supplying them with stuff from the 20th century. They also needed to know how many were time travelers and from when. Four souls had already been lost in the darkness of real death. McIves could certainly wait. She stared at McIves - who was talking with Jericho - and wondered about him; Owens’s informant [professor McAllen] had said that McIves was here [in 1740] some six years before Culloden, to track down someone he had previously dealt with and had unfinished business with. She also wondered what - exactly - that 'unfinished' business was.
Wilson patted his mount and spoke softly to Alex; "Bit of a bloody co-incidence that McIves shows up and so do another group of time travelers, don't you think?" Alex nodded and wiped snow from her face with the sleeve of her riding coat. "Like Jericho always says; few things are real co-incidences. I wonder what McIves is really doing in this time and place?" Wilson sighed; "I have a feeling we're about to find out." He gestured to the small ridge about a mile east of them. There was a large group of horseman approaching at speed through the flying snow.
McIves turned and shouted; "It's Hamish with the fighting men!" The two groups came together and McIves bade welcome to a huge man, astride an equally big horse, with a full red beard and stunning blue eyes. He was Hamish Mackenzie, a cousin of the Laird [Lord] and Chief of the Clan's fighting men. He greeted McIves warmly and listened to the story of the fight. “Three of the bastards, that’s good. I’ve heard from Douglas Campbell that at least twenty of the bastards had landed at Sheena Cove under a real big bastard who I’ve never heard of before; he calls himself Valentine Doonican and he’s from the north of that accursed Island of thieving dogs.”
Owen and Alex exchanged a glance; bloody Val Doonican! “Now that’s a real c0-incidence or he’s a time traveler!” Owen murmured. Alex nodded and wiped snow from her face; it was really falling heavily now. Hamish was impressed with her when Alistair recounted the story of her care. “So the woman is a healer; good. I think we may have need of her services again before long.” Hamish announced and so Jericho and his team joined the ‘fighting men’ and returned to the tavern. Owen whispered to Jericho; “No trace of anyone with that name suspected of jumping through time and it’s not the famous singer either!”
Donald eased himself from his horse and was welcomed by his granddaughter at the door who was gesturing towards the stables; “We have another visitor grandpa, he’s in the stables putting away his horse and mule.” She held out her hand that contained coin and the old man slowly took them muttering; “No bloody travelers for weeks then we get them by the cartload.”
Now Jericho – like McIves – was really interested in the new arrival. McIves rubbed his chin; “I wonder how much he knows about our Irish friends?” Jericho brushed snow away and headed in the tavern which was now packed with steaming men; shouting and slapping down weapons on the tables. Anne had her hands full serving whisky and so Maggie helped. Donald had already said that the girl could stay with him and his granddaughter now. He and her grandfather had known each other for years and he wouldn’t dream of leaving the girl destitute and homeless. Maggie would move in with Anne and the pair was more than happy with that arrangement. That’s when the new stranger strode into the pub and slapped his big canvas bag down on the counter and what he said shocked everyone into silence. The little man asked Anne if he could have a cup of tea!
She managed to compose herself from that shock and nod. She returned to the kitchens to fetch it, whilst Jericho rose from his seat and shouted; “John Mortimer as I live and breathe!” he walked over and the pair shook hands warmly. Jericho turned to the stunned fighting men – who had never heard a grown man in a pub order tea before – and announced; “John and I are basically in the same business except he pedals whisky and I pedal tobacco!” John rummaged in the big bag and placed two dark bottles on Donald’s counter; “With your permission landlord, may I offer some samples of good Kentucky whisky to your customers?” Donald just nodded and Jericho [with John] just made it back to the table. The crowd around the bar was shouting and banging their glasses down on the counter as Donald popped the corks on the bottles.
Wilson chuckled and shook John’s hand; “What brings a guardian of God to these parts John? The little man smiled, propping his Staff of Mosses against the wall behind him. “A Tier three demon called Grail who was in Ireland and I’ve tracked the bastard to here.” Owen nodded; “He’s not going by the name of bloody Val Doonican by any chance John?” The little man grinned; “Jesus Jericho, you always said the boy was on the ball. Grail is using that name and has gathered some dark followers around him. What will interest you is that at least four have jumped back here from 1989.”
Jericho rubbed his chin; “Well, there are three less now; McIves and his men killed three raiders and no collector appeared. So they were the time travelers or had already sold their souls; either way that solves part of our problem. Do you know why Grail is here?”
John nodded; “He wants your friend McIves dead; apparently McIves interfered with a little scheme he had running – stealing souls from a closed Irish Convent by seducing the nuns – and McIves managed to drive him away. How I don’t know; McIves is no guardian and certainly no knight, but he did it. Apparently McIves was very friendly with one of the nuns…or was it two?
[Alex and Owen
chuckled at that] I can’t remember the exact number. But I have a message from
Angel Margret; stop going after McIves and assist me in terminating Grail’s
little game whatever that is now.” He stopped talking as Anne handed him his
tea. John sipped it with relish and thanked the girl with a halfpenny tip.
Wilson and Alex exchanged a smile with Wilson whispering; “McIves has more
lives than a pair of cats!”
Owen was discretely checking his mirror under the table. “Young Maggie’s grandfathers soul was collected OK. He died three years too early and we’ve been assigned the case by Operations; the premature death caused little change to the time line thankfully. But guess what the collector reported.” He had everyone’s attention now; “He states that the old man told him, that one of the bandits - who rode off before we arrived – killed him with a pistol that fired two shots, one directly after the other and had a strange revolving chamber attached to it.”
Jericho grunted; “A bloody revolver; they are using modern weapons and we need to stop that. What if they supply enough of just those pistols to the Scot’s at Culloden; the outcome could certainly change in their favour.” John nodded and sipped his tea, gripping it with both hands. “If they have modern repeating rifles then we’re in big trouble.” He said quietly. The team sat in relative silence until Hamish called the pub to order; they couldn’t bury the old man yet so they would store his body in the outbuilding behind the pub; he instructed Donald to prepare the old man for burial. They would intern him when the weather cleared and attempted to pay Donald for his trouble. The publican waved that away; he would bury his old friend without any payment needed.
Most of the fighting men settled in the stables and small barn for the night, whilst the McKenzie officers slept on the pub floor and only Alex had a room to herself. Jericho shared his with Owen and Wilson. John Mortimer slept on the table by the window, his staff of Mosses in his hand. Like Jericho he could sleep on bricks as Owen put it.
7. THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM.
It was Owen that pointed out the obvious problem that the Temporal Detectives now faced. The little group was in the stables, preparing their horses. He waited until all the fighting men had departed with their mounts. He sighed; “I take it everyone realizes that we can’t allow the two groups to meet and fight? If any of the McKenzie men are killed, they will die before their due time and that could change the current time line. Unless the bandits are all time travelers; then killing them could have same the result.” Wilson slapped him on the back; “Do you know that you are right baby brother. I wondered how long it would take you to work that out.” He turned to Jericho; “That is some big elephant sitting the corner of the room. How do we get round that one?”
Jericho patted his mount and adjusted its girth, he smiled; “I have no intention of letting them meet and I’ve summoned a little help to do just that.” Owen shook his head in mock surprise; “I wondered who you were talking to last night on your mirror. You’ve sent for bloody ‘Jumbo’ Jolly haven’t you?” Everyone groaned in mock despair. [See episode: ‘William Shakespeare’s lost play – the Lady of Cappanni’. Series 3 – Episode 3.]
Jericho grinned and headed outside with his horse; “I certainly have; Jumbo can appear and lead the McKenzie men away from the bandit’s real trail; to a group of Irish raiders that have actually turned up and do belong to this time and place. Most of them will die fighting soon and so the time line will change little. The only difference being they are killed by the McKenzie men. I thought using Jumbo was appropriate since Wilson mentioned a big elephant!” He was happy with his little ‘joke’. Everyone else just groaned again. John Mortimer sighed; “I’m glad he’s a better detective than a comedian.” They all trooped outside and found the McKenzie men ready to leave; they were just saying farewell to Donald and the girls.
Through the crisp morning sunshine came a lone figure on his huge horse. He waved and spurred his mount towards the pub. It was detective sergeant James ‘Jumbo’ Jolly disguised as himself!
The team pretended that they didn’t know him for the sake of their cover story and the McKenzie fighting men greeted him warmly. But it was when Jumbo opened his mouth that the team all stood in shocked silence; they could understand every word he said! He told Hamish about a large group of raiders just north of the village of Sharburt which was on McKenzie land. He accepted Owen’s hip-flask and took a swig, slapping him on the back and grinning; “Thanks my young friend that was most welcome.” He also winked and took another swig; a long one this time. Owen gave him a wry smile; “How come we can understand every word you now say?” Jumbo just grinned again; “That’s the magic of being back in one’s own time and place my young friend. I just have to make sure that I don’t bump into myself!” He handed Owen the flask and remounted his horse; the fighting men followed him back out into the snow covered hills.
Jericho immediately noticed that McIves and four other men remained [including the injured Alistair who wanted Alex to look at his wound again!] He asked McIves about that. The big man grinned; “Hamish made the call, he thinks there could still be some raiders around here and besides young Alistair needs his thigh looked at regularly by our Alex.” He walked to his horse and then turned and said quietly to Jericho and Wilson; “Besides I really wonder who – exactly - your temporal detective is leading the men after.”
Wilson grunted – not surprised by that revelation – and said softly to Jericho; “There are no flies on him; is there?” Jericho just nodded and had to smile. They all returned to the tavern and Donald handed out more whisky, whilst the girls [Anne & Maggie] dished up hot pies, cheese and bread. The team all met up in Alex’s small room after lunch and discussed the next moves in this twisting and changing case.
Owen was sitting by the small window; mirror in hand and suddenly sat up; “Four horsemen with a mule heading this way.” The team gathered around the window and watched the riders approach. “Anything on your mirror?” Wilson asked him and Owen nodded; “We have the time-traveler Franco casino who should have departed in 1941. A John Hastings who is actually English and is wanted down south for a couple of murders; the third man is a local fellow – just seventeen but a big boy – Bruce McKepple. The fourth rider is a woman called Elizabeth Standing, aged nineteen and from Edinburgh. A colourful character who already has two murders to her credit. She’s wanted by the British for robbing a couple of soldiers. She’s known to work as a prostitute, highwayman – if you pardon that sexist expression Alex – and singer!” Alex just chuckled.
“I strongly suspect
they are here to meet McIves.” Jericho muttered and sat on the bed consulting
his mirror. There was a knock at the door and Anne appeared with a tray of tea
and cakes; she served Owen first with a big smile and Alex casually asked about
the new guests headed this way. Anne peered out the window and exclaimed “Oh
shit!” and ran from the room. She was quickly followed by the team with Owen
stuffing cake in his mouth.
Anne burst into the bar from the back stairs shouting at McIves and the four fighting men eating at the table by the window. “They’re here!” McIves rose slowly and smiled; “So old Franco has decided to put in an appearance; who does he have with him Anne?” She explained that he was riding with three other people; two men and a woman. McIves chuckled; “Bloody hell, Lizzie Standing I bet!” The team all looked at each other thinking; this could be interesting.
Young Alistair turned to Alex and smiled; “Can I have a word with you Mistress Alexandra?” Alex nodded and the pair walked to the big fireplace, the young man gripped his sword hilt and ran a hand over his face. “I have a small farm some thirty miles from here with two cows, chickens and a pig. The house has five rooms and there’s a small stable at the back for two horses. My kid sister Ellen looks after things with help from the neigbours. But the place needs a woman and children to fill it. So I think we should get wedded.” he nodded to himself and completely missed the total look of astonishment on Alex’s face.
She took a deep breath and patiently explained that she was a married woman and that they didn’t even know each other to start with! But Alistair just shrugged his shoulders; “You and him [Jericho] aren’t married my girl, everyone can see that, but you need that story to travel with the men without losing your reputation. It’s a common trick around these parts and doesn’t fool us. You slipped up by having a room to yourself and not share it with him. If he really was your husband he would have slept with you. There’s not a man alive around these parts that wouldn’t; never mind being your husband! We’ll get to know each other on the honeymoon.” Was all he said and patted her arm with a big smile and re-joined his companions.
Alex stood in silent shock until Owen joined her and asked what Alistair wanted. She whispered in his ear and Owen smiled broadly;”They certainly can’t be fooled around here can they?” and laughed to himself. Alex slapped his arm; hard and didn’t smile. She wondered if all the McKenzie men knew.
Old Franco stood in the doorway and brushed snow from his cloak and stared at McIves. He shouted at young Bruce to stable the horses and mule. John Hastings and Miss Standing walked past him and up to the bar where the young woman ordered whisky. Alex had to smile; she was real dark haired beauty dressed like an English highwayman of this period, complete with a sword and pistol. She pushed the hood back on her cloak and When opened, revealed a full breast that was barely concealed by her bodice. Donald slapped whiskies down and Liz placed coins on the bar. “Long time Donald; how’s little Anne?” she asked sipping her whisky. Old Donald smiled and topped up her glass; “Too long my sweet little thing!” he exclaimed and poured three more whiskies out. John Hastings took his without a word.
Liz turned and smiled at Alex; really smiled and raised her glass to her; “Now that’s some piece of cake. I would dearly love a slice of that.” Old Donald chuckled; “You and everyone else I suspect.” Alex actually went a little red and that made Liz grin and gesture for her to join them at the bar. “Have a drink darling, anything you want.” Alex just shook her head and Alistair walked up to Liz and jerked a thumb at the shocked Alex. “Hello Liz, sorry but that lassie is mine.” Now that shocked Alex even more!
Liz smiled and kissed him; “Why didn’t you say Alec! I would never touch your girl you little darling!” and the pair embraced. She pushed a whisky into his hand and shouted at Alex; “Come on darling, have a drink, your honey pot is safe from lusty Liz now she knows that your Alec’s wee girl.” The team was quite surprised by that revelation [except Owen of course] and they were all surprised by the meeting between old Franco and McIves.
They embraced and McIves and the old man sat at the table in quiet conversation. Young Bruce came through the door and took a whisky from Liz and sat with John Hastings. The pair just sat saying nothing, Alistair asked Liz about the pair and she just smiled; “I’ve had better chat’s with dogs and dead men, but they’re alright.” Alex sipped her drink and casually asked about the old man. Liz grinned and ran a hand down Alex’s cheek; “They are doing a little treason my darling. Nothing to bother your pretty head about; now how did you two meet?”
Alistair explained about the fight, the musket ball and Alex’s tender care. Liz chuckled and gripped Alex’s hand; “Like big men darling? Well, young Alec’s is one of the bigger one’s around these parts.” She laughed, finished her whisky and ordered more. McIves and old Franco rose from the table and both headed for the door shouting for their men [and woman] to mount up. Alistair slapped a kiss on Alex’s cheek and grinned; “This little job will pay for the seed for next year’s planting and fill the larder for winter. We won’t go short while waiting for first little one.” He grabbed up his cloak and travelling bag and followed the others out into the falling snow.
Jericho smiled at Alex; “It’s ok darling, you won’t be separated from you precious love for long; we’re going to follow them!” Everyone laughed – except Alex – who stuck up a single finger and ran up the stairs to fetch her travel bag and winter fur coat.
8. OF GODS, MEN AND SNOW.
The snow was up to his knees and difficult to walk in; Jericho lowered his telescope and trudged back down the small ridge to the waiting team; still mounted. He eased himself back on his horse and wiped snow from his face; “They have stopped at what appears to be an old fortified house that is now derelict. The roof has gone and the eastern part has subsided or been destroyed in fighting years ago. But the walls are mostly sound and there’s plenty of cover for the horse’s. I can see smoke coming from the main buildings chimney so they must be cooking or brewing tea.”
Wilson cussed, brushing flying snow from his face; “They are lucky, where the hell can we shelter from this God awful weather!” John Mortimer chuckled; “We could always call up Supplies for Antarctic tents and a cooker. Maybe they could bring us a takeaway Indian while they at it.” Owen leaned forward in the saddle and called to Jericho; “My mirror is showing a British force some twenty miles east of us. They appear to be stuck in the snow; there are ten mounted troopers and three wagons of…”
He was interrupted by
Alex who shouted; “Liz the lesbian highwaywoman said they were joining McIves
for a little ‘treason’ and that must involve British forces!”
Jericho nodded and shouted back to Owen; “Do we know what they are carrying?” Owen sighed; “If I hadn’t been interrupted by our bride-to-be, I would have said three wagons of military supplies; gunpowder barrels and…” he checked his mirror again and shrugged; “Some personal household furniture of a certain Captain David Palmer, who commands an outpost in the Campton Hills, which is about fifteen miles from here. Now that’s strange.”
“A huge amount of gunpowder will be a fine prize for McIves and old Franco to deliver to the McKenzie clan before the battle of Culloden.” Wilson said and cursed the snow slapping his face.
Jericho patted his mount and then said; “Why is that strange Owen?” A big gust of wind drove a thick drift of snow over them and they struggled to control their horses. Owen checked that Freddie the donkey was still attached to his saddle by rope and brushed snow from his shoulders and legs. Jericho repeated his question; “Why is that strange Owen?”
Owen spluttered and wiped snow from his face; “Because bleeding David Palmer is an alias that the time traveler Atticus Vertis uses!” Wilson was quite dour in his thoughts; “Do you realise we have more time-travelers here than an entire series of ‘Doctor Who’ and I wonder why?” Jericho sighed and stared at the sky; it was black with snow and the wind was getting stronger by the minute. He shouted at John Mortimer; “I think your mad idea is turning into our only solution to stay on top of all this. Give them a bloody call and tell them to hurry up before we disappear under this stuff for good!”
John was laughing as he put the call into Supplies. Owen now cheered up and called to Alex who was wet and cold. “Do you really think old Joe will bring a curry takeaway?” She just sighed and hoped they bring a portable loo!
The huge Supplies ‘Snow-Cat’ arrived with its trailer full of goodies and old Joe shook hands with Jericho. He was dressed [as Owen commented] like an Eskimo who didn’t like cold weather. Alex was inside the big snow-mobile in seconds to use the onboard toilet and that gave her a far better temperament towards the mission. Wilson finished checking his mirror and informed Jericho and John that Historical Records recorded a huge snow storm for this time and place. Even some normally tough Highland cattle died during it and over seventeen people perished from it. The team sat in the accommodation trailer around the big table and drank coffee and brandy, waiting for Owen and Alex to dish up the takeaway Indian meal.
“Old Joe says that a Supplies Agent picked it up from 21st century Bradford, so it should be damn good and really authentic.” Owen rubbed his hands in anticipation as Alex opened the tin foil trays. Wilson sipped his coffee and muttered; “You’d eat the dam stuff if it was picked up from a Bombay abattoirs toilet floor.” That made Alex chuckle because she knew the big man was right!
Owen slapped the warm plates down and handed out the Nan’s and poppadum's. Old Joe had even remembered the mango chutney and the little green stuff that nobody knew what the hell it actually was. Owen slapped the strange chutney on his beef madras with gusto. Wilson passed around the ‘Tiger Beer’ bottles and started on his meat vindaloo. He was in heaven. Everyone just stared at Jericho as he tucked into mutton Phaal without breaking into a sweat or running for the water tap; screaming. “If he doesn’t eat that damn thing; they use it to fuel a nuclear power station.” was all an astonished John commented; eating a chicken Korma [which Alex also enjoyed].
The sleeping quarters were bunk beds that had ‘lids’ you could pull down for privacy and Alex enjoyed her first good sleep in a couple of days. The accommodation trailer also had hot showers which were enjoyed by everyone. The team was ‘stuck’ in their luxury mobile hotel for two days and nights before the storm cleared and they had to reluctantly say goodbye and return to the 18th century. It was a bit of a shock to say the least and yes; Alex moaned about it.
Jericho kept the team well back as they trailed McIves and his band of marauders [as Owen called them] through the snowy hills. John had consulted his mirror and estimated that McIves and Franco would cross the English convoy next morning; early. He was also concerned because he couldn’t pick up any trace of the demon Grail.
The day spent in the saddle was grueling as they plodded through the thick snow that covered everywhere; a couple of feet deep. To quell the moaning of Owen and Alex; Jericho told them that their next mission was in the tropics and they would have to pack suntan lotion and drink ice-cold beer. He felt a little guilty because it would be in the Amazon jungle in the 16th century and because it would be in the Amazon jungle in the 16th century and he had lied outright about the suntan lotion and cold beer. But it worked for now.
They camped overnight in the remains of a cattle drovers hut and managed to get a fire going and brew some very welcome hot tea which Owen packed with sugar. But the rations of salted beef, bread, cheese and apples didn’t go down well; but the brandy did.
Wilson was on the midnight watch and sat wrapped in a blanket by the tree’s that surrounded the little hut. The big man kept putting snow on his face to keep awake and yawned constantly. He must have been dozing a little when the gentle buzz of his mirror made him sit up; now wide awake. He stared out in into the darkness and crouched low. He carefully checked his mirror under the blanket. Four men were approaching the derelict hut with some stealth; they were making no noise in the deep snow.
Wilson pulled the gun from his coat pocket and pulled the safety trigger back on the flintlock pistol as quietly as possible. He now could make out the four figures; they were all carrying muskets. He checked his mirror and grunted; Irish Raiders. How did they appear here without being picked up before this? He lay down and fired the pistol into the air. The effect was electric; two of the four fired at the trees and musket balls thudded in the big tree just a couple of feet away.
That’s when Wilson saw flashes of gunfire from behind him; the team was also firing into the air. He watched as the four dark figures went to ground in the snow and vanished from sight; but he could pick them up with his mirror. Carefully and slowly he crawled back to the camp to find everyone re-loading their muskets. He whispered to Jericho; “How the fuck did they just appear like that?” Jericho pulled the rod from the muzzle of his musket after pushing down the ball and pulled the safely back. “One of them is carrying a time portal; they just landed from 2022 from Wexford in Ireland.” Wilson nodded; now he knew why he thought they were Irish bandits!
Alex was lying in the snow; her pistol at the ready; “Even more bloody time-travelers! What the hell is going on here? Are they having a bloody convention or something? And I’m freezing my fanny off in this damn snow!” Owen lowered his musket and tapped his mirror; “They have jumped to 1746, March of that year.” He said quietly and sat up, cradling his musket with both arms. Jericho rubbed his chin; “Something big is happening here and I think we’ve just scratched the surface. I also don’t think McIves is the epicentre of this but Wolfgang Leitcher easily could be.” John nodded his agreement with that. “Now what do we do? Those gunshots would have carried on a quiet night like this and McIves is bound to investigate it; being so close to his own camp.”
Jericho grunted; “He knows damn well that I’m following him.”
Owen held up his mirror; “They’re back. Just appeared a mile away from McIves encampment and I think they mistook our camp for theirs. We’re that close and we were not expected to be here; were we.” Jericho was reading his own mirror and nodded. “I’m calling this into Operations Control; something big is under way here and frankly we don’t have a real clue what’s going on.” John agreed with him on that and Jericho operated his mirror and had a long conversation with the Senior Duty Controller. Owen passed around the brandy bottle which was most welcome and he made Alex smile by asking if her ‘fanny’ had defrosted yet.
A grim faced Jericho briefed his team quietly; “It appears Operations are already onto all the time breeches for this time and place. They have calculated that no less than thirteen time-travelers have arrived here over the last few days – excluding us of course – and our friend Wolfgang is one of them. The Intelligence section believes it’s a concerted effort to change history, but they can’t understand why they have picked 1740 and not 1746 – the battle of Culloden – unless there is something happening here that could actually change history. What that event is they haven’t a bloody clue.”
Owen checked his mirror; “Bloody hell Jericho, I’ve checked 1740 and bugger all of any importance happened; especially up here in Scotland. So I have to agree with Operations Intelligence; why the hell are they here now. 1746 should be the year if they want to change the battle of Culloden outcome.” Wilson sighed; “Well we need to do something. McIves isn’t here on holiday with his motley crew of time-travellers.”
Jericho accepted the brandy bottle from Owen and rubbed his chin; “We have missed something really simple but important. Owen and Alex it’s research time and this may be boring but it’s essential. Check all the backgrounds of the time-travelers we know have arrived. There must be something there that can give us a clue.” The fire was stoked up and the two detectives set to work while Wilson, Jericho and John took turns on watch and guarded the horses.
9. THE CUNNING PLAN.
Owen called Jericho over and said quietly; “They are all interesting characters – especially McIves – but Franco Cassino, the Italian who was born in 1902 and is a Missing Soul is quite a character in his own right. You know he missed his departure date in 1941 and he fought in the Spanish Civil War with the International Brigade. Well, he is an absolute expert in explosives; blowing up bridges, trench works and booby traps. He could plant explosives so carefully and cleverly that his enemies would never spot them until it was too late. He did one job outside Madrid where he covered a field with explosives and then waited. Sure enough Franco’s [the Dictator] men camped there some months later and he blew loads of them up. A right clever bastard and dangerous with explosives.”
Jericho nodded and pulled his mirror out and read for himself about the bomb expert. He smiled and patted Owen on the back; “I think you’ve cracked it my young friend. All we need to find out now, what those bloody personal possessions of Atticus Vertis [now captain David Palmer] actually are.”
Alex held up her mirror; “Those four that jumped here from Wexford are interesting too; they were all professional soldiers in the British army and two of them may interest Franco and us; they were both….” Jericho smiled; “Explosive experts.”
She chuckled; “Bang on the money if you excuse the pun.” Jericho pushed his mirror away; “I think I have a pretty good idea what the grand plan is, but we need to see what Atticus Vertis was having sent to him.”
The following morning the team came across the remains of the English convoy. The wagons had gone and six English soldiers lay dead in the blood soaked snow. Wilson checked them with his mirror and pointed out that there was no changes to the time line as all the men would have died this year anyway. Alex was sad about that; “That’s terrible really, these six men dying had no effect on the time line; just like they didn’t exist or their lives were totally useless or irrelevant.” She stared down at the young officer whose face had been partially blown away by a musket ball. His boots and sword had been robbed and his officer’s bag lay open with letters and papers scattered around. She picked one up; it was written to his mother in York. She didn’t read it and dropped it back down into the blood stained snow. Wilson just grunted; “No different for millions of humans over the years I suppose.”
Jericho called everyone together and outlined his plan; they would jump back to the lighthouse, freshen up and then jump back here in three weeks time. He explained that was the time that McIves would need to reach the estate he owned in the Highlands with the ill-gotten gunpowder; a fortified farm house that held a commanding view from a small ridge. He finished up by saying; “I think McIves has concocted a cunning plan to change history on 16th April 1746 by laying the foundations now, in a year that’s really of no interest because sod all happened. If the angel hadn’t sent us to bring him in, the first we would have heard of it, would be when the time tine changed drastically.”
He operated his mirror and the team was gone. Supplies would would arrive and remove any trace of the animals and equipment. Old Joe took personal care of ‘Freddie’ the donkey – Owen’s little pet - he was a favourite of Joe’s too.
Jericho was first over the wall and crouching low, waited for Owen to slip over. The pair was dressed in white snow suits and crawled along the ground. At the far end of the yard young Bruce was huddled in a blanket, warming his hands by a well burning fire contained in a circle of stones. Jericho and Owen slipped into the old barn undetected and carefully moved amongst the old farm machinery and found what they were looking for; several canvas sheets covering some bulky objects. Owen cut a couple of ropes and lifted the canvas. “Gunpowder barrels.” He whispered and the pair continued their search and found four crates marked: ‘Captain D. Palmer OC – Campton’.
Jericho produced a
small tyre lever and managed to prise the lid a little off one. They struggled
to pull one box from several in the crate and Owen gently reclosed the lid.
Jericho slowly pulled the paper from the box and they both stared at it. A shoe
box sized thin metal case with a small hole at each end. It was empty. Jericho
stuck a finger in one of the holes and smiled; “Just big enough for a fuse
cable of these times. Come on, that confirms what I thought.” He operated his
mirror and the pair of temporal burglars was gone.
The pair rejoined the others in a small rift about a mile away; Alex was – of course – moaning about standing knee deep in ‘bleeding snow’. Wilson turned the box in his hands and had to admit McIves was an absolute clever bastard.
Jericho was checking his mirror and he gestured to the box; “Probably several weeks before the actual battle, McIves and Franco with the two ex-squaddies that jumped from 2022 would have visited what would become the battlefield of Culloden and spread these boxes; now filled with gunpowder, around where the English would take up positions. They would know the actual positions because you can get the battle plan from any decent book on the subject. Franco had done it before with terrible effect in the Spanish Civil war and so they would wait until the faithful day and just before the Scots made their incredible and brave charge; they would set them off and the effect would be devastating for English morale. They would probably think the Scots had acquired massive artillery power and they would probably retreat.”
Owen whistled;”The clever part was getting the stuff now and waiting. Our Operational Intelligence Section would never have linked all this with Culloden six years away. As Jericho said, the first we would have known about the plot was when it happened and the Time-line changed drastically. Now that would have been really hard to correct after such a change of that magnitude. The question is now; how do we prevent it happening?”
Jericho smiled; “McIves had a cunning plan and so do I. Gather around people.”
The British supply depot was busy. Wagon’s were passing in and out all day long and the soldiers manning the gates only thought of one thing; when would their bloody relief turn up. Young Lt. John Vernon stood wrapped in his heavy riding cloak and watched the convoy for Fort Campton assembling. ”Be bloody careful with those barrels you idiots or you’ll blow us all to Kingdom come!” He yelled as the men struggled to the load the gunpowder barrels on the wagons. He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms about himself and cursed the cold, the snow and the bloody Scots.
He wondered why such a small outpost was being sent enough gunpowder to blow up bloody Edinburgh castle. But he followed orders and rarely questioned them; you didn’t get far in the British army by questioning your superior officers decisions. He’s attention was immediately drawn to a couple of girls walking through the gates and receiving wolf whistles and cat calls from the men. He wiped his face; they were a right pair of crackers, holding their dresses up and out of the snow. They both had low cut bodices under their open cloaks and he wondered if they were camp followers. For once he hoped they were and watched them ignoring the soldiers and looking about. He heard the very pretty dark haired girl shout to her friend; “Look there’s an officer, let’s ask him.”
The pair walked up to him; smiling and the closer they got, the more realised just how beautiful the pair were. He straightened his cloak and hat. Then smiled as the one with stunning tits curtsied and asked if these wagons were heading for Campton Hills and would they pass the village that lay outside the camp.
He lifted his hat and
nodded, asking if could be of assistance. The girls smiled at each other and
then really smiled at him.
The stunner with the magnificent tits [John couldn’t take his eyes off them] touched his arm and asked very nicely if he would deliver a small parcel for them; to their uncle who ran the tavern in the small village. It was a pocket watch for his fortieth birthday in three weeks time. The dark haired beauty carefully pulled it from her cloak pocket and smiled again. The other girl asked if they wanted him to pay for the carriage of the little parcel and John shook his head but asked if he could buy them supper. They both grinned and said ‘yes’ quietly; giggling.
John cursed when he realised that he would be leaving with the convoy in just minutes; the sergeant already had the troopers mounted and was waiting for the orders to move. Behind him, he could hear Trooper Stokes with his horse; Santos. “I have to leave with the convoy right now.” He said with real disappointment in his voice. But the girls took an arm each and pleaded with him to let them buy him a meal and a drink; at least for his kindness.
He slowly took the little parcel and pushed it into his officer’s bag and smiled. “I’m afraid my duty must come first ladies…” he was interrupted by a captain on a fine big mare, accompanied by another officer; a full Lieutenant. They were both carrying travelling bags and wearing heavy riding coats; they were obviously going somewhere. The captain leaned down from his horse and asked if he was the officer in charge of the Campton supply convoy. John saluted and said he was. The captain looked the two girls up and down with a little contempt; “If you can pull yourself away from your lady friends, I have papers from General Wade that must be carried to the Officer Commanding Fort Campton. They are vitally important. I take it the supplies have been loaded?” John nodded again and quickly mumbled ‘Yes Sir’.
John now really wondered what was going on at the isolated outpost up in the Highlands; if the big man himself [General Wade] was involved; then it was serious and important. The captain carefully handed a Gladstone bag which had been sealed with silver chain and padlocks. “Place this in the middle wagon, out of sight of the men and ensure its placed into the hands of Captain Palmer personally; do you understand that?” John said ‘yes’ again and took the bag. It felt quite heavy and wondered what he would be delivering that was so vital. The older lieutenant tipped his hat and leaned forward to speak closely into the captain’s ear, but John heard what was said.
The captain clearly wasn’t happy about taking the long journey to Campton himself but General Wade had instructed him personally to oversee its delivery with the supplies. The lieutenant apologized for reminding him. The captain cussed under his breath and stared at the young 2nd Lieutenant and shook his head in despair. “You are right of course Edward. We’ll have to do it ourselves. We’ll accompany the 2nd Lieutenant to Campton; God help us.” John Vernon gulped; having such a senior officer looking over him for three weeks in the wild and dangerous Highlands would be no pleasure trip.
The older Lieutenant chuckled and actually winked at him; “Sir, there is no point in three officers of the King going on this mission. I’m sure the young Lieutenant has other duties to perform here?” John’s heart was beating fast as the two girls shyly smiled at him. The Captain thought for a second or two and groaned; “You are right – again – Edward.” He looked down at John and told him to hand the bag to his Lieutenant and go and make himself bloody useful elsewhere. He was about to turn his horse when the girl with the fantastic bosom pleaded with the Captain to deliver the watch. The captain just grunted and told her to hand it to his Lieutenant. John very reluctantly handed it over and watched the captain lead the convoy through the gates.
The dark haired girl kissed him on the cheek and said they would still buy him supper and a drink for his kindness. They agreed to meet in ‘Tipper’s tavern’ that evening and a very happy John Vernon watched them walk off, waving back at him and forgot all about the convoy. He needed to get his spare uniform pressed and cleaned and get some money off another officer. He cussed the fact he was always broke.
10. FRUSTRATION.
John Vernon moaned about his ‘bad luck’ for some days after the girls didn’t appear for their supper date. But that wasn’t all the bad luck he would have. Several days later, the Colonel asked him to attend his office. John stood with hat off and at attention as the Colonel actually screamed at him and cussed loudly. What he called John would have made a Turkish Brothel keeper blush.
He demanded how John could have been so stupid and not check the ‘officer’s’ credentials before letting them waltz off with the damn gunpowder and poor captain Palmer’s personal effects. John didn’t mention the two girls who had distracted his thinking and filled his thoughts that day. He had no answers of course and left the office with head bowed low; he was now in charge of the latrine details. The convoy had simply vanished into those snowy hills and it was another week before word came back that the convoy troopers and wagon drivers had emerged from the wilderness with a simply crazy story about the wagons totally ‘disappearing’ overnight in a quiet pass and the two ‘officer’s’ with them.
They were all punished of course and three were actually locked up for a year. What John Vernon didn’t realise was that by being fooled into giving up the convoy he had gained something very precious; more time to enjoy his life.
The reaction of McIves and his fellow time-travelling conspirators are not known and the current Human Time Line remained unchanged. Atticus Vertis/David Palmer wasn’t happy about Jericho Tibbs thwarting his plans yet again and has sworn revenge. But that is another story and another mission.
EPILOGUE:
"A very satisfactory result for the team despite failing in their
original mission; bringing in the temporal fugitive Alexander McIves. They had
prevented some very serious changes to the current human time line. McIves
aside; the Mission was considered a success by Angel Margret and the Team
themselves."
WAS.
CHARACTERS:
Alexander McIves/ Rodrigo De Garcia/Black sword is often described by Jericho as an ’enigma wrapped in a puzzle’. He has helped the team out on several occasions and doesn’t appear to be a follower of the Dark Prince. But his time-travelling escapades remain a thorn in the side of the Temporal Detectives Department. Just who he actually is remains a mystery or rather who has Rodrigo De Garcia – a gallant Spanish Knight – become?
'Hernando the healer' [Spain: 1102AD] there are no records of
this man – historically – and just who he was remains lost. Jericho believes he
could be ‘Judea of Thebes’ [See episode: ‘The
peculiar pirates of Paradise Bay’. Series 2 – Episode 6] But that hasn’t
been confirmed.
Professor John McAllen [Edinburgh University] was to be the subject of another temporal detective’s investigation in 1952. He had been suspected from the University on suspicion of being a homosexual [it was illegal at the time] and he simply vanished. He missed his departure date in 1958 and is now classified as a missing soul. Inspector Jericho Tibbs and team 74 have been assigned the case.
Rachel Goldman [Student Edinburgh University] completed her history course and graduated in 1949 and became a teacher in Aberdeen. She married a local Doctor and had three children. The family immigrated to Israel in 1957 and Rachel died there in 1974. Her soul was collected and processed.
Atticus Vertis/David Palmer [Time-traveler] is a clever and resourceful man who hides his time traveling habits well. Whether he is a follower of the Dark Prince or not is unknown, but he certainly wants revenge on Jericho Tibbs and the pair were soon to clash again. [See episode: ‘33AD’. Series 3 – Episode 6 for their first encounter.]
Franco Cassino [Time-traveler] should have died in 1941 but missed his departure date because he jumped through time. Franco is a cunning man and an expert in the use of explosives so that places him on the wanted list. His current whereabouts are unknown, but Operational Intelligence believes he and McIves have jumped to Dublin in 1902. Inspector Jericho Tibbs and team 74 have been assigned the case.
Wolfgang Leitcher [Notorious Time-traveler & Devil Worshipper] was mentioned several times during this mission and he had appeared in a photograph that Professor McAllen had supplied the team. But he was never encountered in Scotland in 1740. What – exactly – his part in the audacious plan to change history remains unknown.
Donald MacDonald [Tavern owner] didn’t survive the harsh winter of 1742 and succumbed to pneumonia and died. His granddaughter Anne took over the tavern. His soul was collected and quarantined for fifty human years for a murder committed when he was just seventeen. He had killed another youth over some money owed. His soul was released back into the Human Life Cycle in 1792.
Anne MacDonald [Tavern owner’s granddaughter] inherited the tavern on her grandfather’s death and ran it for some years. She married three times; being widowed by the death of her first husband James Cameron at Culloden and her second husband by poisoning him so she could marry her third! She had five children and died in 1791. Her soul was collected and quarantined for fifty human years. It was released back into the Human Life Cycle in 1841.
Hamish McKenzie [War Chief] was a big man and a born fighter. But he died in 1744 from influenza. He had married twice with no children produced. His soul was collected and processed. It was quarantined for 150 human years for various killings and murders. It was released back into the Human Life Cycle in 1894.
Margret ‘Maggie’ Graves
[Girl at raided farm] struggled to work the farm on her own and finally sold up
and immigrated to the American Colonies. She opened a dress shop in New York
City and was quite successful. She never married but had a son by a African
sailor who she could never acknowledge. But she discretely cared for the boy
well and he grew up to be a wealthy ‘freeman’ and live in liberal Boston with
his family. Maggie died in 1793 a much respected ‘Daughter of the revolution’
and her soul was collected and processed.
John Graves [old man at raided farm] had been killed earlier than his scheduled departure date by the time-traveling raiders. But this didn’t affect the current time line too much. The much loved and respected old man’s soul was quarantined for 200 human years for murders and rapes committed when a young man who had been a bandit/raider himself. No one had bothered to ask how John had obtained the money to buy the farm outright. He had hid his evil past well. His soul was released back into the Human Life Cycle in 1940.
Alistair Cope [McKenzie fighting man] recovered from the wound suffered fighting at the old farm and remained with the McKenzie clan until 1745 when he met the daughter of an American sea captain from Boston. The pair married and left for a new life in the new world. They had seven children and when the American Revolution came; Alistair – despite his age – became a rebel. He died with General George Washington’s army during the dreadful winter in Valley Forge. His soul was collected and processed and despite killing several men in various battles it received no quarantine.
James Cameron [McKenzie fighting man] married Anne McDonald and had two children by her. They had a very happy marriage, but James – like a lot of Scottish ‘fighting men’ men - died at the battle of Culloden in 1746. His soul was collected and processed; he was quarantined for 100 years for various killings – on and off the Battlefield – and released back into the Human Life Cycle in 1846.
Valentine Doonican/Grail the demon was never actually encountered by temporal Detectives or John Mortimer [a Guardian of God]. Demon Ingress reports he is currently in Prussia [part of modern Germany] in the year 1766. John Mortimer is on his trail there.
John Mortimer is a Guardian of God and was on the trail of Grail
the minor demon; he and team 74 have worked together before and he was a close
friend of their good friend Oscar le Farge [another Guardian]. He loved working
with the team.
Elizabeth Standing was real character – far ahead of her time – and was many things over her short life. She had left an abusive father [she actually stabbed him after he had raped her at fourteen] and survived by –firstly – prostitution and then as a singer; she was actually quite talented. Liz ended up riding with gangs of mercenaries who quickly came to respect her. She killed two them who tried to rape her. Now suitably experienced; Liz turned to highway robbery and was soon on many English wanted posters, so she fled to Scotland and worked for a couple of clans, specializing in luring English soldiers then robbing them. Her luck ran out in 1745 and the English caught her outside a tavern in Falkirk. She managed to kill one and wound two others, but she was knocked down and arrested. Liz was tried and hung at Sterling, muttering the final words to the audience; “What no fucking applause?” her soul was collected and processed. Strangely enough, she received no quarantine for her actions!
John Hastings/Caleb Fuller/Joseph Player etc. was a very quiet man who said little and changed his name like some changed their socks! He was a mercenary by trade and a good one. He killed anyone for money. It didn’t matter if it was man, woman or child. John had five children: two by his wife who he simply deserted when he bored of her and the marriage and three by violent rapes [including a thirteen year old girl]. He survived several wounds over the years which should have killed him. But he died alone [he was suffering from ‘consumption’ – TB] camped out in the wilds of California after fleeing to the American Colonies in 1769. No soul was collected and Inspector Stella Longstreet and her team are investigating - with no resolution - yet.
Bruce McKepple was a big affable lad who had no real enemies and really didn’t like fighting or violence! He soon tired of the life of a ‘mercenary ‘and returned to his father’s farm. He married in 1745 and became a Blacksmith. But the Jacobite Rebellion dragged him away from his family and Blacksmith’s shop. Bruce was killed in the famous – and bloody – charge by Scots at the Battle of Culloden in 1746. His soul was collected and processed. He now works as a Collector and has met Team 74 on many occasions. He’s well liked and respected by everyone who encounters him.
2nd Lt. John Vernon [British supply depot] didn’t stay in the British army long and resigned his commission in 1741 and returned to York. He managed a tavern on the outskirts of the city for some years and married; he had three children survive him. John died in 1792 from complications that followed a broken leg. The surgeon had amputated it badly and sepsis had set in. His soul was collected and processed.
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