There was chatter and gaiety — this was a party of humans and cats who enjoyed each other’s company. There were cushions piled up so that the cats could reach the food as easily as the humans, and a few footmen hovering around with big spoons to assist if necessary.
Because the room was so over-stuffed with decor, including several busts of eighteenth century British prime ministers on plinths, the footmen kept tripping and/or banging into awkward antiquities, but that only added to the jollity of the event.
The chatter trailed off as Zephyr and Abydos brought Fenella, Cressida and Lovelace into the party.
Fleur Shropshire sat at the head of the table, wearing bright red Cardinal’s robes and a Santa hat. She looked older than she had in 1964, though Lovelace struggled with human faces to tell the difference when it came to a decade or two. There were definite face crinkles around the eyes and mouth.
“Zephyr, give me strength,” groaned the actress. “Can we not have one dinner party in peace without you interrupting? We’re time travellers, surely it can wait.”
Zephyr looked offended. “Professor Shelley, this is important. You said we should detain the Cressidas. Don’t you want to interrogate this one about the blue invaders? The Grimalkins? Don’t you want to ask her about the Jade Pineapple?”
Professor Shelley. The leader of the Anachronauts. No one had ever known what she looked like — which made sense, if what she looked like was a slightly crinklier version of a famous actress from the twentieth century.2
“What do you mean, Cressidas?” Fenella asked. “Why would there be more than one?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Cressida.
Fenella gave her sister a searching look. “Will you, though?”
“Also,” said Abydos, taking over introductions from Zephyr, who was clearly losing control of the situation. “We brought Lovelace. And another person.”
Fenella gave a small wave.
“No idea who this is,” Zephyr added, rather quickly.
“Rude,” said Fenella. “You could ask.”
Lovelace ignored the humans, staring around the table. The Anachronauts. She’d met a few of them here and there at those recruiting lunches — or in some cases, before they themselves had been recruited. But there were faces she recognised for other reasons — several familiar historical personalities crammed around the table. Anne Boleyn. Christopher Marlowe. An elderly fellow with a distinctive nose who had to be one of the Caesars, though Lovelace could never tell them apart. So, this was how the Anachronauts had been recruiting — from human history.
Smart. Why hadn’t they thought of that at Chronos College? It would save all that faff with the Official Global Secrets Act.
“Cressida Church has been crawling around in our private Event Space for weeks since she was so discourteous as to turn down our job offer,” said Fleur Shropshire. “It’s hardly an urgent revelation that some of her Chronos College friends have joined her.” She gave Fenella and Lovelace a stern look. “One of my Scattered selves spotted these two in 1964. They were rather helpful in sparking off an Event we’d been working on for a while. Good show all around, but hardly worth barging in before dessert.”
“You’re not wondering how they got in here?” Zephyr asked, their voice rising in inflection. “Maybe if you spent more time taking the leadership of the Liberated Anachronance seriously, and less time throwing indulgent parties, our mission would be closer to completion!”
“Congratulations, Zephyr,” broke in a drawling, sarcastic and highly familiar voice. “Oh, jolly well done.”
Lovelace stared wildly, her claws digging instantly into Fenella’s shoulder, making the human wince. It couldn’t be. Could it?
Nero. Not any of the historical Caesar Neros, but the fluffy white cat Nero. He sat on top of at least six cushions (he really did hate for anyone to take higher ground) with two paws resting on the table. He glared at Zephyr with his piercing blue eyes, then turned an even more scornful glare on Zephyr’s cat.
“You had one job, Abydos,” said Nero. “Detain the interlopers. Could you not find a cupboard to stash them in? By bringing them into this room you’ve managed to expose dozens of secret identities and allegiances directly to our enemies. Including mine.”
Monterey had tried to pick the lock twelve times now. No joy.
Oxford, who had removed his jacket so as to sprawl even more pathetically on the floor, looked up at him. “Is it that you don’t like being locked in, or is it that you don’t like being excluded from a party?”
“Both, obviously.” Monterey huffed back down beside Oxford, taking off his own jacket. It was getting rather stuffy in here. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Bit dangerous.”
“Fuck off. Why are they out there and we’re in here? If Cressida is working for the Anachronauts…”
“Oh,” said Oxford in surprise.
“You hadn’t considered that possibility?”
“Of course I had. I didn’t think you had.”
“She’d want to keep Fenella close, maybe turn her to their side. If Cressida is not working for them yet… well, they probably want to hold Fenella over her head, same reason. They’re recruiting, why wouldn’t they want the Church sisters? And Lovelace… well, a cat is always valuable. Especially an experienced traveller. You and I are squishy disposable humans. Nothing useful here.”
“We’re not, though, are we?” Oxford said quietly. “Squishy disposable humans. If they want to get the attention of Chronos College, of the Founders, you and I are rather valuable.”
Yes, there was that. Their parents were Founders of Chronos College. Nearly everyone else in the Traveller programme had been selected on merit. They were the ones who had slid in on pure nepotism.3
“They already have Zeph,” Monterey said. “Did anyone make a fuss about that?”
“The Kincaids disowned Zephyr as soon as they and Abydos defected to the Anachronauts,” Oxford reminded him.
Monterey frowned. “I’d forgotten that. Did I know that?”
“Zephyr had younger siblings,” Oxford added. “There’s a Kincaid over at Banksia, and there was a sister who came to Chronos College for a while. You and I are…” He swallowed, making an odd expression. “Only children.”
If the Anachronauts could prove they had the heirs of the Monterey and Oxford families as hostages, the Founders would almost certainly listen to their demands before hanging up the call and writing their deaths off as a tax loss. Monterey could see why Oxford thought it was a good plan.
Unlike Oxford, Monterey had no particular illusion that his family considered him to be valuable.
