“Let’s hope they haven’t thought about the ransom option,” he said fervently.
“Hmm,” said Oxford, who clearly had no other theory for why he and Monterey were in a pantry together.
“Let’s hope it really hard.”
If Lovelace had ever considered the possibility of being murdered by one of her fellow cats in the Travelling programme, her money would have been on Nero. Not because he ever seemed especially evil, but because he was entirely selfish.
Still, it had never occurred to her that he might see her as an enemy. It was oddly hurtful.
“You,” said Fenella of all people, finding her voice before Lovelace or Cressida got their acts together. “Nero, you were there when the time hop went wrong, in the Rose Garden. Did you do this? Did you send us into Event Space?”
Professor Fleur Shropshire Shelley rolled her eyes. “Nero, you nuisance,” she chided. “Have you been setting up unlicensed experiments again?”
“What kind of maniacal villain do you take me for?” said the fluffy white cat. “Of course I’ve been setting up unlicensed experiments. That’s our whole thing.” He flicked his tail. “Ruthven and Boswell?”
“Lost in time,” grumbled Lovelace.
“I wasn’t asking you, my dear.” Nero turned to Abydos and Zephyr. “Monterey? Oxford? The Founders will be quite interested in getting those two back, I expect.”
“They’re in the silverware pantry,” said Zephyr grudgingly.
“I suppose that’s sufficient,” sniffed Nero. “Next time we arrange a dinner party, let’s do it somewhere with dungeons, shall we?”
“You colossal arsehole,” said Lovelace, arching her back.
No one paid any attention to her. The dinner party had split into those who wanted to complain to Nero for setting off rogue experiments in Event Space, and those who wanted to complain to Fleur Shropshire — or rather, Professor Shelley, their leader, for not thinking of it first.
Zephyr gave Fenella a particularly sharp look. “We haven’t all had our memories tampered with, you know,” they said pointedly.
Fenella looked startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Abydos, perching on Zephyr’s shoulder, yawned and randomly clawed his human. “Don’t confuse the humans, my dear. Can’t have them running off.”
“Where would we go?” Lovelace asked plaintively. Her eyes darted to Cressida. This strange, bustled Cressida who was so full of secrets. She hadn’t twitched when Zephyr mentioned tampering with memories.
That was a horrible thought. Was it how the Anachronauts had hidden their double agents for so long?
This whole situation seemed wildly confusing. Professor Shelley knew all along that Cressida (more than one Cressida?) was here, traipsing around Event Space. Nero had known. For how long? The whole seven years?
Why had the Anachronauts allowed Cressida to remain here, if not to follow her, watch her, use her against their enemies?
Enemies.
Cressida inched closer and closer to a bust of William Pitt the Elder. As Lovelace stared at her, the human woman laid her bare hand on the statue quite deliberately. After a moment, the statue began to take on a deep apricot colour.4
Zephyr noticed, too. “What are you doing?” they demanded.
Cressida hummed under her breath. The bust of William Pitt the Elder was starting to look remarkably orange. “Who, me?” she said. “How could I be doing anything? We’re in an Event, Zephyr. Random anachronisms are what you signed up for with your little club of history-eating anarchists.”
“You’re doing something,” Zephyr insisted.
Cressida smiled. For a moment her eyes were bright orange too. “Haven’t you heard? Time’s a bastard, and she wants 1899 back.”
A door at the far end of the dining room burst open. A snarling, shrieking monstrous creature covered in soft brown and green feathers came tearing towards the dinner party, rather like a duck had grown to the size of a velociraptor, and taken on the personality traits of…
Oh, it was actually a velociraptor. Yes, that made sense.
Even Cressida looked shocked.
Someone shouted “RUN!”
Fenella obeyed immediately, which was a relief to Lovelace, relying on her as she was for transport. Lovelace clung to Fenella’s Napoleonic coat as the two of them tore away, down stairs and corridors.
There were Anachronauts all around them, fleeing for their lives. Lovelace couldn’t see Zephyr and Abydos anywhere. Or Cressida, come to that. Fenella scampered towards the kitchens, where they had last seen Monterey and Oxford. Good girl.
Silverware pantry.
Fenella and Lovelace found themselves in an endless corridor full of stores cupboards. There were screams and an unholy dinosaur screech from the floor above them, best ignored.
Fenella looked up and down the corridor wildly. “Which one is the silverware pantry? What does a silverware pantry look like?”
“Monterey!” Lovelace hollered. “Scream like the damsel you are, baby!”
A door swung suddenly open.
“HA,” said Monterey, flourishing a cake fork that had been twisted beyond all recognition. “Thirteenth time lucky.”
