He made a decision. “Humans, cats, all of you. Into the hoop.”
Oxford, of all people, dragged his heels. “We can’t trust Nero.”
“Excellent, yes,” agreed Monterey. “Good point. Let’s continue not trusting him on the other side of that hoop.”
“I’ll bite his whiskers off if he tries anything,” volunteered Lovelace.
“That, my dear, is why you are my favourite. Let’s go!”
As the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island garden party of Versailles 1664 collapsed into an ocean of purple cats and blue space nuns, Monterey and his colleagues leaped through the time hoop.
Cresting, bubbling, gone.
1 For the life of him, Monterey could not remember what he and Lovelace had done to trigger 1664’s Event… he drank a lot of champagne, and returned to the twenty-fourth century wearing a single boot with a bright red sole. The rest was a mystery.
2 Anne of Austria was also from Spain. She never visited Austria in her life, but the title was inherited from her father as part of his family name. Anne of Austria’s father was also not from Austria.
Let’s face it, we’re only mentioning her for the Musketeer fans at the back. You know who you are.
3 ‘Cat who got the cream’ was Nero’s default expression. It can also be described as ‘cat who shed all over your new black trousers.’
Forty-Three
Basic Time
Lovelace had never been so grateful in her life to feel the familiar cobblestones of the quad under her paws.
Then she breathed in. The scent was wrong. Oh, it was an artificial college campus on a space station, all right. But it wasn’t her college. She darted several quick looks around the buildings, the gardens. The quad was almost identical to that of Chronos College, clearly built to exactly the same specifications. But everything was slightly off. The air had a minutely different quality. The trees and walls were slightly different shades.
She and Monterey had visited Banksia College before, for parties and the occasional academic conference (but mostly for parties) — their quad, she knew, was adorned with statuary of dodos, thylacines, and other saved-from extinction creatures. This must be Aleister College, home of the Anachronauts.
Still, it was Basic Time. Lovelace knew it in her heart. Basic Time, the twenty-fourth century. Home.
Standing in front of them, balancing on a stone pillar at the perfect height to be taller than every single one of them, was Nero. Fluffy, white, and dripping with arrogance.
“Excuse me,” Lovelace said in polite tones worthy of tea with Miss Austen. “I intend to murder this cat.”
She pounced. No one stopped her.
Monterey had never seen Lovelace in a fight before. (Swiping the occasional claw at someone attempting to arrest them did not count.) It was brutal. There was clawing, biting, scratching… Nero gave as good as he got, but Lovelace was burning with rage, and got in far more hits. They yowled, caterwauled and flew at each other. Fur literally flew.
“Do something,” Fenella demanded, tugging at his sleeve.
Monterey glanced at Oxford. “Tenner says my cat beats your cat.”
“No bet,” replied Oxford calmly. “Your cat has moral outrage on her side. If she had a coat, I’d hold it for her.”
“Bucket of cold water?” Cressida suggested.
“Let’s not turn Lovelace’s moral outrage on the rest of us,” Monterey said quickly.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Lovelace and Nero broke apart, breathing hard. Lovelace’s ear was torn slightly, and she had several scratches down one side. She had never looked more alive. Nero was missing whole chunks of fur, all over, and had bloodstains on his fluffy white tummy.
A small professor in a tweed suit was marching towards them. At least, Monterey assumed she was a professor, because this was a college campus, and she was wearing a tweed suit. She was on the mature side of age, but also had large, luminous eyes, and chestnut hair put up in a bun like a saucy librarian from an old movie. Her lapels were covered in floral brooches: roses, marigolds, sunflowers.
Monterey blinked, realising realised exactly where he knew her from. It was Fleur Shropshire, TV and film star. She’d aged at least a decade since the moment of her death, possibly longer.
“We do not fight on campus,” the professor said sternly to the two cats, who looked slightly ashamed of themselves. “Imagine if the students had seen you!”
“She started it, Professor Shelley,” Nero mumbled.
Lovelace turned an expression on him so fiery, it was astounding that what remained of his fur did not combust.
“Boleyn and Claudius are waiting for us in the staff library,” Fleur Shropshire/Professor Shelley went on, looking with distaste at the little crowd gathered on the quad. “While you’ve been gadding about rescuing your friends, Nero, every cat in our organisation has ditched us for the other side!”
Monterey coughed pointedly on the word ‘friends.’ Professor Shelley gave him an impatient look sharp enough to trim his nose hairs. Then her eye fell on Cressida, and she went pale. “Is that a copy? Nero. You brought a scattered copy out of Event Space?”
“It was an authorised rescue,” Nero protested. “You said we couldn’t let the blues and the purples collect any more witnesses.”
“Never mind that,” Shelley snapped. “The Founders are having a meeting right now, and they haven’t invited us. Our cats, yes. But Boleyn, Marlowe, me… every Anachronaut human that isn’t actually related to one of them was left off the guest list. You know what that means. We’re expendable.”
Lovelace arched her back, having found the next target of her ire. She leaped up to Monterey’s shoulder; he steadied her automatically with a hand. “None of us know what any of this means,” Lovelace said, hissing on the words. She was tense as if readying herself to go for Professor Shelley’s throat. “I suggest you elaborate.”
“It’s a very long story,” cut in Nero. “I could not begin to summarise the endnotes, let alone the main body of text. Don’t worry, Professor Shelley,” he added. “We have contingency plans in place for every eventuality.”
