“I’m going to read your report with sympathy and compassion,” Ruthven informed him. “And I think we should leave Cleopatra alone for a while, yes?”
“Authority does not suit you,” declared Monterey, and strode away in high dudgeon.
“Strong disagree,” said Oxford, dropping to the grass beside Ruthven’s deckchair. “Any tea going?”
Professor Burbage poured the last from the pot, and passed it across.
“Good trip?” Ruthven asked.
Oxford took a deep swallow from his teacup. “I’ll put that report in writing, shall I?”
“You do that.”
“Brought you a present.” Oxford leaned back on his elbows without spilling a drop. He gave Ruthven a lazy grin. “Guess what it is?”
“Cramberleigh Episode 4F: That Horrible Cat,” Ruthven said immediately.
His boyfriend closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s never 4F. You know it’s never 4F.”
“Someday, it will be 4F. How else will 4F end up in the archives of the terrifying future ruled by giant purple cats?”
“Maybe that will never happen. Since we’re changing the future.”
Not yet. They weren’t changing the future yet. Ruthven felt it was the sort of thing you should work up to. Couldn’t risk stuffing it up. They might only get one chance… even with the secrets of time travel at their fingertips.
If not them, who?
“Humanity has to find 4F,” he said now. “Or Aesop will never see it in the future, and never convince her friends to steal time travel and run away. That would be a paradox.”
“No such thing as a paradox,” said Oxford in unison with the half-dozing Professor Burbage.
“No such thing as your face,” Ruthven grumped.
“I like your face,” Oxford informed him, and kissed him again.
Lovelace found Boswell in one of the upper rooms — he’d taken a fancy to it, though it didn’t seem like anything special to her. The pineapple chandelier was still an eyesore, and the carpet didn’t look like it had been replaced since the twenty-second century. “Come on,” she said, hopping up to join him on the window seat. “You’ll miss the party. They’re screening the new episode of Cramberleigh that Oxford found. Quant and Khan are making their famous chilli.”
“I can take or leave Cramberleigh,” murmured the marmalade tabby.
“Liar. It’s from Season 3.”
“Season 3?” Boswell’s ears pricked up. “No one in this century has ever seen an episode from Season 3.”
“They think it might include the first ever speaking line for Evans the footman,” Lovelace continued, to tantalise him.
“Fine,” Boswell said in an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I’ll show up.”
Lovelace nudged the side of his face with her nose. “They’re silly, our humans. But I’m quite fond.”
Boswell made an unintelligible grumble sound that in no way endorsed her sentiment. Lovelace wasn’t going to call him on it.
Neither of them budged from their comfy spot.
“Do you think they can do it?” she murmured. “Save humanity from whatever makes them extinct? Prevent the future from falling into the hands of glowing purple cats?”
“Not without our help,” said Boswell.
“Obviously not without our help.”
“I think it’s possible,” he conceded. “I wouldn’t bet against them.”
Lovelace nodded sagely. “I don’t really care about humanity,” she admitted in a whisper. “Only our humans. But if this is what they want…”
“They never seem to appreciate finding dead mice on their doorsteps,” agreed Boswell in a satisfied purr.2 I suppose we have to find some other way to make them happy.”
“You old softy,” said Lovelace, leaning into his warmth. After a few moments, she began purring too.
THE END
1 The Fenthorp Project’s curriculum remained rather ad hoc for now, and they had failed to include any kind of physical activity in the initial program draft. It was Monterey’s idea that the cats take turns to jump out at students to test their reflexes when startled. Aesop promptly turned this into the most epic, week-long game of tag and no one had complained yet. It was good to see the students having fun in between the long lectures about history, ethics and survival.
2 An endless supply of mice was the one of the many things thing that made Fenthorp Manor superior to Chronos College, in Boswell’s opinion. He also enjoyed the lack of essays to mark, and the excellent kitchen staff with their ready supply of beef tea and raw mince. He’d never admit to the humans, of course, how content he was with this new life they had built together. If he left enough dead mice on their doorsteps, they’d figure it out eventually.
Historical Events and Those Responsible
