Empire of Time Page 19

Naples

  “The people of New Pompeii have all the protections offered to them by a world shocked at their arrival. And yet, whilst they seek all the rights of minority cultures in the modern world, we have not asked them to pay the price of modernity. When are we going to ask them to give up their slaves?”

  Professor Hayden,

  Lead Archaeologist, Herculaneum

  World Archaeology News Message Board

  SMOKE. A THIN line of smoke was rising from the top of Vesuvius, clearly visible against the otherwise crisp blue early winter sky. Nick stumbled, almost missing the last few steps as he hurried away from the NovusPart Institute. He recovered his footing and ran to Chloe’s vehicle, still idling at the kerb.

  Chloe had shifted over to the passenger seat, probably to get a better view of the mountain. Nick tapped on the window, and then again. Louder. Only on the third attempt did she turn to face him and unlock the door.

  “When did it start?” he asked.

  “Just after you’d gone inside.”

  Nick stared at Vesuvius. He’d been up and down the mountain a number of times. He’d found the trick was never to be too proud to take one of the wooden walking sticks from the men renting them out near the bottom. To lean on it, if necessary, like his steward, Galbo. Because what most people thought of as “the bottom” of the mountain wasn’t anything of the sort, but rather the very last part of the modern cone. By the time you’d reached it, you were already inside the caldera of the ancient volcano. And only when you recognised those surrounding jagged cliffs as being the teeth of a much larger beast could you truly appreciate how much material had buried Pompeii.

  “It’s erupted before, you know,” Chloe said.

  Nick nodded. The smoke was still rising, gaining height, not yet thin enough to be spread by the wind. “Worse than this,” he said, distantly.

  Chloe pushed him gently on the shoulder, smiling. “You know what I mean.” She looked past him to the NovusPart Institute. “So what did you find in there?”

  Nick Houghton. Novus Particles. “Nothing,” he said, his mind tracking back to the mountain. He suddenly felt as though he was at the bottom of the tourist trail with only an ashen track ahead of him. And there seemed to be only one direction of travel.

  NovusPart.

  Nick Houghton.

  Three messages. Two in Pompeii, one at the Villa Maritima, wherever that was. Two found recently. One found several hundred years ago, but only read by him today.

  Two in Pompeii, he thought again. But the last had come from the Villa Maritima. So if the messages had been left by the same person, they must have taken at least one trip outside Pompeii. “What do you know about the Villa Maritima?”

  “I thought you were the Roman expert here?”

  Nick didn’t rise to the bait. “Please,” he said. “I need to know where to find it.”

  “Okay.” Chloe’s eyes went vacant as she searched the boards. “Okay,” she said again. “So references to the villa are pretty sparse.”

  “Do you have a location?”

  “Yes. About halfway between Pompeii and Herculaneum.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “We can’t.”

  “We’ve still got time. The Bureau…”

  “The ruins were bombed during the Second World War,” said Chloe. “The Villa Maritima no longer exists.”

  Shit. Nick turned away and rubbed at the sides of his head; for the first time in ages, he felt a migraine threaten.

  Chloe suddenly tensed. “Fabio just pinged me,” she said. “He wants to know where you are.”

  The tension in Nick’s temples magnified. He felt his sandals slipping on the ashen track. Staring at the classical façade of the Institute, he allowed himself to think about his father, guilt rising in his belly. “How far is it to the sanatorium?”

  “Fabio wants me to bring you to the Bureau,” Chloe said. “I can’t ignore him.”

  “I want to see my dad,” Nick said. “I think it’s time to say goodbye.”

  * * *

  The gates to the erstwhile business park were closed. Guiding her vehicle in a tight arc, Chloe parked directly in front of them. Nick stared at the small sentry post next to the pedestrian entrance. Beside him, Chloe put her hand on his arm.

  Fabio was already standing just inside the gates, his normally jovial demeanour completely absent. Instead, his face was set in a deep frown, as if he’d been waiting there for hours. Somehow, Nick guessed a light-hearted remark wasn’t going to help.

  “I had to tell him where we were going,” Chloe whispered. “And where we’d been.” She paused. “This job, Nick. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

  Nick pulled his arm free. He thought she’d zoned out during the trip but hadn’t picked up on the fact she’d been using the boards. But, then again, with the vehicle taking care of most of the driving, there was little else that required her full attention. “I’ll sort it,” he said, getting out of the vehicle. “Stay here and wait for me.”

  As he approached, the security guard didn’t appear from his post, but Fabio’s bulk meant he had to stop at the pedestrian gate anyway. “The NovusPart Institute?” the Italian asked.

  “It wasn’t Chloe’s fault,” Nick said. He tried his best to look apologetic. “I asked her to take me.”

  “She should have said no.”

  “But I didn’t let her.”

  Fabio grunted. “So why did you go?”

  “I was curious.”

  “They’re a bunch of shysters.”

  Nick nodded, not sure how far to dig. Not sure if Fabio knew about the Villa Maritima fresco. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  “What’s there to say? They’re just crooks selling tickets to the afterlife.”

  “Headed up by Mary Arlen.”

  “Which means they can sell their particular tickets at a premium price. Fanculo, Nick! And now they can say you’re a patron! It’ll be on their adverts by tomorrow!”

  “I wanted to see how it worked.”

  “Well it doesn’t,” Fabio shot back. “Do you know how many people they’ve accepted through their doors? Do you know how many units they have inside? Because I can tell you, for the amount of money they charge, I’d want a single room, that’s for sure.”

  Nick was confused. The room he’d seen was empty. The door closed and locked in front of him with only a single occupant. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “They’ve got permits for an industrial grade oven in there,” said Fabio. “Do you need me to tell you the rest? Or can you work out how long someone would actually survive in a room without water before they re-use the same room?”

  From just inside the business park, there was some activity at the building nearest to the gates. A bed was being wheeled out, turned, and taken deeper into the site. The group of nurses and doctors surrounding the bed were all wearing protective clothing.

  “I’m here to see my father,” said Nick.

  “Visiting hours don’t start for another twenty minutes.”

  “We can talk on the way,” Nick said. Visiting hours hadn’t applied to him before.

  Fabio didn’t move, his gaze on something beyond the entrance. Nick turned to see another car drawing up to the gates. Waldren got out and walked towards them.

  “Shit.” Nick turned back to Fabio. “Why’s he here? Because I went to the NovusPart Institute?”

  “Fuck that. Because of the latest dig finding at the bakery.”

  So Fabio didn’t know about the Villa Maritima. Not yet, anyway. But, then again, if the Bureau had forced the Institute to give up Arlen’s research, why would Arlen’s mother have voluntarily revealed what else she knew?

  “Despite what you promised,” continued Fabio, “your Roman friends are pissing about with the timeline.” He nodded at Waldren, who had passed through the pedestrian access and joined them.

  “What do you think the full message says?” Waldren asked, not bothering with socia
l niceties. He coughed hoarsely.

  “I don’t know,” said Nick. “But I take it you’ve already come to a conclusion?”

  Waldren grunted, then moved his shoulder so it was positioned fractionally in front of Fabio. Cutting the Italian out. “I think your influence out in New Pompeii is on the wane,” he said.

  “And you base that on a fresco, and a bit of graffiti?”

  “You told us the NovusPart device was active and not being used. Now we find someone is doing a bit of tinkering with the timeline. Perhaps even trying to restore Pax Romana.”

  Nick felt his eyes narrow. “You’re worried about the Smale theorem?”

  Waldren didn’t respond. Fabio saw his opportunity to cut in. “A lot of people are, Nick.”

  “Professor Smale thought the main point of schism was the botched succession of Septimius Severus,” Nick said. “That if Geta had survived, the Roman Empire could have lasted a lot longer. He saw it as a defining moment. A breaking point, if you will.”

  “There’s a lot of people who agree with him,” Fabio said. “I like it too,” replied Nick. “But there are also multiple other reasons why the Empire failed. There’s no way to extend its life by interfering with a single moment.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think,” said Waldren. “It only matters what Calpurnia believes. Does she, for instance, believe she could restore the Empire with a single interaction?”

  Nick swallowed. It had once been a frequent topic of conversation between the two of them. He’d transcribed several academic tomes so she could study their main arguments. But every year seemed to carry with it a new theory on why Rome had fallen. And Whelan had made certain she’d understood the dangers. Kept on screaming it, even when the end came. “She couldn’t succeed,” he said. “The risk would be too great.”

  “Success is not required. She could destroy the timeline just through experimentation.” Waldren paused again. He coughed again. Nick wondered if it was due to smoking or one of the new drug-resistant lung infections he’d heard about. “So tell us, Nick. Are you still at the centre of things out there?”

  Nick hesitated. Officially, he was still their ambassador. But he realised the question was loaded. Waldren already knew the answer, as did Fabio. He felt something inside him deflate. “No,” he said, quietly.

  “When was the last time you spoke privately with Calpurnia?”

  “Some weeks.”

  “Weeks?”

  “Okay.” Nick took a deep breath. “Okay. Several months.” Fabio and Waldren exchanged a glance. “She spends more and more time on her own,” he admitted. “With just Marcus and a few household slaves for company.”

  “The NovusPart device is with her?”

  “Yes.”

  Waldren cocked his head to the side and coughed hard, then wiped his lips. “And is she using it?”

  Nick looked towards the sanatorium. His father was dying, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be at his bedside. “No.”

  “Evidence indicates otherwise.”

  Nick knew where things were heading. “I want to see my father,” he said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Fabio said.

  Nick felt a weight push down on his chest. “He’s already dead, isn’t he?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Nick. But he gave clear instructions that when he reached a certain stage… To be frank, he doesn’t want to see you.”

  Despite their bitter relationship, Nick almost physically bent, shock driving through his system. Fabio put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come on, let’s talk about this somewhere quieter.” Fabio led them to the sentry hut by the gates. He spoke quietly to the security guard inside – an old man who looked like he’d need the sanatorium himself before long – who rose and left his post, walking over to where Chloe still stood by her vehicle. Fabio shut the door behind him.

  Waldren seemed irritated by the interruption. “Haven’t you figured it out, Nick?”

  “What?” Nick managed.

  “You’re not Roman,” Waldren answered. “You’re not Decimus Horatius Pullus. You’re the loose end they didn’t quite tie off. And now they don’t know what to do with you. Sure, they send you on the odd errand to Naples as their ambassador, but most of what they need is supplied by the convoys. Even the fish for their stinking garum.”

  Nick tried to turn away but Fabio held his shoulder. His voice remained kind, which was something. “We need your help, Nick.”

  “What do you want?”

  “First let me ask you a question,” Waldren said, taking back control. He coughed again. Nick was starting to find it irritating. “You’re familiar, I suppose, with the work of Oppenheimer?” Nick nodded. “After he saw the results of the first atomic bomb, he said he’d become the destroyer of worlds,” Waldren continued. “I think you have a sense of what he meant, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what if Dr Oppenheimer had been given the opportunity to put the bomb back in the bottle? Do you think he would?”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s a moot point. Calpurnia keeps the NovusPart device under armed guard at her villa…”

  “You could get to it.”

  “No,” Nick said, shaking his head. “You’ve already tried, and failed, to take it from her.”

  Both Waldren and Fabio tensed. Neither spoke. “NovusPart used to take people from the timeline,” Nick said. “People with futures. Dangerous stuff, but they did it. They reached back in time, and pulled them out of existence. Basically put: not all the children in New Pompeii are Roman born.”

  “That was only ever rumoured,” Waldren replied. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

  Nick hesitated. The shock of not being able to see his father again was beginning to dissipate. His brain switched back and forth between New Pompeii and Naples, trying to balance the two.

  “Well?”

  Nick didn’t answer at first. For the time being, it really didn’t matter that the NovusPart device didn’t actually work. It didn’t matter that the outside world’s spies had all been left to die in the amphitheatre’s holding pens rather than being transported. He just needed to buy himself some time. Above all, he needed to maintain the illusion. He needed to make sure Waldren and Fabio continued to think the NovusPart device worked. “I told you,” he said. “Calpurnia has conducted some experiments.”

  “Fucking hell, Nick!”

  Nick took in a deep breath. “You see, removing people from the timeline who’ve caused you an injury means they’re no longer there to cause you a problem. It seems God solves this conundrum by spitting out the paradox, and carrying on regardless.”

  Waldren mulled this over. “We still need to know, Nick: are you with us, or are you with them? Does it keep you awake at night? The thought Calpurnia might just decide to rip up all of human history?”

  “I’ve lived there for fifteen years.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “There’s a lot of people here in Naples who’d prefer it if New Pompeii was simply wiped off the map,” Nick said.

  He turned to Fabio. “The people who blame us for the new diseases. The religious zealots who are scared shitless that our small group of Christians might not agree with what’s been made of their religion.”

  “Your land is protected by a UN treaty,” Fabio reminded him.

  “Which was only signed because the NovusPart device keeps you awake at night and also keeps New Pompeii safe.”

  Waldren coughed, then spoke hoarsely. “So it is Decimus Horatius Pullus, isn’t it, Nick?”

  “I’m not going to betray New Pompeii.”

  “We can offer you guarantees,” Fabio said, his tone urgent. “About the safety of the town and its inhabitants.”

  “Damn it, Nick,” Waldren shouted. “How long will it be before Calpurnia puts you in a cell? Before you lose your chance to act? Just like you lost the chance to say goodbye to your father?”

  Ni
ck flinched and only just stopped himself lashing out at the man. Instead, he breathed deeply, his fists clenching. He flinched again at a sharp knock on the door to the sentry post. A man in a nurse’s uniform stood outside with Chloe and the security guard. He wasn’t wearing protective clothing. Fabio swung open the door and beckoned him in.

  “Nick Houghton?” The nurse sounded uncertain.

  “Yes.”

  The man handed over an envelope. “Your father left instructions for us to give you this once his condition reached a certain… severity.”

  Nick looked down. The handwriting was large, and obviously applied by a shaking hand. Still, it was clearly his father’s.

  “Wait,” said Fabio. “Did Mr Houghton senior lick the envelope?”

  The nurse shook his head as he left. “It’s contaminant free.”

  Nick folded the letter and put it into his pocket. He’d read it later. He’d seen enough of them. Or maybe he’d just burn this one.

  “We want you to think about what we’ve asked you,” Waldren said.

  Nick didn’t reply.

  “We can talk about the details,” Waldren continued. “But with what you know, I’m sure we can come up with a workable plan. Something that can save us all.”

  47

  New Pompeii

  PULLUS SHIVERED. The evening was cool. It never truly got cold in New Pompeii, but for the first time this season he felt like he could do with a cloak. In the summer, his garden was full of roses, violets and cypress. Now it smelt simply of wet soil. He swept his hand across the leaves of a pomegranate tree, then took hold of one of its reddish fruits, but didn’t pick it. Instead he pulled on it slightly, and let the branch resist.

  The slave had spoken Spanish. Pullus could speak some basic Italian, as well as both formal and street Latin. But Spanish had always eluded him. Similar to Italian but infused by invaders who’d brought their own culture, and therefore much like English, a language with its own set of inconsistent rules and etymology. What was a Spaniard doing in New Pompeii?

  There’d been a few who’d tested their luck in the early days of New Pompeii. Some had managed to get through the fences erected by NovusPart, and subsequently maintained by Calpurnia’s father, Barbatus. But once in, they never left.