Time Lord

Time Lord

2500 words

Olivia loved showing off her new tattoo: a falcon whose wings spread across her shoulders. Billy, her kid assistant and she had been comparing tattoos.

 “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” she laughed. The small dove on his bicep looked more like a parrot than an eagle and when he saw the falcon his jaw dropped.

“Holy shit: that must have hurt.”

It had taken hours and cost most of her wages but it made her feel strong. It gave her wings to fly! “Who needs Red Bull?”

 The more her father tried to talk her out of it the more she wanted it.

“What would your poor mother say if she were alive?”

That was him, always wanting to be in control, have the last word.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Olivia hoped her mother was sitting on a pink fluffy cloud somewhere, sipping gin and cheering her on – “Go girl!”

Like when she said she wanted to be an archaeologist.

 Her father said: “Some job for a girl. What man wants to come home to a woman with dirt under her nails and smelling of mud?”

It was her mother who had given her the money to pay for the masters when she went to see her in hospital.

“Never mind your father, you follow your dream. He means well, but let’s face facts, he’s an idiot.”

It was the last day of the dig and they had to finish before the bulldozers came in and obliterated everything to start on the new supermarket. Her boss was just as bad as her father.

“Don’t waste time looking for small stuff. Just make sure we don’t miss anything major.”

He just wanted his picture in the paper and a shot at the top job.

Olivia wanted to shout: “it’s the small things that matter, asshole! like that piece of pottery.”

When she kicked it in a temper the pain in her toe made her realise that it wasn’t just a crock. It was the corner of a small pottery plaque. She could see the outline of a head emerging from the muck as she dropped to her knees and started scraping the dirt away with her trusty trowel. It was bigger than it looked and she realised that the head was just one side of it. The scabs were beginning to heal on her tattoo and she felt them cracking as she leaned forward into the mud to lever the plaque, or whatever it was, out before her boss spotted it. Typical man: if he thought it was anyway significant he would push her aside and take the credit for himself. 

Billy dropped down beside her. “What is it?”

Olivia didn’t mind Billy. He hated the boss as much as she did. “Give me a hand here, Billy. Pull, – one – two - three.”

With a muddy glug the figure came loose. In fact it wasn’t a plaque. It was a cube with faces and symbols carved on the sides. On one side was a gorgon and on the other a goddess. The left side had a crescent moon and the right a rising sun. On top was the carved figure of a monkey. Maybe it was a baboon. Billy reached out to lift it.

“Don’t,” Olivia snapped. “I need to take a picture.”

She wiped her muddy hands on her overalls and used her mobile phone to take a picture of the object in situ. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the boss striding across the field. He had clearly sensed something was going on. Olivia grabbed the cube and lifted it. As she did so she felt the figure of the baboon move. In that instant everything changed and Olivia found herself face down in the mud clutching the cube to her chest. The sound of thunder coming closer roused her and she looked up to see a line of cavalry charging across a grassy slope towards her. A fierce female figure waving a spear was leading from the front. There was no time to run. Olivia buried her head in her hands expecting to be trampled at any moment when she felt herself being grabbed by the scruff of the neck and flung onto the floor of the speeding chariot. 

“The woman grinned at her shouting over the sound of the trumpets: “hang on tight. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride!”

 Her face was painted blue and she screamed at the top of her voice as she led her troops into battle. The air was full of screams and the sound of spears thudding into wood and flesh with a liquid thunk. Olivia hazarded a glance over the rim of the chariot. Lines of roman centurions were lined up in the hedgehog formation, their spears a deadly hedge straight ahead. Olivia ducked down and out of the side she could see the vicious knives strapped to the wheels and hear the screams as they sliced through men and horses. There were human heads tied to the axels of the chariot.

“Oh sweet mother of divine Jesus!” thought Olivia, and then she started to vomit before passing out. As she came to Olivia could hear the sound of fighting and men roaring in the frenzy of battle.

“I have either lost my mind or I am in a different time zone. Did I hit my head? Have I somehow ended up among the cast of Vikings down in the studios in Ardmore.”

 A woman was sitting on a chair looking at her, wiping blue paint off her face.

‘I must look a sight’ thought Olivia. She was liberally splattered with mud and blood and vomit.

“By the Gods, doll, you need a wash,” said the woman. “You do so stink. But before that, could you please tell me: how a girl dressed like you, in those leg things, which by the way are kinda cool in a loose unstructured sort of way - ended up unarmed and unprotected, facing the might of the Roman army? And while you’re at it, where did you get this?” she said, pointing at the cube.

As she was speaking a man walked in. He was tall, muscular and naked save for a skin cloak and a shield. Like the woman his skin was covered in paint and tattoos. Olivia did the elevator eyes thing. “Niiiice,” she thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he asked: “Shall I kill her now, my Queen? We don’t have much time.”

“Nah, later – but first, let’s see what we have here.”

The soldier walked over to Olivia and with his free had grabbed the collar of her t-shirt and ripped it to the waste.

Both he and the Queen stared at the tattoo.

“The wings of Horus!” said the Queen in awe. “Gee, what are we dealing with here: spy? assassin? Or messenger?”

“I’m no spy – I’m an archaeologist for Chrissakes,” said Olivia pulling up the front of her dungarees. The soldier looked at the Queen. “Some kind of grave robber, I think,” and backhanded Olivia across the face knocking her to the floor. “I will make her talk.”

“Enough – get out. Your particular talents are not needed.”

The “Queen” shrugged at Olivia. “Cute: Has his uses, but not the sharpest knife in the box!”

“I am losing my mind” thought Olivia. “There must have been something magical in last night’s mushroom risotto. She struggled to her feet and held out her hand. “Hi, My name is Olivia and you are …..?”

“Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni - my friends call me Bou.”

“And where are we?”

“London, Watling Street to be precise.”

“Could you explain what exactly, is going on?”

“Well, it’s like this: we’ve just been, like, totally defeated by the Roman army and you and I are about to be chopped into very small pieces unless you tweak the Baboon’s tail over there?”

“Baboon?”

“Oh gurrl – get with the programme. You know - Baboon, Thoth, God of life and resurrection, guardian of the underworld and all that shit. He does spells and stuff to guard against demons. Now turn the bloody thing or we are so dead! I mean you’re the one with a falcon on your back and you’re asking me.”

Suddenly, men’s voices could be heard outside the tent.

“Kill them all, except her. I want that bitch alive.”

Boudicca grabbed the cube and gave it a sharp turn towards the rising sun. Immediately there was a sound of rushing wind and Olivia found herself flung with a thump onto a divinely comfortable bed. She looked around in astonishment.

‘Whoa, this is altogether more promising,’ she thought.

The bed was veiled in purple silk hangings and from a neighbouring room came the sound of a harp playing and women splashing in a pool. Every piece of furniture was decorated in gold. Suddenly a voice spoke from across the room: “You took your time. I thought you’d never get here.” Olivia stood up and realised she was now wearing a purple silk tunic and silver sandals.

“Purple, my favourite colour! How’d you know?”

“It’s a Queen thing,” said Bou.

“Bou – what the fuck is going on? One minute you are Boudica, Queen of the Iceni, who is surpisingly au fait with the doings of ancient Egyptian Gods and now - you - we… are…

“Oh the Egyptian stuff. That was from when I was Cleopatra. Count yourself lucky you didn’t land in the tomb with all those Romans banging on the door and the high priest offering eternal life if I let him put my internal organs in a jar and wrap me up in bandages. As for Mark Anthony, don’t get me started. And the whole asp business, no way, Rami-ses. I just turned the dial.”

You turned the dial??

Olivia looked at her blankly.

“You were Cleopatra – then you were Boudica and……. now ? If I may make so bold.”

“It’s Zen. Short for Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra.”

“Of course,” said Olivia. “Silly of me. I should have known. You turned the dial?”

“Don’t you know anything? It’s a timer. You turn it once in the direction of the rising sun and it transports you into another time. Fortunately, it also brings your personal possessions and a shed load of cash. Otherwise, it could be a tad awkward.”

Zen led her over to the balcony where fruit and wine and a roast chicken had been set out on a marble table beneath a silk canopy. The palace stood on a rise looking out over a city of buildings carved from golden sandstone.

“Pretty cool – huh?”

“Any particular reason we’re here? or do you just like travelling?”

“I swore with my dying breath that I would never bend the knee to Rome. Then after the battle of Actium we were just hanging out in the tomb in Thebes waiting for the ferry to the afterlife and I wiped the floor with Thoth, Lord of the Afterlife and Resurrection, in a game of backgammon. He was so not happy but he had to give me something and that was the timer. Problem is, he synced it with the endless struggle against Rome.”

“So the cloud of dust I see forming on the horizon and the sound of marching feet would be ……?

“Yep – you guessed it.”

“And you couldn’t just twist it again and take us somewhere nice. I hear Cancun is kinda fun this time of year.”

“Nope, no can do,’ we gotta see it through to the end.’

 The cloud of dust grew steadily closer until the air was full of the braying of camels, the thud of catapults and the crash of buildings falling. The city would fall at any moment. Still, Zenobia would not consent to leave. Finally, when they heard the sound of screaming from the floor below she stood up and turned to Olivia:”It’s time. We gotta get out of this place. You know, time and tide and all that shit.”

Olivia picked up the cube and turned it three times. This time it was like being shaken in a wind tunnel for several minutes until finally they rolled out onto the carpet of a luxurious and vaguely familiar building. As they stumbled to their feet Olivia saw that they were standing on the balcony of a richly furnished hotel. In front of them rose the glistening dome of the capitol in Washington.

“Ah shit!” said Zen/Bou. “You landed us in the middle of Rome.”

“No,” said Olivia – “it’s Washington.”

“Never heard of it” said Zen.

“Well you wouldn’t. You never met Columbus in your travels, did you? Short version? New country – richest and most powerful, governed by men, wants to rule the world.”

“What’s new?” said Zen.

Through the tall windows behind them they could see into the ballroom of the hotel packed with people shouting and cheering.

Olivia picked up a newspaper. “It’s 2016 and a lot of people are saying it’s time for a woman leader. It’s the Democrats against the Republicans.”

“2016! You certainly twisted that Baboon’s tail! Soooo,-they want a woman leader,” said Zen smoothing down the creases in her A-line skirt. “I might be just the woman they’re looking for.”

“I cane do this. a’ve got the chops for this. Ah cane win this heuh election. By the way what are chops and why am I talking in this strange accent, honey chil?”

“I have a horrible feeling you are starting to sound like one of them. Zenobia, or whoever you are now. I –need to get home. My dad gets really annoyed if his tea isn’t on the table smack on six o’clock. I don’t have time to face the Romans or win an election.”

“Nothing could be simpler. Take the timer and turn towards the crescent moon the appropriate number of turns backwards to take you back to where you started.”

“You for real? Is that it, Zen? You mean I can just twiddle that thing and get home.”

“Just don’t hold on to it or you’ll leave me stranded here. I get the impression they don’t appreciate Queens here.”

“Oh yes they do, but that’s something else entirely. Anyway, what do I call you now?”

“I think Hilary sounds kinda cool. But just one thing: I draw the line at pantsuits, whatever they are.”

“Ok Hilary, good luck with the campaign. Now pass me that goddam timer!”

Olivia picked up the cube and turned it four times towards the crescent moon. There was the familiar whooshing sound and she found herself, once again, face down in freezing mud. “Not again,” she thought, listening for the sound of horses hooves. She turned over and looked up to see two pairs of eyes staring anxiously down at her.

“Geez, Olivia. You had us worried,” said Billy. “We thought you were dead.”