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Chapter Text

5 December 2085

Dr Templer:

I apologise for the way you were thrown into this position. Thank you for being willing to fill in for me as Head of the History Faculty, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to ask you in person. Many of the people who have visited me while I’m here in hospital have mentioned how well you stepped into my shoes. Perhaps it’s time I let you take over for good…I’m getting old. The doctors say I’ll be all right this time, but what about next time?

I’m sure Dr Nakamura will come in to see you before end of term, asking when the department will consider her plan to radically rewrite all of the first year foundational history courses. The answer is, not for several more years if I can help it, but you had probably better not tell her that. See if you can put her off at least until I return, and I’ll deal with her when I get back. I’ll probably ask her to put together another committee to consider the long-term effects of such a change; the last such committee was good for nearly five months’ postponement.

I hardly need tell you to keep an eye on the Thornes. To tell them not to come up with any surefire moneymaking schemes would be about as successful as telling them not to breathe; but perhaps you could push them toward the more conventional and less dangerous ways of making money. When last I checked, their school bill for the next semester was unpaid, so I am sure they will be expressing concerns about that. They are good students despite their flaws, so please do your best to keep them at the school. I hope Jacob will be able to finish his thesis on Shakespeare’s tragedies; it shows such promise.

There are so many other things I could write to you—suggestions, warnings, ideas—but I trust you, Polly. Take care of our history department. I know you will.

Sincerely,
James Dunworthy

It was past 9pm when Polly Templer arrived home. Being temporary head of the history faculty at the University of Oxford certainly held more responsibilities than she had realised in her previous roles as student, intern, or even professor. Her husband Colin met her at the door with his finger to his lips. “I just put Michael and Miranda to bed for the third time, and I hope to goodness they stay there this time,” he whispered. “Don’t let them know you’re home.”

While Colin brought her things in, Polly headed for the kitchen. But as she passed the stairs, a sudden movement caught her eye. She craned her neck to see, and sure enough… “Colin!” she called. “I think there are a couple of somebodies here who need to be put to bed for a fourth time!”

“But Mommy, we want to know what the letters say!” said Miranda, tiptoeing further down the stairs.

“Did your friend who stayed in the twentieth century really send letters to you?” asked Michael.

“Yes, dear. Now go to bed, and tomorrow I’ll tell you what the letters say.”

“No, you won’t! Tomorrow you’ll be gone to work from before we get up to after we go to bed, just like you were today!”

Colin came back and headed up the stairs, brushing past Polly. He swung Miranda up in his arms and placed a firm escorting hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Your mother will be home earlier tomorrow, you’ll see,” he said. “Now get to bed or you’ll have to wait until the weekend to read your great-great-grandmother’s letters.”

“Is she really our great-great-grandmother?” Miranda squealed.

“Maybe,” said Colin. “My family didn’t keep any genealogical records, so I can’t be sure.” He pushed Michael into his room and then set Miranda down on her bed. “Now, stay in bed this time.”

Polly kissed the children goodnight and followed her husband down the stairs. “Were you this hard to keep in bed when you were their age?” she asked him.

Colin darted a glance at the closed doors behind which the children no doubt lurked, listening attentively. “Oh, I was worse,” he murmured. His face lit up with a mischievous grin. “I’d tell you stories, but I don’t want them to get ideas. Just—if they tell you that the light came on unexpectedly and they need you to come in and turn it off? Be wary. I redid the wiring in the ceiling once so the light couldn’t be turned off, and my mother fiddled with it for two hours before she gave up and let me sleep in her room.”

“Oh, dear,” Polly said with a chuckle. She went into the kitchen and put a pot of water on to boil for tea. “So did you get Merope’s letters?” she asked. “Or were the children just telling tales?”

“Don’t worry, I did get the letters,” he said. “There wasn’t any hassle at all. The whole package was labelled that it shouldn’t be opened until November 2090. When the lawyers opened the package on that date, they found a letter directing them to deliver the package to you, me, or Mr Dunworthy. Fortunately, they didn’t investigate the matter much past that, so they don’t realise that the Eileen Goode who left the package was technically a contemp. They think that a historian on a temporary assignment left the letters for us; after all, it was obviously someone who knew something of what the future held, since she knew the names of several prominent historians.” While Polly poured the tea, he stepped over to one of the drawers and pulled out a brown-paper-wrapped package.

Polly set down the teapot with a clatter, leaving the tea half poured. “There’s quite a few of them,” she said. Colin handed her the package, and she opened it hastily. “Oh, Merope…”

Colin wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. “Do you want to read them all at once, or shall we save them?” he asked.

Polly flipped through the large stack of letters, all crisp with age. They appeared to be in chronological order; the first was dated 24 April 1941, less than a week after Colin had come to rescue them, and they continued on even into the 1980s. There were at least a hundred letters, perhaps closer to two hundred. “Perhaps just one?” she said. “She wrote all these letters and never even knew for certain that we would ever see them. I wish I could have seen her again, and know that she was happy.” She felt burgeoning tears on her eyelashes, and brushed them away firmly. “I’m sorry, I just…every time I manage to forget that one of my dearest friends died before I was born, something shows up to remind me.”

“Merope made the choice that made her happy, and she wanted you to do the same,” said Colin, pouring the rest of the tea. “Shall we read one of the letters, then, and save the rest for later?”

24 April 1941

My dear Polly,

I miss you terribly. We all do. For now, rehearsals for the pantomime have kept me too busy to truly contemplate the fact that I will never see you or Colin or Mr Dunworthy again, but I am sure I will have plenty of time to realise the weight of my decision in the future. I do not regret it, however. Alf and Binnie need family, need a mother, need someone who will make sure they are fed and educated and cared for, and this is something I can do for them.

The pantomime opens a week from tomorrow. Sir Godfrey has been storming around in that ridiculous moustache yelling at everybody. I think he misses you a great deal. However, his stern direction has paid off, and the production has definitely come together. The bramble bushes have learnt how to fall over like dominoes, and I finally know all of your lines.

When you left with Mr Dunworthy and Colin, there was quite a bit of confusion as everyone tried to fix the scrim. The carpenter finally showed up an hour later. He was aged and not at all handsome, but Alf and Binnie seemed concerned that I would run off with him, even though I had not abandoned them when even you asked me. They took it in turns to guard both me and him the entire time he was here. The man was nearly eighty! I promise you, if I were to abandon Alf and Binnie (and I can’t say I’m not tempted sometimes) and run off with a man, it would be someone handsome and much younger than eighty. Someone like your Colin…or perhaps Vicar Goode from the manor.

The scrim has actually fallen down twice in the week since then. Both times, Alf and Binnie were in the vicinity, yet somehow their complicity could not be proven. The second time, all of the children had been duelling each other with the prop swords. I suspect from the material evidence that Trot got her sword caught in one of the ropes and that Alf pulled several important ropes loose when he released her sword—but you have not heard such declarations of innocence as they set forth when Sir Godfrey arrived at the scene. To hear them talk, they had all been out in the theatre seats taking tea, and none of them had set foot anywhere near the scrim.

I am writing this at rehearsal (since that is where I am spending all my time this week) and Sir Godfrey is calling for Prince Dauntless, so I must close. I am so looking forward to seeing you again, Polly! Everyone is hoping for the end of the war, but I have one more reason than most. I hope you are eating lots of cakes and ice cream and ham and other good things. Take care of yourselves, my dear friends.

Eileen O’Reilly

When she had finished reading Eileen’s letter aloud, Polly set it back in the stack and began to fold the wrapping paper back around the letters. “Don’t you want to read any more today?” Colin asked.

“No, I want to save them,” said Polly. “Merope had her whole life to write these, I can take my whole life to read them.” She frowned suspiciously as a thought struck her. “Did you peek at them? Is there a reason you want me to read ahead?”

“What? No, of course not. I wouldn’t—I promise I left the package exactly as I found it until I gave it to you. All the more reason why I want to know what the letters hold. Don’t you think we had at least have copies made for safekeeping? In case the house burns down or something?”

“I’ll take them with me tomorrow and have copies made, but the house is not going to burn down. Or if it does, it won’t be until I’ve finished grading all those term papers that are in my desk, because life is unfair that way.”

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, Polly sat down at the desk in her office with a sharp pencil, a stack of students’ papers, and a mug of hot chocolate. The first interruption arrived less than ten minutes after she did. “Professor Templer? Do you have a moment to discuss my grade? Why did you give me an F on this paper?” It was the usual tale…“But I did cite my sources! Do I really have to put everything in quotation marks too?” and “I thought you said it was only supposed to be a three-page paper.”

While Polly was still in conference with the distraught paper-writer, one of the graduate historians stuck his head in the door. “Professor Templer, why has my drop been rescheduled? I’ve already bought train tickets to go home for Christmas, and I have to go to the 1960s before then! Mum will be furious if I miss Christmas dinner for anything, even the first Beatles concert!” Polly suggested that he buy his mother an album at the concert—conveniently neglecting to mention that it probably wouldn’t be allowed back through the net—and insisted that she had no control over when drops were scheduled. She went back to defining plagiarism for the first student, until another student showed up to express worries that she wouldn’t be able to graduate.

Two hours later, Polly was ready to drag Mr Dunworthy out of hospital and make him take over his rightful position as Head of the History Faculty right then and there. Instead, she chased the last two grade-grubbing students out of her office with threats not to grade their exams if they didn’t get out right then. She closed her door and leaned against it with a sigh, gazing around the blissfully empty office. Unfortunately, she was only able to enjoy the sight for fifteen seconds before a knock sounded on her door. “Professor Templer? Are you there?” a man called. If it had been a student, she would have pretended to be out, but it was Jandreski from Medieval. Polly sighed. “Come in, Mr Jandreski. I’m in the middle of grading. What do you need?”

“It’s the Thornes, they’re causing trouble again.”

“Thorns? If the rose bushes need trimming, you need to talk to the groundskeeper, not to me.”

“Not thorns, Thornes. You know, that annoying brother and sister who always have some moneymaking project to spend every spare minute on, but never any money to show for it.”

“Oh dear, those Thornes. What have they done this time?”

“It’s not what they’ve done, it’s what they haven’t done. They put up posters around the college, offering to proofread students’ term papers cheap. Several of my less discerning students gave their papers to Jacob, and apparently he not only hasn’t proofread them, but he hasn’t given the papers back either.”

“Don’t tell me they were foolish enough to give him their only copies?”

“Most knew better, but Crystal Warheit only made one copy. If she fails the class, she can’t go on her assignment, which is already scheduled for January. I don’t want her to fail—that’s why I’m going after the Thornes instead of making her learn from her mistake. So? What shall we do? It’s not as if this is the first time they’ve caused trouble. I think they should be expelled.”

“Please, Mr Jandreski. We don’t expel students for agreements they made outside of their classwork. I promise I’ll look into it and try to get Crystal’s paper back, but the Thornes are good students and I don’t want Oxford to lose them.” She stood up and escorted Jandreski to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some papers to grade.”

This time, once she was alone in the office, she locked the door and put her coat under the door so the light wouldn’t show through. She sat down at her desk and picked up the first ungraded exam paper, then set it down with a sigh. “That’s enough work for one morning, I think,” she murmured, reaching for the package of Eileen’s letters.

30 May 1941

Dear Polly,

Why did I ever decide to stay here and raise these children? Today I sent Alf on an errand—we’re producing another play and we needed more prop swords, so I thought he might be able to find some scrap lumber someplace. He was gone longer than I expected, but he brought back plenty of boards that fit our needs perfectly, so I didn’t think anything of it. That is, I didn’t think anything of it until I happened to go into his room this evening. Polly, I think he got those boards from bombed-out houses. There were all sorts of other things hidden under his bed that looked like they had also been looted from some abandoned building. What shall I do? I know he had done some minor looting when he and Binnie were on their own—they admitted that’s how they obtained Mrs Bascombe the parrot—but I thought he was past that. When I asked him about it earlier this year, he said that the things he’d taken weren’t any good to their owners any more, which is true, but it’s about more than that, isn’t it? If I don’t teach these children right and wrong, nobody will, and I don’t want Alf to end up at the Old Bailey no matter how much he deserves it.

Eileen

30 May P.S. I talked to Alf, and he admitted that he had taken the various treasures from abandoned houses, along with the boards. He claims he can’t remember where he got everything, so I’m not going to make him return them. He says he realises that looting is wrong, and promised he won’t do it again, so that’s something at least. I hope I’m doing this right. I’ve never been a mother before.

After reading Eileen’s letter, Polly returned to grading exam papers. She had nearly half an hour of uninterrupted silence, before another knock came at the door. She strongly considered ignoring it, but finally got up and cracked the door open. Jacob and Zara Thorne were standing there. They were dressed much too informally for the academic setting, which was usual for them, and they looked unhappy. Jacob was carrying a clipboard, and held a portfolio full of papers under his arm.

“Good morning, Professor Templer,” said Zara.

Jacob elbowed her in the ribs. “It’s not morning any more, silly!” he hissed.

“It’s not noon yet,” Zara snapped back. “What do you call it?”

While Jacob was still trying to think of a good comeback, Polly opened the door the rest of the way and let them come into the office. “Good morning, Zara. Good afternoon, Jacob.”

“Good morning, Professor,” Jacob replied calmly. “Since as Zara mentioned, it’s not noon yet.”

“What have you come to see me about today?” Polly asked, sitting down at her desk and moving papers out of sight. “Is this about Crystal Warheit’s missing term paper?”

“You mean this one?” Jacob asked, flipping the portfolio open and pulling out some stapled papers covered in red markings. “It’s not missing, she just gave it to me to proofread. And believe me, she needed it. Would you believe she spelt ‘criticise’ with a ‘z’ every single time she used it? And she got the date of the Black Death wrong, too.”

“Crystal is from America,” said Polly. “They spell ‘criticise’ with a ‘z’ over there. I’m sure she will be happy that you caught her mistaken date, however. But you must hurry and return her paper to her so that she can submit it before the deadline.”

“Deadline?” Jacob gasped. “I knew I forgot something. When do you suppose all these papers are due? I guess that means I shouldn’t wait until term is over to check over the rest of the papers.”

“No, you absolutely should not. I want you to return all of those papers by this evening at the latest. If you can’t proofread them all by then, then give the people their money back along with the papers.”

“But…” Jacob was frantically searching for an alternative solution that didn’t involve returning the money. “But we need that money!”

“And the students need their papers. Surely you have another source of income that doesn’t jeopardise your fellow students’ wellbeing?”

“Not…not really, Professor. We thought of starting a stand in the quad where we could sell sandwiches to students who were too busy to get lunch, but we couldn’t raise enough capital to get started.”

“Your plans are so complicated. Have you considered something simpler? How about babysitting?”

“I never thought of that!” said Zara. “Who would we babysit?”

“Well, for starters, I happen to need a babysitter tonight. If you can be at my house from seven to eleven tonight and successfully get the children to stay in bed, I’ll pay you whatever the going rate is for babysitters plus ten percent.”

“Why ten percent?”

“Because Michael and Miranda are very good at not going to bed, so I believe a small amount of hazard pay on top of the normal fee would not go amiss. I’ll expect you at 7:00 sharp. Now, what was it you came to see me about?”

“We each got a letter from the school today warning us that our fees were past due and that we are liable to be dropped from all our classes if we don’t pay by tomorrow,” Zara said. “But we don’t have any money, as you know. Can you give us one more week to get the money?”

“I don’t think that’s really my department, but I’ll see what I can do,” said Polly. “That is, on condition that you two return everybody's papers by this evening, and that you show up to babysit as you promised. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” they both said. “Thank you so much, Professor,” Zara continued. “I promise you won’t regret this. We have to go proofread these papers now, but we’ll be at your house at seven o’clock.”

“I’m glad. Goodbye now,” said Polly, and locked the door again.

Chapter Text

During those long lost years when Colin had been hunting for Polly—haunting the lab, reading every old newspaper he could find, and often skipping meals to do research—Badri had dragged Colin to a little Pakistani restaurant in the outskirts of Oxford. Interested only in his research, Colin had not been very appreciative at the time, but since Polly’s return they had begun to go there often, as the food was quite good. This particular evening, they managed to be seated at their table and were halfway through ordering before the manager needed to come over. “Your babysitter is on the phone, Mr Templer,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Colin. “I think this just might be the longest a babysitter has waited before they had to call us,” he commented as he headed to the phone.

While she waited for him to return, Polly pulled Eileen’s letters out of her purse and toyed with the string holding them together. She considered reading one, but decided to wait for Colin. Instead, she ate the rest of the naan bread. “Have they burnt the house down yet?” she asked when Colin returned.

“Not quite,” he said. “Apparently, shortly after we left, they talked Zara into letting them help her make cookies. She assured me she would not have called and bothered us about the flour all over the sink, or the spilt sugar getting slowly ground into the floor, or the butter that Michael put in Miranda’s hair; but when the oven made a popping sound and launched a jet of flame halfway across the kitchen, she thought she had better let us know.” He shrugged. “It could have been bad, but as it happens, nobody was even singed, so there’s no harm done and Michael now knows better than to the use the oven for drying his model weapons.”

“No, you mean now we know not to use the oven without checking first,” Polly said. “You can’t depend on Michael to remember what happened by the next time he thinks his model needs a little bit of heating.” She picked up Eileen’s letters. “I have a confession to make.”

“You were the one who left Michael’s models in the oven?”

“Not quite. I’m not sure whether you’ll think this is better or worse, but I read one of Eileen’s letters this morning without you.”

“I’m shocked that you would consider doing such a thing,” Colin said, but with a smirk that belied his words. “What should you do to make up for daring to read the letters your friend sent you when you needed a break from grading? I know, we’ll make you read another one.” He reached for the package and flipped through the letters, plucking one from near the top of the stack. “What does Great-Great-Grandma Eileen have to tell us today?”

18 December 1942

Dear Polly,

Mr Goode is here on leave! He arrived yesterday and will be able to stay through Christmas. I was so relieved to see him looking well, as I’ve been very worried for him while he’s been near the battlefront. He tells me now that he was in North Africa, participating in a large Allied invasion. Even though he had so many things to worry about there, he made sure to write frequently, so I would know that he was all right and that he was thinking of me. He’s always been so thoughtful and caring to me. His letters are the thing that I look to more than anything now that you’re gone.

He took me out for dinner today in a real restaurant. What a treat! We had a wonderful time talking. He had so many funny stories and little anecdotes that he had saved up. Though halfway through his first story, we had an unexpected interruption. Gloria (that’s what Binnie’s calling herself currently) came storming into the restaurant holding a film magazine I had given her, with a ragged hole right through the centre. She told a sad tale about how Alf had decided that we need to be equipped to defend our home if the Nazis land on our soil. Since he hasn’t managed to get his hands on a gun (thank goodness!), he made a bow and arrows, which somehow were powerful enough to shoot through Binnie’s magazine. I promised her that I would talk to Alf and buy her a replacement magazine, and managed to console her enough to send her home.

I’m sure you can guess what happened next: two minutes later, Alf stormed into the restaurant holding some broken pieces of wood. It turns out that Binnie had reacted more violently than she told us when her magazine was used as a target. I must admit I’m relieved, because I don’t know what I would have done if Alf had still had a working bow. Mr Goode told Alf he understood how he must feel to lose something he’d spent so much time on. After a minute, he had talked Alf down to a dull simmer of anger and convinced him not to destroy any of Binnie’s belongings in retaliation. He then dispatched our would-be archer home with promises to see what they could do to fix the bow tomorrow. I still don’t know how either of them figured out where we had gone to eat. I specifically made sure not to tell them, in hopes of avoiding just such interruptions.

After Alf and Binnie had gone, we did manage to have a good time catching up with other, and he told me all the stories that he had saved for me. I do hope he’ll stay safe when he goes back to the war. I hate thinking of him in danger, and not knowing if he’ll survive.

Eileen

Polly took a bite of sajji when she finished reading the letter. “I suppose we should be thankful that Michael’s weapons were only models,” she remarked.

“I suspect that one of these days soon, Michael and Miranda will figure out how to launch a projectile more than five metres,” Colin said. “We’ve been extraordinarily lucky that they haven’t figured out how to make a bow and arrows yet.”

A movement across the room caught Polly’s eye. “Oh, no,” she said. “There’s Mr Jandreski. I hope he doesn’t come over here and complain about the Thornes again.”

Colin turned around and peered over the back of their booth. “Too late, I think he’s spotted us.”

“Well?” Jandreski said, storming up to them. “Did you do something about the Thornes? Where is Miss Warheit’s paper?”

“I spoke to them, and they will be returning all the papers by this evening,” Polly said calmly. “Have you asked Miss Warheit whether she has her paper back yet?”

“Well, no, but—”

“And furthermore,” Colin said, standing up to look Jandreski in the eye, “this is not your workplace and my wife is not accustomed to dealing with work matters at the dinner table. So if you will excuse us, we need to resume our dinner.” He sat down and took a bite, resolutely ignoring the historian behind him.

“If Miss Warheit has not gotten her paper by tomorrow morning, you can tell her to come see me,” Polly said. “I appreciate your concerns, but you must excuse us now.” To her relief, Jandreski appeared mollified by this promise and returned to his table.

Chapter Text

When Polly and Colin returned home after their evening out, the Thornes were quite ready to leave. Zara pulled the door open before they even had it unlocked, and she and Jacob hurtled onto the porch with a “Welcome back, Mr & Mrs Templer.”

“The children are both asleep in bed,” Zara added over her shoulder.

“Wait, don’t you want to get paid?” Polly called.

“Oh, right. You can just give me the money next week if you like. I know you won’t forget.” She ran after her brother. “Bye!” she called back.

“Why do you suppose they were in such a hurry?” Colin remarked. “Do you suppose they left something behind and didn’t want to be here when we discovered it? Perhaps we had better check the house for large messes.”

“Or we could just start with the children,” said Polly. “They’re liable to have been at the centre of anything that happened.” She headed upstairs to the children’s bedrooms. The living room, at least, looked clean as they passed through; whatever the Thornes were hiding had not happened there.

Michael poked his head out of the bedroom. “Hi, Mum!” he said. You’ve got to catch the Thornes before they break into the lab!”

“What lab?” Polly asked, puzzled. “Why are they going to break into a lab?”

“They were talking after we went to bed, trying to come up with ideas for making money. I had to sneak back in my room a couple times so they wouldn’t see me, so I didn’t hear all of it, but right before you got back they were talking about ways to access the net without anybody noticing. I think they’re going to try to travel back in time to sell story ideas to authors before the authors come up with the ideas themselves!” His statement was met with silence, as his parents contemplated this odd assertion and wavered between believing him and sending him back to bed. “They were talking about all sorts of science fictiony ideas,” he added. “Time travel used to be science fiction, you know. I think they’re going to go back in time tonight!”

“That sounds like just the crazy sort of thing they would actually do,” Polly said finally.

“They absolutely would try it,” said Colin. “We have to get to the net now before they get through.”

“Yes, let’s go…but what about Michael and Miranda?”

“We’ll come with you!” Michael said. “I promise, we’ll be very quiet and sit in a corner and not do anything if you let us stay up late just this once!”

Miranda came running out of her room, putting her coat on over her pyjamas. “See? I’m all ready to go!”

Colin shot Polly a glance over the children’s heads. “Time is of the essence,” he said, “and we certainly don’t have a reliable babysitter at our beck and call. Perhaps it would be educational for them to see the net.”

“‘Educational’ is putting it mildly,” said Polly. “All right you two, do you promise that you will do what you’re told and not interfere at all?”

“Yes, Mum,” said Miranda. She ran back into her room. “Just let me get my shoes!”

“Michael?”

“Sure, Mum. Does this mean we’re going to visit your work?”

“Yes, Michael.”

“Cataclysmic! I told my friends that I was allowed in the history lab at Balliol, but they wouldn’t believe me. Now it’ll be true!”

Colin came out of Miranda’s room holding her by the hand and carrying her shoes in the other hand. “Son, why did you tell them you were allowed in the lab if you aren’t?” he asked.

“But I am! You never said I wasn’t, anyway.” He headed for the front door. “What are we waiting for? They’re going to beat us to the lab!”

“But what about my shoes?” Miranda wailed as Colin also headed for the door, still holding her hand.

“You can put them on on the way,” said Colin. “Come on, we’ve got to catch our renegade historians.”

Michael and Miranda weren’t happy to be left in Polly’s office, but Colin knew from experience that impulsive children should not be allowed anywhere near the net unless they were duct-taped to the wall. “And even that wouldn’t be foolproof,” he murmured to Polly as they headed down the hall to the lab. “Mr Dunworthy threatened to do that the first time I came to the lab after we rescued Kivrin Engle, but I told him I’d just bite my way through it, so he might as well just trust me to stay in the corner. Which I did.”

“Surely he knew that you wouldn’t actually be able to bite through the tape?”

“I suppose he did, and maybe he wasn’t ever seriously considering it. I made sure to seriously consider a way to avoid it, however. I wouldn’t have bit through the tape; I would have just pretended to bite through the tape so they wouldn’t notice me retrieving my pocket torch. The batteries they used back then overheated very easily, so I could have just triggered them to overheat and then melted through the tape. That is, if I had needed to get loose and into the net, which I didn’t.”

“It’s a wonder Mr Dunworthy didn’t permanently ban you from the net,” Polly said as she opened the door of their destination. “Although I’m very, very glad he didn’t.”

“He wanted to sometimes,” said Colin. “But don’t worry, I would have sneaked in and rescued you even if I hadn’t had permission to be here.”

Polly smiled, then started to look around the lab. “Here, look,” she said. “These lights on the console mean someone’s been using this, right?”

“Looks like it,” Colin said. “Too bad. I was hoping the net wouldn’t let them through since they were trying to change history.”

“Perhaps they aren’t trying to change history,” said Polly. “Perhaps all the stories they’re trying to sell already exist. So many records have been lost, what with pinpoint bombs and the destruction of the Internet and the assorted scares that surrounded the Pandemic. There used to be Hugos, and Galaxies or something, and all sorts of lists of science fiction books, but they’re all gone now. So we can’t know whether the Thornes accomplished—will accomplish—anything.”

“And we can’t know whether we stopped them either, so we have to try,” said Colin. He sat down at the console and started typing. A blue light came on. “They went to Colorado,” he said, and pressed a few more keys. “Somewhere in the northeast part of the state. December…1980. I think. Of course both the exact location and the exact time depend on how much slippage there was…” Readouts scrolled across the screen in response to another button. “I don’t think our clothes will pass for the 1980s. Do you think you could slip into Wardrobe and find something?”

“I’ll give it a try,” said Polly, and turned toward the door just as it slammed open with a loud bang.

“Nobody touch anything!” Badri yelled, running into the room. “Oh, it’s you.” He frowned suspiciously and pushed past them to look at the console. “Why are you running a drop to Colorado in the 1980s?”

“We’re not, we’re trying to catch the students who did,” said Colin. “How’d you know to come here, anyway?”

“I have a small program running in the background on the console that sends me a message unless I enter a passcode. I get plenty of false alarms when authorised techs are running drops, but it’s worthwhile for catching people who are sneaking in after hours.” He gave Polly and Colin a glare that clearly included both of them in this latter category.

“If you really want to catch unauthorised users of the net, you should give us a hand,” said Colin. “A couple of students have gone back to the eighties, probably to try to sell science fiction story ideas to the authors who would eventually write those same stories. We need to go back and catch them before they manage to make money they don’t deserve.”

Badri sighed. “Let me guess…the Thornes are up to their usual tricks?”

“Their usual tricks don’t normally involve time travel, but yes.”

“We’ve got to get going before they get even farther ahead of us,” said Polly. “I haven’t been any time close to the 1980s. What about you, Colin? You did a lot of research then. Should I go alone?”

“I went to 1983 and 1986, but not 1980,” Colin said. “I’ll go with you. We won’t get stuck there, everything will be fine.”

“I take it you want me to run a drop,” said Badri.

“Would you?” said Polly, giving him a wide smile.

Colin nodded. “Please, Badri? We need to catch up with them before they do any more damage. We would really appreciate it.”

“If I had a penny for every time I’ve done you a favour…” Badri muttered, sitting down at the console. “This is really not how I intended to spend my Thursday night.” He started typing. “Flash time or real time?”

“Real time,” said Polly. “You can run intermittent retrievals throughout the night. We should be back in a couple hours. Oh, and I suppose you should leave the Thornes’ drop open too, if you can.” She headed for the door. “I’m going over to Wardrobe. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll have your drop ready in ten minutes,” Badri said. “I’ll send you to the same location as the Thornes’ drop, but do you want to arrive before or after?”

“Make it five minutes before, and we’ll hope there’s no slippage,” said Colin. He followed Polly out the door on his own errand.

Ten minutes later, Badri had the drop set up, Polly had found clothes that would pass in the 1980s, and Colin had brought Michael and Miranda into the lab, convincing Badri to keep an eye on them. The children pulled chairs over into the corner of the room farthest from Badri’s console, hidden from his sight by the curtains of the net. They had found some books in their mother’s office and they settled in to read quietly. Colin and Polly hurriedly pulled on their costumes, then stood inside the net as Badri made a last few adjustments.

“You’re going to Denver, Colorado, 12:30 pm on 19 December 1980,” Badri said, sitting at the console. He made eye contact with the two historians. “Ready?”

They both nodded.

“Then good luck,” Badri said, and the net began to shimmer. Suddenly, he jumped up, barely visible behind the shimmer. At the same time, something impinged upon the net. Colin was knocked to his knees by the unforeseen blow, and Polly fell forward against the curtains of the net; but as she fell, the curtains were engulfed by the shimmer and disappeared. Badri had been yelling something, but his voice was no longer audible. Polly and Colin stumbled to their feet and turned around. There stood Michael and Miranda with big smiles on their faces, and behind them, the skyline of Old Denver.

“I…shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose,” said Polly after a minute. She turned to Colin, who was trying not to laugh. “Please tell me that this was not your idea.”

“Of course not, dear,” said Colin. “I wouldn’t bring the children along without asking your permission. However, diving through the net without authorisation is a…family tradition. So I can’t claim complete irresponsibility.”

Miranda tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, Daddy! I don’t think it’s 12:30. Do you think we had slippage?”

“That would be about the shape of our luck,” said Colin with a sigh, looking at the orange and red sky, which did not resemble any noon hour they had ever seen. “Why is it only the time sensitive drops that have slippage? Every single time I came back to the seventies and didn’t need to arrive at a particular time, I had almost no slippage, and now we must have had at least several hours.”

“Maybe it’s earlier,” Michael suggested. “Maybe that’s a sunrise, not a sunset.”

“Which is going to make the fact that your sister is wandering around in her nightgown even more ridiculous,” Polly said acerbically. “Colin, do you suppose we’d better give up and wait here until the drop opens?”

Colin grinned. “I don’t see why we should. I’m sure Michael and Miranda will be completely cooperative and obedient if we let them come along, isn’t that right, you two?”

“Of course, Dad,” said Miranda. “And everyone will think I’m just wearing a white dress, because nobody wears nightgowns in the middle of the day.”

“How are we going to find the Thornes, anyway?” asked Michael. “Since we got here after them.”

Colin glanced around speculatively. They were standing in a deserted small park outside the city, from which they could see the buildings of downtown Denver as well as the surrounding mountains. Nobody was in sight, of course, or they would not have been able to come through the drop, but they would not need to walk very far to be swallowed up by the everyday crowds of humanity. “We’ll start by assuming that we just missed them by a few hours at most,” Colin said. “We’ll claim they’re your cousins who we were trying to meet up with, and ask people if they have seen them.”

“Good plan,” said Polly. “But it doesn’t need all four of us. Why don’t you three go ask people about the Thornes, while I try to determine our temporal location?”

“It’s 7:30,” said Michael. “It must be the morning, because if it were 7:30 in the evening the sun would already have set.”

“Very good,” said Polly. “How did you know that?”

Michael pointed at a bank sign just visible through the trees next to the park. It blinked between displaying “7:31” and “44°”.

“Forty-four degrees?” said Polly. “But it’s not nearly that hot out. Oh, right, we’re in America.”

“Despite Michael’s eagle eyes, we still don’t know what day it is,” Colin said. “Polly, why don’t you go buy a newspaper while we wander around asking people if they’ve seen our cousins. We’ll meet back here in half an hour.”

After buying a newspaper, Polly didn’t bother to go back to the drop. Instead, she set out down the street in the wake of her family, catching up with them after only a few minutes. “Any luck?” she asked.

“Not a bit,” said Colin. “I’m beginning to think the Thornes did not come through here recently.”

“I think so too,” she said, and showed him the front page. It was dated December 22.

“Three days?” he said, startled. “That’s a lot of slippage.”

“You think they’ve already contacted their targets?” Polly asked.

“Probably. Which brings up an alternate method of finding them. Do you suppose we could find a list of the phone numbers of famous science fiction authors?”

“I don’t think they would publicise their contact information,” Polly said doubtfully.

“But we might be able to find it somewhere,” Colin said. “Where’s the nearest library?”

The librarian at the Central Library in Denver was able to locate contact information for a long list of science fiction authors, and she didn’t even ask any inconvenient questions about what they wanted it for. Colin tore the sheet of phone numbers in half and led the way to a bank of phone booths near the entrance. “We’ll say we’re trying to find our cousins,” he said. “Imply that they’ve escaped from protective custody or a mental hospital or something, but try to make as few outright claims as possible. Stop as soon as you find any possible lead.”

“Right,” said Polly. She pulled Miranda into the telephone booth with her. “Keep an eye on Michael, will you?”

Colin nodded. “Michael, you’re in charge of reading the numbers to me and crossing people off.” He handed him a pencil.

Half an hour later, Polly tapped on the glass door of Colin and Michael’s booth. Michael put his finger to his lips, signalling for her to keep quiet while Colin finished the call. After a moment, they opened the door. “Any luck?” Polly asked.

“A lot of negatives. Poul Anderson, Michael Bishop, and Orson Scott Card all say they haven’t heard from them—or at least their agents say so. I wasn’t able to get hold of Isaac Asimov or his agent, so hopefully the Thornes weren’t able to either. What about you?”

“Well, I started at the end of the list, and I think I may have slipped up on my first call, which was to somebody named Zahn. He kept asking questions, and I let slip that I wasn’t familiar with several things that anybody actually from this time would know. I made some sort of excuse about not being from around there, and he started mumbling about an idea for a book—what if people thought they had travelled to a new land, and they had actually just travelled to a new time, and would they be able to tell what had happened? I don’t think I said anything to give away that I was a time traveller, but he was very astute.”

“That would be ironic, if we managed to accomplish the very thing we came here to prevent. Any other leads?”

“Yes, actually, that’s why I interrupted you. And I think I’ve figure out why they came to Colorado.”

“Yes? Who was their target?”

“A not-very-well-known author named Connie Willis. She’s written some short stories, and not much else. She did have a story nominated for the Hugo Award this year, though. Anyway, she lives in Greeley, which is about an hour away from here, and she said that yesterday she met with two people matching the Thornes’ description. I’m afraid it’s bad news—she was pretty evasive, but she said they talked for a very long time and that they had many ‘stimulating ideas’, so I’m guessing they did tell her about time travel. I don’t know if she believed that it actually exists or not; I couldn’t tell from talking to her. Anyway, whether she believe my cover story about my insane asylum escapee cousins or not, she did give me their contact information. They’re staying here in Denver, even. Shall we go see if they’re at their hotel now?”

“Let’s go!” said Michael.

Chapter Text

The two Thornes were staying in a drab nondescript Motel 6 not far out of downtown Denver. “What if they aren’t in their room? Or if they’ve changed rooms?” Polly worried.

“We’ll consider those possibilities later,” Colin said. He checked the numbers of the nearby first floor rooms. “Room 203 should be directly above here,” he said. “You’d better go out front and wait below their window, just in case.”

“What are you planning?” Polly asked.

“Better you not know. Don’t worry, it will be completely legal and not attract any attention to us. Hurry now so you’ll be in place when I need you.”

While Polly loitered on the front sidewalk of the motel, Colin, Michael, and Miranda headed upstairs to room 203. Colin pounded on the door. “Zara and Jacob Thorne, come out here right now,” he intoned in his sternest, deepest voice.

“We’re coming to get you!” Michael and Miranda chorused gleefully, and banged on the window.

Colin banged on the door again, then came over to the window when there was no response. “See anybody?” he asked.

“Zara peeked out from behind the curtain, but she ducked right back again when she saw us,” Michael reported.

“We’d better go after them, or they’ll just hole up in the back of the room,” said Colin. “You two keep back.” He pulled a small tool out of his pocket.

“I don’t think miniaturised electric unsealers existed in the 1980s,” Michael whispered as his father held the unsealer up to the window.

“But they’ve been legal as long as they’ve been around,” said Colin, tongue between his teeth as he guided the unsealer around the window. “So there’s no way this could be construed as illegal.”

“Unless someone decided we were breaking and entering,” Michael pointed out.

“Oh, don’t be so necrotic,” Colin said. “It will be fine.”

“You can be so 2050s sometimes, Dad. Nobody says ‘necrotic’ anymore.”

“I do,” said Colin, and the window swung loose.

“How is this not breaking and entering?” asked Michael.

“Because I didn’t break anything,” his father replied, climbing through the window. “Wait here.”

After a minute, Colin came back and resealed the window, then left the room through the door. “It worked perfectly,” he said. “They tied bedsheets together and headed out the window to get away from us, and ran right into your mother, who is now giving them a lovely lecture on how they’re about two hair’s breadths from being expelled. Come on.”

By the time they reached Polly, she had wound down to “…and I don’t know how you expect to keep this off of your permanent records. I had a school official in my office just this morning, begging me to have you expelled, and that’s before you two had started this ridiculous scheme. I’ve got half a mind to ban you too from the lab permanently, and who cares if that means you can’t complete your theses.” She turned as her family approached, while the two students retained their downcast and contrite posture. “Thank you, Colin. They came out exactly where you said.”

“What were you doing at the window?” Zara asked.

“I’m afraid that’s top secret,” Colin said with a grin.

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Polly. “Let’s get back to the drop before something goes wrong.” She grabbed Michael and Miranda’s hands and led the way down the street. “There are thirty papers on my desk that I need to have graded by 4:00 this afternoon—or rather, the afternoon of 7 December 2085, which is what it will be when we get back. And since I do not think most of my students would accept my being stuck in 1980 as a reason for why their grades are late, I prefer not to be stuck in 1980.” Zara and Jacob followed her meekly.

As they approached the park where the drop site was, they could hear the sound of many people talking. Once they came through the trees, they saw the reason why: there was a large birthday party taking place almost on top of the drop site. Streamers hung from all the trees, balloons with “6”s on them bounced above the chairs, and the birthday boy was just blowing out his candles in front of thirty adoring relatives and friends. “This is a dream, right?” Polly asked. “I am going to wake up, and I’ll just have nodded off in front of my desk with plenty of time to finish grading those papers.”

“We have to get them out of there,” said Colin.

“I know we do,” said Polly. “But how?”

“Wait here and be ready to head for the drop as soon as it’s clear,” said Jacob, tucking in his shirt. “I think I can handle this.”

“What are you going to do?” Polly called after him. “Just a second, tell us what you’re going to do!”

Jacob ignored her and approached one of the birthday party attendees, a man who was running around snapping photos. “Excuse me, sir, do you have a permit for this gathering?” he asked.

“Err…no. We’ve had Timmy’s birthday party here every year, and there’s never been a problem. I didn’t think—who are you, anyway?”

Jacob snapped his wallet open enough that his official looking student-historian ID could be seen, but closed it before the man could actually read any of it. “Jacob Thorne, Denver Special Tax Division. Permits for usage of locations like this are one of the taxes that we take special care to enforce, which is what I’m patrolling for right now. I’m very sorry to interrupt Timmy’s birthday party, but we have some taxpayers who did buy their permits in advance who have reserved this area for the next half hour. I’m sure they would be willing to help you move your party trappings.” He raised his voice. “Hey, permit-paying people! Come help these birthday celebrants move their party!”

Miranda and Michael ran over and started untying balloons, while the three adults grabbed as many packages as they could carry. “Where shall we move these things, Officer Thorne?” Colin asked.

“Down the hill over there behind the trees is a tax-free zone,” said Jacob. “I would suggest that Timmy and his friends move over there so that they don’t have to buy a permit. The fee for permits purchased on the day of the activity is quite exorbitant, you know.”

“Thank you so much, Officer Thorne,” the man said. “I’ll make sure to buy a permit in advance next time, and thank you for not making us buy a permit today. Is this always a tax-free zone?”

“Except on Sundays and public holidays,” said Jacob. “And on the first Monday after Christmas.”

“Good to know.”

As all of Timmy’s guests had helped to carry packages and decorations, the party was quickly relocated, and by the time the Templers and Thornes climbed back up the hill, only a few bedraggled streamers were left by the drop. “Do you suppose it will open now?” Miranda asked.

“Unless somebody happens to head this way, we should be okay,” said Polly. “Let’s hope that man doesn’t have any more questions about how tax-free zones work. The first Monday after Christmas? Jacob, what were you thinking?”

“Whatever he was thinking, it worked,” said Michael. “Look.” Sure enough, the space next to the picnic tables was beginning to shimmer subtly.

“Hurry, everybody over here,” Polly said, hustling the children into position. She turned so she could see the clock at the bank. “Four o’clock. We’ve been here a little over eight hours. Do you suppose Badri’s getting worried?”

The shimmer faded away to reveal the lab. There was a bookcase pushed in front of the door, and all the windows were papered over from the inside. Badri looked up from his console as they appeared. “Thank goodness!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think I could get away with pretending there was nobody here for much longer. I was certain that any minute, somebody was going to notice light escaping from the room and knock on the door.” He turned to the Thornes. “What do you two think you were doing, sneaking through and using the net all by yourselves like that? You made such a hash of that fix, you’re lucky that the Templers went back for you, because I don’t think your drop would have reopened.”

Zara turned pale but Jacob shrugged. “Oh, we would have figured something out.”

“And now you’re going to figure out how to explain yourselves and make up for this little adventure,” said Polly. “My office, both of you, right now. Move.”

“And you two have a little adventure to explain as well,” Colin said to Michael and Miranda. “But first you’re both going to bed. I’ll see when you get home, Polly dear. I hope your grading goes well.”

“I’m sorry, Professor Templer,” Zara said when they were seated in Polly’s office. “I didn’t think it would be that bad. We needed to get money somehow, or we wouldn’t be able to stay here. And I just love studying history so much, I don’t want to have to go home and be a dentist like my dad wanted me to do.”

“It’s not Zara’s fault,” said Jacob. “It’s all my idea. If you have to expel somebody, expel me. I’m the one who broke into the lab. Zara didn’t want to.”

Polly looked across the desk at them and tried to frown sternly. “Let me see if I understand the situation. You two just want to study history, and the only reason you waste your time on all these ridiculous schemes is to finance your study of history. Is that correct?”

They both assented to her statement.

“Mr Dunworthy spoke highly of your thesis, Jacob, when I took over for him. And I sat in on your community outreach presentation about 16th century music, Zara, and I thought it showed promise. I don’t want the school to lose you two. But the moneymaking schemes are getting out of hand. So here is what I want you to do. I want you to each write out and sign a document stating that you will not commence any activities liable to cause annoyance to any member of the school in an attempt to generate income. If you do that, I will let you stay.”

“But how will we be able to afford to stay?” Zara asked.

“Write the documents first and then we’ll discuss that,” Polly said. She stood up and rummaged through her filing cabinet while they wrote.

After a minute of silence, Jacob threw down his pen. “Is this satisfactory, Professor?” he asked.

“I’m finished too,” said Zara.

Polly looked at both papers. “Very good,” she said. “Now why don’t you fill out these.” She handed them each another paper.

“A graduate assistantship?” Zara asked. “But I thought nobody wanted us for a GA.”

“Well, if nobody wants you, I’ll just have to use you in my own classes,” Polly said. “But we’re running a bit short on GAs since several students dropped out earlier in the semester, so you might find that you’re more in demand than you expect.” She grinned. “I hope that helps a little bit with the money situation. Also, if you’re willing, I’d like to ask you to come babysit for me again in the future.”

“You want us to babysit?” Jacob echoed, puzzled. “But I thought we made a mess of things. We had to call you more than once, and it took us forever to get the children to go to bed.”

“Yes, but you got them to bed in the end…and you only called us twice. The last babysitter we had called us every ten minutes the entire evening, and the children were bouncing off the walls and running races on the staircase when we got home; the one before that turned around and left before we could even get out the door. As babysitters go, you’re the best experience we’ve had so far. So as long as I can count on you not to sneak my kids into the net, you’re welcome at my house anytime.”

Jacob and Zara were both smiling by this point, as they stood up to shake hands. “Thank you so much, Professor Templer,” Zara said. “I really appreciate your mercy, and that you came through to fetch us, and that you trust us with your children. We’ll try not to disappoint you.

“That’s all I ask,” said Polly. “Well, that and no more moneymaking schemes. Now try to look properly chastised when you leave here. I don’t want a train of colleagues in and out of here asking why you were grinning; I need to be grading, not explaining.”

Chapter Text

Polly did not grade her waiting term papers immediately. As soon as the Thornes had disappeared from view down the stairs, she slipped out of her office and ran down Broad Street to the Bodleian. Up in a corner that she knew about but had never visited, there was a small collection of old science fiction novels that had been preserved through the Pandemic and pinpoint bomb terrorists and all the other evils that had passed since 1980. Polly didn’t pause but went straight to the bottom of the bookcase where “W” fell alphabetically. There were several books by Connie Willis there. Polly chose one called “Blackout” and flipped it open.

“What do you know,” she whispered. “We’ve been here all along.” She started to read, noting the parts of history that had been changed or made up, and the parts that remained the same. She flipped through to see if Sir Godfrey Kingsman appeared, then stopped herself, recollecting her grading. If these books had waited so long for her, they could bide a little longer. She slipped “Blackout” back onto the shelf in between “To Say Nothing of the Dog” and “All Clear” and left them there to await her. A treasure to look forward to, just like Eileen’s letters.

By the time she returned to her office, it was late enough that she should have started grading right then, but instead she reached for the package of Eileen’s letters and pulled one randomly out from the stack.

8 May 1945

Dear Polly,

VICTORY! There have been such parties today and yesterday to celebrate our long-awaited V-E Day. But of course you know all about them. I saw you today! I was so afraid I wouldn’t make it there in time—although of course I knew I would somehow. As it ended up, Alf was a great help in that; he threatened to light a firecracker, and everybody scattered. And after I had seen you and thought there was nothing else good to happen, he found the vicar! My dear Mr Goode is already back from the war, and he was such a wonderful sight. All muddy and exhausted and SAFE and WELL and I do not know what I should have done without him. He took tea with us today, and he is coming again tomorrow.

Yesterday, Binnie told me that she and Alf knew I was a time traveller. She saw me at the drop when I was first at the manor, and then they heard us talking in the staircase, and again at the theatre. I suppose I’m not surprised. I was surprised at the vicar’s lack of reaction when they let it slip to him, though. Today at tea, Alf mentioned that Polly hadn’t actually gone to Canada, and somehow they ended up telling him that she was a time traveller and so was I. Mr Goode didn’t even blink, but turned to me and said “I suppose that means you already know how this ends—shall I return it?” I don’t know how he obtained it, but he had brought me a copy of Agatha Christie’s new mystery “Remembered Death”, which was published in America in February but isn’t due to be published here until the end of the year. And then he kissed me again. I think that means he doesn’t have a problem with marrying a time traveller. I certainly hope he doesn’t.

I think I shall enjoy reading the book just as much even though I know what happens. Don’t you think I shall?

Eileen