Free 1. Just One Damned Thing After Another by Jodi Taylor

August 1819, sixty thousand demonstrators assembled in St Peter’s Square, Manchester. They were anti-poverty and pro-democracy which did them no favours at all in the eyes of authority. Despite this, the demonstrators regarded this as a fun day out for the family, dressing in their Sunday best and bringing the kids.
    Equally looking forward to the day, but for completely different reasons, were the local yeomanry, led by a Captain Hugh Birley. Drawn from local mill owners and shop proprietors, they would have had strong views about workers gaining the right to vote and having enough to eat.
    Local magistrates read the Riot Act to a very small section of the crowd and then, legal duty done, withdrew to let the drunken yeomanry get on with it. They charged the crowd, ostensibly to arrest Henry Hunt who was speaking from a cart. The protestors linked arms to prevent this and were struck down by the yeomanry, who were, apparently, as pissed as newts. The crowd panicked; this was seen as an attack and six hundred Hussars went in. Eighteen people, including one woman and child, were killed. The military received a message from the Prince Regent, congratulating them on their success.
    With Industrial History as her specialty and as a Mancunian herself, Kalinda Black was all set for this one. So keen was she to go that she ignored persistent abdominal pain, dosed herself with a year’s worth of laxatives, doubled over at breakfast one day, and despite loudly declaring it was only a spot of indigestion, got carted off to meet her fate in Sick Bay.
    I sat contemplating a morning in the Library with no great enthusiasm. Sussman had taken himself off somewhere and I was lingering over a mug of tea before making a move. I jumped a mile as Grant threw himself into a chair beside me, face flushed with excitement, his faint Scottish accent more pronounced than usual. ‘Guess what? Black’s got appendicitis. They’re whipping it out as we speak.’
    Really, I suppose, my reaction should have been concerned sympathy, but first things first.
    ‘So who’s going to Peterloo, then?’
    ‘Obviously, it’s going to be one of us, isn’t it?’
    We looked at each other. I stood lazily. ‘Well, sadly, I’m in the Library all morning. I’ve got a pile of anthropology papers to read.’
    ‘Me too,’ he said casually. ‘What a bummer.’
    I beat him to the door, but he drew ahead as we galloped across the Hall and he got to the Library first. Much good it did him because Dr Dowson, wise in the ways of historians, had two files already waiting. I felt a little bit guilty.
    ‘What about Sussman?’
    He polished his glasses. ‘Oh, he picked his up a good hour ago. I’m afraid he’s got quite a start on you two.’
    Bastard!
    Grant and I eyed each other and then by, unspoken consent, split up. I settled down and sorted through the material. The assignment originated from Thirsk and the brief was simple enough. Observe and authenticate. Bread and butter stuff. I wondered which of us would get it. It wasn’t my specialty or any of my secondary areas either. It certainly wasn’t any of Sussman’s. Grant was the nearest, with the French Revolution. But he was also quiet and easily overlooked. It had to be between me and Sussman.
    I reviewed the file twice and then went for lunch. Sussman was there, smirking.
    I sat opposite him and unwrapped my sandwich.
    ‘Bastard!’
    ‘Early bird,’ he said, smugly. ‘No point in knocking yourselves out, I’ve already volunteered.’
    ‘But you haven’t got it yet?’
    ‘Well, there isn’t anyone else, is there?’
    ‘Actually, yes. Grant’s specialty is closer than Early Byzantine. In fact, everything’s closer than Early Byzantine.’
    ‘Except Ancient Civilisations. Face it, Max, you couldn’t be any further away if you tried. And you’re female.’
    ‘Exactly, teams consist of one male and one female, so neither of you stands a chance. Peterson will take me.’
    ‘They won’t send