Free TIME QUAKE by Linda Buckley-Archer

grass stain on the boy’s white britches. Recently delivered to Lord Luxon by the artist himself, the painting was, by any reckoning, a masterpiece. Lord Luxon glanced greedily at it, regretting, not for the last time, that he was obliged to sell it.
    ‘Find me a chair, William! And bring me some beer before I expire of heatstroke. Pshaw! I love this city but it is even more crowded and steamy than The Bucket of Blood on a hanging day!And fetch Captain Thomas and the men while you are about it. I have news.’
    ‘Yes, my Lord,’ said William, picking up Lord Luxon’s shirt and waistcoat from the concrete floor. By dint of rearranging various items of furniture and wooden crates William came across what he was looking for. The huge, gold armchair was too heavy to lift so he dragged it, scraping its legs noisily, towards the centre of the room. Lord Luxon immediately flung himself into it and kicked off his shoes. He retrieved his leather notebook from his trouser pocket and started to read.
    When William returned with Sergeant Thomas and three of the men, it occurred to him that the chair did not merely look like a throne, it
was
, in fact a throne. From which court and from which century, he wondered, had his master and the men plundered this particular item. A king might not miss a painting or a clock but it did not seem right to steal his
throne
. . . In the small, dark kitchen at the back of the building, William cooled his cheeks with the bottle before delivering it to Lord Luxon who, like all the men, had developed a taste for ice-cold beer.
    The men stood vaguely to attention, relieved to enter the comparative cool of the building, and waited for the bare-chested Lord Luxon to address them. An animated expression played on his face and he tapped the open pages of his book. Lord Luxon drank deeply then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, continuing all the while to read his notes. The men looked longingly at the bottle of beer, beaded in condensation, that dangled from Lord Luxon’s fingers and licked their lips, wishing they were in the cool of Michael’s bar, with a fancy coaster and a bowl of salted nuts and their hot hands pressed round a chilled glass. They waited for Lord Luxon to address them. Presently he looked up and met their stares.
    ‘Finally, gentlemen, I see a path through the quagmire of History. I had hoped for much from my meeting with Mrs Stacey’s niece today, yet the brilliance of her observation has done nothing short of astound me. She has given
clarity
and
purpose
to our campaign. Already we have made great strides, we have learned to navigate our way through time with ever-greater accuracy, but today this gifted young American has unwittingly betrayed her country in the most complete way possible. Gentlemen, no longer need we stumble lost and directionless through the backwaters of a revolution, now we have a compass and a stratagem. We, gathered together in this place, shall soon be privileged to witness the stillbirth of an independent America . . .’
    William felt a shiver run up and down his spine as he observed the fire in his master’s eyes. Though whether it was patriotism that he felt, or fear, or horror, he could not have said. He looked over at Sergeant Thomas and they exchanged glances but whatever it was that the seasoned soldier was feeling, he kept it to himself. Suddenly an inner door opened and a fair-haired boy stepped into the room. He seemed agitated but did not dare speak.
    ‘What’s amiss, lad?’ barked Sergeant Thomas.
    ‘There is a girl, sir. I fancied she was watching us but I was not sure. So I hid for a moment to see what she would do. I fear she is even now a-climbing up the ladder.’
    ‘Did no one pull it up after me?’ exclaimed Lord Luxon angrily.
    Sergeant Thomas caught sight of William’s contrite expression. ‘It is my responsibility, my Lord,’ he said quickly. ‘It will not happen again.’
    Sergeant Thomas rushed to the window and