It did happen. Despite our best efforts, we occasionally failed to save the item and we had to step back empty handed and wait for the next quantum window to open up, which could be next week or a decade later. It was the sort of error that first years made, not seasoned steppers like Paul and Ramin.
‘No, nothing that mundane. When we arrived on Beta Earth we started to investigate the brief. Imagine our surprise when we saw the painting in pride of place in the National Museum of Art.’
‘What!?’ It was hard to say which of us sounded more astounded.
‘What the hell? Was it a fake?’
Ramin shook his head. ‘No, we ran a full spectrum analysis and it was the genuine article.’
‘I don’t understand. Had you arrived too early?’
‘No. It’d been recovered the day before, and to great acclaim.’
‘The thieves?’
‘No, their identity remained unknown. The picture had been found propped up again a dumpster.’
‘Was that on fire?’
‘There was no fire.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, what could we do? We took a load of notes and then requested a step back.’
‘Has that happened before? Anyone?’
We all shrugged. It was possible to arrive way before the extraction point or the day after. But arriving on time to find that the artefact was safe and sound? Unheard of. But had it happened before? Was the timeline not as secure as we thought it was?
‘Do you want to know what the really weird bit is?’ asked Ramin. ‘When I left the debrief this morning, I checked the library catalogue and the picture’s status. It’s listed as Retrieved. According to the library, it did burn, and it was recovered. But when I pulled up the catalogue number, it showed an error report.’
Paul frowned at Ramin. ‘What did you do that for? Sam could’ve put you on report and then you’d have lost any chance of going after this egg.’
Still, what Ramin had discovered was unsettling. ‘That's pretty serious. What did Sam say?’
‘I didn't mention it to him. Remember he’d told us to leave it alone.’
I continued to sip on my slushie. We worked for the library and tended not to ask questions. It was a fabulous job, working for a great organisation. The pay was good and my colleagues were fun, so why would I question anything? And yet, that was two odd events in a row. A quasi-religious or mythical artefact retrieved, and a painting unburnt. And now we had a live event looming. What could go wrong?
# 8 Julius – Beta Earth
He knew his part in the hunt was done, but Julius couldn’t let it go. When it came to dangling threads, he was like a terrier. Besides which, before he had only the basic awareness of Fabergé. Now he wanted to know more. Was it possible for him to guess which egg Charlie was on the trail of? Might knowing which one it was help him?
He could tackle this problem from two sides, what he knew about the current trail and what the world knew about the eggs. In his experience, you never tackled a problem from one angle only. You always tackled what was known and what was unknown. And whenever possible, you always started with primary sources. Which were not books, or websites or newspaper articles, but people.
Smiling, he dialled a number then headed out across Cambridge to Magdalene College to visit Marsha Favilova, a professor in cultural anthropology. The low morning sun was in his eyes, so he nipped through the alleys until he arrived at one of the side entrances. Showing his university ID to the porter, he headed into a small quadrangle. In summer this was one of his favourite gardens. The honeysuckle and roses filled the air with perfume as the red brick walls radiated warmth. Today though, the walls were bare except for the skeleton branches of the climbing shrubs. It had been so cold last night that even in this sheltered garden, frost clung to the vines. Heading along the stone-flagged path, he entered the college and took the steps two at a time before knocking on Marsha’s door. He loved visits to Marsha, even if they were always a bit full-on. Maybe because they were.
The door flung open and a tall woman looked at him in horror.
‘Julius. My boy! The cold! Do not stand there letting all the heat out. Come in, come in.’
As she closed the door, she looked as though he might have been in some way responsible for the cold, but that she would also be prepared to forgive him. She was almost as tall as Julius, and was draped in a long, slim, black wool dress and covered in many layers of shawls, each artfully arranged and fixed by elaborate broaches. Several necklaces hung at her neck.
Kissing him on both cheeks she then took his face in her hands, looking at him sorrowfully.
‘Ah, Julius. You are still so beautiful. There is so much sorrow for those so beautiful. It is a curse. Thank God I was not cursed with such beauty.’
Julius grinned at her. This bizarre ritual was well-known to him. He had to find a way to tell her that she was beautiful, but that she would never know sorrow.
‘You children. You think to offer compliments when you tell a woman she is beautiful,’ she said, and sighed dramatically, ‘but your heart is kind and I will accept and forgive your foolishness. In truth, your life will be long and painful, so it is my Christian duty to support you through your misery.’
This was one of the reasons why he loved Marsha; she was just so incredibly expressive. Everything was the end of the world. She appeared to be living in an era of Stalinist purges. Doom lay beyond every doorway, and she absolutely revelled in it.
‘My misery might be assuaged by some of those spiced cakes you sometimes have around?’
Her lips twitched. ‘You mock me,
