Time Agent | ONC2024

18. Marcel

The dressing room looked as if it hadn't changed, which was rather disconcerting. The hip bath had been moved slightly to the left and the gold cord across the entrance was missing but everything else looked pretty much as he had left it,  a hundred years in the future.

Marcel hurried forward into the bedroom, looking for the large wooden wardrobe he had planned to take cover in while he waited for his quarry to appear. But to his dismay, the wardrobe was missing. In place of a sturdy Victorian piece of furniture was a far more delicate Art Nouveau cabinet with a large mirror in the central panel and more worryingly, it stood on four small legs above the floor.
If he stepped inside that, he feared his foot might go straight through the bottom.

But before he could decide whether to risk it or not, he heard footsteps outside on the landing. There was no time to hide. Marcel swung around to face the door, just as Gerard Pardieu entered, his hand tugging at the tie he had evidently come upstairs to replace. He froze to the spot, his eyes glued on Marcel.

"Allain, to me!" he demanded in a strong voice, loud enough to be heard downstairs. Then he addressed Marcel, his eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?"

Marcel spoke quickly. He could already hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. Sweat broke out on his brow.

"Sir, I've come to warn you! There's going to be a coup-" A burly man rushed past the Prime Minister and tackled Marcel roughly to the ground before he could finish. The guard patted him down, searching for weapons, then hauled him upright, pinning his arms behind his back. Another guard burst into the room, saw that the intruder was contained and turned to Pardieu.

"Sir! Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine. Who is this man and how did he get here, into my bedroom?"

"I don't know, sir. But I'll soon find out!" the guard added, grimly. He grabbed Marcel by the left arm and the first guard took his right. "We'll take him down to the station." The guards began to hustle Marcel toward the door.

"Prime Minister! Please listen to me!" Marcel tried again, feeling desperate. "There's going to be a coup against your Government, this very evening!"

"What?"

"A group of English Nationalists is going to attack the Parliament. Tonight."

Pardieu shook his head in disgust. "Not another conspiracy nut! Take him away."

Marcel dug his heels in. "It's the truth, sir. Richard Bacon is one of the ring leaders."

"Now that's just nonsense," declared Pardieu. "Bacon is one of my close friends."

"Perhaps he was, sir. But tonight, he plans to kill you!"

Pardieu looked uneasy for the first time. "How do you know all this?"

Marcel struggled to think of an acceptable answer. The dignified speech he had prepared earlier, had gone clean out of his head.

"Leave him with us, sir," said the burly guard who had tackled Marcel. "We'll soon get the truth out of him."

~~

Marcel sat slumped in a dark cell. His bottom lip was cut and bleeding and he was sure there would be bruises on his body in the morning. He hadn't been given anything to eat or drink and his stomach was rumbling.

What was worse, though, was that no one would tell him what was going on. After what seemed like hours of questioning, the guards had thrown him into the cell and disappeared.

From the lack of light, he deduced night had fallen. He was sure the deadline for the attack had passed. Either the coup had taken place or it had been averted.

Which?

He rubbed his wrist, where his watch had been. Despite his protests, the guards had whipped that off his arm as soon as they got him inside the station. They'd been disappointed to discover he had no money in his pockets.
At least he'd had the sense not to bring his wallet or anything else that might link him to the 21st century, apart from the watch, of course.

He was angry about the watch because it had been a present from Sophie, but he thought he could still get home without it. The watch was only an aid, after all.

But he didn't want to leave until he found out what had happened. Had his journey and attempts to change history been worthwhile? Was Pardieu dead or alive?

Heavy footsteps outside alerted him to the arrival of the burly guard, Allain. Marcel sat up straighter and braced himself.

The guard grinned at him between the bars. "We got your pal, Bacon. Right between the eyes. And most of his mates."

"He's no friend of mine! I told you!" Marcel protested, fruitlessly. He knew they thought he'd been part of the plot, until he got cold feet. "What about the Prime Minister, is he safe?"

"Safe as houses," replied the guard. "He stayed well out of it in his chambers, until they were all rounded up."

Although the news was what he'd hoped to hear, Marcel couldn't help a twinge of disappointment in his idol, safely tucked away while others fought his battle. Still, Pardieu was a politician, not a warrior.

"Don't get too comfortable," warned the guard. "Scotland Yard is sending over a team to debrief you more thoroughly. We want to know exactly how you came by your information and the names of everyone else involved."

Marcel decided he'd had enough. It was time to go home and see the effects of his intervention. He was sure the world would be a lot better place for the Norman population.

As soon as Allain moved away, Marcel concentrated. He stared at the spot on his wrist where his watch had sat, picturing the dial as it had been when he left the museum, the exact date, but five minutes after he'd left. He didn't want to bump into himself!

He'd planned to return home from Pardieu House but there was no chance of that now. He was going to have to take his chances in the police station. Fortunately, there had been some renovations since 1910 and he arrived in a storage room, not a cell. He walked out as casually as he could.

He would go to Sophie's house first. He'd ring Jean from there. Rather to his disappointment, everything looked pretty much as it had done before. Houses, cars, the Metro, though there were more Renaults and Citroëns than he remembered. That was promising.

Strangely though, when he reached Sophie's house the door was painted black like the rest in the row, instead of a cheerful red. There was a brass knocker in place of the white bell. Uneasily, he rapped on the door.

A thin woman with greying hair answered and it took Marcel a few moments before he recognised Sophie's mother. What on Earth had happened? She looked as if she'd aged ten years.

"Madame Gallopin? Is Sophie here?"

She frowned.

"I'm Madame Gallopin, but there's no one here called Sophie. You must have the wrong family." She began to close the door.

"It's me, Marcel." He reached out to stop her.

"I don't know you. Please go away."

"I don't understand. You've known me your whole life. I just want to see your daughter, Sophie."

The woman looked at him with disgust. "I don't know what your game is, young man, but my daughter was called Claire... and she died at birth!" She slammed the door shut.

~~

The building where Jean and Jacques lived had vanished, or never been built. In its place, was a commercial tower. No one there had heard of Jacques or Jean Brun.

~~

Dread in his heart, Marcel raised his hand to knock on his own door.