The Quantum Curators and the Fabergé Egg Read online

‘Yeah, well, I didn't, and beside which, now you owe me. First round's on you!’

  #4 Julius – Beta Earth

  Julius dashed out of the pub, promising Charlie he would be back in touch tomorrow to see what his initial investigations had unearthed. He ran along the pavement, and as he pulled on the door to the wine bar, a group of women spilled out. There was some laughter and gentle mocking, until Julius realised he knew them. These were some of Rebecca's friends and indeed, the last girl out of the door was Rebecca herself, who looked a lot less pleased to see him than her friends had.

  ‘Nice of you to turn up.’ She frowned as he leant forward to give her a peck on the cheek, then sniffed. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Just a quick beer with an old school friend.’ He was going to suggest introducing her but paused. Rebecca was not likely to approve of Charlie.

  ‘Have you been waiting long? I’m so sorry. Text me next time?’

  ‘Check your phone!’

  Julius checked his phone and saw various missed calls and texts, all from Rebecca, and found his phone in silent mode.

  ‘Oops, sorry, my phone was switched to silent.’

  ‘Well, of course it was. I didn't think you were ignoring me.’

  Rebecca enjoyed the prestige of having such a good-looking companion, but honestly, she wasn't sure if he was worth the effort. He could be interminably boring and never once paid her a compliment. On an early date, she had pressed him to say something nice about her. He told her that her hair was clean. She stopped fishing for compliments after that. They had been dating for about two months but just didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Having a boyfriend worth showing off only went so far.

  ‘Shall we go in?’ Julius asked.

  Rebecca's friends had stepped to one side and were waiting a few yards off, but Julius and Rebecca were still standing in front of the door.

  ‘Go in?’ Rebecca looked confused, and Julius gestured towards the pub.

  ‘Oh no. Not now. I bumped into some of the girls whilst I was waiting for you and they're off to the cinema. I said I'd go with them.’

  ‘Oh. Right. What's the film?’

  ‘“Waiting to Love You”.’

  ‘Isn't that the one we saw last weekend?’

  ‘Yes. And now I'm going to see it again.’

  It seemed odd to Julius to go and watch a boring film twice, but he never quite understood Rebecca. She always seemed to be unhappy, or annoyed, or out and out cross, in his company. He wasn't even sure why they were going out, but he didn't want to be rude and ask. Anyway, now he was free to get back to the library and carry on with the Romanovs. Already distracted by the paper chase, he gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head, told her he hoped she’d have a fun time, then strode off back to the library.

  Rebecca stood in front of the door, looking vexed. In her scenario, he was going to lavishly apologise and plead with her to let him make it up to her. She'd turn to her friends with a what can you do? smile, and be the envy of them all. Now, as she turned to them, she was convinced Helen was smirking. Clare was downright concerned, chiding her for being mad. She knew the girls thought she should work harder to keep him interested, but honestly, they had no idea how tiresome the absent-minded genius routine became after a few days. She didn't approve at all.

  Julius pushed back from his terminal. It was 3am and he needed to sleep. Priming the small library’s alarm system, he locked up and walked home. The streets were mostly empty, bar a few stragglers from the pubs and nightclubs. The only other signs of life were the huddled forms sleeping in doorways or alleyways. Occasionally a taxi drove past, but Julius wanted the fresh air to process his thoughts.

  As a professor and a long-time bona fide researcher at the museum, Julius had access to an enormous range of academic and government sources. Most were fairly pedestrian, but a while ago he had earned himself a higher security clearance level, and he could now view classified files, including an info dump of KGB and politburo figures.

  A few years ago, Julius had been looking at details of a Russian train timetable. It wasn’t a classified document, just tedious, and Julius had offered to help out a colleague who was writing a paper on Soviet coal production. There was a note in the margin explaining the five-minute delay in departure. The delay was apparently due to Stalin having to wait for someone to board the train. This intrigued Julius and he started to poke around, until he discovered that, according to official records, Stalin had been in Moscow all day.

  Julius sent that little revelation to the Home Office, who instantly made the file classified whilst they investigated what Stalin might have been up to. They also upped Julius' clearance level. Her Majesty’s Government always liked a sharp pair of eyes. So long as those eyes were on their side. The British Government had a difficult relationship with Cambridge scholars, especially in all matters pertaining to Russia. However, they had vetted Julius to within an inch of his life and found nothing untoward, so now he got to rummage around lots of interesting case files.

  Which was just as well, because here he was leafing through Russian military documents. In and of themselves, they were pretty boring; what the British Government had was mostly redacted, or at least that which Julius was allowed to read. His clearance level only went so far. Some documents the cold war spies had smuggled out of Russia were incendiary, others were plebeian. But plebeian was what Julius needed. So many times, massive secrets were discovered behind mundane facts and figures. Now Julius thought about what he had unearthed as the cold wind whipped off the Cambridge fens.

  The old woman’s grandfather-in-law was called Dimitri Guskov. He had indeed been stationed in Moscow, and then for a brief stint was registered as being at the Ipatiev House, Yekaterinburg. There were no details of his duties, but what else was there to do there in 1918, other than guard the soon to be assassinated imperial family?

  Dimitri then married and had a son. His son moved to Poland and went on to have two sons himself, Filip and Jan. Jan married Zofia and they bought a flat in Warsaw. This was Charlie’s babushka. This was as far as Julius had got. Zofia’s brother-in-law was harder to find. Julius had unearthed a wedding announcement and a photo of Jan and Zofia, but there was no mention of Filip, or even that Jan had a brother. Could this indicate a death? Maybe a rift?

  Julius had begun to track the brother down. So far he hadn't found a death certificate, but he also hadn't found any other details. Tomorrow he would investigate the emigration records.

  #5 Neith – Alpha Earth

  Great Ra! Why did I drink last night? A Q hangover was nothing like a regular one. Drinking after a Q Step was always tricky, and normally I avoided it, but I'd been so annoyed at my stupidity that I was in the mood to live it up. Adding alcohol to a brain that had only just processed a shift in quantum states was particularly foolhardy.

  Clio had suggested we go let our hair down at one of the chess clubs, but the last time I was there everyone had got really cross with me. In fairness, there are some tables you probably shouldn't dance on. So we'd gone to Pygs instead. Pygs was a place favoured by the underbelly of society, the roughnecks and rule breakers, the quantum librarians and curators. Basically, it was where I was most at home. But dear Anubis, this morning's headache was severe and at one point I found myself conversing in twelfth-century Cantonese. I felt shivery and the light was killing my eyes.

  Holding onto my coffee cup for dear life, I pulled my coat closer, put on my sunglasses and slid into the briefing room. I was instantly met with a barrage of hoots and cat-calls. Yeah, like none of them had ever suffered a little step death.

  Gingerly, I removed my sunnies and waved to everyone, acknowledging the jeers. We were nothing if not a team, and I know I’d be hooting with laughter just as loudly if any of them arrived at a meeting so clearly suffering. Some people show their love with flowers and chocolates, we sent punches and piss takes. I slumped down into a chair next to Ramin.

  ‘When did you get back?’
>
  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘And you went for a drink straight away? Man, do you even have a brain?’

  I groaned. ‘Not currently. Currently I have a brass band rioting in my head. I assume that the polar bear over there’s a hallucination?’

  Ramin didn't bother looking where I was pointing. If there had been a polar bear here in Egypt, it would be attracting a little more attention than just mine.

  I tried to focus on my fingers and watched as the fish leapt from nail to nail. At least I knew these weren’t a fiction of my imagination. Last night in the bar, Clio had been painting my nails. She was a genius at the micro subroutines embedded in the varnish; right now, little goldfish were launching out of blue green polish, surrounded by little lily pads, and then splashing into the water of the next nail. She even had the little hologram creating ripples and splashes in the varnish. Like I said, an artist. Quantum curators, or steppers, as we tended to call ourselves, couldn’t have tattoos for obvious reasons, so instead we played with holograms that could be removed and deactivated as we stepped across into the historically-sensitive time period.

  Painting holograms also calmed her down. When we’d walked into the bar, Tyler started jeering at me for having to pretend to be the Lady of the Lake. What can I say? Tyler’s a camel’s arse, always has been, always will be. Not worth the spit. But if Clio has an Achilles heel, it’s those she cares for.

  One time in basic training, she was unhappy with how a fellow student had referred to Clio’s favourite teacher. The student in question was a huge bloke, well over six foot. Clio knocked him out cold. The only reason she wasn’t put on remand was because he categorically refused to acknowledge she had decked him. For the next few weeks that teacher received loads of gifts from fellow students. All of them made sure Clio knew it was them who had given a gift.

  So, of course, Tyler kicking off was just the sort of thing to bug Clio; she was a tad overprotective and able to start a fight in an empty room. And win. All I wanted was a fun night, lots of laughs and a drink or two. So first I braided her hair, so I could literally hold her down, and then I got her to do my nails. And then we laughed and I drank too much.

  I groaned again as the fish sub-routine started again, and rested my head on Ramin’s shoulder.

  ‘Wally,’ he said. Throwing his arm around my shoulder, he gave me a hug then handed me an energy tab. It would be my tenth this morning. One of them had to work, surely?

  Sitting next to Ramin was Paul. They had stepped back from their mission this morning, otherwise they'd have been out with us last night. Which could have been a blessing or a curse. Ramin would have convinced me to stick to tomato juice, Paul would have challenged me to a shots race, and we'd both be waking up in casualty. Again.

  He leaned past Ramin and knuckled me on the head. ‘Morning gorgeous! You and Clio up for lunch after briefing?’

  Trying not to vomit, I weakly agreed, wondering when this torture would pass. Ramin gave me another tab and grinned at me as I tried not to fall asleep, or pass out. If Clio was my best friend, Ramin was like my brother. We’d been mates since childhood, when I first arrived in playgroup wearing feathers in my hair. All the other children looked at me weirdly. The following day, Ramin came in wearing feathers as well. We had been inseparable since then. Then there was Paul, and if Clio was my best friend and Ramin was my soul mate, then Paul was great in the sack. We'd been dating for a few months since he moved to this division. We competed in everything and cheered each other on. Life was uncomplicated and enjoyable. Occasionally we'd been asked if we were going to move to a more official setting, but who needed the hassle? Life was good. Why spoil it?

  Clio dashed in ahead of the bosses and handed me some water. Great Ra, I loved that girl.

  A general wave of silence permeated the room as Chancellor Soliman Alvarez walked in. The chancellor’s presence was unusual at a weekly briefing, and we became a little more alert. In his normal pompous manner he welcomed us, and asked Sam to bring the room up to date with the previous week's recoveries. Some were mundane. A poem, a speech never given, a painting never shown. Others were flashier, like Shakespeare’s copy of “Love’s Labour’s Won”.

  The problem was how the quantum field worked. When we stepped through, we wore a wrist brace that was effectively tethered to the Q Field. When it was time to come home, we would hit recall and we’d be pulled back. Because the quantum bungee cord was always there, the technicians could also snap us back if we were late or ill. But not if we were dead. It seemed that the Q Field recognised the lack of brain waves, and spontaneously cut the cord.

  The science on how it interacted with brain waves wasn’t fully understood yet, but we did know that it only seemed to be human brain waves. We tried placing a quantum harness on an animal, but the Q Field couldn’t tell where the animal ended and the harness began, and sometimes it fused them.

  After a while new protocols had to be imposed. It was simply too distressing for all involved. For a while, very brave souls stepped through holding or leading the animals. Once again, the Q Field failed to properly differentiate the two life forms. The resulting chimeric messes were considered too high a risk to continue to bring through livestock. Although we did have an incredible drill instructor in training, who had fabulous wings and a beaked face. We all called her Horus, although not in front of her. And after Clio’s little outburst, the nickname died altogether.

  ‘And of course, yesterday Neith became the Lady of the Lake.’

  The hoots and laughter started up again. Oh, the embarrassment to be caught playing a mythical character. Especially with the chancellor in the room. One of the things that had allowed our earth to flourish and grow was a lack of religious systems. Some semi-religious belief systems existed, but they didn't extend beyond, “be nice to people and take care of things”. It was a philosophy that pretty much all of us respected and understood. Sam continued to explain about the recovery of the sword, which led to a few puzzled glances. He then continued to outline the briefing for the week ahead.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said and nudged Ramin, ‘what about your retrieval?’

  Ramin frowned and said he'd tell me about it later. In the meantime, Sam was wrapping up. ‘Finally, ladies and gentlemen, we possibly have a live event currently unfolding.’

  Everyone, including me, sat up.

  #6 Julius – Beta Earth

  ‘I've found him!’ Julius was so excited that he had almost fumbled the phone as he dialled Charlie’s number. He loved a treasure hunt and he had been chasing Filip Guskov all across Europe. Every time Julius had found Filip’s name on a legal document, he moved again. Eventually he appeared to be living in London, having changed his name to Philip Guscott.

  Filip — or Philip — had worked in the publishing trade and had finally retired to a house in London he had bought in the 1980s, just before the market had exploded. He had modified his name slightly to sound more British, and it was that which had made the paper trail go cold. Lots of Polish and German emigres altered their names in the fifties. For whatever reason, they wanted to blend in. Some had a survivor's fear of never wishing to stand out, whilst others wanted to blend into the background for entirely opposite reasons.

  At the other end of the phone, Charlie told Julius to slow down while he grabbed a pen and notepad. ‘Shoot, and please don't give me the location of a cemetery.’

  Julius laughed. ‘No, as far as I can tell he's alive and kicking and of relatively sound mind and body. He's a retired publisher, still writes the occasional column for various magazines, and is the branch secretary for a local bird spotting group. According to their Facebook page, he regularly walks a few miles along the Thames Valley towpath.’

  ‘The Thames! You mean —’

  ‘Yep. Right here in good old Blighty. You can put your passport away.’

  ‘Okay, so you’ve found the estranged brother. Now, tell me about the grandfather. In your opinion, am I on a wild goose chase?’
br />   ‘Right, so Zofia’s grandfather-in-law, if that’s the right term, was called Dimitri Guskov and he was a Russian soldier during the revolution.’ Julius paused to drink his coffee and Charlie cut in.

  ‘Damn, is that it? I was hoping you might have been able to find out a bit more.’

  ‘If you’ll let me finish. I did find more. After he left the army he married a German girl and moved west. They had two sons, and the rest you know.’

  ‘So, that’s it then?’

  Julius grinned to himself. ‘Well, there is one other little fact I dug up. Guskov was stationed at Ipatiev House in 1918. But listen, there’s something else...’ Julius smiled as Charlie whistled down the phone.

  Ipatiev House was etched in blood. Tsar Nicolas II, his wife Tsarina Alexander and their five children, ranging in age from twenty-two to thirteen, were assassinated in a cold, damp basement room. It was an act that sent shock waves across Europe. Charlie was even more determined now to go and visit Dimitri Guskov’s grandson. Could he be on the path of an uncovered Fabergé egg? The temptation to keep it was high; what a thing to own. However, it was nowhere near as tempting as netting a quick twenty million or more. God knows, as yet he had no idea which egg it was. It might not even be an imperial egg. It might not even be a Fabergé. He had to try to remain calm and focussed. The grandson might not even have the other doll casing anymore. But what if he did? What if he had never opened his grandfather’s seal? What if an egg was hidden inside after all those years?

  Rebecca looked up at Julius. He was trying very hard to make-up for last week's lapse of judgement and had met her for lunch, presenting her with a lovely bunch of flowers. She wondered if he had an account somewhere, as he regularly gave her flowers to apologise for this or that. She wasn't complaining, but it might be nice if the flowers were just flowers, not apologies. He was now telling her enthusiastically about a set of auction catalogues he was currently going through, from a northern market town in the 1930s. Apparently, stuff like this was invaluable in tracking down provenance for various works of art. He had also been able to marry up some items with a banking ledger that had been catalogued a few years earlier.