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They were my aunt and uncle; I loved them deeply, although both were mad as pants. I regretted not seeing Mycroft most of all. I hadn’t returned to my hometown for many years and I didn’t see my family as often as I should.
“Your mother and I think it might be a good idea for you to come home for a bit. She thinks you take work a little too seriously.”
“That’s a bit rich, Dad, coming from you.”
“Ouch-that-hurt. How’s your history?”
“Not bad.”
“Do you know how the Duke of Wellington died?”
“Sure,” I answered. “He was shot by a French sniper during the opening stages of the Battle of Waterloo. Why?”
“Oh, no reason,” muttered my father with feigned innocence, scribbling in a small notebook. He paused for a moment.
“So Napoleon won at Waterloo, did he?” he asked slowly and with great intensity.
“Of course not,” I replied. “Field Marshal Blücher’s timely intervention saved the day.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“This is all O-level history, Dad. What are you up to?”
“Well, it’s a bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“What is?”
“Nelson and Wellington, two great English national heroes both being shot early on during their most important and decisive battles.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That French revisionists might be involved.”
“But it didn’t affect the outcome of either battle,” I asserted. “We still won on both occasions!”
“I never said they were good at it.”
“That’s ludicrous!” I scoffed. “I suppose you think the same revisionists had King Harold killed in 1066 to assist the Norman invasion!”
But Dad wasn’t laughing. He replied with some surprise:
“Harold? Killed? How?”
“An arrow, Dad. In his eye.”
“English or French?”
“History doesn’t relate,” I replied, annoyed at his bizarre line of questioning.
“In his eye, you say?— Time is out of joint,” he muttered, scribbling another note.
“What’s out of joint?” I asked, not quite hearing him.
“Nothing, nothing. Good job I was born to set it right—”
“Hamlet?” I asked, recognizing the quotation.
He ignored me, finished writing and snapped the notebook shut, then placed his fingertips on his temples and rubbed them absently for a moment. The world joggled forward a second and refroze as he did so. He looked about nervously.
