who’d come in carrying a black leather jacket covered with metallic slide fasteners. “What exactly is that?” he demanded.
“A motorcycle jacket. You said something in your size,” she added defensively. “It’s from the correct historical era.”
“Miss Moss,” Mr. Dunworthy said in the tone that always made Colin wince, “the entire point of an historian’s costume is that of camouflage—to keep from drawing attention to himself. To blend in. How do you expect me to do that,” he gestured at the leather jacket, “dressed in that?”
“But we have photographs of a jacket like this from 1950…” the tech began and then thought better of it. “I’ll see what else I’ve got.” She retreated, wincing, into the workroom.
“In tweed,” Mr. Dunworthy called after her.
“Blending in is exactly what I’m talking about,” Colin said. “There are all sorts of historical events where a seventeen-year-old would blend in perfectly.”
“Like the Warsaw ghetto?” Mr. Dunworthy said dryly. “Or the Crusades?”
“I haven’t wanted to go to the Crusades since I was twelve. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Both you and—” He caught himself. “You and everyone at school still think of me as a child,” he said instead, “but I’m not. I’m nearly eighteen. And there are all sorts of assignments I could be doing. Like al-Qaeda’s second attack on New York.”
“New—?”
“Yes, there was a high school near the World Trade Center. I could pose as a student and see the entire thing.”
“I am not sending you to the World Trade Center.”
“Not to it. The school was four blocks away, and none of the students got killed. No one was even injured, except for the toxins and asbestos they inhaled, and I could—”
“I am not sending you anywhere near the World Trade Center. It’s far too dangerous. You could be killed—”
“Well, then send me somewhere that isn’t dangerous. Send me to 1939, to the Phoney War. Or to the north of England to observe the evacuated children.”
“I am not sending you to World War II either.”
“You went to the Blitz, and you let Polly—”
“Polly?” Mr. Dunworthy said alertly. “Polly Churchill? What does she have to do with this?”
Bollocks. “Nothing. Just that you let your historians go all sorts of dangerous places, and you go all sorts of dangerous places, and you won’t even let me go to the north of England, which wouldn’t be dangerous at all. The government evacuated the children there to be out of danger. I could pretend to be taking my younger brothers and sisters—”
“I already have an historian in 1940 observing the evacuated children.”
“But not in 1942 through 1945. I looked it up, and some of the children stayed in the country for the entire war. I could observe the effect that being separated from their parents that long had on them. And my missing school needn’t be a problem. I could do it flash-time and—”
“Why are you so set on going to World War II? Is it because Polly Churchill’s there?”
“I’m not set on going to World War II. I only suggested it because you didn’t want me to go anywhere dangerous. And you’re a fine one to talk about danger when you’re going to St. Paul’s the night before the pinpoint bomb—”
Mr. Dunworthy looked astonished. “The night before the pinpoint bomb? What are you talking about?”
“Your rescuing the treasures.”
“Who told you I was rescuing St. Paul’s treasures?”
“No one, but it’s obvious that’s why you’re going to St. Paul’s.”
“I am not—”
“Well, then, you’re going to go see what’s there so you can rescue them later. I think you should take me with you. You need me. You’d have died if I hadn’t gone with you to 1349. I can pose as a university student studying Nelson’s tomb or something and make a list of all the treasures for you.”
“I don’t know where you got this ridiculous idea, Colin. No one is going to St. Paul’s to rescue anything.”
“Then why are you going to St. Paul’s?”
“That doesn’t concern you—what is that?” he said as the tech came in carrying a knee-length yellow satin coat embroidered with pink flowers.
“This?” she said. “Oh, it’s not for you. It’s for Kevin Boyle. He’s doing King Charles II’s court. There’s a telephone call from Research for you. Shall I tell them you’re busy?”
“No, I’ll take it.” He followed her into the workroom.
“Nothing on Paternoster Row? What about Ave Maria Lane? Or Amen Corner?” Colin heard him say, followed by a long pause, and then, “What about the casualties lists? Were you able to find