Opening the door, she sighed. Her evening was about to become even worse. Standing before her was Luke Parrish – a little battered from the day’s activities but otherwise looking quite normal. For the Team 236 value of normal.
They looked at each other.
‘We clubbed together and bought you a present,’ he said, offering a small wrapped box. ‘Or a bribe, if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.’
Automatically, she took it. ‘Thank you.’
He waited, smiling hopefully, and so she unwrapped it. And stared.
‘It’s a mug,’ he said, helpfully.
‘So I see. Why does it say Two-Three-Six?’
‘Not just Two-Three-Six. If you turn it around it says 2² x 59. Look.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s Two-Three-Six.’
‘Yes.’
‘And just here, look. 11101100. That’s binary for . . .’
‘Two-Three-Six. I think I’m beginning to get it. And this Greek bit here?’
‘δύο τρείς έξι means Two-Three-Six.’
‘And look – CCXXXVI . . .’
‘Let me guess . . .’
He pointed. ‘They all mean Two-Three-Six.’
‘I see. And the significance of Two-Three-Six?’
‘Aha – glad you asked me that,’ said Luke, who had been hoping to avoid this part of the conversation. ‘Two-Three-Six is a happy number.’
‘I know I’ll regret this. A what?’
‘A happy number. You know – a happy number is a natural number in a given number base that eventually reaches one when iterated over the perfect digital invariant. Those that don’t are known as unhappy numbers. I’m really surprised you didn’t know that,’ said Luke, who had spent most of the afternoon memorising that particular snippet.
North raised an eyebrow. ‘I challenge you to say that again.’
‘Actually, I don’t think I could.’
‘I’m disappointed you didn’t have all that happy number stuff put on the mug as well.’
‘Well, we considered it, but the bloke said it would have to be the size of a cauldron to get it all on.’
She regarded the mug. ‘This is . . .’
‘Surprising?’
‘Lovely.’
‘You still sound surprised.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘No need to be. This mug is just what you needed. Trust me, if anyone’s an authority on what disappointed women want, it’s me.’
‘Ah – do I deduce you and the blonde in Logistics have reached a parting of the ways?’
‘Alas . . .’
‘You do tend to leave a trail of broken hearts in your wake, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know why you’re assuming it’s her heart that’s broken. If you want to know the truth, she ditched me. I gave her my heart and she’s pushed off with a Records clerk. Can you believe it? I’m devastated.’
North held out the mug. ‘Do you want it back? Your need sounds much greater than mine.’
He laughed. ‘You should hang on to that. I’m not noted for gift giving. It’ll be worth a bit one day.’
‘After your demise, presumably.’
‘Well, obviously we’ll have to wait a while for that.’
‘Not too long, we can only hope.’
‘That rather depends on whether you’re going to rejoin our little team, doesn’t it?’
‘And why would I want to rejoin your little team?’
‘So that you can devote yourself to my preservation. A fit and proper ambition for any right-thinking woman.’
She opened her com. ‘Lockland, where are you? I need you to save a life.’
‘Oh,’ said Jane. ‘He’s with you, is he, ma’am? On my way.’
Parrish took himself off, grinning in a manner that made normal people want to kick him. North closed her door. Casually she shoved the mug on to a shelf out of the way, reseated herself at the table and picked up her pen again. Thirty seconds later, she screwed up the paper, reached up for the mug, placed it carefully next to her kettle and gazed at it for a moment. Then she grabbed her jacket and left, because, for some reason, unexpectedly becoming the owner of the world’s most 236-themed mug had enabled her to come to a decision. She headed for the bar and the first person she saw was Lt Grint. She slid on to a bar stool next to him. ‘There you are.’
He scowled and made to move past her.
‘Let me buy you a drink.’
Grint’s fragile social skills proved not fit for purpose. ‘I . . . um . . . no.’
North ignored him. ‘A single malt for me and whatever he’s having.’
The barman moved away.
‘Smile,’ she said, smiling. ‘Everyone’s watching us.’
‘I don’t want your pity.’
‘I don’t have any pity. In fact, I’m famed for it.’
‘Look, I . . . you must know I didn’t . . .’
‘No, I know.’
‘Is this some St Mary’s thing? You know . . . loving your enemy.’
‘Categorically not. Enemies of St Mary’s tend to have horrible things happen to them. As I’m sure you’re aware.’
‘Then why?’
Their drinks arrived. She clinked his glass. ‘You’re about to start a new job in a new department. It would be fatal for you to go into it with half the people there feeling they can’t trust you to watch their backs. Fatal for you and for them as well. As Time Police, we can’t afford not to trust each other with our lives.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that and . . .’
‘You’ve been thinking about declining the position.’
‘Well . . .’
‘That would be a mistake.’
‘I . . .’
‘You are an excellent officer. The Time Police need people like you.’
‘Actually, I was wondering . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Whether I’d ever get to finish a sentence?’