The Crack In Time Affair is a story written for the Down The Chimney Challenge. The prompts were Moog synthesizer, Mugolio pine syrup and whetstone.
My thanks to Spikesgirl for her wise advice and her precious help!
He cursed silently as he noticed that the damned muddy ground was surreptitiously giving way under him. He struggled through the damned tufts of sharp grass and took a quick look over the fence. The only things moving in the deserted area were sheep. They had eyed him scornfully at first before going away with dignity. Till, the five damned sheep kept their distance. Apart from them, there were tufts, mud, fences... and the damned stones. And two Uncle agents. At least he hoped there were still two because his damned communicator didn't work any more. Illya was somewhere, behind a stone...
A frozen stiff Napoleon Solo wiped away the mud from his face and cursed again. A sheer waste of time, it was just a sheer waste of time.
"He did... what?"
Illya Kuryakin pretended to rummage the dilapidated stone wall but he listened expectantly. He had a thorough knowledge of his friend. He knew the crease on the forehead, the pursed lips and the curt tone. The young man lowered his eyes and answered with a shaky voice.
"He... jumped down the cliff and he ... disappeared" He raised sheepishly his head. " I... I couldn't do anything, sir."
"Of course, you couldn't!"
Despite of the softer tone, Napoleon Solo's annoyance was obvious. The man bit his lips.
"He... he said something, sir."
Illya Kuryakin sighed. "He did... what?"
The usually warm hazel eyes had turned into icy obsidian.
The young agent gulped. "He muttered... I am not sure, sir..."
Solo grabbed the man's lapels causing him to gasp. "When the hell did you intend to tell us about that? What did he say?"
"I'm not su..." He added hastily. "It was something about stones, sir. He muttered about stones. Wet stones... Then he ran away and ... jumped..."
Napoleon Solo released his grip. "Down the cliff and disappeared, yes, I remember!" He gave the young man his famous black look. "Perhaps you could go down and check again?"
"Yeeees, sir!"
"You kind of terrified him, Napoleon..." The young man was rushing down to the entrance. Illya chuckled. "Finally, you're quite good at playing the bad guy..."
Napoleon Solo ignored him. He kept his eyes riveted on the ruins, not in the bantering mood.
The Russian rested his hand casually on Napoleon's shoulder in his familiar way.
They had saved the world again, blasted a Thrush laboratory – destroying an evil weapon and preventing by the way the earth to live an Ice Apocalypse – and got back a priceless microdot. They had saved in passing two innocent scientists.
Alexander Waverly was satisfied. As soon as the reinforcement team would have cleaned up the area, they would leave Tintagel and fly back to New York on schedule for Christmas.
But eventually they probably wouldn't.
As the guys were checking every nook, a young agent had noticed what looked like to be a trapdoor. He had forced it open - carelessly. A man had sprung out from a dark cell, looked around and raced away towards the cliff edge. Who was he? Why was he there?
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders with fatalism. Illya was right: he was usually the nice one but the rookie agent's account – more than his mistake - had been the last straw. He waved a threatening finger at his partner.
"Who is going to report to Mr. Waverly about "the odd man with a striped black suit who ran out of a Thrush cell, got a pocket watch, cursed about being late, winked at a well-trained Uncle agent and raced away, muttering something about wet stones, jumped down the cliff and disappeared"?"
Illya couldn't help grinning both at the prospect and at his friend's face.
"A fob watch... Someone complaining about being late... You know, it reminds me..."
Napoleon Solo rolled his eyes in dismay.
"No, please, no. Don't..."
The Russian tilted his head and his fingers drew long ears in the air.
"The White Rabbit..."
"So this one is the Mad Hatter?" Napoleon pointed at the silhouette down below. "I might send him back to Cutter's Wonderland!"
A Queen-of-Hearts Cutter playing croquet with newbies crossed Illya Kuryakin's mind.
"Perhaps we could check out the cell again?"
Next to the empty stinking cubby-hole, there was a torn sheet of paper which obviously – unfortunately, Napoleon Solo thought - hadn't been there for a long time. Two words were barely legible: Mugolio... Moo...
"He did... what, Mr Solo?"
The dark haired man looked dagger at his partner, who was elaborately spreading the clotted cream upon his scone. Reporting to the Number One was undoubtedly the CEA's prerogative. Sometimes Illya was amazingly rule-abiding.
"He disappeared, sir, without trace. When our... agent reached the edge, he didn't see anything."
"Mmmm... "
Napoleon didn't like this "Mmmm" at all. His friend concentrated innocently on the raspberry jam. Waverly went on.
"We have a situation that needs your special talents, Mr. Solo. Yours... and Mr. Kuryakin's, of course. London will see at the microdot but I want you to look for this ... muttering man and his wet stone. Could it be a whetstone?"
A sharpening stone? Illya studied the edge of his knife.
"About Moog..."
"Sir?"
The Old Man's tone betrayed his concern."Ask Mr. Kuryakin about Leon Theremin."
The Russian pursed his lips. Theremin... Yes, of course...
"Illya, who is Leon Theremin?"
The Russian looked puzzled.
"Lev Sergeyevich Termen, Napoleon." He looked thoughtfully at the empty bowl. "He was born in Russia, in 1896. By the age of 17, he had already his own laboratory at home. He was experimenting with high frequency circuits, optics and magnetic fields."
Napoleon frowned apprehensively.
"He built a high frequency oscillator to measure the dielectric constant of gases with high precision..."
"Illya..."
"While adapting the dielectric device by adding circuitry to generate an audio tone, Theremin noticed the pitch changed when his hand moved around."
"Illya?"
"He invented a new musical instrument, the Theremin. In 1927 Leon arrived in the U.S. and developed his Theremin. In 1928 he performed it with the New York Philharmonic."
Napoleon sighed hopelessly. "Illya... Please..."
The Russian bent over the table and raised a pompous finger.
"In 1953, Napoleon, a young man founded a company to manufacture Theremin kits... His name is... Robert Moog. I know he's working on new modular synthesizers... " The Russian paused. "And about Theremin, he also invented the Buran eavesdropping system. You heard about this, I guess?"
Napoleon Solo frowned again. Yes, he knew about it. Theremin, Moog... High frequency circuits, optics and magnetic fields, eavesdropping system and modular synthesizers... Illya would enjoy himself with that and unfortunately so would Thrush. He didn't like it at all. So "moo" could be Moog... There was the muttering man, too, and his wet stone... or a whetstone?
"Mugolio means "muttering" in Italian..."
"Huh?"
Napoleon wondered again how his partner was making that. Was he able to read his mind? Illya Kuryakin huffed in dismay.
"I was saying that..."
""Mugolio"... muttering? Yes, mugolio sounds like an Italian word, but I am not sure about that. The man, Moog, Theremin, mugolio... I don't see any connection..." And we are going to be stuck there for Christmas... He thought.
His friend studied again the edge of his knife.
"Don't forget the whetstone..."
"Whetstone? Oh, young men, you'd rather go to Stonehenge!"
The gracious lady held out a new bowl of clotted cream to the so charming blond tourist. The blue eyes turned to her with an irresistible inquiring look. She melted instantaneously.
"If you're interested in stone circles, dear, Stonehenge is really the right place."
Napoleon Solo warmed his hazel eyes.
"What about Whetstone?"
The lady pursed slightly her lips. This brunet didn't fool her.
"The Whetstone Circle is in Wales next to the Shropshire... There is nothing to be seen there since it was almost destroyed in the 19th century. All you have there are some scattered stones..."
"You're a very smart lady..."
Napoleon Solo nearly choked. His partner was literally purring at the woman... She sighed.
"My son married a Welsh girl from this area..." Her face brightened. "He studies history, you know."
As she was heading back to the kitchen, she changed her mind.
"There's something odd about Whetstone..." She was staring at them dubiously. "It's a nearly God forsaken place and..." She stopped again.
"And?"
"Last Monday..."
"Yes?"
The purring tone again... and of course the woman was melting again. Fascinating, Napoleon Solo thought.
"This man... It was pouring and he arrived soaked to the skin. He told something about a "time breakdown", a ... "crack in time". She shrugged her shoulders. "I think he meant a "weather" breakdown... Though...he asked me about the date and he looked relieved when I told him." She hesitated. "He wanted something... a syrup... Mugolio Pine Syrup... Never heard of that! He claimed that it would go well with my clotted cream. Pine syrup..." She rolled her eyes. "At last, he asked about Whetstone, too. I told him he'd rather go to Stonehenge. Then he left. I hope he took time to visit the castle..."
Illya commented almost enthusiastically.
"Oh, yes, Tintagel is a wonderful site, madam... You can feel King Arthur's spirit, the Round Table, Merlin..."
She smiled at the sweet young man, nodded at the other and went away. Napoleon sighed.
"Your Russian truth serum, again?..."
They were about to report to Alexander Waverly when a familiar silhouette appeared at the entrance of the tea room. The young agent sneaked up to them, peeping around as if he were surrounded by Thrush villains. Napoleon narrowed his eyes. Illya barely resisted face palming to hide a smile.
"Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?" He peeped again around, bent over the table and whispered.
"We found something." And he paused.
Napoleon Solo sighed and forced himself to calm down. The young man was looking at him expectantly.
"What did you find?"
"It was hidden in the trunk of one of their cars, sir."
He paused again.
"What... is it?"
"I don't know, sir. It's... It's wrapped like... like a Christmas gift. I thought you'd…"
The Russian put a soothing hand on his friend's arm and smiled at the younger agent.
"You did well. We're going to see at it."
"What... What is this, sir?"
Illya Kuryakin's fingers brushed the strange device, fascinated and set up what looked like to be antennas.
"Plug it in."
"Sir?"
"Plug it in!"
The Russian looked quite ecstatic. Napoleon Solo frowned at the young agent who complied.
"Listen."
Illya Kuryakin's hands began to fly around the antennas.
It was pure magic. The hands danced, the fingers twanging invisible strings, playing the violin, the organ, conducting a choir... Napoleon whispered.
"Is this a Theremin, Illya?"
The Russian nodded softly.
"So it isn't a weapon, sir?" The young man hesitated between wonderment and distrust.
"No, it isn't." Illya Kuryakin stopped playing and turned to his friend.
"I think that ... it's just what it looks like to be, Napoleon: a Christmas gift. The man was a traveller and he just picked the wrong moment to visit the castle..."
The British agent gasped.
"But he ran away, he jumped down the cliff and he disappeared, sir!"
Illya Kuryakin shook his head.
"He was probably frightened. He didn't understand who you were. He ran and unfortunately he slipped. Then the waves and the current took his body away... who knows? Don't worry. We'll take care of the Theremin."
Illya had carefully rewrapped the Theremin. He kept strangely silent. Napoleon felt puzzled. His usually practical and rational partner was lost in thought, with a smile hovering on his lips, though.
"Waves and current, really? It's very unlikely that a body disappears so quickly. Illya, what's the matter? An "ordinary" innocent? I won't fall for that. Is there anything you forgot to tell me about?"
The Russian chuckled casually.
"I agree, this man isn't an "ordinary innocent" but I've ... a good feeling about him."
Napoleon Solo gasped. "You've "a good feeling"? Whoever you are, leave my partner's body immediately!"
Against all expectations, Illya didn't roll his eyes. He didn't purse his lips either.
"It's this expression..."
Napoleon was at a loss but his partner was already on his way.
"We've to go to Whetstone! I'll tell you later... Hurry up!"
During the long ride, Illya had kept quite silent for awhile, concentrating on the driving.
"The "Crack in Time". I already heard about that."
Napoleon Solo knew better than to comment. He waited.
"It was a long time ago. I was a kid. I couldn't sleep. My babushka and my mama were whispering about something I didn't understand: Временной разрыв, a time breakdown... a crack in time and... врач, a Doctor."
Better and better!
"A Doctor... And?"
Illya cracked a bitter smile.
"When I asked about the crack in time, babushka ruffled my hair. My mum told about little boys' imagination..."
A little blond boy with tousled hair and a sulky face... Napoleon smiled at the image.
"And, by a stroke of luck, did your babushka tell anything about ... pine syrup?"
His friend winced.
"Not about Mugolio Pine Syrup... She made brews of birch bark, and sometimes concoction with pine buds... In France, I ate some delicious pine sap candies, though..."
And here they were, waiting for...what? Napoleon Solo sighed again. A sneaky mist was rising, drifting around the stones. Lucky them...
Cold, mud, and now mist... He noticed that the sheep had gone away.
A strange whistling caught his attention.
Suddenly the mist whirled as a huge thing was materializing among the stones. The Uncle agent got his gun. What...?
It was ...
A London police box.
In a God forsaken area, in the middle of a dilapidated stone circle, there was at the moment a blue London police box.
"Bit of luck, I'll just catch it!"
The voice gave Napoleon a start. A man had jumped over the fence, next to him and he was running towards the police box. Despite of the half light, the Uncle agent had no doubt about whom he was. Napoleon took a deep breath, preparing to go into action but as he was about to step over the stone wall, he froze. A very familiar silhouette was calmly walking towards the stranger, out in the open, carrying the wrapped Theremin and -Napoleon Solo hoped - his gun, too.
Good...
The Uncle agent sneaked up silently on the two men, taking advantage of the mist. He stopped behind a stone and assessed the situation. Illya and the man stood face to face. The stranger waved a hand at the police box.
"I'm always in trouble! Isn't this extraordinary ? It follows me everywhere! First, the crack, then those villains... Oh... but... this is my gift, isn't it? You bring it back to me? That's very nice!"
Illya Kuryakin took a step forward, causing his partner to choke with amazement. He was... smiling. It wasn't the wry, defiant smile he usually gave his enemies. No. Illya was grinning at the man. Then he held the Theremin out to him.
"The Theremin is a fascinating musical instrument, Mr. ... Mr. ...?"
"I'm the Doctor." Suddenly the man turned to the stone behind which Napoleon was hiding.
"Hey, you... Do you intend to stay here?"
Napoleon Solo cursed but got back on his feet. He felt a bit ridiculous with his gun, in the middle of a Welsh stone circle, next to a London police box, with a mysterious stranger and his partner who was behaving quite oddly.
"I'm the Doctor." The tone didn't expect any comment. Strangely, the man didn't care about their names. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair with a slightly aggravating self-satisfied look.
"Well, I didn't thank the young man who released me from this..." He wrinkled his nose with disgust. "... stinking place. I was looking for a way to get this back." He pointed at the police box.
Napoleon Solo couldn't help barking. "This? Precisely, what is this? Not a police box, I guess! Is this... a ... a ...space ship?"
His voice sounded sharper than he wished.
"I think it's rather a time ship, Napoleon. Is it, Doctor?"
The man nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, you're right. In a way, it's kind of a time ship. It's my TARDIS! It's still looking like a police box because the Chameleon system doesn't work... Oh, sorry." He got his pocket watch. "I'm sorry, so sorry. This is for Christmas, you know, and even a Time Lord can't be late... I've to get the Mugolio Pine syrup, now. Thank you so much for helping me with the Theremin! Allons-y!"
He waved a strange thing, a sort of communicator which gave out a blue ray and the door opened. The stranger entered a dazzling light. The last word the two agents heard was: "Fantastic!"
The London police box suddenly dematerialized and vanished.
"This is the moment I should wake up..." Napoleon Solo groaned, knowing for sure that he wouldn't.
Christmas time in New York fascinated Illya Kuryakin with its lights, its crowd of smiling people, its various scents... He had been hesitant about it at first but at the moment he really enjoyed it, more than he ever had. Here he was with his partner, his best friend and perhaps, one day...
"Looks like you're in high spirit, tovarish!"
"Looks like you aren't, Napoleon..." The Russian pushed Del Floria's door.
Napoleon Solo sighed. As far as he recollected, he had never gone through such a strange adventure. As far as he recollected... because – and it was quite uncomfortable – his memories faded. He could hardly put things in perspective. Some had happened, some ... some hadn't. Some couldn't have happened. They had briefly reported to Alexander Waverly about the Theremin, the Mugolio pine syrup, Whetstone, the "innocent" Doctor, and the London Police Box... The Old Man had cut short the report, suggesting them to come back as soon as possible, with his "let's-turn-to-serious-matters" tone.
As they entered Waverly's office, at their surprise, their chief was clearly about to leave.
"Oh, here you are!" He smiled. "Well done, young men!"
Well done? Napoleon Solo felt again taken aback. A blue London police box appearing, then vanishing in a Welsh stone circle? a ... Doctor? They hadn't any clue about him, they hadn't any answer. Well done?Alexander Waverly arranged his red scarf and picked up his hat.
"I think we might have snow tomorrow. Snow for Christmas... Isn't it fine? Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, I wish you a Merry Christmas in advance. This..." He pointed at two parcels on the round table. "This is for you." He added mischievously. "From... the Doctor!" And he left the office.
The Doctor...
The two dumbfounded agents exchanged a wary look.
A huge box and a smaller one.
Illya's name was written on the biggest, Napoleon's on the other.
"What... what is this?"
The Russian unwrapped deftly his gift and gasped with delight at the sight.
"What ..."
Illya brushed the fingerboard...
"Look, Napoleon... "Moog"... "Minimoog"..." The blond Russian was at the moment a seven years old boy lost in wonder. "This is a musical synthesizer... But..." His smile faded. "Look... Look at the date..." His voice trembled. "1981..."
A paper blew away which Napoleon Solo caught and read.
"I'm sure that a wise man will wisely use this... for his very own pleasure." He paused. Really, it was a very strange Christmas tale... Suddenly he felt inexplicably relaxed. "Remember, Illya... Kind of a time ship..."
Illya smiled faintly and pushed the second gift towards his friend. "Your turn, Napoleon!"
In a wooden box, there were bottles of great Italian wines, two wonderful wine glasses and two dark vials sealed with green wax. Napoleon took one of them, and chuckled as he read the tag: Mugolio Pine Syrup!
Of course.
Another paper blew away, a handwritten note about young cones and buds from Mugo Pine harvested in the springtime and stored in the sun till fall. Napoleon's eyes twinkled in anticipation.
"Mmmm... Illya, the Mugolio Pine Syrup can be drizzled on goat cheese, roasted meat or pannacotta..."
They kept silent for awhile. Illya ran again his fingers over the synthesizer... which didn't exist yet.
"So, Mr. Waverly knows the Doctor?"
"Obviously he does." Napoleon turned over the note. Overleaf, he read :
"Thank you again and Merry Christmas!"