Thanks to Fredbassett for beta-reading.

The Potter's Field

Claudia Brown had no idea why she was here.

The building in front of her was squat and ugly. Wooden slats had been used instead of brick on the upper floor. A mock-quaint pitched roof failed to hide the fact that the place had been mass-produced sometime in the 60s. It stood alone in the centre of a field of scrubby grass with a forlorn looking playground on one side and a lone football goal set up on the other. Square concrete stepping stones led from the pavement to the front door of the structure.

Claudia Brown stared at the building. A tired pub sign, reading `Potter's Bar', swung forlornly. It was probably some weak attempt at a pun. The pavement was in the middle of Potter's Field housing estate, somewhere on the borders of Liverpool. The scrappy grass around the pub was probably all that was left of the field itself.

The sky was grey and overcast, and the estate seemed empty of all life. She glanced at her watch. It was early afternoon. Claudia turned in a slow circle taking in her surroundings: more concrete; more cheap housing; nothing more than 60 years old. There was nothing here that obviously required intervention.

Claudia shrugged and headed for the pub door. At least she could get herself something to drink.

Early afternoon midweek and Potter's Bar was largely empty. Claudia couldn't help wrinkling her nose slightly at the smell in the place. No doubt once upon a time, the delightful aroma of stale smoke had concealed the faint hint of vomit and urine, but no more. Two men sat in one corner, talking in low voices. There were a further three people huddled at the bar, a woman and two men in mismatched tracksuits. The men were clutching pints and laughing loudly at some joke or other. The woman had a stemmed glass, the liquid the pale amber of a lager.

Oh well! Nothing ventured. Claudia marched up to the bar.

"What can I do for you, love?" The barman's voice was pure Liverpudlian, but at least it was moderately easy to comprehend. She ran her eyes over the bar and the cabinet behind. The bar had several taps, but no pumps. Fading and battered coasters littered its surface and a large jar of pennies and tuppences stood ostentatiously at one end. Behind the bar she could see alcopops and bottled beer. There were even a couple of bottles of wine, but given there didn't seem to be any beer on draft, it was probably best not to risk the hoc.

"I'll have a Becks please," she said, opting for the bottled beer as her safest bet.

To her surprise the man fished around on a high shelf for a stemmed glass and poured the Becks into it for her.

"You meeting someone?" the barman asked as he pushed the glass towards her.

"Yes." She wasn't, or at least she thought she wasn't, but it would arouse fewer questions. What else would a woman, dressed like her, be doing on her own in a bar like this?

"He late?"

Claudia made a show of looking at her watch. "No, I'm early." She smiled at the barman and then gazed around the pub interior once more. "Worked here long?" she asked.

"Nah! Only started last week. The regular girl's gone and had a baby."

"Oh!" That probably meant he was a dead end. Whatever was going on around here would be as much news to him as to her.

"What do you do?" he asked.

What did she do? Describing herself as an investigator, while strictly true, was unlikely to help in this kind of locality. Telling him that there were predators moving around outside time, waiting to break in and her job was to stop them would be even worse. The thought of trying to explain that she used to work for the Home Office, had got co-opted into a project that involved hunting dinosaurs breaking through cracks in time and had then been erased from existence by a timeline shift that had substituted a woman called Jenny Lewis in her place... well, that would probably have had him discreetly reaching for his mobile in order to contact the local psychiatric unit.

"I'm a historian of sorts," she hazarded.

"Not from round here then? Where are you from?"

"London." Telling him she came from outside time was another item on her mental list of true, but counter-productive, facts.

"What's your interest up here?"

"I'm working on a local history project, of the area, you know." Claudia made it up on the spot but it would probably excuse her asking the sorts of questions she needed to.

"What sort of project?"

"Oh, you know, the history of the estate and notable buildings and such like. For instance, was this pub here before the estate was built?"

"Don't know. Don't think so. This was all just fields before then." The barman frowned around the faded interior of the pub. "It don't look that old really. Not old, old, you know."

"No, it doesn't." Claudia had to agree, which put her back at square one. If the building was new then the trigger had to be something in the building.

"Are there any antiques or things inside though? That might tell a story?" she asked brightly, eyeing the dartboard dubiously. "Things that might come from before the pub was built?"

The barman shook his head. "What you see is what there is. We've a bit of a kitchen out back, and beer and stuff in the cellar..." he shrugged.

"Upstairs?"

"Big function room, but it's just empty. Nothing to be seen at all."

"Eh! Why don't you just leave me alone?" The shout came from somewhere behind her.

Claudia turned in her seat to see a thin wiry man standing up. He was one of the two that had been huddled at a table when she came in.

"Hey! Eric! Bit early in the day, mate!" called the barman.

"You can keep out of it an' all. Bleeding social security cheapskates."

"Eric, I'm not lending you anything and that's it. That doesn't mean I'm not a pal!" said the seated man.

"Yous none of yous cares at all. None of you!" The wiry man exited the pub, letting the doors bang shut behind him.

"Trouble?" asked Claudia.

"Nothing special. He always leaves in a huff. But he's a shouter rather than a fighter, so he's never been banned."

Suddenly a scream echoed from outside.

"What was that?" asked Claudia.

"Daft bugger probably tripped over his own laces," said a voice.

The tracksuit group laughed.

Claudia looked around the pub as the few patrons returned to their drinks. She wasn't keen on intervening; on the other hand a scream was a scream. She put her beer down on the bar. "I'll just pop my head out the door and check he's OK."

"He's not worth it," said the barman.

"It'll sooth my conscience." Claudia smiled and headed for the entrance.

Outside a light drizzle was falling. Claudia peered through the gloom looking for the thin wiry man. The pub stood alone and incongruous in its small piece of waste ground. Claudia walked around it, hoping to see Eric, but he was gone. As she walked back towards the entrance her feet sank into newly-turned earth. She looked down. A small area was crumbly and free from grass or weeds, as if it had been freshly dug. Claudia crouched and let the earth fall through her fingers.

She stood up once more and took a good look around. For half a moment she thought she saw someone standing a short way off near the road. A woman about her height. The effect was a bit like looking at a mirror image. Claudia took a step closer and the woman seemed to vanish. Claudia shivered and then walked back towards the pub.

"Afraid he'd been taken by the Potter?" asked the tracksuit woman as she walked back inside. The woman had mouse-brown hair pulled up into a scraggly pony tail. Her tracksuit was pink with a `Race for Life' logo on the back.

"The Potter?"

"Yeah, local legend. The Potter will get you if you are a bad child or out alone at night, or something."

"Did the Potter used to live in Potter's field?"

"Who knows? I guess. I just remember me Mam scaring me with tales that the Potter would get me if I was bad. She used to say he'd get me and pull me into the earth until I was all made of clay and he could turn me into something else."

Claudia shivered. Outside the rain came down harder.

She composed herself and sat back down on the bar stool in order to gaze into her barely touched drink. Just as she reached her hand out for it there was a sudden thump against the window. She turned her head to see a clump of earth sliding down the glass.

"Bloody kids!" said the barman.

Claudia frowned and stared out of the window. Nothing was moving in the muddy field beyond. Streaks of clay ran down the glass as the rain washed away the soil.

She sipped on her drink and wondered which of the pub clientele to quiz first.

The man who had been talking to Eric was called Sid. Sid was a retired dock worker and Eric was the son of a friend. Claudia suspected he couldn't help her much but the realisation came halfway through a long and involved tale of how Sid's granny had lost her dog during the blitz (but it was miraculously found the next day). He had assured her this bore some relation to the legend of the Potter, but 15 minutes and several lengthy digressions into the story, the connection was yet to become clear. His calloused hands curled protectively around his pint of Tetley's as if drawing warmth from it. She'd sat with him nearly half an hour and he'd only drunk a third of it, making it last on his meagre pension. She half-wanted to offer to buy him another and half-feared that would tie her to this table for the whole afternoon. She was relieved when the pub door banged open again.

Possibly it was a mark of how long she seemed to have been stuck in the place, that her first reaction to the silvery grey suit and bouffant hairstyle was a trickle of suspicion.

"Dear me," said a voice in, if anything, even more cultured tones than her own. "It is terrible weather outside."

The tracksuit trio at the bar watched the man dubiously. He was holding a pair of designer trainers in one hand with a slight air of distaste, probably both at the trainers and at the mud that caked them.

"I found these outside," he said brightly. "Do they belong to anyone here?"

"Those are Mike Barratt's," said one of the men. "He got'em cheap in the market but reckons they're genuine."

"Oh, they're genuine all right," said the stranger. "A little water-logged but genuine."

He smiled benignly at the throng. "Ah Claudia! There you are."

"Made her wait long enough, you have," said the barman. "She's been here nearly an hour."

"Ah well!" said Silver. "I shall demonstrate my contrition by buying a drink. A glass of dry white, my dear?"

Claudia looked anxiously at the bar and those ominous bottles of cheap-looking white. The barman caught her eye. "Another Becks for the lady?" he asked.

Silver glanced her way and bowed slightly.

"Perfect," he said gracefully.

Claudia moved up to the bar and sat next to Silver. "What brings a handsome man like you to a disreputable place like this?" she asked with a smile.

Silver's eyebrows rose archly. "Why the prospect of your delightful company of course."

They shared a smile. They both knew why he was here. Clearly whatever the threat was, it had escalated. They thought she needed a technician.

"Well, no complaints from me," said Claudia. A technician would speed things up a lot and, hopefully, spare her any more lengthy and anecdote-laden conversations.

"That makes a pleasant change. Steel always resents my presence."

"That's because you are an incorrigible flirt and Sapphire encourages you," Claudia pointed out.

Silver looked mildly surprised, an expression Claudia suspected he was faking. "Really? You think so?"

Claudia rolled her eyes to let him know she wasn't fooled, then she picked up the water-logged shoes doubtfully.

"Do you think these are relevant?" she asked.

"Oh I think so, don't you? People don't leave shoes like those lying around."

"So you think the owner's dead?"

Silver tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, technically speaking he has five years left to live."

"But?" asked Claudia.

"But, right now, he's not alive. Terribly odd, don't you think?" Silver smiled quizzically at her.

Claudia frowned at the shoes. Clumps of damp, clay-filled mud dripped to the floor of the pub.

There was a sudden flash of light. Outside the rain beat down on a churned and muddy wasteland. Moments later the sound of thunder rolled through the room.

In the aftermath of the thunder there was a rat-tat-tat at the window.

"Who's that?" asked the barman.

Claudia thought she saw a form at the window. It was big and heavy-set, looking slightly like a bald man with a beard but the features were half-formed and unfinished in some way. As she watched the figure seemed to collapse in the rain, like mud sliding into a puddle.

"Time for me to be getting home," said one of the tracksuited men. He was big and heavily-built with a bald head and a beard. Claudia thought she could see traces of a tattoo at the end of his sleeves.

In spite of herself Claudia glanced back at the window, expecting to see the form there once more, as if his imperfect mirror-image called to this man from Potter's Field.

"Give it 15 minutes John. You'll get soaked if you go out in this," said pink tracksuit woman.

"I gave it 15 minutes half an hour ago, Debs. The missus'll be going mental. She'll think I've sprained me ankle on your training run, not got stuck down the pub. Don't worry about me, I won't dissolve."

"Well, thanks for coming anyway John," said Debs. "Means a lot that you'll be on the run as well."

John picked a leather jacket off a bar stool and shrugged it on. "Have to do something," he muttered. "Jimmy were a good mate and cancer's a rotten way to go."

He marched across the room and pulled open the door of the pub. There was a gasp of surprise from Debs as earth poured silently into the room.

"Fascinating," muttered Silver quietly into Claudia's ear.

Claudia stood up and walked towards the door, feeling Silver close by her shoulder. There was nothing to be seen except the earth, blocking the exit.

"I guess I'll have to climb out the window," said John uncertainly.

"I wouldn't," said Claudia and flashed him her best former-Home Office smile. "I don't know how that earth got there but I wouldn't risk going out."

"Something did happen to the owner of those shoes." Silver beamed affably around the pub.

"But what's happening?" asked Debs. "That ain't natural. Arthur, call the fire brigade or something." She looked over at the barman.

"You'd better stop them," Silver muttered to Claudia. "I think they're about to get excited and I'm not good with humans."

"Right!" said Claudia firmly. "There's no need for panic."

"What d'you mean there's no need for panic," shouted Debs. "What's going on?"

"Well, I don't like to be precipitous," said Silver and he bent down to run his hands through the clods of earth on the floor of the pub. "But I think we are being buried in Potter's Field."

Mouths dropped open. Claudia rolled her eyes. So much for keeping things calm.

"Silver," said Claudia firmly, hoping that she could side-track the conversation and keep Debs and Arthur from phoning anyone. "What do you know about Potter's Field?"

Silver stood up rubbing the earth between his fingers. "Clay-based soil. It's been here a long time, as have the humans who use it. It's been dug and worked for centuries."

"Could the soil be the trigger?"

He shrugged. "Well anything is possible but, in that case, why now?"

"Trigger? What trigger?" asked Debs.

The last of the tracksuit trio suddenly spoke up for the first time. "It's the curse of the Potter come back to haunt us."

"Now that," said Silver, "sounds frightfully relevant."

He gestured with his hand letting Claudia precede him back to the bar.

She sat down on a bar stool next to the three of them and felt Silver stand at her shoulder.

Claudia looked at the third man. "Tell us about the curse of the Potter."

"It's an old story. The Potter was an evil magician, he used to make models out of clay and used those models to steal people's futures."

"I knew that, Charlie" said Debs. "My Dad said he was Jewish, 'cos of golems and stuff."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" asked Claudia, frowning at her.

Debs shrugged. "I forgot, didn't I? Only remembered just this minute."

"Best not to talk too much about the Potter," said Charlie. "No good ever comes of it. You should know that, Debs."

"Go on," said Claudia. "It's necessary to talk about the Potter now."

Charlie shrugged. "Well that's it, more or less. He made models of people and stole their future. He pulled them under the Earth and sucked their lives into the clay model and then he remade it into something else. Something he wanted. My Mam never said anything about Jews though."

"What does `stole their future' mean?" asked John.

"Well, it could mean any number of things," Silver began. Claudia kicked him discreetly. This was not the time or place to get into theoretical temporal physics.

Silver's eyebrows shot up but he smiled at her and then raised his finger to his lips.

"What happened to the Potter?" asked Claudia.

"What happened?" asked Charlie.

"Yes, you said there was a curse."

"Oh, he wasn't cursed. When the people rose up against him they buried him in the clay of Potter's field with silver coins over his eyes to pay his way to the underworld. But he cursed them. He said he wouldn't pay but would save the money and if ever the coins were stolen he would be free once more."

"Well, that's daft that is," said Debs. "The whole field was dug up before the estate was built. I remember my Mam telling me about it. They were looking for a prehistoric settlement or summat."

"Did they find it?" asked Silver.

She shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Don't reckon they did," said Arthur, the barman. "Otherwise there would be a visitor centre or a display or something, like on Time Team."

"Not necessarily," said Claudia. "Not if it was all back in the 50s or 60s."

"Still doesn't explain why now," muttered Silver, leaning close so only Claudia could hear.

"Oral tradition," said Claudia quietly, turning to him. "The details may be wrong."

"You've lost me," said Silver.

She grinned at him. "Let's just assume the coins are significant."

Silver's eyebrows shot up and then he headed towards the bar.

"Oi! What are you doing?" asked the barman as he walked around it.

"I just want to check in the till."

"I can't let you do that!" The barman rather ostentatiously pulled a small key out of the cash till and placed it firmly in his pocket.

Silver ignored him. He touched the till which sprang open.

"Hey!" said the barman in surprise.

Claudia leaned over the bar. "Anything?"

Silver's hand drifted across the drawer and he shook his head. "Two 10 cent pieces and one washer. Everything else is new pence."

Claudia allowed her gaze to drift along the bar to the charity pot of coins placed at the end. Silver followed where she was looking.

"Oh yes, indeed!" he said with a smile.

Claudia reached for the pot and upended it. Copper pennies and tuppences rolled and bounced along the mock wood bar top and, in the middle of them all, a flash of grey-white.

Silver's finger stabbed down, trapping the coin under its tip.

"One silver coin, returned to Potter's field," whispered Claudia.

Silver picked it up and examined it. "I think we've found our trigger."

There was a renewed thud from the window. More lumps of clay piled themselves up against it. Half-formed fingers pawed at the glass.

"You may have found what you're looking for, but that doesn't seem to have stopped the Potter," said Sid.

Claudia turned around in surprise. She'd forgotten about Sid, sitting alone at his table nursing a pint.

"Wait a minute," said John slowly. "Are you trying to tell me it's the Potter out there? Burying the pub?"

"Makes sense, I suppose," said Debs, but she sounded doubtful.

"But that's nonsense!"

"Do you have a better explanation?" asked Silver.

"I'm not a scientist, but I bet its something to do with the rain and the soil, or something..." John trailed away uncertainly.

"So how are you two fancy types going to stop the Potter?" asked Sid, gazing hard at Claudia.

Claudia took the coin from Silver and held it at eye level curiously. "The Potter steals people's futures, all that possibility, and molds it into something else."

"So the legend goes," said Silver, gazing thoughtfully at her.

"The coin hasn't quite returned to the field. It's in here, not out there in the soil."

"Close enough to make the Potter stir," murmured Silver, coming close to peer at the coin. "But not close enough for him to break free."

"And if the coin leaves the field altogether, will he rest again?" asked Claudia.

"It's a hypothesis, but it won't be easy to test. Someone will need to carry the coin out of here and away from the field."

"But anyone who tries will be taken by the Potter!" said Debs.

"That depends," mused Claudia, "on whether you have any possibility or future left for him to steal."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Debs.

"Nothing," said Claudia, turning her back on the bar.

Silver stopped her on the way to the door. "You have no way of knowing this will work."

"No," she agreed.

"Let me..." his voice tailed away.

She smiled at him. "I'm the operative and you're the technician. I think you've already told me all you can."

He looked rueful, then he leaned forwards and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Good luck, old girl."

"Thanks!"

She pulled open the door. Before her the mud fell away leaving behind lumpen, human-like shapes. Claudia took a step forward the heads of the figures resolved into faces she knew. Nick and Abby, Connor, friends from a life she'd never had, screamed out at her as the figures lurched forwards, arms outstretched, stubby fingers reaching to clasp her.

Her feet slid in a puddle and she fell to her knees, the coin still clutched in one hand. Mud ran over it, sucking and pressing but she pulled it free and struggled upright once more.

She ran towards the boundary of the field. Muddy hands grasped at her but she pulled free, the slippery half-formed fingers unable to catch hold. The wind and rain lashed at her, fighting her back physically, pushing her to the ground. The earth heaved and tossed like a stormy sea. Again and again, she pulled her feet out of the clinging soil, feeling the mud's inability to get a proper grip and its frustration as she broke free time and again.

The pavement was maybe three yards away when her feet slipped once more and she fell on her face. Mud ran over her head, filling her mouth and eyes. She struggled upwards, her hand gripped tightly about the coin. Even as she surfaced she felt the clay pulling her back. She raised her hand and threw the coin, watching it turn and sparkle as it flew through the air.

The rain pattered to a halt. Claudia found herself on her hands and knees in the mud, spluttering damp hair out of her mouth and eyes. Her gaze turned to the pavement where elegantly pressed grey trousers stepped neatly up to the silver penny. As she staggered to her feet Silver picked up the coin.

"One silver penny removed from Potter's Field."

He reached out a hand, helping her to her feet and pulled her onto the pavement.

Together they stared down at the tiny coin. It was just a thin circle of silver, really, no markings to speak of. It felt unutterably old.

"I think I had better take this somewhere safe," said Silver. "Will you be all right?"

Claudia nodded.

"Jolly good. Toodle pip." He turned and was gone.

Claudia spared once glance back over her shoulder at the pub where lights blazed out into the late afternoon. Then she, too, turned her back on it and left.