Mrs Zhong lowers her eyebrows for a split second. I don’t blame her. It’s only 9:17 and Anno has interrupted her introduction. Being early is as bad as being late. Then Mrs Zhong smiles with her mouth but not her eyes.
‘Please welcome Mrs Anno, Director of Movement, co-founder of the Music, Maths and Movement School, who has come to talk about a recent acquisition in our 1752 collection.’
‘Anno will suffice.’ She taps her phone like she’s timing her speech. ‘Anno means year or in the year of in Latin. In addition to my other roles, I’m a sculptor who works with artefacts from leap years.’
I narrow my eyes at her as I start to feel panic surge up inside me. I find sudden changes in plan difficult, especially as my presentation is taking place straight afterwards, where I have to read my poem out loud and take questions from the audience. Now I don’t know exactly what time I’ll have to stand up. Will it be in five minutes’ time at 9:22, which is a messy, in-between number, or will Anno shorten her speech because she has to rush off to her meeting? I was already anxious about the reading but that was manageable. Now, my anxiety has gone into overdrive. Many more possibilities start buzzing round my head until I feel dizzy and overwhelmed.
Mrs C Eckler comes over to me and whispers, ‘Do you need time-out?’
I shake my head. I need to remain in the room. If I leave, it will be even more stressful to enter again. I must try to get into the zone. The zone in athletics is when you don’t feel like you’re making any effort at all, and the world is completely shut out. It’s wonderful! I breathe slowly and focus on the first line of my poem:
Is infinity ingrained in 11 missing days?
But at the same time, I can hear Anno begin her talk and I jump when I hear ‘Infinity-Glass’. Mrs Zhong has placed a large hourglass on a small centre table to the right of Anno. I do what-big-eyes; on the museum website there was no photo, just an entry saying: ‘Recently acquired, 1752 maritime sandglass with engraved infinity symbols, oak, black sand. To mark the 11 missing days.’ That’s what I based my poem on. I’ve always loved the symmetry of an hourglass and I was excited by the infinity symbols, but had no idea it would be so beautiful.
It’s the same height as a relay baton and made of dark wood that’s very worn and blackened in places. The bases at each end and the three connecting columns are engraved with infinity signs: ∞ ∞ ∞! The sand inside the glass bulbs is black and grainy and looks like glitter, exactly how I imagined it. As Mrs Zhong turns the hourglass upside down, for a split second, I see the infinity symbol in the shape of the glass, too: ∞. Then it looks like a number 8 as the sand begins to pour through and I focus on Anno’s voice.
‘Imagine it’s 1752. Time changes on your ship when you sail around the earth so you leave your traditional clock at home. Marine sandglasses tell the time on board a ship; accurate mechanical timepieces that can cope with the conditions at sea are yet to be invented.’
Excitement takes over from anxiety. I can’t focus on all of Anno’s talk but some words come through like ‘1752’ and ‘engravings’ and ‘maritime’ which, like marine, means of the sea. I’m staring at the Infinity-Glass with a strong sense of déjà vu: the ∞ symbol is the sign of The Infinites. But I must try to focus on the here and now. Anno’s voice has gone lower and slower; her speech will soon end:
‘Leaplings, the Infinity-Glass has only recently been donated, anonymously, to this museum. History is a story we are continually rewriting.’ She pauses for a split second. ‘We don’t yet know who made it; or who engraved the infinity signs. In this age of synthetic materials, we can admire this practical sculpture of wood and glass and sand. But we DO know this: the Infinity-Glass was made in 1752, before the 2nd of September. We Leaplings value 1752 artefacts above all others but this one’s extra special. It was purchased by Dr Johnson, the famous lexicographer, writer of dictionaries, and given as a present to his young black servant, Francis Barber. It’s referred to in a letter Francis wrote years later as “the Glass you bestowed upon me prior to the 11-day leap”. History adds value: celebrity multiplies it. The Infinity-Glass is priceless.’
The gallery is quiet like everyone’s stopped breathing and all focus is on the Infinity-Glass. Anno nods her head as if taking a bow and I notice Mrs Zhong taking a photo of Anno with her elaborate Eiffel Tower hairstyle standing next to the Infinity-Glass. Mrs C Eckler begins to clap, which means we have to clap too.
Anno waits for it to go quiet again. Then she says, ‘Every year, this museum runs a 1752 Poetry Prize. The winner for 2021 is Elle Ifíè from Intercalary International School. We are especially pleased to welcome Elle since she’ll be participating in our Music, Maths and Movement Activity Day this Wednesday. Elle, please take the stage to read your poem.’ Anno walks to the left-hand side of the room and waits for me to take her place.
I instantly feel sick with over-excitement as Big Ben starts filming on his Chronophone. I remember to take more slow, deep breaths to calm myself down. Somehow, my legs begin to walk to the front of the room.
But before I get there, something happens.
A figure, dressed head to toe in a black catsuit, appears out of thin air, grabs the Infinity-Glass, tilts their head to the right, and disappears. A split second later, an identical figure appears, stares at me, and disappears instantly!
It happens so quickly, I stop in my tracks, not sure what to do next. My heart is thumping in my chest like I just ran the 100 metres. Did I imagine it, or did the second figure look me straight in the eye before they disappeared? I couldn’t SEE their eyes but I felt their gaze. I stared back. I feel sick. I don’t know what to do. I’m tongue-tied. Not from anxiety, from surprise.
Some pupils are shouting, some have left their seats and museum assistants appear out of nowhere, trying to create some kind of order, but everything feels like it’s happening behind a glass screen. I can only focus on what just happened.
Someone just stole the Infinity-Glass!
Someone else tried to stop them but they were too late. Or maybe they wanted to steal it for themselves and were too late because it had already been stolen.
Or the first person came back by mistake. Or deliberately. But why?
I don’t know what just happened but I know one thing for sure: this is a job for The Infinites!
Chapter 02:00
ACTION REPLAY
‘If I’m a thief, I’ll burglarise the future!’ says Big Ben, biting into a ham sandwich.
‘Why’s that, mate?’ says Jake.
‘Future inventions are always better.’
It’s lunchtime. We’re back in school but not IN school. We’re sitting on picnic mats in the shade under the trees at the edge of the school playing field. Big Ben, Jake, Maria and I are sharing a large mat. Mrs C Eckler has given us the day off because it’s not fair to make us have lessons after ANOTHER school trip has ended in disaster. Even though Big Ben and I aren’t boarders, we’re not allowed to go home. We have to stay in school until the end of the day.
I open my lunchbox and see Grandma packed the white grapes on top of the flatbread. I try one. It’s delicious.
‘Does anyone want some grapes?’
‘Thanks, Elle,’ says Maria, popping one into her mouth before she smiles at Big Ben. ‘I like the future too cos it’s not fixed like the past. It’s exciting and crazy and ANYTHING can happen.’
Jake’s shaking his head. ‘Is the past REALLY fixed?’
‘That’s what most Leaplings think, isn’t it?’ Maria shrugs. ‘Time’s like a tree: the past is its roots; the present is moving up the trunk of the tree where you have the choice of lots of different branches; and the future’s the different branches still growing. That’s what I believe.’
‘Where’s the proof the past is fixed?’ says Big Ben. ‘You have to have evidence.’
I pick up my flatbread. ‘I had a messing-up-history lesson in Sixth Year at my old school. Our teacher said you have to be careful when you leap back in time in
case you swat a fly and Hitler ends up winning World War Two.’
Big Ben frowns. ‘There’s two opposite views. The past is fixed; the past can be changed. Only one is correct or it’s not logical. Which one?’ He takes a huge bite of his sandwich.
‘I think the past can be changed,’ says Jake. ‘And that your old teacher was right, Elle. When I go back in time, I won’t swat a fly, I’ll swat Hitler and save lives.’
I do what-big-eyes. It’s good Jake wants to save the world but surely he wouldn’t take the risk of messing with space–time? Who would?
Maria laughs. ‘You won’t, Jake. You’ll fall over and bang your head before you even find Hitler and have to leap back to 2021 because what happened, happened!’
Big Ben has closed his eyes, like he’s solving a maths problem. ‘By the law of probabilities, some time in history, a Leapling must have tried to change the past. If they succeeded, they’d be famous in PPF. We don’t study it. Therefore they must have failed and the past is fixed.’
‘Exactly!’ says Maria. ‘What do you think, Elle?’
I pause before I answer. I often worry someone like Jake could rupture the space–time continuum by trying to change the past but, like Big Ben said, we don’t have any evidence that’s ever happened. But how do we know it’s NEVER happened? Maybe it has and it was a disaster and they only teach us about it when we’re mature enough not to attempt it ourselves. Or someone did it secretly and managed to repair the rupture before they got found out. Maybe it hasn’t happened but they want to stop us accidentally leaping too far back in time before humans existed and we get killed by a dinosaur! I find my mouth speaking before my brain’s caught up.
‘I think the past is fixed. That’s why I prefer it.’
Maria smiles. ‘It is. Which is why I think the future’s more exciting. But futuristic THINGS aren’t always better. Old things have character.’
‘And sometimes the new things don’t work as well,’ I say. ‘When Bob Beamon did his long jump record, the high-tech measuring instrument fell short. They had to buy an old-fashioned measuring tape to do it correctly.’
Big Ben shakes his head. ‘Future inventions are always better. If I’m a thief, I’d steal a prototype from the future and make an eco-supercar.’
A Leapling could steal something from the future to help them create something better in the present but that would be an Anachronism, a crime across the timeline. Anachronisms are illegal.
‘I’d never steal,’ I say.
‘What if you were starving hungry and living on the streets?’ says Maria, eating three grapes at a time. I take a big bite from my flatbread.
‘That would be different; that would be survival.’
‘I’d steal the crown jewels,’ says Maria, ‘because they’re old and priceless.’
‘Too girly,’ says Jake.
‘Not to WEAR!’ says Maria. ‘Anyway, boys wear jewellery too. I’d sell them to the highest bidder.’
‘IF I were a thief, I’d steal something with a history,’ I say.
‘Like the crown jewels?’ says Maria.
‘No. It would have to be a story I liked.’
‘The Infinity-Glass, then. You wrote a poem about it.’
‘I never got to read it.’
‘Maybe it was you, Elle. You leapt forward or back in time to steal the Glass so the present Elle could get out of reading.’
‘Not logical,’ says Big Ben. ‘The present Elle isn’t Elle at the museum this morning. The present Elle is the one sitting here now and now and now and—’
‘You’re right, Big Ben,’ I say, helping him manage his repetition but still feel appreciated. ‘The present is where the past and the future meet.’
Big Ben and I are walking round the school grounds. It’s hot and humid and I wish it would rain.
‘I got it on my Chronophone,’ says Big Ben.
Of course! He was filming my reading but got the theft instead.
We sit down in front of the athletics shed. We can still see our friends at the other side of the field but this is private enough. Big Ben takes his big silver Chronophone out of his rucksack. We’re allowed to use our mobile phones today because it’s a day off. But I can tell he wants this to be secret. He could have shown me the video when the others were there. They know he and I have Chronophones. They think we won them on the 2048 school trip but, of course, they were a present from our fellow Infinite, MC2.
Big Ben presses play. I see myself slowly walking down the left-hand aisle to the front of the room and remember how anxious I felt but excited at the same time, my heart almost leaping out of my chest. You can’t see my face at all because I have my back to the camera. When I’m halfway there, the picture swerves to the right just in time to catch the first catsuited figure appear out of thin air, grab the Infinity-Glass, tilt their head to the right and disappear; followed by the second figure, who looks at the empty table, looks at ME and disappears instantly. The suits are head to toe, so whoever they are, their hair, face and skin are totally covered.
Then the room erupts into chaos, which I thankfully managed to shut out at the time to prevent sensory overload. After three seconds of that, the video stops.
‘I can’t believe you got it ALL on film, BB!’
Big Ben smiles. ‘I can split-second leap too. Not just you! I felt a rush of air ahead. I moved my phone quick to catch it.’
You need extra-fast reflexes to leap to a nanosecond. Big Ben and I have been practising for months. I kept it a secret at first but you can’t keep secrets from your best friend. If they know you well, they find out in the end.
‘Did you see them stare at me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The second figure. They stared straight at me. Play it back.’
‘I thought they were looking at the empty case. Where they got the Infinity-Glass.’
I hadn’t thought of that. I didn’t notice where they kept the Infinity-Glass in the first place. It might have been in the archives. Archives are big rooms where they look after objects they don’t want the public to see.
‘BB,’ I say, ‘did you take any photos of the gallery?’
‘No. The stuff’s too old.’
Typical Big Ben. I bet he would have taken loads of photos upstairs. But he wasn’t to know we’d need it as evidence. What was the second person looking at? Maybe they WERE checking to see if the Infinity-Glass was in its case or not. We may never know.
‘Shouldn’t we do something? Try to find it. Or leap back to this morning to stop the theft or—’
‘Too dangerous,’ Big Ben interrupts me.
He’s right. You shouldn’t leap to the past until you’re 4-leap. It’s not illegal but not advisable. My constant anxiety surges: there’s that chance you may be too inexperienced and change something in the past by mistake, like tread on a caterpillar and indirectly cause World War Three. But that doesn’t stop me wanting to catch the thief and find the Infinity-Glass.
‘Can’t we look for it in the present?’
‘Elle, the two figures are the same size. They might be the same . . .’
Big Ben suddenly becomes transfixed, staring across the field at our classmates. He stands up, sneezes and frowns. I look in the same direction but can’t see anything.
A split second later, there’s a rush of air, a flicker and two outlines appear in front of us, a boy and a girl, the boy with an afro, the girl with long straggly hair parted in the middle; his hair becomes solid and ginger, hers becomes black; Kwesi and GMT. Our fellow Infinites! But they’re 17 and have left school, so why are they here? And where’s MC2? Without him, we’re only four out of five.
‘L, BB. Bad news!’ says GMT and I know it must be serious because she’s using our Infinite code names. ‘It’s MC.’ I feel sick. I know what she’s going to say before she says it.
‘He just got arrested. For stealing the Infinity-Glass!’
Even though I guessed in advance, I’m still shocked,
as if her saying it out loud makes it real. Big Ben and I look at each other, our mouths a capital O.
Chapter 03:00
MC2 MINUS THE SQUARED
‘Has he confessed? DID he steal it?’ I say.
‘No to both. MC’s no thief!’ GMT looks upset. She’s always denied MC2 ever stole anything, even though he confessed to my class last year that he stole watches in the past to sell in the future and vice versa. MC2 gave half that lesson in rap and riddles, which is how he speaks to channel his ADHD. And his hyperactivity’s awesome: he can disappear and reappear on the spot!
GMT looks around the field. ‘Can we go someplace else to talk?’
‘We’re not allowed; it’s a school day. Anyway, you shouldn’t be here. You don’t go to this school.’
I didn’t mean to say the second bit, it was thinking out loud and probably sounded unkind. Of course, GMT and Kwesi were right to let us know immediately, even if it meant breaking the rules.
Kwesi holds up both hands twice which means 20 minutes. Then I realise GMT must have spoken with Mrs C Eckler and she was kind enough to let them come over because they’re our friends and it’s a day off. That’s what Big Ben was looking at: Kwesi and GMT across the other side of the field before they leapt in front of us. Our next activity starts in 20 minutes’ time.
GMT looks at the watch on her left wrist with the blue leather strap, shakes her head and consults the chunky metallic watch on her right wrist, the solar-powered one that looks like it’s from the far future. It glints in the sun.
‘OK, guys. We got 20 minutes to hatch a plan.’ She sounds like MC2. ‘We gotta get him out.’
‘We can’t help him escape. Then we’d be criminals too and we’d all go to prison and The Infinites would be history.’ I fold my arms.
Big Ben agrees. ‘We have to prove he’s innocent.’
‘Does he have an alibi?’ I say.
An alibi is proof you were doing something else when the crime was committed.
‘Leaplings can’t have alibis.’ Big Ben reminds us Leaplings can be in more than one place at a time. He gives the example of a man who was queuing in a bank in the PRESENT but leapt from the future to the same bank and robbed it with a stocking over his head! His present version would have been surprised but known that he was going to commit the crime in the future. Big Ben stands up. ‘We need evidence.’ He looks even taller than usual because the rest of us are sitting on the grass.
The Time-Thief Page 2
