The Time-Thief

by Patience Agbabi

  ‘You let MC2 take the blame when it was you! How can you say he’s your friend?’

  ‘Elle, we were in it together. We swore if we ever got caught, he’d take the blame. Better one of us locked away than two. When he got the Time Squad job instead of Young Offenders—’

  ‘You’re a thief! And you lied to the police. How do we know you didn’t steal this morning? Why should we trust you now?’

  ‘Elle, I ain’t worn the suit since. How could I?’

  ‘I don’t want a criminal in this flat. Leave now.’

  GMT opens her mouth then shuts it again. The silence is what she doesn’t say and I feel very uncomfortable. When she grabs her holdall, I notice her hands are shaking. She takes a few deep breaths and disappears, her jagged outline taking a few seconds to fade.

  Big Ben says nothing. He knows I need time to process. I’m overwhelmed with emotions, angry but sad and scared at the same time. I like GMT, she’s like a big sister, but suddenly she’s not the person I thought she was. And I’m scared for MC2: if he’s found guilty, they’ll be extra harsh on him.

  I look at Big Ben. I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. We don’t need words. It will be uncomfortable and dangerous but I have no choice.

  I must leap back to this morning.

  I must try to catch the thief.

  Chapter 05:00

  THE LEAPING LAMBORGHINI

  It’s 9 p.m., the sun’s dipping behind the trees and daylight’s beginning to fade. Big Ben and I leapt to the start of the school drive so I didn’t have to walk through town looking like a cat burglar with a rucksack. He’s in normal clothes. I wanted to leap straight to the long-jump pit, my favourite place in the world, so I could warm up before the real thing but Big Ben says it’s better to walk up here first, like it’s a school day. He’s right. I’m still upset from GMT’s confession and the tree-lined drive always calms me. It’s so relaxing in the half light I don’t even have the urge to run.

  We’ve only been walking a minute when we hear a strange noise from the sky, like a near-silent plane. I hear it seconds before I see the headlights, two massive burning eyes. It’s not a plane; it’s a car! And a flying car means only one thing: Season. Season in her eco-friendly supercar, Ferrari Forever. What’s she doing here?

  Big Ben does running up and down, whooping and flapping his hands as he always does when he sees a particularly cool car. His flapping is a stim; he’s stimming because he’s super happy! Stims are repetitive movements like spinning or sounds like humming that autistic people make when we’re excited, or checking out a space, or stressed, and it helps us calm down. Sometimes our emotions are so intense, we have to do something with the energy to think more clearly.

  I continue walking up the left-hand side of the drive but my heart’s thumping in my chest. The car begins to descend; the wingflaps open until it lands about 200 metres in front of us, slowly coming into view. Big Ben stops running and I stop with him at the side of the road.

  ‘Good landing,’ he says.

  The car stops, too, and I get the odd impression the car itself is looking at us through its headlights. I shiver. It’s red, not lime-green, as I expected. Big Ben squints.

  ‘Elle,’ he says, ‘it’s not a Ferrari, it’s a—’

  There’s a whirring noise and the car begins to accelerate. It’s coming down the drive full throttle on the WRONG side of the road. Oh my Chrono, it’s coming directly at US! It takes two or three seconds for this to sink in, just enough time for us to throw ourselves into the trees like the Fosbury Flop as the car careers off the road, then back onto the tarmac and takes off into the air!

  Big Ben’s the first to stand up. He comes over and kneels down beside me.

  There’s a long pause. ‘Elle?’ he says.

  I nod my head. I don’t want to speak or move at all but I want him to know I’m OK. I don’t want him to worry about me. He slowly holds out his hand but I shake my head and he understands. After what seems like an hour but is actually five minutes, I try to stand up but I’m too dizzy. I’m shaken and bruised but at least nothing’s broken. It could have been a whole lot worse. We could be dead! I need to stay seated a bit longer but can see Big Ben’s impatient to leave because he’s upright now, bending his knees like he’s limbering up for a sprint.

  ‘They tried to stop us leaping.’

  ‘How did they know we were going to?’ I rub my left shoulder to stop it throbbing.

  ‘The theft happened this morning. They had time to work it out.’

  ‘But how did they know we’re here?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Big Ben’s rubbing his left knee. ‘It was a Lamborghini.’

  ‘Did you see the number plate?’

  ‘No, but it might be a clue. Elle,’ he raises his eyes to the sky, ‘we need to go. They could come back!’

  That makes me stand up immediately. Dizzy or not, there’s no time to lose!

  No time for a warm-up. No time to enjoy my favourite place in the whole world.

  I stand on the runway at the long-jump pit to psych myself

  I visualise the 1752 Gallery, the exact spot where the second figure appeared.

  I focus on the date: the 21st of June 2021.

  I focus on the time: 9:21.22.

  I close my eyes. And I leap!

  Just before I arrive, I feel it. Something hard bashes my chest. I open my eyes and see a figure in a catsuit holding the Infinity-Glass. I fully arrive. In a split second, I see myself, in my white tunic and trousers, frozen in the aisle; the figure disappears from sight; I grab the outline of the Glass!

  So far so good. What happened, happened. But now, I have to wrestle the Infinity-Glass away from the thief. Is it MC2 or someone else? Whoever they are, they’re strong. But I have an advantage; they weren’t expecting a fight and I’m VERY strong from athletics training, with super-quick reflexes. All my strength training comes into play. All the press-ups and punchbags and precision leaping. We’re wrestling in time’s dark tunnel, tiny white numbers colliding with our faces like hail.

  And I can feel the thief weakening, while I could keep this going for five minutes. I take my opportunity and give the Glass an extra fierce tug and it’s in my hands. I focus on the school long-jump pit, 9:30 in the EVENING, the 21st of June 2021 and squeeze my eyes shut. But something weird happens, a leap-clash, the two of us collide and I lose focus for a second. There’s a blow to my head and I fall, still clinging to the Glass. Whatever happens, I can’t let go of it, I can’t let The Infinites down. My body goes fizzy and I’m seeing two lots of digits at the same time, fuzzy white on black, 15:00, 16:00, hours going forward in time to the evening, and bolder and brighter, 12:00, 11:00, hours going back in time to the morning. I feel dizzy, intense nausea sweeps over me and I close my eyes completely. Then, there’s total blackness and everything goes still.

  When I open my eyes, I’m sitting in the middle of a small oak-panelled room, still clinging to the Glass! I gaze down at it. The grains of black sand pour through the join like liquid, the infinity engravings reminding me of the symbols MC2 carved into a tree in 2048. The Infinity-Glass is oak, too, though not as well preserved. It matches these surroundings, it belongs here. These rooms must have been designed in the 1700s. But I mustn’t get side-tracked; I have a job to do.

  I must leap back to the long-jump pit. I concentrate; I close my eyes but I feel like an uncharged battery. Maybe that’s what MC2 felt like. Leaping isn’t going to work right now. I put the Infinity-Glass on the floor beside me. I don’t know where I am or WHEN I am and have no means of escape. But I can’t give up now, I’m a Level 1 Infinite. I need to check my phone; that will give me a location.

  And I must text Big Ben. I must have swapped places with the thief when we leap-clashed; we’ve landed in each other’s destination. That means the thief’s at the long-jump pit. They might attack Big Ben or, worse, when Big Ben realises they’re not me, he might think they’ve hurt me and attack THEM. I take the rucks
ack off my back, which aches a bit after the wrestling and jumping to avoid being run over. I’m just unzipping the front section which holds my Chronophone, fingers numb from holding the Glass so tightly, when a door creaks open and a slimy-looking man pokes his head around it like a tortoise peeping out of its shell.

  Chapter 06:00

  THE VICIOUS CIRCLE

  He has bronze skin, blue eyes and black hair as shiny as gloss paint. A second later, his body follows. He’s tall and square, wearing a long purple hooded gown.

  ‘A most profitable morning!’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘A lucrative leap! The Vicious Circle are expecting you.’

  My heart thumps in my chest. He thinks I’m the thief; we look identical in our catsuit disguises. I open my mouth to correct him, but if I do, I’ll be in serious danger and not be able to leap away. Whereas if I say nothing and do as he says, I might be able to find some clues. His face creases into an oily smile.

  ‘Follow me,’ he says, ‘And don’t forget to bring the prize!’

  I throw my rucksack onto my back, lift the Infinity-Glass, surprised by how heavy it is, and follow him into a round, dark, oak-panelled room with no windows that smells of the woods after it’s rained. I do big-eyes behind my mask: I’ve been here before. I came with Grandma to swear the Oath of Secrecy. This time, though, there’s a large round table in the middle of the room and people sitting at it, wearing purple-hooded clothing, eight of them. Four of the chairs are empty and I realise there are 12 in total, arranged like a clock. Some of the people stare at me and I feel uncomfortable; then I realise they’re not looking at me at all, they’re looking at the Infinity-Glass.

  It gives me a chance to check out the clock-inspired circle. Where numbers 1 and 2 would be, two black teenage boys gaze, mesmerised. They’re wearing purple hoodies, 1 with his hood up, 2 showing intricate patterns like a maze carved into his hair. 3 is empty and 4’s a man with light-brown skin and a long narrow face. I can’t see 5, 6 or 7 because they have their backs to me and their hoods up. 8’s empty. In 9 is a squat woman with short jet-black hair, fierce as a shot putter; in 10, an old woman like a future version of Mrs Zhong, who looks like she’d kneel down on the ground and worship the Infinity-Glass if she wasn’t so ancient. 11 and 12 are also empty.

  My oily-haired host takes the seat at 3, next to the teens, but tells me to remain standing with the Glass. The clock on the wall says 9:30 but I know it must be morning not evening. It’s not long after the theft took place. The squat black-haired woman shuffles in her seat.

  ‘The Double M’s late!’ She laughs and laughs but her mouth is a minus sign.

  I gasp aloud; the Double M is Millennia, the criminal mastermind, my arch enemy! This must be her inner circle. I’m in much more danger than I ever imagined. I take slow, deep breaths to stop my heart leaping out of my chest. Thankfully, the squat woman’s laughter is loud. No one heard me. The teens smile like they’re enjoying the joke but Mr Oily Hair frowns.

  ‘Show some respect, Nine,’ he says across the circle. ‘You’re letting down the family.’

  ‘As you pretend to, Three?’ It’s the old woman who says this, her voice like a car skidding on gravel.

  ‘Oh Meridian, I show OODLES of it.’

  ‘To her face, you do, to advance your position in the Circle. The Three who wishes he were a Twelve. You have much to learn. Your time will come, if you deserve it. As for you,’ Meridian looks at Nine, ‘do not overestimate your position.’

  Nine narrows her eyes. ‘Our leader is late. Our leader’s too old to leap.’ She pauses. ‘A late leader’s a late leader.’

  ‘You are suggesting Millennia is no longer fit to lead?’

  ‘I am. She weakens with every leap. She should gracefully exit the Circle before she’s forcibly exited.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Meridian fixes her neighbour with her black eyes.

  ‘I could exit the Double M myself but I hold back. Why waste days, weeks, months gathering evidence to convince you when Time will do a better job? She won’t last the year. Millennia is past tense.’

  ‘You dare to mock the past? You place yourself above her – whom we hold in such high esteem? Only I, Meridian, can exit Millennia. Not you, nor your family—’

  There’s a sudden movement at the oak panelling behind Meridian. Everyone stands. We detect the outline of a tall stooped woman in a long hooded robe and a small man in a suit and top hat! The outline becomes solid: Millennia, her short white hair matted against her head, her face ashen, supported by a strange little man in old-fashioned dress with pallid white skin and slate-grey eyes. Maybe it’s her husband. The two of them move slowly, unsteadily, like they’ve just learnt to walk or are 100 years old. I’m reminded of Grandma when her leg is paining her. Mr Oily Hair rushes to pull out the number 12 chair. The weird man leads Millennia over and virtually drops her into it. She slumps forward on the table, her eyes closed. I wonder if she’s dead! He stands behind his seat at number 11.

  ‘You may be seated,’ he says in a voice high and deep at the same time.

  Everyone sits except me. I narrow my eyes at him. Something’s not right. His clothes are a man’s, he moved slowly and he spoke formally like an adult but his voice is a teen’s and his face is smooth. He can’t be more than 3-leap! Yet the adults have taken an order from him; even Evil Nine looks impressed. The ancient-infant puffs out his chest.

  ‘Chrono of crime, thieves of time, let us commence!’

  On the word commence Millennia opens her eyes. She sits upright and runs her fingers through her damp hair till it looks like an electric shock. Colour floods back into her face. The ancient-infant looks at Millennia for ten full seconds before he slowly takes his seat. When he’s fully seated, Millennia speaks.

  ‘Grandfather, we commence.’

  My eyes widen under my mask. How can this boy be Millennia’s grandfather? But then I focus on Millennia. She stands tall and gazes round the circle till her eyes fix on the Infinity-Glass.

  ‘What, in the name of Time, is that?’

  Mr Oily Hair, aka Three, stands up.

  ‘The artefact we informed you of in the previous meeting, esteemed Millennia. The priceless Infinity-Glass that will make ALL our fortunes.’ He clears his throat. ‘Though, of course, as I myself orchestrated the TIMING of this theft and have provided a safe place to hide it and the thief—’

  ‘Sit down, Three. Whoever took the risk will receive the usual bonus IF we choose to sell it.’ Millennia turns to me. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Family,’ says Mr Oily Hair, giving me his greasy smile. Millennia nods gravely and addresses me directly.

  ‘Bring it here. Say nothing. I do not wish to hear your voice; I do not wish to know who you are. None of this is happening, do you understand?’

  I nod. Millennia’s up to her old tricks, pretending she knows nothing about crime or criminals. It IS happening but not in the way she sees it. I’m double-double crossing the Double M. I’m not the criminal she thinks I am AND by nodding, I’m lying. I HATE lying; I purse my lips together so tight they hurt, to stop myself shouting out the truth. I have to. I’m a Level 1 Infinite and this is a Level 2 job.

  All eyes are on me. My face burns underneath the disguise as I walk round the right-hand side of the table. I hate people looking at me directly too, but the mask helps a lot and it’s easier walking past Mr Oily Hair and the teenage boys than walking past Evil Nine, Meridian and The Grandfather. The circle gets badder the higher up you go.

  I place the Infinity-Glass on the table in front of Millennia and remain standing next to her, waiting for instructions. But it’s as if she’s forgotten I’m still here. She lifts the Glass, her fingers knotted and spotted with age, tracing the indented infinity signs. Then she upturns it, places it on the table and the sand begins to flow.

  ‘Execute it!’ she says, turning her face away.

  ‘NO!’ Meridian stands up, her hands shaking. ‘No.’

  ‘If esteemed Mille
nnia says execute it, that can be easily arranged,’ begins Mr Oily Hair, who has also left his seat, ‘if by execute, esteemed Millennia is referring to the profitable conclusion of this crime: selling the Glass to the highest bidder on the black market for millions of pounds that will benefit the full Circle for decades. Whereas, if execute were to mean destroy—’

  ‘I indeed mean destroy. The priceless 1752 Infinity-Glass!’ Millennia appears to be announcing it but her voice is cold as flint. ‘I like “priceless”: I’m a businesswoman, I know what this is worth and Dr Johnson’s fame triples its price tag. But I already have money. And I like “1752”: the perfect holiday destination where Leapers link hands with Annuals and let the calendar do the hard work. How I have profited from 1752. There is much to like. And the 18th century is my favourite of them all. But seeing the Infinity-Glass in the flesh, in the here and now, presents me with a problem.’ She pauses. ‘Would anyone like to guess what the problem is?’

  I almost put up my hand. But this isn’t school or the Time Squad Centre in 2048. This is The Vicious Circle. I look around it, at its range of faces, old and young, black and white, and the one empty chair at 8. I wonder who isn’t here. Then I look at Meridian, aged and angry, and realise she’s the only person old enough and bold enough to stand up to Millennia.

  ‘The problem is, esteemed leader, the infinity symbol.’ Meridian pauses. ‘You give your enemies too much credit. INFINITY did not commission this hourglass; it is of its time.’

  Millennia winces at the word Infinity. Infinity, the wisest bissextile ever, who’s leapt to the edge of time but no one’s ever seen. Infinity, who supports The Infinites in secret. I can see why Millennia’s afraid.

  ‘Meridian, I know very well Infinity did not pay to have an hourglass created in her honour. When Dr Johnson bestowed it upon his favourite servant it was a classical marine timepiece: at some point on the timeline someone added these symbols to taunt me, to humiliate me, to keep me awake at night. Infinity is too powerful, a threat to the very existence of The Vicious Circle. Do you not understand my repulsion?’