by Cavan Scott
Esme gasped. ‘We’ve become children again.’
‘All those years,’ whispered Jack. ‘The war and our careers and everything … All for nothing!’
Missy cast him an acidulous glance. ‘I always thought careers were very silly things to have. Such a waste of time. Far better to invent breathtakingly ambitious evil schemes.’
‘Except this one backfired, didn’t it?’ Esme shouted, jumping up, surprised at how much energy she now had. ‘You’ve made an awful hash of this one!’
‘Children?’ called their father, standing up from his chair and looking younger, but utterly confused. ‘What the devil’s going on?’
‘We’re back home, father,’ said Jack. ‘Teddy Sparkles has brought us all back home again to Queen Square, in the right year. Everything is exactly as it was.’
‘Hurrah!’ shouted Teddy Sparkles, and Missy scowled at him.
‘And all our lives in the future … almost forty years … were a complete waste of time,’ sobbed Esme.
Missy shrugged. ‘Most human lives are a waste of time. Trust me. I’ve met some awful, pointless, futile people on this planet. At least you lot get to have another go.’ She sighed and picked up her brolly, and tilted her hat. ‘I suppose I could brainwash you all into causing complete carnage with future Earth history by exploiting your knowledge of all that is to come … But I rather imagine that your future, adult memories are fading away as I speak, aren’t they? Everything’s withering and falling away like a peculiar dream, and so by now you’ve all turned back into a bunch of rather boring children again, haven’t you? Yes, I can tell I’m quite right, as per usual. Ah well. I’ll be off, then.’
‘Wait!’ yelled Jack, who was still staring out of the window. ‘There’s something wrong.’
‘Well, of course there is,’ sighed Missy. ‘My wicked schemes have been spoiled. Round of applause. Well done you. What could be worse than that?’
‘Plenty.’ Jack pointed out of the window. ‘For instance, there’s a fire-breathing dragon in Queen Square.’
‘Are you sitting comfortably, children? Then Missy will tell you the end of this strange story, and how it came to be that poor, dear Teddy Sparkles simply had to die …!
‘There was just no other way, you see, because, in reimagining the past the way he had, and taking us all back there, he had tangled everything up. Silly old Teddy Sparkles had conjured up a 1925 that was infused not just with his memories, but also with the stories he had heard the governess read to the children every night. He had absorbed her tales of dragons and phoenixes and walking scarecrows … and so now London and the whole world was plagued with these peculiar beings … Gorgons and harpies, angels and centaurs. They were everywhere and taking over this reality.
‘“Teddy Sparkles, what have you done?” cried Esme, as the dragons came swarming in the skies over Queen Square, roasting the rooftops with emerald flames.
‘“I’ve done it all wrong!” howled that idiot bear. “I’ve mixed up plain reality with awful whimsy … and now there’s chaos everywhere!”
‘Oh, and children, it was quite true. There were savage, talking tigers bounding into Buckingham Palace and eating up members of the Royal Family. There were elephants with elephant guns in hot air balloons, taking pot-shots at people far below. It was as if these creatures of the imagination were seizing their chance to take revenge upon the humdrum world …
‘And there was I – Missy – forced to become the heroine of the hour, just as I often am in moments like this. Those children begged me. “Oh, Missy, you’re so brave and beautiful. Only you can save the planet!”
‘I listened to their flattery. And I watched the hordes of strange creatures wreaking havoc on 1925. I sat with the children, having tea at the British Museum, one glorious afternoon, and all the mummies had come to life and were dancing a conga out of the section devoted to Ancient Egypt. The café was a very exciting place to be because, as we sipped our tea, we could also see dinosaur skeletons stretching and heaving themselves into life, and doing battle with statues of gods from long ago. It was quite exciting, but also very, very noisy.
‘“No one can rule over this soggy mess.” I shrugged. “I suppose I will just have to help mankind. And to that end, children, I’m afraid Teddy Sparkles will have to die.”
‘“Oh no!” cried Esme, Jack and Peter. Well, Peter actually said “Boop!” of course, but it amounted to the same. “Please, don’t hurt lovely Teddy Sparkles.”
‘He was there with us, the noxious beast. Sitting on our café table and looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. And I was forced to explain once again that he wasn’t just an innocuous-looking stuffed bear covered in glitter. Oh no. He belonged a race of wily reality-engineers from Ursino Six. His furry little paws had tampered with our timelines and only he could set things back on their correct course …
‘“Buy me some cakes and I’ll consider it,” he snapped.
‘“You see, children,” he sighed, as he pretended to eat cream cakes. “It’s rather like when you draw a picture, and get it a bit wrong, and use your eraser to rub out the same aggravatingly wrong bit again and again. You know how the paper will go dirty and eventually tear?” He let a single tear roll down his furry cheek. “That’s how it is with reality, too.”
‘“No, it isn’t,” I snapped. “I’ve messed about with the nature of reality enough to know it’s more robust than that. What he means, children, is that, in setting your world of 1925 back to rights, he will deplete himself of his final stores of psychic energy. He will end up rubbing himself out of existence.” I poured out more tea for us all, and all eyes were on Teddy Sparkles.
‘“She’s quite right,” that troublesome bear quivered.
‘“Teddy Sparkles, you can’t die!” gasped Esme, and the others looked just as concerned.
‘I said briskly, “Sometimes, in cosmic situations like this, then someone has to make a noble self-sacrifice. And, to be honest, it’s only right and proper that it’s Teddy here. And listen – the British Museum is falling down around our ears. Those monsters are getting out of hand. All the mummies and dinosaurs and everything are going to break out of here quite soon and go rampaging right across London …”
‘“I’d rather Teddy Sparkles was still here,” said Esme. “As well as all the monsters and magical beasts. I like them.”
‘“Boop,” said Peter.
‘A pterodactyl came swooping out of the courtyard then, flapping its wings and trying to get at the cherries on my hat, and I was forced to fight it off with my umbrella. “Teddy Sparkles must die,” I told them, in my most sweetly reassuring voice. “And then everything will be all right.”
‘The oldest boy, Jack, could see the sense in what I said. He was nodding grimly. “Missy is right. Teddy, I think you ought to take the world back to how it was … before you changed everything. It’s only right.”
‘And so Teddy Sparkles hung his head. He had liked this world the way it used to be, and was rather ashamed of having caused a dreadful fuss. He gave a shuddering, remorseful breath, for now he had resolved to die and do right by the human race – and the end of my story was nearing. “Goodbye, children,” he wept. “I’ll make everything right, as you wish. But the effort will wipe me out of existence completely. I’ll simply fade away before your eyes. It won’t hurt much, I don’t suppose, but I’ll be gone and you’ll never ever see me again …”
‘Esme gasped and rushed to hold the tiny bear.
‘“Oh, get on with it,” I snapped and, in a fit of pique, I relinquished my narrating duties and threatened to vaporise his precious children if he didn’t get a shift on.
‘Teddy Sparkles glared at me. “You are the quintessence of wickedness, Missy. You really are.”
‘He always knew just the right thing to say, that Teddy Sparkles. And then he did a special magic thing and put the world to rights, vanishing in a flash, as he did so. Hurrah. The End.’
Except … it wasn’
t quite the end. Not for Missy and not for the children. Not quite yet.
‘Come along, children,’ said Missy, swinging her brolly happily as they left the museum. ‘I’ll walk home with you to Queen Square, laughing and jeering at you the whole way, pointing out all the horrible suffering and mess you’ve caused with your stupidity.’
And yet, they were all astonished to see that the rubble and destruction wrought by dragons and demons and talking statues had vanished utterly. London was bright and sunny that morning in spring. Everyone was behaving as if nothing untoward had happened at all.
‘It’s most peculiar,’ said Esme, as they lagged behind Missy down those narrow streets.
‘Reality is real once more,’ said Jack. ‘With his dying gasp, Teddy Sparkles gave us back our world.’
‘Boop,’ added Peter happily.
‘And now we have to live our lives all over again,’ said Esme in wonder. ‘I can’t really remember very much of mine, can you, Jack? It’s all faded, like a queer dream, but I think there was a War and … and … No, it’s all gone now …’
‘This time perhaps we’ll get to choose what we want to do with our lives without Missy’s interference.’
Esme watched their governess pause before a sweetshop, her eyes glittering with greed. ‘I do hope she’ll leave us alone from now on. It’s all been quite terrifying. Especially that rather bizarre part of the story when she started narrating.’
Jack shuddered. ‘I hope she’ll go, too. She’s done enough damage.’
They became aware then that the sweetshop owner was engaging in conversation with Missy, and she was reacting violently and angrily to something he was saying. Now the man was laughing and she was fuming.
‘What is it?’ said Esme. ‘She’s not going to vaporise him, is she?’
The children drew closer in order to listen.
‘Why, of course I know who you are!’ the shop owner was chuckling. ‘You’re that lovely, magical governess from the famous stories, aren’t you? You’re a bit prickly and snooty on the outside, and sometimes you’re downright deadly, but you’ve got a heart of gold really, deep down. Everyone knows that! Everyone knows who you are, Missy! You’re famous!’ He laughed out loud and started calling out to other passers-by. ‘Look, look here! It’s Missy! The famous governess who has all the magical adventures! Look, here!’
Soon there was a crowd gathering around Missy.
‘She looks absolutely furious!’ Esme laughed.
‘This is all Teddy Sparkles’ doing, I bet!’ laughed Jack. ‘He’s engineered this reality. He’s fixed it so that she can’t creep about any more, getting up to nefarious schemes. That wily bear has seen to it that she’s the one thing she doesn’t want to be … famous!’
‘And loved!’ Esme chuckled. ‘Look at her face! That’s man’s fawning all over her. She looks horrified!’
‘Boop!’ said Peter.
Missy was just about tearing out her hair as people gathered for autographs. Someone was holding up their squirming baby so she could kiss it.
‘Ugh! I can’t stay here!’ she squawked. ‘I’m surrounded by blithering ninnies!’
The crowd laughed at that. ‘Ain’t she a card? She’s so abrasive! But she’s all right underneath! She’s got a kind heart …!’
‘I don’t have a kind heart!’ Missy roared in frustration. ‘Beneath this gorgeous bosom are beating two hearts of pure, unadulterated evil!’
But the crowd outside the sweetshop simply laughed even harder at her.
And so did the children.
Missy unfurled her umbrella quite savagely. ‘Right! I’m leaving 1925 for ever!’
‘Goodbye, Missy!’ called Esme and Jack as she zoomed into the startling blue skies above Bloomsbury. Their younger brother cried ‘Boop!’ and the crowd gasped at her jet-propelled boots.
She shot into the air and shouted something extremely rude down at the lot of them.
The years unfolded once again, in many ways similarly to the way they had the first time round. The children got to choose their own destinies this time, which was much better and more agreeable all round, they thought.
Esme became a grandmother. She inherited the house in Queen Square and, one very snowy Christmas, she had all her children and grandchildren visiting.
Her favourite child was Jane, the youngest. Jane was quieter than the others, and often got elbowed aside in all the kerfuffle of a large family. Esme took a special interest in her and, that Christmas morning, sat with her as she opened her presents. As usual, Jane looked very serious and concentrated as she set about her task. The others were raging about the place, causing an unholy din.
At last, Jane was left with one final, beautifully wrapped parcel. ‘Who’s that from, darling?’ asked Esme.
‘It doesn’t say,’ Jane observed solemnly. She set about untying the ribbons, very carefully, and laying them to one side to use again later.
Esme watched with a strange, cold feeling deep in her stomach.
‘It’s a bear!’ Jane cried. ‘It’s a rather old, golden bear. His face is a bit squashed and he’s a little crumpled. But he’s awfully nice. Look at him, Grandma Esme! Just look at his face! Oh, thank you. Thank you so much!’
‘But … he isn’t from me …’ gasped Esme. ‘Where did he come from?’
‘Oh, look! He’s covered in glitter,’ said the child. She hugged him hard.
He turned to Esme and those topaz eyes stared into her own.
Then Teddy Sparkles quite distinctly winked at her, she was sure of it.
The Liar, the Glitch and the War Zone
Peter Anghelides
Today …
… St Mark’s Square in Venice bustled with activity. Locals and tourists criss-crossed the piazza in happy, animated groups as preparations continued for the Carnivale. Lively children skipped beside their parents below the Campanile. Joyful couples held hands and peered into the cloudless blue sky. From their tall granite pedestals beside the waterway of the lagoon, Saint Theodore and a prancing unicorn gazed benevolently back down on them across the Piazzetta. Whichever way you turned, there were people full of love and energy and enthusiasm.
Missy hated them all.
She navigated a path between the granite pillars, studiously avoiding the pedestrian waves of excitement that lapped around her. If she didn’t make eye contact, she could restrain her natural instincts, so long as they kept their necks out of breaking distance.
A human in a jaunty hat tested her patience with his eager tone as he foisted a printed flyer into her hand. There was a certain musicality about the Italian language that softened her reaction, so she accepted it instead of pushing him into the canal. The handbill was for an exhibition at the museum, with a photo of an item on display. Well, she was older than any of the exhibits, and much better preserved.
Tesori della laguna it read: Treasures of the lagoon. Missy considered dropping the handbill into the water behind her, and imagined it floating across the calm surface, then out into the 200-square-mile expanse of the lagoon itself. It would evade the gondolas and water taxis that ferried between the many Venetian islands, until it slipped past ocean-going liners and onward into the choppy waters of the Adriatic Sea.
Instead she crumpled it into her pocket, and took a brisk walk across the piazza. At least she could enjoy the crisp, clear air. Ahead of her, the Cathedral’s Byzantine façade was masked by scaffolding, erected to enable renovations. Beneath one row of metal poles and wooden planks, there was an angry kerfuffle in the crowd.
‘Gerald! My purse!’ An English tourist wailed at her husband that someone had raided her handbag.
‘Calm down, Felicity.’ Gerald had an iPhone in one hand and a Hasselblad camera in the other. You couldn’t tell whether he was more annoyed by the theft or that his attention had been wrenched away from photographing every square inch of the piazza.
Missy had already spotted the culprits – a tatty pair of children. The boy implored touris
ts to sign a petition, while the girl dipped into the victim’s bag or pocket under cover of her conspirator’s outstretched clipboard.
The boy now skulked in the gloom below the scaffolding, the clipboard clutched to his chest in feigned insouciance. The girl stood apart, and sucked on a nervous cigarette.
‘Smoking is such a filthy habit,’ declared Missy as she trotted up to them. ‘It’ll be the death of you. Unless furious Felicity –’ here, she raised her voice and angled her head towards the sobbing victim – ‘has Gerald beat you amateurs to death with his long and, let’s be honest, over-compensatory lens.’
Felicity heard her own name, but took a moment to make the connection. Gerald hesitated with his Hasselblad.
The boy with the clipboard reacted faster. ‘Antonia!’ he yelled at his friend, and they scarpered before the tourists could react.
As she fled, Antonia had dropped a fat purse – evidently, the item she’d stolen from Felicity. Missy picked it up and put it in her own pocket.
‘Where did they go? Gerald? Gerald!’ Felicity’s voice faded into the crowd as Missy walked towards the cathedral doors.
Fly-posted to a board on the scaffolding was an advert for the museum. Tesori della laguna, again – a collection of discoveries from lagoon excavation work beneath Venice. Like the handbill she’d stuffed into her pocket, the poster had a photo of an old candlestick, caked in mud and barnacles.
Missy squeaked a little laugh; if she wanted to see ancient history, she could travel there herself.
Well, she could if she managed to repair her TARDIS.
The calm darkness of the basilica’s interior embraced her as she entered through the huge bronze doors. Adjacent signs declared that access to the cathedral was restricted during the renovation. Missy’s heels rapped out an echoing announcement of her journey down the nave.
The huge gilded space was almost empty. As her eyes adjusted, Missy identified the two thieves at the far end of a row of chairs. They cowered, their heads down – asking for deliverance, or forgiveness, perhaps.
