by Morgan Rice
“There’s a man,” Ralph said.
Oliver saw a man watching them. He was standing beside a fence holding the handles of a wooden barrow. He looked like a farmer, with a flap cap and big, muddy leather boots. His clothes were very old. Oliver tried to work out what era they may be from, but he was dressed so simply it was impossible to tell.
“Go. Speak to him,” Oliver instructed Ralph, knowing his hobbling was only slowing them down and just as eager to find out where it was they’d ended up.
Ralph hurried ahead, calling, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” as he went.
Oliver strained to hear what Ralph was saying. His voice was faint but he could still make out the words.
“Could you please tell me where we are?”
The farmer set his wheelbarrow down in the mud and looked at Ralph with a confused expression. “What are you doing in the fields at this hour of the morning?”
Oliver realized then that they’d left Boston at night and arrived here—wherever here was—at daybreak. It only served to make him feel more disorientated.
The farmer looked at Oliver and Esther hobbling up from behind.
“And how many more of you are there?” he stammered.
Oliver could now tell that he spoke with a British accent. They were right. This was England!
Ralph ignored the question, asking his own once again, this time with a more persistent tone. “Please. Can you tell us where we are?”
“You’re in Cranbury Park, lad,” the farmer said.
“Cranbury Park?” Ralph repeated. “Where is that?”
But the name seemed familiar to Oliver. He racked his brains trying to work out from where he’d heard it before.
The farmer looked increasingly perplexed. “Why. It’s in Winchester, England.”
“Winchester…” Oliver said. He’d heard of the city. It had once been the capital of Wessex, back when England was divided into seven kingdoms. That had been a very long time ago, though. He wondered if they could have gone that far back. “Do you mean the capital city?”
The farmer turned to him, looking thoroughly confused. “Now I’ve not had much in the way of an education,” he said. “But even I know London is the capital of this fine country!”
Oliver deduced in his head that they could not have gone farther back than the twelfth century, when London became the new capital city.
Ralph turned back to the farmer. “What year is it?” he asked hurriedly.
Now the man’s frown grew even deeper. He looked at the three of them like they were strange beings. “Are you… witches?” he stammered.
Oliver realized then they must have landed some time in the 1500s or 1600s, a time when fears of witchcraft were at their peak. Three oddly dressed children emerging from a misty field asking bizarre questions would certainly be enough to terrify the locals during that era.
“We’re not witches,” Oliver said hurriedly, trying to calm the farmer down. “We’re… um… explorers. We came on a boat from…”
“China!” Ralph blurted.
The farmer’s skeptical expression lessened a little. “Ah. You came on one of those new trade vessels, did you?”
Oliver took in the new information. England’s Royal Navy began trade with China in the late 1600s. He was quickly narrowing it down.
But who were they searching for? Cranbury Park. Winchester, England. Late 1600s. The initials I.N.
If it was someone important to seers it stood to reason they’d be someone important here as well. An aristocrat or landowner.
“Where is the master’s house?” Oliver asked the farmer.
The farmer pointed toward a sprawling apple orchard. “Through there, lad. Top of the hill.”
They headed off. The sky was just starting to lighten as they reached the trees, but once they were inside the thicket the branches blocked out the light. They had to maneuver through fallen apples that were rotting on the ground.
“Ralph,” Oliver said as they trekked. “Can you tell us more about the battle at the school? And the people who stole the Orb?”
Ralph shuddered. “It was terrible. They appeared out of nowhere. Like they’d somehow transported themselves into the school. We all fought. Teachers and students alike. Then everything began to shake and the attackers disappeared again, just like that. That’s when Professor Amethyst realized they’d somehow made it into the sixth dimension and stolen the Orb. And that’s when the clock started ticking.”
It was a horrible thing to think about. Oliver wondered about his friends back at the school, about the fear they must be feeling now. More than that, he felt the pressure of time sifting away from them. He had no idea how long they’d spend in the portal, or whether time was running at different speeds inside the school as compared to outside of it. All he knew was that time was running out and they had to act quickly. They had to find I.N. and rescue the Orb of Kandra.
Just then, they reached the end of the apple orchard, and a neatly manicured lawn spread out before them. At the top of the lawn, on the crest of a hill, was a beautiful manor house. It was a proper stately English home.
They hurried through the wet grass, coming up around the back of the mansion. Then they followed the large walls around to the front, where there was an imposing door. It looked like the sort of place where an aristocrat would live, or a king with hundreds of servants. Oliver felt certain that this was where they would find an important historical figure like the mysterious I.N.
There was a bell pull beside the door. Ralph tugged it. From inside the house they could hear the sound of the bell ringing.
As they waited, Oliver exchanged a look with Esther. Her expression appeared to be a mixture of curiosity and worry.
After a moment, the door opened. There stood a woman in a heavy brown dress and apron. She had a suspicious expression. From behind her came the smell of a log-burning fire and freshly cooked bread.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Oliver didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked his own. “Is your master home?”
“My master?” she replied, looking confused. “Who’s asking?”
Oliver didn’t know how to answer that question. There was only one thing he could think to say, and he hoped it would have the desired effect. “We were sent by Professor Amethyst.”
A look of understanding flashed across her eyes. “Professor Amethyst. Why, yes, my master has told me anyone associated with Professor Amethyst must be granted an audience immediately.”
Oliver felt his chest leap with excitement. “We can see him then?”
The woman shook her head. “No, lad. He’s not here. He just moved to London.”
Crushing disappointment took hold of Oliver.
“London?” he stammered.
“We can arrange for a coach to take you there,” the woman added. “My master was very clear that anyone associated with Professor Amethyst be taken to him immediately. Let me call for the horse boy.”
But before she retreated, another question struck Oliver. “Excuse me, could you please tell me… Who is your master?”
The woman frowned, clearly surprised that these three strange children on her doorstep didn’t even know who they were asking after.
“Why,” she said, “it’s Sir Isaac Newton.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Christopher Blue sat skulking at the back of Ms. Belfry’s class. He knew she was Oliver’s favorite teacher and that made him all the madder.
It had been just a few days since Oliver had humiliated him in the cafeteria, and though there’d been no sign of him since, Chris was still fuming. He’d spent the time plotting his revenge.
His friend Kirsty leaned over to look at the angry doodle he’d scratched into his desk.
“Is that your brother?” she asked.
Chris ground his teeth together and nodded. “Yes. And that’s his head rolling away.”
Kirsty laughed. “He really humiliated you the other day, didn�
�t he?”
Chris’s gaze snapped up. He glared at her. “Me? It was you he dumped all that food on. Or have you forgotten?”
Kirsty rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t the one who went skidding across the entire lunch room with my butt crack on show.”
Chris felt his cheeks burn even hotter. He was going to kill Oliver. The second he saw that little pipsqueak he was going to pound him to dust. If he showed up, that was. He’d said some pretty weird stuff before he’d disappeared, about being adopted and never coming home. Chris thought it was all too good to be true. Oliver would turn up again. The sniveling little rat always did eventually.
Just then, the bell rang for the end of class. Chris stood quickly, elbowing the other students out of his way as he stomped for the door.
“Christopher,” Ms. Belfry called before he’d made it out of the room.
He spun on his heel. “What?”
She pulled a face at his rude tone but didn’t scold him.
Too weak, Chris thought, smirking to himself. Even the teachers are scared of me.
“I was just wondering if you’d heard from Oliver,” Ms. Belfry asked.
She had a very small voice, Chris thought, that just made her appear even more fragile and weak. No wonder she and Oliver got on so well. They were both pathetic losers.
“No,” he said. “He ran off. No one’s heard from him in days.”
Ms. Belfry nodded, a melancholy expression on her lips. “Okay. If you do hear from him, will you tell me?”
Chris scoffed. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be the first person he comes crawling back to see.”
A line formed between Ms. Belfry’s eyebrows. She gave Chris a look that made him squirm. It seemed like sympathy, something he utterly despised.
“Is everything okay at home, Chris?” she asked. “It must be hard, not knowing where your brother is.”
“I don’t care,” Chris said quickly. “I don’t care if I never see him again.”
Then he turned and stormed out of the classroom before she could say anything else in her sappy voice.
He thundered down the staircase, taking aim with his elbow at the backs of the girls as he went. Nothing gave him greater pleasure then making one of those sissies cry with a well-aimed back jab.
He jumped the last three steps, landing heavily on the ground, then crashed through the corridor, shoving kids out of his way as he went.
He strode through the exit of Campbell Junior High and out into the chilly fall afternoon. Then he slammed right into the back of someone standing at the top of the steps.
“MOVE!” Chris demanded. “You’re in my way!”
The boy swiveled around to face him. Chris recoiled. He was the strangest-looking kid he’d even seen—with jet black hair slicked into a strange, outdated hairstyle, like some kind of big ballad crooner. His skin was as white as a vampire’s, and his thin lips were bloodless. He had a bony nose and high cheekbones, giving him a strange, sunken expression. And then there were his eyes. A strange deep blue, like sapphires.
“Who the heck are you?” Chris blurted.
He already knew every weird-looking kid at the school. There was no way one this weird looking could have gone under his radar.
“Ah,” the boy said. “Christopher Blue. Just the person I was hoping to bump into.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chris narrowed his eyes. “How do you know my name?”
Then it struck him. This weird-looking kid was one of Oliver’s people, wasn’t he? One of those freaks with powers. That’s why he resembled a vampire. He probably was one!
The strange boy smiled, his thin lips twitching. “My name is Malcolm Malice.”
He had a posh voice, like one of the kids from the expensive Catholic school up the road. Chris had pounded a few of them in his time, too.
“I don’t care who you are,” Chris snapped. “I want to know how you know me.”
Irritated by the stranger, Chris lunged for the boy and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He screwed the fabric up in his fist and glared into the boy’s face.
The boy looked down at his crumpled shirt. When his eyes roved back up to Chris’s face, his expression had changed. It turned very hard and very cold. He narrowed his disconcerting eyes.
Then, suddenly, Chris went flying through the air. The boy had pushed out with his hands, sending him catapulting backward. He tumbled down the steps and landed on the gravel with a thud.
Chris tried to scramble to his feet, but the gravel slid beneath his shoes, making him tumble. The boy was advancing down the steps at a frightening speed. All at once, he was looming over Chris. Chris cowered, suddenly terrified.
“I’ve been sent here to ask for your help,” Malcolm replied. “Regarding your brother, Oliver.”
Chris shook his head. “He’s not my brother. And second, I’d never do anything to help him!”
Malcolm chuckled. “No, you misunderstand me. I don’t want you to help Oliver. I want you to help me. I want you to aid me in—how should I phrase it?—destroying Oliver.”
Chris paused. His eyebrows rose to his hairline. Malcolm had certainly piqued his interest.
“Destroy him? How?” He lowered his voice to an excited whisper. “Do you mean kill him?”
No sooner had he said the word kill than he felt a wonderful ripple of joy course through him.
“Why, yes,” Malcolm replied. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
He leaned down, offering his hand to Chris. Chris was still scared of the boy and the power he’d demonstrated. But he was also intrigued. He was being offered the thing he wanted more than anything in the world. To kill Oliver.
A smile spread across his face as he took hold of Malcolm’s hand and allowed him to heave him up to standing.
“All right,” Chris said. “Let’s talk.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Oliver couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Sir Isaac Newton was one of his heroes!
“Newton?” he stammered. “As in the scientist? The man who discovered gravity?”
From her position on the doorstep, the maid chuckled. “Well, I don’t know what he’s discovered, boy, it’s far over my head. But he is a genius of science, I do believe. He left London because of the plague and has only just returned there.”
Thinking of the plague put things a little in perspective for Oliver. As thrilling as it was to be on a quest to meet Isaac Newton, England in the seventeenth century was a dangerous place. Not to mention unsanitary. There was all manner of diseases they could pick up. Oliver had even read in a history book that most people had lice!
The maid turned her head over her shoulder and bellowed once more for the stable hand to attend to them.
A boy who looked roughly the same age as Oliver appeared at the end of the corridor. He was bleary-eyed, as if he’d only recently awoken, and was wearing brown linen shorts that showed off his painfully knobby knees.
Oliver felt a stab of pity for the boy. He himself had lived a life of destitution. But his experience of poverty in the modern era was very different from this boy’s experience of poverty. At the very least he hadn’t been forced to earn his keep.
The boy scurried toward the maid. “Yes, Miss Dean?”
“These are acquaintances of Master Newton’s,” she announced, taking an unnecessarily gruff tone with the boy. “They need to be chauffeured to London immediately. Professor Amethyst’s express command.”
At the mention of the headmaster, the boy’s eyes widened. Clearly, Professor Amethyst was something of a legend around here. The mere mention of his name caused ripples.
“I’ll fetch the coach and driver right away, ma’am,” he stammered.
He bowed and turned to leave. But before he’d even taken a step, the maid reached out and smacked him on the head, causing him to stumble.
Oliver winced.
“Wear your cap next time I summon you!” the maid shouted.
“Yes, ma�
�am, sorry, ma’am.”
The boy scurried away into the shadows.
The whole exchange made Oliver feel terrible. The boy already looked half starved. The least he deserved was a kind word. He felt extremely grateful to have been born at a point in history where children were no longer forced to work.
When the maid turned back to Esther, Ralph, and Oliver in the doorway, her demeanor immediately returned to friendly. She smiled. “Will you come in for tea?”
The last thing Oliver wanted to do was spend any time with someone who treated others so cruelly.
He was about to politely decline when the maid added, “The young miss doesn’t look too well.”
Oliver looked over at Esther. She was very pale and was swaying side to side.
“She hurt her head,” he explained. He looked into Esther’s eyes. “Are you okay?”
Esther snapped back to the moment, as if waking from a bad dream. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” She rubbed her stomach. “The traveling just makes me nauseous.”
Oliver accepted her explanation but he still felt uncertain. Esther just didn’t seem like herself.
Just then, they heard the sound of horses’ hooves and all turned on the doorstep to look behind them.
From around the corner came the carriage, pulled by two jet black horses. The rider, a gentleman in a top hat with a very large moustache, flashed them a somewhat unimpressed expression before leaping down from his perch.
“There’s the carriage already,” the lady said, surprised.
“The boy said it was an emergency,” the driver said.
The maid nodded. “Professor Amethyst’s orders.”
The driver immediately wiped the frown from his face. “Oh. I see.”
He gestured for the three to approach.
As they did, the maid called out, “Make sure you keep your wits about you once you reach the city! It’s a filthy place. Full of pickpockets and ne’er-do-gooders.”
