by carl ashmore
‘Nottingham,’ Will replied.
‘I - I’ve got a Facebook friend in Nottingham,’ Becky blustered. ‘Anna Perkins. Do you know her?’ Before the words left her mouth she knew how daft she sounded.
‘I do not, Miss,’ Will said.
Becky decided to keep her mouth shut from now on.
‘I’ve been watching a TV series on Sky about Nottingham,’ Joe said. ‘The Tales of Robin Hood. Have you seen it?’
‘No, Will replied, ‘but it’s a most celebrated tale.’
‘It’s pretty good,’ Joe added. ‘Robin’s not my favourite character, though.’
‘And who may that be?’
‘Little John.’
‘Ah, John Little was a good man.’
‘And Friar Tuck,’ Joe said. ‘He’s funny.’
‘He most certainly was.’ Will hesitated. ‘And there’s Will Scarlet, of course, a fine and noble character.’
Joe paused for a moment. ‘Nah, I don’t like him. He’s a pansy.’
Will’s expression turned from interest to disappointment. Suddenly, Uncle Percy gave a rather loud cough. A cough that for a fleeting moment, Becky thought sounded like a laugh.
Joe didn’t notice. ‘Would you fire an arrow for me?’
‘Indeed,’ Will agreed. ‘And what should the target be?’
‘What about the apple?’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Have you finished with that, Joe?’ Joe nodded and passed it over. ‘Ready, Will?’
Will drew an arrow from his quiver. Then Uncle Percy pitched the apple as far as he could. In an instant, Will took aim and fired. The arrow sliced the air and with a dull thump, struck the apple through its core.
Joe panted with disbelief. ‘Whoa!’ He turned excitedly back to Will. ‘Would you teach me? Archery, I mean.’
‘I would enjoy that.’
‘Can we start now?’
Will smiled. ‘Unfortunately, for now I must feed Epona.’ He stroked the horse’s mane. ‘Perhaps we could begin on the morrow?’
‘Great,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll try really hard.’
‘Of that I am certain.’
‘You must come for dinner, William,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Maria is preparing something of a treat in honour of our guests. I think she’s hoping you may join us.’
‘Maria is far too formidable a lady to disappoint. Please tell her I accept. Farewell to you all.’ Will offered a parting nod, and guided Epona into the forest. As he strode away, Becky felt sure she heard him mutter something about flowers.
*
The weather remained glorious throughout Becky and Joe’s first week. Uncle Percy ensured their every moment was filled with fun. Each morning, he would escort them to the lake, where they would swim in the shallow black water or take a rowing boat to the centre and enjoy a light breakfast beneath the early morning sun. Will kept his promise and spent countless hours teaching Joe archery. He was a patient teacher and Joe an eager pupil. Will gave him an exact replica of his own bow, if slightly smaller, and Joe cherished it above all things. Indeed, Will was impressed with Joe’s natural ability as an archer and Joe was delighted with his tutor’s encouragement.
Uncle Percy had decided that, whether she liked it or not, Becky should learn to ride and would take her every afternoon to the musty stone stables that bordered the lake. At first, Becky was hesitant, particularly when she saw the horse he had selected for her - a decrepit, grey horse with a white streak on its nose and bandy legs which Uncle Percy referred to as ‘Charger’. In her opinion, the only way it could charge anywhere would be strapped securely to a short-range missile. Nevertheless, she felt satisfied Charger looked far too old and generally worn out to inflict any serious damage to her.
And when Mrs Mellor came to visit at the weekend, Uncle Percy arranged a formal banquet in her honour and spent her stay ensuring she was showered with luxuries at every possible opportunity. As the weekend drew to a close, Mrs Mellor found it almost impossible to leave. Delighted that Becky and Joe were having such a lovely time, she promised to return the following weekend.
By Tuesday of the second week the weather had turned. A ferocious storm battered the Hall, shaking its very foundations and a howling wind cut the air like a siren. It was two in the morning when Becky was jolted from a deep sleep by a forceful shove to her ribs.
‘Get up!’ Joe said, struggling to catch his breath.
Becky turned away, pulled her duvet close and mumbled, ‘Get stuffed.’
Joe pushed her again. ‘WILL YOU GET UP!’
‘What is it?’ Becky growled, refusing to open her eyes.
‘Come with me,’ Joe said urgently. ‘You must see this. It’s unbelievable.’
‘I’ll see it in the morn -’
‘IT HAS TO BE NOW!’ Joe bellowed. He switched on the bedside light. ‘Come on. You’ll never believe me. You have to see it for yourself.’
Becky forced her eyes open. Joe stood before her, sopping wet and shivering. ‘Have you been swimming?’
‘Not exactly,’ Joe replied, ringing water from the cuffs of his dressing gown.
‘So why are you wet?’
‘You’ll see. Now … come on.’
Becky yawned. ‘It had better be good.’
‘Oh, it is,’ Joe breathed. ‘It’s very good.’
*
Feeling thoroughly miserable, Becky traced Joe’s steps downstairs and plotted her revenge which involved his nose, four peanuts and a chopstick. Her heart sank as he tiptoed to the front door. ‘Where are you taking -?’
‘Shhh,’ Joe said, inching the door open. ‘Now, whatever you see, don’t - make - a – sound. That means no screaming! Okay?’
Screaming? Becky thought. What exactly would she see? Following Joe onto the porch, an icy blast of rain spattered her face. ‘Thanks a bunch,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I’m going to get told off and catch pneumonia, all in one night.
‘This way,’ Joe said and dashed off.
Becky pulled her dressing gown close and followed him to the rear lawns. She watched horrified as Joe turned a left and stopped at a familiar outbuilding. Joining him, she shot him an angry look. ‘You haven’t broken into Uncle Percy’s laboratory, have you? He said it was out of bounds. If you have, I’ll thump your face so hard it swells like a - ’
‘Quiet,’ Joe barked. ‘Listen…’ He pressed a finger to his lips.
For once, Becky did as she was told. The rain was fading now but even through the moaning wind she could hear muffled voices. She grew intrigued.
‘Look round the corner,’ Joe whispered, pointing to the edge of the wall.
Becky hesitated and then slowly peered round.
‘Can you see? Are they still there?’
Becky didn’t respond. Mesmerised by the astonishing sight before her, she didn’t hear his words.
Will was crouched on the waterlogged grass, beside him, a large sandy-coloured animal in a heavy sleep, its chest moving up and down in a slow, consistent rhythm. Uncle Percy stood over them both, soaked and exhausted. He held a pair of pliers jubilantly in his hand. The pliers contained a fat, yellowing tooth.
‘Good girl,’ Will breathed, softly patting the creature’s back.
‘Milly should be out for about half an hour,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘What do you say to a nice cup of tea, William? I believe we’ve earned it.’
Will laid the animal’s head lightly on the grass. ‘I deem we have.’
Becky’s head spun like a top. She felt confused and bewildered. Not to see Uncle Percy up at this time of night - she half-expected this would be when he did his inventing. No, staring at the sleeping animal, she knew it shouldn’t be alive at all. She’d seen one before at the Natural History Museum in London. But that was only a life-like reconstruction and not the genuine article.
A Sabre-tooth tiger lay sedated on the lawn of Bowen Hall. A very large, very real Sabre-tooth tiger.
Chapter 4
A Question of Time
Becky felt numb. Questions raced throug
h her mind. Then, as if to make matters worse, she heard a soft growl and felt a sharp tug at the hem of her gown. Glancing down, she saw a small brown cat with disproportionately large fangs gnawing on the fabric. Her eyeballs nearly popped from their sockets. ‘Get off,’ she yelled instinctively, giving the Saber-tooth tiger cub a light kick. At once, Uncle Percy’s head jolted up. Becky dipped behind the wall, but deep down she knew it was too late.
She’d been seen.
Colour drained from Uncle Percy’s face. ‘Oh, crikey,’ he uttered. ‘SABIAN! Come here… NOW!’ The cub released Becky’s robe and obediently padded over to him. Uncle Percy scooped him up and took a very deep, sober breath before he spoke. ‘You can come out now, Becky.’
Becky emerged, her eyes locked on the ground. Hesitantly, Joe followed.
‘And Joe too, I see,’ Uncle Percy said flatly. ‘Deary me.’
‘It’s his fault.’ Becky nodded at Joe. ‘He was spying on you.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Joe said defensively. ‘I - err - I woke up, went to get a glass of water and heard a roar and then - ’
‘That’s quite all right, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said.
‘T-that’s a - a – Sabre-tooth tiger,’ Becky stammered.
Uncle Percy paused. ‘Yes. Her name’s Milly. She had a nasty abscess on a back molar. We had to remove it.’ He gave a weak smile and held up the bloody tooth as if it made the explanation more palatable.
‘But…it’s a Sabre-tooth t-tiger?’ Becky repeated.
‘A Smilodon, to be precise, and this little tyke is her son, Sabian.’
‘How - how have you got a Sabre-tooth -’ Becky’s words were interrupted by a deep rumbling sound beneath her feet.
‘Oh, no…’ Uncle Percy’s body seemed to deflate like a balloon and, with a dull thunk, he dropped the pliers on his foot. Suddenly, the air filled with thick streams of light.
‘What’s g-going on?’ Becky shouted, shielding her eyes.
A mighty crack echoed all around. Then silence. Slowly, Becky lowered her hand and gasped. A milk float had materialised on the lawn.
*
Becky froze like a statue and gawped at the milk float. A thickset middle-aged man, wearing a racing green blazer and cravat, sat in the front seat. His fine blond hair, slicked back with wax, made his large round head glisten like a Christmas bauble. ‘Greetings, Percy, old boy. What’s the matter with Milly?’
‘Evening, Keith,’ Uncle Percy replied awkwardly. ‘Milly’s fine, she’s just sedated. We had to perform a tooth extraction.’
‘I see,’ the traveller replied. ‘Well, you’re quite right. Best do it yourself. Most vets wouldn’t fancy a twelve-thousand year old Smilodon on their operating table.’ He chuckled. ‘Anyway, I found the Stonehenge manuscript you wanted.’ He pulled a folded piece of ragged brown parchment from his pocket.
‘Excellent.’ Uncle Percy’s eyes flicked from the traveller to Becky and Joe.
‘You were right, Rodney Taylor had pinched it,’ the traveller continued. ‘He’s a rum ‘un that one. Anyway, I tracked him to the Dun Cow pub in Shrewsbury in 1922. Oh, and you were right about something else. Bernard Preston had paid him a visit, and it was about the manuscript. So, whatever your theory about his murder is, well, you seem to be right on the money.’
Suddenly the traveller noticed Becky and Joe and his smile vanished. Turning back to Uncle Percy, he arched his eyebrows. ‘Ooops, I didn’t -’
Uncle Percy shook his head and placed Sabian on the grass. ‘Not to worry, Keith. Thanks for this.’ He seized the manuscript and slipped it into his coat pocket. ‘Care for a nightcap?’
‘No thanks, Perce. Things to do and all that.’
‘Another time, then.’
‘Absolutely. Anyway, must be off.’ Offering a hasty wave, the traveller fumbled about frantically on the dashboard. ‘Cheerio, Perce, Will. Ta ta everyone.’ A few moments later, the milk float had vanished.
Uncle Percy unbuttoned his top collar and forced a weak smile. ‘I do believe I have some explaining to do...’
‘T-that was a milk float,’ Becky said, staring at the vacant space where the milk float had been.
‘Yes it was.’
‘But - but it disappeared.’
‘Yes it did.’
‘How?’
Uncle Percy exhaled heavily. ‘Well, that’s because it isn’t strictly a milk float. It’s a time machine.’
‘A time machine?’ Becky snorted.
‘Indeed. And that gentleman was Keith Pickleton, a good friend of mine and a very experienced time traveller.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Becky snorted. ‘Time travel is not possible!’
Uncle Percy inclined his head towards the sleeping tiger. ‘Well, I didn’t get Milly at Asda.’ He gave a half-hearted chuckle.
Becky’s head reeled. ‘But … h - how?’
‘Well, how, would take some time to explain. But the process involves Einstein’s general theory of relativity, time dilation, four-dimensional wormholes, temporal curvatures, and quantum mechanics. But you have no idea what I’ve just said, have you?’
‘Uh?’ Becky grunted.
‘And you’re a t-time traveller?’ Joe gasped.
‘I am,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Now, I think we’d better get out of this rain and have a little chat, don’t you?’
*
‘Drink up, you’ll feel better.’ Uncle Percy placed two mugs before Becky and Joe. He pulled up a wooden chair and joined them at the kitchen table. ‘Now, I’m sure you have lots of questions. So, please, fire away …’
Becky and Joe sat there, staring dumbstruck at the swirling liquid.
After a long pause, Joe spoke first, ‘Why doesn’t Milly eat you?’
Uncle Percy chuckled. ‘Believe it or not, she’s really very tame and exceptionally loyal. And we do feed her well. Personally, I think she’d rather chew on a juicy steak than my scrawny ankle.’
Becky didn’t smile. ‘Did you invent time travel?’
‘Good heavens, no. The credit for that belongs to a remarkable scientist named Henry Locket in 1946 when he created ‘Old Betty’ the world’s first operational time machine. Anyway, he told some of his contemporaries about Betty and, before long, they were using his specifications to build their own machines. Over the next few years, even though Locket insisted their activities remain clandestine, word got out. By 1955 there were thirty two time travellers, world-wide.’
‘And how many are there now?’ Becky asked.
‘Over two hundred.’
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Two hundred?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Uncle Percy smiled weakly. ‘It’s quite the global affair.’
‘How did you get involved?’ Joe asked eagerly.
‘Well, Henry Locket was one of my tutors at Oxford. I had always been fascinated by the concept of time travel and, aided by some fellow classmates, conducted some experiments of my own. Anyway, I think Professor Locket appreciated our efforts and took us under his wing. And that’s how I first became involved with the community.’
Becky took a moment to digest the information. ‘So… what’s the future like?’
Joe’s eyes lit up. ‘Do Man City ever win the Premiership?’
Uncle Percy gave a somewhat relieved laugh. ‘I have no idea, to either question. You see it is only possible to visit the past, and back again, of course, but not the future. The limitations of the technology dictate that a time machine can only ever return to the present, not travel to the future.’
‘It’s still pretty cool,’ Joe said. ‘I mean, you could keep going back to 1966 to watch England win the World Cup.’
‘I knew someone that did precisely that,’ Uncle Percy said, a slight edge to his voice.
‘So have you met any famous people?’ Joe asked.
Uncle Percy relaxed into his chair and tapped his long fingers on his chin. ‘Let me see … I met William Shakespeare.’
Becky shuddered. That name had always fille
d her with dread ever since she first read Macbeth at school.
‘And what was he like?’ Joe asked.
‘As dull as his plays,’ Uncle Percy replied, winking at Becky as if he had unfettered access to her thoughts.
Becky grinned back at him. ‘Have you met anyone else?’
‘I was fortunate enough to meet Gandhi; he was a wonderful chap, great sense of humour. Martin Luther King; he was smashing, a bona-fide gent. Florence Nightingale: she was an extraordinary woman and a devilishly good poker player. Oh, and The Duke of Wellington, but I found him a bit too big for his boots.’
Becky almost laughed but stopped when she noticed Joe staring darkly at Uncle Percy. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Will’s from the past, isn’t he?’
An uncomfortable silence cloaked the kitchen. After a few seconds, Uncle Percy spoke, ‘Yes.’
Joe nodded solemnly. ‘Who is he?’
A very slight smile formed on Uncle Percy’s face. ‘Well, I heard you mention a television programme about Robin Hood.’
Joe’s face ignited. ‘He’s Robin Hood!’
‘Err - not exactly,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Robin Hood didn’t exist. However, some of the Robin Hood legend is indeed based on fact - the so-called merry men, for example, did exist. They did steal from the rich and give to the poor. And, for a while at least, they all lived in the great trees of Sherwood. Their leader was - ’
‘- Will … Scarlet?’ Joe breathed.
‘I suppose so, yes,’ Uncle Percy said.
Then another voice cut the air. ‘And methinks I should have remained in my own time.’ Will stood at the kitchen door, silhouetted by the glassy moon behind.
Joe’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re the real Will Scarlet?’
‘I am the real Will Shakelock.’
Dumbstruck, Joe asked, ‘So, why are you here, in our time, I mean?’
‘Your uncle saved my life, and -’ Will paused, seemingly about to say something else but changing his mind, ‘- and I owe him a great debt.’
‘You owe me nothing, Will,’ Uncle Percy said simply. ‘You know that.’
‘You saved his life?’ Joe said, looking at Uncle Percy with newfound admiration.
‘Not really. He’s exaggerating.’
