by carl ashmore
Joe was fascinated. ‘That was a Stegosaurus, right?’
‘Excellent, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Harold’s breakfast, I imagine.’
‘That’s gross,’ Becky slurred, covering her nose with her hand.
Uncle Percy came to a sudden halt. He raised his hand, gesturing them to stop. ‘We’re here…’
Becky froze. Suddenly the Bio-rifle didn’t look big enough.
Uncle Percy buried the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. His eyes glanced from side to side, and he waited. Seconds passed.
Becky’s stomach lurched with terror. The Megalosaurus rose to its full height, arched its neck and roared.
‘Hi, Harold,’ Uncle Percy took aim. ‘Bye, Harold.’ A giant dart pierced the dinosaur’s thick neck. The Megalosaurus froze with shock. Then it staggered to the left and fell backwards, crashing into the ferns behind.
‘A-awesome,’ Joe stammered, half-impressed, half-petrified.
Becky’s face had turned off-white.
‘Right,’ Uncle Percy said calmly, throwing the rifle to the ground. ‘We have precisely twenty minutes. I suggest we get busy.’
‘That sure looks like a T Rex?’ Joe blustered.
‘Well, they are very much alike, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said, swinging the Molivator into position. ‘Tyrannosaurus Rex was slightly bigger, of course, and relatively more intelligent, but there are similarities. In point of fact, the Megalosaurus was the very first fossil ever discovered in 1676… Are you okay, Becky?’
Becky let out a muffled squeak. Now was not the time for a history lesson.
‘She’s fine.’ Joe said.
Uncle Percy entered two digits onto the Molivator’s keypad. ‘Three hundred feet down should do the trick. Now, stand well back, please.’
Becky watched as eight paddles emerged from the Molivator’s outer shell, until it resembled a spider wearing flippers. Then with a clack, the paddles rotated at incredible speed. Faster and faster they spun. Then they attacked the earth and started to dig.
In no time at all, it had disappeared beneath the ground, scattering heavy chunks of soil at Becky’s feet. Within minutes, a mound of earth the size of a small haystack had formed. The Molivator crawled out and fell still.
‘There we go,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Joe, Becky, would you do the honours.’ And he passed over the bag.
Hesitantly, Joe took it. ‘May we have a peek first?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Of course, but be quick. Harold will be waking up soon.’
Becky’s eyes flitted from the unconscious Megalosaurus to the bag. Then she knelt down next to Joe, who slowly unzipped it. Becky and Joe looked down at the Fleece, their features bathed in a golden hue.
Becky’s heart fluttered at its unnatural beauty. However, she also knew precisely what it represented. It was the reason her dad had been taken from her, the reason Bernard Preston and Milly had been murdered. For something so perfect, so exquisite, a great deal of evil trailed in its wake.
‘Wow!’ Joe breathed.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Becky said flatly.
‘You’re quite right, Becky. It is beautiful,’ Uncle Percy said, ‘beautiful and exceptionally dangerous. Come on, let’s get rid of it and get back to the Hall for those crumpets.’ He draped his long arms around their shoulders.
Becky and Joe nodded. Zipping up the bag, they lifted it together and threw it down the hole, watching as the bag plunged into darkness. They didn’t hear it land.
‘Right, let’s clean this mess up,’ Uncle Percy said. He bent over and recalibrated the Molivator. In a matter of minutes, it refilled the hole. Soon they were back at the beach, standing before the campervan. As Uncle Percy loaded the equipment, they heard an angry growl drift over the trees.
‘Harold’s awake,’ Uncle Percy said.
‘Can we go now, please?’ Becky said urgently.
‘Best had,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘He can run at over thirty miles an hour.’
Becky knocked Joe out of the way as she hurtled into the van.
Moments later, Uncle Percy was resetting the time-pad. ‘Do you want to see where the Fleece is buried?’ he said enthusiastically. ‘In our time, I mean.’
‘Yes, please,’ Joe said.
‘Whatever. Just do it quick…’ Becky said, casting an anxious eye at the forest.
‘Okey dokey,’ Uncle Percy said. ’I think you’re going to like this...’
*
Bertha materialised on a long street in Central London. The immediate area was deserted and a dull sun framed a large and very impressive building. It was the building that caught Becky’s eye. A building she had seen many times before. ‘You-are-kidding-me?’ she said, flabbergasted.
‘Not at all,’ Uncle Percy said, grinning. ‘162 million years ago this was Harold’s lair, and this is where the Golden Fleece is buried to this very day.’
Joe’s expression turned from surprise to wild delight.
‘U-n-b-e-l-i-e-v-a-b-l-e!’
They were staring at Buckingham Palace.
‘Unbelievable, but, true,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘I’d like to see Emerson Drake go digging under that.’ Becky and Joe laughed. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, there are a couple of things I have to do, and I can only do them alone. But if you would just stand over there.’ He pointed at the curb. ‘I’ll be back in two ticks and half a jiffy.’
‘What things?’ Becky asked curiously.
‘Just a couple of mercy missions,’ Uncle Percy replied, fumbling through the glove compartment. He pulled out an assortment of small metallic objects. ‘Out you go, quick as you can.’
Becky and Joe followed his instructions. They had just enough time to cast each other a puzzled look, before Bertha vanished.
Joe turned to his sister. ‘What’s he doing?’
Becky shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
Before either of them had time to wonder why they were standing alone in the middle of London, the campervan reappeared.
‘All done,’ Uncle Percy said, his face slightly redder than before. Leaping out of the van, he skipped to Becky and gave her an unexpected and somewhat jubilant hug.
Becky grew increasingly puzzled. Then she noticed he sported stubble on his chin. ‘Where’ve you been? And what’s done?’ Suddenly she was aware of movement in the back of the van. She looked to see a giant brown head pressed against the window. ‘MILLY!’
Joe’s mouth fell open. Uncle Percy slid the door ajar. Becky and Joe raced over, their hearts pounding, and started patting her. Milly made a loud moaning sound and forced her head out further.
Uncle Percy struggled to push her back. ‘Now, Milly, you’re not getting out,’ he said. ‘You’re not wearing an Invisiblator, and I don’t think the Metropolitan police, the Royal Family, or the Corgis, for that matter, would take kindly to a Sabre-tooth tiger charging down the Mall.’
‘B-b-but how?’ Becky stammered. ‘S-she was dead. I saw her die.’
‘Not exactly - well, yes, in one timeline, I suppose she may have been dead, but not really… I could change it.’ Uncle Percy sounded almost as confused as Becky looked. ‘The Omega Effect never occurred, you see...’
Becky and Joe looked at each other, more bewildered than ever.
Uncle Percy sighed. ‘Er, let’s just say that fate allowed me to save her. When I rushed to her in the caves I believed, as you did, that Drake had killed her. But when I stroked her I felt blood-packs and remnants of squibs. She had been rigged to look like she’d been shot, but was, in actual fact, alive. Therefore, I deduced that in the future I must have been able to go back and save her. That’s why I was happy when we went outside. I would have only been able to go back if we’d survived in the first place.’ He scanned Becky and Joe’s blank faces.
Eventually Becky thought she’d better say something. ‘Err, how?’
‘Well, I travelled back to the Red Caves just after the Drake first appeared. Remember when he was pointing a gun at the two of you and boasting he was
not alone - how he’d got so many guns? Do you remember?’
‘Yeah,’ Becky and Joe said in unison.
‘Soon after that I abducted the young man that Drake took the rifle from, the rifle he shot Milly with. Anyway, I injected him with Sodium Mentantathol, so he would forget everything, and loaded his gun with blanks. That’s why when you saw him in the caves he looked so dishevelled. Are you with me?’
Becky and Joe nodded.
‘Then I went back to Bowen Hall, to Milly, and fitted her with the squibs and blood-packs. After that I travelled back to the Red Caves and triggered the squibs to explode at the precise moment he shot her. Do you understand?’ He smiled weakly.
Becky and Joe shook their heads. ‘No.’
He was about to explain again when Becky interrupted, ‘But it doesn’t matter … Milly’s alive, that’s all that counts.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Uncle Percy said, looking relieved he didn’t have to tell the whole story again.
Then, just behind Milly’s left shoulder, Becky saw something else move. There was another animal in the van. ‘Is there -’
‘Oh, yes. I think Bowen Hall has a new resident. A rather special resident.’
Becky peered over Milly’s shoulder. She saw a small white creature looking nervously back at her. ‘Pegasus…’ she breathed with amazement.
‘I thought she might prefer a new home,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Please don’t tell Annabel.’
‘It was you I saw at the Palace?’ Becky breathed. ‘You were rescuing her?’
‘Indeed,’ Uncle Percy said.
Then something occurred to Joe. ‘The fire in King Minos’ Palace, was that you?’
Uncle Percy nodded. ‘Indeed, Joe, I needed a diversion. But there was no fire, just a smoke pellet.’
Pegasus edged forwards and allowed Becky to stroke her. Becky shivered as her fingers caressed the horse’s soft fur. ‘And she can live at Bowen Hall?’
‘Of course. And you can visit her whenever you want,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘In fact, I’d like you to do me a small favour if you would, Becky. I’d like you to be her keeper. At least until you have to return to Manchester. If you don’t mind, that is.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Becky said softly. ‘I don’t mind at all.’
‘Good,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘That’s settled then. And when she’s older, I’ll attach an Invisiblator to her so she can take to the skies whenever she wants, and no one will be any the wiser.’
A single tear fell down Becky’s cheek.
‘I think it’s time we went home, don’t you?’ Uncle Percy said.
Becky and Joe nodded enthusiastically and clambered through the side doors, squeezing onto the back seats, next to an overexcited Milly and a rather nervy Pegasus. Becky reached over and gently cupped the tiny horse in her arms. ‘Uncle Percy?’
‘Yes, Becky?’
‘Can we drive home?’ she said. ‘You know, the normal way.’
‘Of course we can. It will take slightly longer but - ’
‘- But time isn’t really an issue.’ Becky grinned.
Uncle Percy chuckled. ‘It certainly isn’t.’ He started Bertha’s engine. ‘Oh, and Joe… Remember I once told you there was a traveller who kept returning to 1966 to watch England win the World Cup.’
‘Yes,’ Joe said.
‘That was John.’
A broad smile crossed Joe’s face. ‘Cool…’
‘And one more thing, Becky…’ Uncle Percy searched through his cloak pocket. ‘I think this belongs to you.’ He reached over and held out his hand.
Becky gasped loudly. In his palm, coiled like a thin snake, lay her lucky pendant. It looked as good as new - the Suman Stone was securely fixed again and gleamed like an emerald star. She looped it over her neck and turned to her uncle. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘My pleasure,’ Uncle Percy replied, facing forward. Pressing his foot on the accelerator, he steered Bertha away from the curb. She gathered speed and rambled into the distance.
Becky allowed the gentle silence to wash over her. Taking lingering looks at Joe, Milly, Pegasus and finally Uncle Percy, her heart swelled with pride and contentment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy. Her father was alive; Milly was alive; and she would be the keeper to the most beautiful animal to have ever walked the earth. And, for the first time in her life, she found herself thinking about her own future. She didn’t know what it held. She didn’t want to know. But there was one thing about which she felt certain.
Her adventure had only just begun.
Becky, Joe, Will and Uncle Percy will return in ‘The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity.’
If you enjoyed ‘The Time Hunters’ why not try other books by this author. Here are the opening chapters of Carl’s new novel for the younger reader:
Bernard AND THE BIBBLE
Chapter 1
Bernard
Bernard Williams had a broken heart. It wasn’t like he had a crush on a girl or anything; being only nine, he didn’t know any girls. He didn’t really know anybody come to think of it.
No, his heart was actually broken. It didn’t work like yours or mine. It never had. The doctors said his condition had a very long name, but Bernard didn’t want to pronounce it. It was enough he had it. He just wanted to be a normal boy, to play football and swim and skateboard, but he couldn’t. His doctor wouldn’t allow it. His body wouldn’t allow it. And it made him very sad.
When the lights were out, he often heard his mother cry deep into the night and knew it was about him and his rubbish heart. But what could he do? It wasn’t his fault he had to take five silly pills each day, be home-schooled by a lady called Mrs Bludgeworm whose neck wobbled like blancmange, and have a skinny doctor with wonky teeth visit him every Monday with a machine that bleeped a lot.
How he wished he could be like you and me.
He also felt lonely. He had no brothers or sisters, and wasn’t even allowed a dog, in case he became over-excited and dropped dead on the kitchen floor. He knew his mum and dad were trying to keep him alive as long as they could, and he desperately wanted to live. He just wanted to live on his own terms, like everyone else.
Bernard lived in a very old house in the country with green ivy that scaled the walls and a thatched roof that looked like an old man’s beard. It belonged to his late Grandfather and had lots of nooks and crannies and great places for playing hide and seek.
There were thick woods at the bottom of his garden with a shallow brook that lined its edges like a long, twisting snake.
When he was little, his Grandfather told him stories about these woods and, more importantly, what lay beneath them. Night after night, Bernard fell asleep to grand tales of noble creatures called Bibbles and smelly, spiteful Pixies and all manner of strange animals in a magical land deep under ground.
In fact, the woods were his absolute favourite place in the whole world. And it was in these woods on a Saturday morning in September that his life would change forever…
Chapter 2
Fungal’s Mission
Bernard stood beside a tree at the far end of the woods, watching a blackbird feed its nest, when his eyes were drawn to a shiny object at the tree’s roots. A tiny bottle. He picked it up and read its label: Bertha Biggot’s Berry Beer.
What on earth was Berry Beer? He thought.
He scanned the area and, to his surprise, saw the nearby soil had been disturbed and there were patches of bright orange fur and blood. Blood? Had two animals been fighting?
At once, Bernard saw something else: a tiny bag, stained red, the size of a man’s wallet. Then his eyes nearly popped from his head. Set in the mud, just beside the bag, were little footprints that led to the brook.
His curiosity triggered, Bernard followed the trail. His feet crunched against damp grass as he approached the water’s edge and scoured the bank for clues.
Then he spied a remarkable sight. At first, he thought it must be toy, but it was
n’t. A very little man, no bigger than a Wellington boot, lay there. Ghostly pale, he had a nose far too big for his face and wore a smock tied at the middle by a thin piece of twine. He didn’t move.
Bernard felt his heart rocket.
This was dangerous!
Quickly, he thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of tablets. Flipping open the cap, he threw a red pill into his mouth. Within seconds, his heart rate slowed down.
His gaze returned to the man. Only ever being a patient at the hands of doctors, he didn’t really know what to do. Clutching the berry beer bottle, he ran to the stream and filled it, before racing back and emptying it over the man’s head.
The moment the water hit, the man’s eyes shot open. ‘Ere, what ya doing that for?’ the little man spluttered.
‘Err, I thought it might help. You were unconscious.’
‘I wasn’t,’ the little man growled. ‘I were restin’ me eyes.’
‘I - I thought you were dead.’
‘Then what’s the point in chuckin’ water over me then, ya dungblatt?’
Bernard assumed this to be an insult and ignored it. ‘But you’re covered in blood.’
The little man sat up and patted himself down. ‘It’s not my blood. A blunkin’ fox attacked me last night. Had ter give him a reet proper hiding.’ The little man pulled a sword from his belt and grinned. ‘He’ll know better than ter pick a rumble with ol’ Fungly next time.’
But Bernard had stopped listening, too shocked by what poked from the man’s back: a pair of wings.
‘What – are – you?’ Bernard gasped.
The little man snorted. ‘What sort of question is that? I’m a Gripplefuddle. No, wait a mo, I’m a Flufflevelly Pudgestacker. No, that’s it. I’m an elephant.’ And the little man waved his arm in front of his face as if it were a trunk and trumpeted loudly. ‘I’m a Bibble, ya numpwhistle!’
