The Time Travel Diaries

by Caroline Lawrence

  Contents

  Title Page

  Previous series by Caroline Lawrence

  Dedication

  Map

  1. Blue Friday

  2. Daisy Chain

  3. London Mithraeum

  4. Beam Me Back

  5. Nama Mithras

  6. Floppy Pizza

  7. Exploding Teeth

  8. Butterfly Thunder

  9. Trailblazer

  10. Cold Feet

  11. Death List

  12. Crisp-Mugger

  13. Time Bubble

  14. Million-Pound Mantra

  15. Travel Sic

  16. Wimpy Tarzan

  17. Roman T-Shirts

  18. Bog Kid

  19. Mud Woman

  20. Mini-Volcanoes

  21. Singing Stars

  22. Grave Concerns

  23. Demonic Dancing

  24. Choir-Boy

  25. Bogus Handshake

  26. Dead Bull

  27. Blue Eyes

  28. Good Omens

  29. Leather Bikinis

  30. Balance Beam

  31. Lucky Dionysus

  32. Zombie Apocalypse

  33. White Teeth

  34. Parental Advisory

  35. Bob the Boiler-Man

  36. Fluff Beard

  37. Barking Mad

  38. Cleopatra Eyes

  39. Steam Heat

  40. Diana’s Garden

  41. Plecta of Pergamum

  42. Salsa Mouse

  43. Blind Love

  44. Indoor Pigeons

  45. House-Tombs

  46. Roman Voodoo

  47. Daddy’s Girl

  48. Chickens on a Tray

  49. Flight Simulator

  50. Torches Up

  51. Stella Sum

  52. President Trump

  53. Hazmat Men

  54. Spirits of the Dead

  55. Hashtag Snowpocalypse

  Author’s Note

  About Caroline Lawrence

  Look out for the next adventure in The Time Travel Diaries

  Copyright

  Previous series by

  Caroline Lawrence

  The Roman Mysteries

  The Roman Mystery Scrolls

  The Roman Quests

  The P.K. Pinkerton Mysteries

  To everyone at MOLA (Museum of London Archaeology),

  London Mithraeum Bloomberg SPACE and the Museum of

  London for their enthusiasm, expertise and support.

  1

  Blue Friday

  When I went back in time to look for the blue-eyed girl with the ivory knife, I never thought I would actually find her. The only reason I took the job was for the money.

  My adventure started on a cold day in January, the Friday before Blue Monday, officially the most depressing day in the year. A pile of dead Christmas trees tried to trip me up as I came out of my stairwell. I had been up late playing a computer game and overslept and missed breakfast. Then at break time Dinu Balan grabbed my packet of salt-and-vinegar crisps before I’d had even one. (No, I didn’t fight him; he’s about twice my size.)

  So I was really looking forward to lunch.

  But a few minutes before the bell rang, the school secretary came into the classroom and gave our teacher a slip of paper. Mrs Eckardt looked at the paper and then at me.

  ‘Alexander,’ she said, ‘the headteacher wants to see you right away.’

  ‘Uh-oh!’ chanted some of the kids, and Dinu said, ‘Are you in trouble, Wimpy?’

  For the record, my name is not ‘Wimpy’. Some of the kids call me that because I am a bit small for my age.

  Everybody was staring at me like I’d committed a crime.

  I glared back at them as I stood up.

  I’m usually good-tempered, but I get cranky when I’m hungry. And I was ravenous.

  I followed the secretary down the corridor and through the outer office. She tapped on the headteacher’s door and opened it a crack.

  ‘Alexander Papas to see you,’ she said.

  ‘Send him in,’ came Miss Okonmah’s voice. She was sitting at her desk. The window behind her let in a lot of cold winter light, which made her bushy grey hair look like the steel wool I use to scrub pans when I do the washing up.

  ‘Please sit down, Alex,’ she said.

  I perched on the front of the chair, ready for a quick getaway if necessary. ‘Am I in trouble, miss?’

  ‘On the contrary; I might have an extraordinary opportunity for you. I just need to know a few things. Do you still do the lunchtime Latin club?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘How is your Latin?’

  ‘Pretty good. Miss Forte says I’m good at it because I know Greek so the language part of my brain is bigger.’

  ‘You speak Greek?’

  I nodded. ‘I live with my gran. She’s from Greece and we usually spend the summer with my aunt near Athens.’

  ‘Of course.’ She made a note on a piece of paper. ‘Remind me how old you are?’

  ‘I’m twelve, miss. Nearly thirteen.’

  ‘You’re a bit small for your age, aren’t you?’

  I scowled at her. ‘So what?’

  ‘Don’t be defensive, Alex,’ she said. ‘That’s a good thing in this case. And how are your teeth?’

  ‘My teeth?’ I frowned, wondering where this line of questioning was headed.

  ‘Do you have any fillings?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Have a look,’ I opened my mouth as wide as I could.

  I did it sarcastically, but to my surprise she actually stood up, leaned forward and peered into my mouth. I could smell coffee on her breath.

  ‘Excellent.’ She sat down again and made another note. ‘You like learning about the Romans, don’t you?’

  I shrugged. ‘Sure. Also the Vikings and the Egyptians. But the Romans are my favourite.’

  She put down her pen and looked at me. ‘If given the chance, Alex, would you like to go back to ancient Roman times?’

  Ding! An imaginary light bulb lit up over my head. Hassan in the year above had got a part as an extra in a film a while ago. They paid him fifty pounds for just standing around with a bunch of other people and he got to miss a whole day of school. I guessed someone was looking for extras in a Roman movie. Or maybe even a kid actor with lines and everything.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I said. ‘It would be brilliant.’

  ‘And your family could use some extra income?’

  ‘Yes, miss. My gran lives on her pension.’ My heart was thudding. If I could work as an extra for a whole week, I could earn two hundred and fifty pounds, maybe more. I could buy the latest smartphone. Plus the filmmakers might send me somewhere sunny and warm, on location. This could be my chance to break into movies and become rich and famous. This could be the beginning of my brilliant career!

  My thoughts were tumbling over each other and Miss Okonmah had to snap her fingers to get my attention.

  ‘Alexander,’ she said, ‘I asked if you can find your way around London.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I said. ‘I help my gran with shopping and errands and stuff. I go all over on the bus and tube and train. On my own,’ I added.

  She looked at me for a moment, then took a small card and handed it to me.

  ‘Can you go to this address tomorrow at noon?’

  It was a business card, with black letters on cream. It said: Solomon Daisy, Daisy Chain Enterprises, The Daisy Building, 7 Walbrook, London EC4N 4TA.

  The next day was Saturday. I usually cleaned our flat in the morning and then kicked a football around up at the common in the afternoon or went on my PlayStat
ion if it was raining. But if this meant a chance to be in films I would happily move a few things around.

  ‘Yes, miss. I can do that.’

  ‘Good luck then,’ she said. ‘Make sure you’re on time. Punctuality shows a potential employer that you are reliable. Now, you’d better get to lunch before all the fish fingers and chips have gone.’

  ‘Thanks, miss.’ I stood up and put the card in my back pocket.

  ‘Oh, Alex?’

  I turned with my hand already on the doorknob. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t tell a soul about this, not your friends or even your grandmother. It might jeopardise the deal.’

  Here’s a tip for you: if your headteacher sends you on a mission and warns you not to tell your parents or legal guardian about it, something is fishy.

  2

  Daisy Chain

  The Daisy Building is located in London’s financial district, between Cannon Street railway station and Bank tube. When I came up out of the underground, it was like I could see the past and the future all mashed up together. There was the Bank of England, looking like a temple dedicated to money. Crowded up behind it were glass-and-metal skyscrapers. I spotted the one that looks like a gherkin and one like a walkie-talkie and one that looks like a shard of glass.

  I was disappointed that the Daisy Building didn’t look like a giant daisy, but I guess that would be hard to pull off. It was just a curvy building of glass and steel about ten storeys tall.

  Inside, three blond receptionists (all male) sat behind a desk made of pale yellow wood. They all wore the same dark jackets, white shirts and thin yellow neckties. For a moment I wondered if they were triplets. Or maybe even clones.

  When I handed the business card to Clone One he lifted an eyebrow and looked me up and down. ‘And you are …?’

  ‘Alexander Papas,’ I said. ‘I was told to be here at noon. I’m from Wandsworth Academy.’

  He touched a button and spoke into his headpiece. ‘A schoolboy named Alexander Papas to see you, sir.’ He nodded and pointed behind me. ‘Take that lift to the top floor,’ he said to me. ‘Mr Daisy is expecting you.’

  It was a state-of-the art lift with brushed steel and blond wood but no buttons that I could see. The doors had closed and I was wondering what to do when it started moving up on its own. After a few seconds the doors opened straight into a room with a huge curved window that looked out over the roofs of buildings, including one with a dome and a cross on top that I was pretty sure was St Paul’s Cathedral. There was a plush white carpet and some shiny blocks of black marble with ancient-looking objects on them. One was a Greek vase with red warriors fighting on a black background. There was a bronze Egyptian-style cat with a gold earring in one ear. But what really caught my eye was a life-sized gilded breastplate like Roman soldiers used to wear. If it wasn’t real then it was an excellent replica. Either way, this film was going to be a quality production.

  ‘Alexander,’ said a voice, and I turned to see a man sitting behind a desk. He had black-rimmed glasses and bushy black hair sprinkled with grey. I recognised Solomon Daisy from having googled him the night before. I knew that he was a super-wealthy businessman whose great-grandfather Reuben Denisovich had fled persecution in Russia around the year 1900. Somewhere between Moscow and London, Denisovich got shortened to ‘Daisy’.

  His business empire had been built on various modern inventions like computer chips and stuff. But he had made most of his money out of an affordable Virtual Reality visor.

  ‘I’m Solomon Daisy,’ said Solomon Daisy. ‘Nice to meet you, Alexander.’ He pushed himself up out of a big leather chair and extended his hand across the desk.

  His desk was far enough away that I had time to look him up and down as I trotted over. His belly stretched against a grey T-shirt size XXXL. I was surprised he wasn’t wearing a business suit, but my research had told me he was an eccentric bazillionaire, and I supposed eccentric bazillionaires could wear whatever they liked.

  ‘Call me Alex,’ I said. His hand was warm and moist but I did not flinch and gave it a firm squeeze.

  ‘Good grip,’ he said, sitting down with a grunt. ‘I like that. Take a seat, please.’

  I sat down. The leather chair was yellow, the colour of butter and just as soft.

  ‘What do you want in life, Alex?’ said Solomon Daisy.

  I shrugged. ‘Same thing every other kid in my class wants. To be rich and famous.’

  Solomon Daisy shook his big head. ‘Nobody strives for excellence any more,’ he said sadly. And then, ‘How would you like to earn a million pounds?’

  I nearly slipped off the butter-soft leather chair.

  ‘For a movie?’ My voice cracked a little.

  ‘What?’ It was his turn to be confused.

  ‘You want me to be in a movie about ancient Rome, right? Or maybe a VR game?’

  ‘What gave you that idea?’

  ‘My headteacher said something about time travel back to ancient Rome.’

  ‘And that’s exactly what I want you to do. Time travel. But not back to ancient Rome. To Roman London. And I’ll pay you a million pounds.’

  ‘For a virtual-reality game?’

  ‘Not virtual reality. Real reality. I want you to literally go back in time.’

  I stared at him for a moment and then swallowed. His glasses reflected the buildings of the City of London and made it hard for me to see his eyes. But he seemed serious.

  ‘It’s dangerous,’ he explained. ‘That’s why the payment is so much. But if you make the journey to the past, you get the money whether you return or not.’

  ‘Whether I return or not?’ I echoed stupidly.

  I looked around for the hidden camera, or maybe a comedian to jump out from behind the Roman breastplate and yell, ‘Bazinga!’

  Solomon Daisy gave a wheezy laugh. ‘You don’t believe me,’ he said, ‘but it’s true. Time travel is not a thing of the future. It’s here now. I invented it last year. Or rather some of my tech people did.’

  I realised the guy must be crazy and that I had to get out fast. But the elevator was a good ten metres from my chair and it had no buttons inside. My only chance was to play along until I could escape. Maybe I could make a joke of it all.

  He was watching me with his bushy black eyebrows raised.

  I said, ‘How can you travel back in time?’

  ‘I could tell you –’ he began.

  ‘– but then you’d have to kill me?’ I was only half kidding.

  He gave a single snort of laughter. ‘Nah. I could tell you, but it would take an hour or two, and you wouldn’t understand anyway.’

  I stood up. ‘Excuse me, Mr Daisy, but I have to go back to planet Earth.’

  He stood up too, and I would have been worried except for the fact that his face was genuinely beaming. ‘Alex,’ he said, ‘have you heard of the Roman god Mithras?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘We were talking about that in Latin club last week. He was a strange Roman god whose worshippers did mysterious things. They discovered his temple somewhere around here when they were cleaning up rubble after the Blitz. My teacher said they recently re-opened the Temple of Mithras on its original site.’

  Solomon Daisy clapped his meaty hands in delight. ‘Exactly!’ he cried. ‘And I’m going to show you why it’s the perfect place for a time portal.’

  3

  London Mithraeum

  ‘Come,’ said the cheerful madman named Solomon Daisy. ‘Come have a look at the Temple of Mithras. It’s right across the way.’ He led the way to the lift and I saw he was wearing plus-sized Levi’s jeans and black trainers.

  I followed at a safe distance.

  As we passed the Greek vase I couldn’t resist asking, ‘Is it real?’

  ‘Yes. It’s worth half a million pounds.’

  ‘Did you go back in time to ancient Greece to get it?’

  ‘No.’ He pushed a button on a plinth to call the lift. ‘When you travel back in time you can’t ta
ke anything with you. And you can’t bring anything back. I bought the vase at Christies,’ he added. ‘In an auction.’

  The doors of the lift opened with a hiss and he gestured for me to go first. ‘Also,’ he said, following me in, ‘adults can’t travel in time, only pre-pubescent children.’

  I wasn’t sure what ‘pre-pubescent’ meant, but it sounded creepy. The lift doors closed and I held my breath. If he was going to try anything, now would be the perfect moment. I got ready to kick him between the legs. But the lift doors were already opening again to reveal the three blond clones and people walking around.

  I heaved a sigh of relief.

  ‘This way,’ he said, heading for the main doors. It was drizzling outside but we only had to cross a pedestrian walkway before we entered another set of glass doors. It looked like a modern art gallery, not a temple. Two women with cheerful smiles stood by a podium. Each held the latest version of a clipboard, a white touch tablet.

  ‘Welcome to London Mithraeum,’ said the taller one. ‘Have you pre-booked?’

  ‘Mr Daisy doesn’t need to book!’ whispered the shorter one. ‘He owns the building across the street and comes here most days.’

  ‘Sorry, sir!’ The first woman’s cheeks went bright pink. ‘The next immersive experience is in five minutes, if you and your son want to go down right away. Or take this touch tablet which has information about the six hundred Roman artefacts on the wall.’

  Solomon Daisy waved a chubby hand. ‘We’ll look at the artefacts later,’ he said, and led the way past a wall of Roman artefacts behind glass.

  He stopped at the top of some stairs, and so did I.

  The narrow stairwell was lined on both sides with shiny black marble, which made it look spooky, like going down into a tomb. But the gallery attendants were there so I guessed I was safe.

  Unless I slipped and took a tumble.

  Or was pushed.

  4

  Beam Me Back

  As I stood at the top of the black marble stairs going down, I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. I stepped aside.

  ‘After you,’ I said to the mad bazillionaire.

  As I followed Solomon Daisy down, I saw that different ground levels had been etched into the black marble walls flanking the stairs. ‘1941 WORLD WAR II BOMBING DESTROYS MOST OF THE BUILDINGS ON THIS SITE’ read one inscription by a horizontal line. A little further down the wall told me, ‘1666 THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON’. And near the bottom I saw: ‘1066 WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR IS CROWNED IN LONDON’.