by carl ashmore
‘The master would never let them come to any harm,’ Jacob replied. ‘He is the wisest of men. He knows what he is doing.’
‘Pah!’ Maria huffed. ‘All of this bad, terrible business with Mr Preston has jumbled his brain, I think. He hardly sleeps … he works like a mule… his thinking is wonky.’
‘He is fine, Maria.’
Maria was about to contradict when she saw something in the corner of her eye. She stopped dead, her insides ablaze as if doused in boiling oil.
‘Guten Morgen,’ Otto Kruger said without emotion. ‘We meet again, so I believe. Now you will tell me where the children sleep or I will kill you like dogs as I should have in our former lives.’
Maria turned pale, then deathly white. She was staring at the devil himself.
An ugly smile curled on Kruger’s lips as he pointed a pistol at Jacob’s head.
- Chapter 9 -
A Mammoth Event
‘Let me show you the real reason we’re here,’ Uncle Percy said.
Becky looked at Joe and gave a glum shrug. They had been walking through dense jungle for some time and seen nothing vaguely interesting. If truth be told, she was bored stiff.
‘Just through here,’ Uncle Percy said, disappearing through a gap in the trees.
Becky followed. As she emerged from the other side, sunlight blinded her. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself on the top of a cliff overlooking a vast canyon at the base of which were thousands of large animals, covered with long, shaggy, dusty-brown hair and huge curved tusks.
‘A - are they woolly mammoths?’ Joe asked, astonished.
‘They are indeed. I call it Mammoth Gorge. Do you like it?’
‘It’s amazing,’ Joe replied. ‘Isn’t it, Becky?’
Becky said nothing.
‘Are you all right, Becky?’ Uncle Percy asked.
She remained silent.
‘Becky?’ Uncle Percy repeated, sounding anxious now. Then his face cracked into a knowing smile.
Tears were spilling down Becky’s face. ‘I’m okay,’ she slurred, turning away so Joe couldn’t see.
Uncle Percy leaned into her ear and whispered, ‘It’s quite all right, my dear. That’s exactly how I reacted when I first saw it...’
*
A few minutes later, Uncle Percy spread a picnic blanket on the ground and emptied the contents of his backpack. ‘I trust everyone’s hungry? Maria’s laid on quite a spread.’
They launched into the food with gusto, and then lay on their backs, watching condors weave the velvet blue sky. Soon, the only sound that could be heard was the soft, rhythmic purr of Joe sleeping.
Becky saw this as an ideal opportunity to raise something that had been bothering her. ‘Who’s Bernard Preston?’
Uncle Percy sat up sharply. ‘What?’
‘That Keith bloke last night mentioned something about Bernard Preston’s murder and a manuscript. I was wondering who he was. It’s just… I’m sure I’ve heard that name before.’
‘Well, it’s a common name, but it’s unlikely you’ll know this Bernard Preston. Remember when I said that at Oxford, Professor Locket told my class about the existence of time travel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bernard Preston was one of that group.’ Uncle Percy arched his eyebrows, as if welcoming the opportunity to reminisce. ‘There were nine of us in total: myself, Bernard, Stef Calloway, Mary Blyton, Emerson Drake, Ricardo Nero, Malcolm Everidge, Ian Cuthbertson, and Sally Everard. We called ourselves The OTTERS - The Oxford Time Travel Exploration and Research Society.’
‘And are they all time travellers?’
‘They certainly were. Malcolm, Ian and Sally are still active. Unfortunately, Emerson Drake was killed in a plane accident. Stef passed away quite some time ago. Ricardo died last year, and Mary stopped travelling when her children were born. And then, of course, there was Bernard.’
‘And how was he…’ Becky hesitated, ‘killed?’
Uncle Percy fell silent. ‘He was shot in the back.’
‘And you’re trying to find out who shot him?’
‘Something like that.’
‘So how does the manuscript fit in?’
‘It’s related to something I believe he was working on.’
‘And what was that?’
‘You really are an inquisitive young lady, aren’t you?’
‘Mum reckons I’m just plain nosey,’ Becky replied. ‘And that I get it from my dad.’
Uncle Percy nodded. ‘Yes. I believe you do. Anyway, Bernard was searching for something … searching through time.’
‘What?’
Uncle Percy hesitated for a moment, his voice lowered to a whisper. ‘A relic. A very old, very important, very powerful relic.’
‘What relic?’
Uncle Percy tilted forwards, his eyes meeting hers. ‘The Golden Fleece.’
Becky had to suppress a laugh. The Golden Fleece – she’d heard of it, of course. In fact, it was one of her dad’s favourite stories, one he would often recite to her at bedtime. It was about a man called Jason who gathered fifty of Ancient Greece’s mightiest warriors, the Argonauts, and embarked on a dangerous quest to find the Golden Fleece, fighting dragons and other monsters along the way. ‘But wasn’t the Golden Fleece just a -’
‘A fairy story? A myth?’ Uncle Percy interrupted. ‘That’s certainly what I thought until I studied Bernard’s research. No, incredible though it may seem, there is quite compelling evidence to suggest that the Fleece existed.’
Becky wanted to continue her questions when a croaky voice interjected.
‘Any more butties left?’ Joe said, yawning.
‘I think you’ve polished them off, young man,’ Uncle Percy said, glancing at his fob watch. ‘Deary me, is that the time? I think we’d better be getting back.’
But Becky didn’t want to go home yet. She wasn’t nearly satisfied. How could she be? A murder. A mysterious document. A search through history for a fabulous relic. She needed to know more. As her mum always said, she was plain nosey.
Just like her dad.
*
The campervan reappeared back in the Time Room, the return journey being as uneventful as the outward one. No headaches, no travel sickness, no Elton John CDs – as far as Becky was concerned, it really was the only way to travel.
Walking back to the Hall, Joe talked excitedly about the trip, but Becky wasn’t really listening. Instead, she was processing all she’d been told about The Golden Fleece and Bernard Preston’s murder.
As they entered the kitchen door, Becky was about to dash to her room to start researching the Golden Fleece on her phone, when she noticed that Uncle Percy had come to an abrupt halt, his gaze set on the far wall. Fear engulfed her. ‘What’s going on, Uncle Percy?’
‘Silence, please,’ Uncle Percy said firmly, hand raised in a halting gesture.
Becky tracked his eye line to see a portrait on the far wall had been slashed from left to right, exposing the canvas beneath.
Becky glanced anxiously at Joe, who had frozen to the spot. Then, through the silence, she heard something. A crunching sound. Staring into the parlour, a shiver shot down her spine. A plastic shopping bag hung from the light fitting.
It was moving.
Straight away, Uncle Percy raced over, quickly detached it and ripped it open.
Appearing at his side, Becky felt sick to her stomach. Sabian was lying at the bottom of the bag, his jaws tied together with rope, wriggling like a fish in a net. She choked back a scream.
Uncle Percy untied the rope and wrenched Sabian to his chest, who yelped wildly with relief. ‘There, there, little one … everything’s okay now.’
‘W - who could’ve -?’ Joe began.
‘Shhh,’ Uncle Percy said, handing the trembling cub to Becky. His face burned with anger. ‘I want you both to take Sabian to the tree house. Find Will, I believe he’s with Milly in the archery field. Tell him there’s trouble. And wait there until I come an
d get you.’
‘I’m not leaving you,’ Becky said defiantly.
Uncle Percy shook his head firmly. ‘Now’s not the time for rebellion,’ he replied decisively. ‘You must do as I say. Get to the tree house. Tell Will I need him. And stay there. RUN!’
‘But –’
‘Please, Becky, Maria and Jacob could be in grave danger.’
Becky glanced fearfully at Joe. Although her every instinct told her not to leave Uncle Percy’s side, she knew if there really was trouble he needed Will and Milly. Seizing Joe’s arm, they raced off.
*
Watching them leave, Uncle Percy’s face grew fierce. Marching through the parlour and down the passageway, he stopped midway at a sword hanging on the wall. Unsheathing it from its scabbard, he continued purposefully into the Entrance Hall and soundlessly scanned the area.
Nothing.
Then he heard something: a muffled whimper. It was coming from the morning room. The sword tightened in his grip and he paced over, teeth gritted, and threw open the door.
What he saw repulsed him.
Maria and Jacob were lying on the floor, squirming, their hands, feet and mouths bound by thick rope. Uncle Percy hurried over and removed Maria’s binds. In a flood of tears, she flung her arms around his neck.
‘He is here. HE IS HERE!’
‘Who’s here?’ Uncle Percy replied, moving over and untying Jacob.
‘Otto Kruger,’ Maria cried.
Uncle Percy’s body stiffened. ‘Otto Kruger?’ he repeated, clearly recognising the name.
‘And three others. They are after the children.’
‘The children?’ Uncle Percy said disbelievingly.
‘Yes, sir,’ Jacob said, taking his panic-stricken wife in his arms.
Uncle Percy struggled to catch his breath. ‘Why the children?’
‘He didn’t say,’ Jacob replied. ‘But he wanted to know where they slept. You must take them at once. You must flee. This man is evil in its purest form.’
‘I know only too well who Otto Kruger is, Jacob.’ Uncle Percy stood up, the incredulity on his face replaced by rage. ‘But no one is leaving. I can assure you of that.’ And with that, he walked over to a chest of drawers on the far side of the room. He opened the top drawer and cupped two small objects into the palm of his hand. Then he sharply moved toward the door.
Jacob looked petrified. ‘Sir, they have guns.’
Uncle Percy didn’t blink an eye. ‘Guns are for amateurs...’ And with that, he sharply exited the room.
Swiftly, Uncle Percy went from door to door, checking each room, but found each one empty. Then he heard footsteps. Whipping round, sword raised, he saw Will emerge from the passageway, his bow and quiver of arrows across his back, a sword in his right hand.
‘I was in the far field,’ Will said. ‘I heard nothing.’
‘Not to worry, Will,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘I’m glad you’re here. There are four of them. They’ll be well-armed.’ Then, to his frustration, he saw three familiar shapes race into the Entrance Hall. Becky and Joe stood there, panting, Milly at their side. ‘I thought I told you to stay at the tree-house.’
‘We wanted to help,’ Becky said.
‘That’s right,’ Joe added.
Uncle Percy’s expression softened. ‘Then go and comfort Maria and Jacob in the morning room. They’ve been through a terrible ordeal.’ He turned back to Will. ‘I’ve checked the downstairs rooms. Let’s try upstairs. If we’re lucky, they’re still here. Just remember, Will. They’re very dangerous.’
Fury crossed Will’s face. ‘As am I.’
Uncle Percy moved swiftly upstairs, Will to his rear. They stole down the corridor, and promptly stopped.
Becky’s bedroom door was ajar. In a flash, he kicked the door open. His eyes bulged. The room had been ransacked. Bed linen had been torn and strewn on the floor, pillows ripped apart, drawers emptied, cabinets overturned, clothes and jewellery scattered everywhere.
But there was no sign of Kruger.
Will left the room, only to return moments later. ‘Joe’s chamber has been ravaged, too.’
Uncle Percy stood there, confused, speechless. He surveyed the chaos, desperately trying to make sense of what had happened. The intruders had looted Becky and Joe’s rooms. But why?
For the next hour, Uncle Percy and Will scoured the rest of the Hall looking for clues that would explain why Kruger had broken into the Hall. They found no other damage, with the exception of a painting that had been ripped from the banquet room wall and impaled on a figurine. A portrait of the German industrialist responsible for saving over a thousand Jews in the Second World War and one of the finest men Uncle Percy had ever met.
It was a portrait of Oskar Schindler.
*
By early evening Becky and Joe had searched their rooms thoroughly to find nothing had been taken. At seven, everyone gathered in the parlour. It was a chilly night and a shocked Maria sat by the fire, shivering, her blank eyes locked on the dancing flames, a thick woollen blanket coiled tightly round her shoulders. Jacob sat alongside his wife, stroking her hands tenderly. Will stood by the window, clearly furious the intruders had escaped.
Becky was sitting at the table, her gaze fixed on the wall. After a few minutes of confused silence, she spoke, ‘Why us? Why our rooms?’
‘I don’t know, Becky,’ Uncle Percy said softly. ‘I really don’t. But there is one thing I do know: it’s not safe for you here. I’ll phone your mother and drive you back to Manchester tonight.’
Becky looked mortified. ‘No way. We want to stay here. Don’t we, Joe?’
Joe nodded. ‘Too right.’
‘But it’s not safe,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘There are things happening that I can’t -’
‘We don’t care,’ Becky said. ‘We want to stay with you!’
‘I’m sorry, but if Otto Kruger and his thugs are -’
Becky interjected. ‘- Are after us, then we’re best staying here.’
‘I don’t think they are after you. I don’t see how they can be.’
Becky sat up sharply. ‘Well they were after something. And that something was in our rooms, right?’
‘It appears so.’ Uncle Percy sighed. ‘That’s why you should be at home with -’
‘With who, mum?’ Becky interrupted. ‘What’s she going to do if they turn up, hit them with a baguette? Here we’ve got you to protect us, and Will, and a prehistoric tiger with massive fangs. Back home we’ve got no one.’
Uncle Percy’s eyes searched out Will’s, eager for advice. Will deliberated for a few seconds, and then nodded coolly. Uncle Percy turned back to Becky. ‘Very well, you can stay.’
Becky beamed at Joe.
‘What do you think they were looking for?’ Joe asked.
‘I’m afraid, Joe, I have absolutely no idea.’
‘It’s to do with the Golden Fleece, isn’t it?’ Becky said sharply.
A tense silence swept the kitchen.
‘The Golden Fleece?’ Joe blurted. ‘What’re you talking ab - ’
‘Shhh,’ Becky snapped back. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
Uncle Percy hesitated for a moment. ‘It may be. Although for the life of me I can’t imagine what.’
‘I knew it!’ Becky said, sounding triumphant.
‘Knew what?’ Joe barked. ‘Will somebody tell me what is going on.’
Uncle Percy gave a heavy sigh. ‘Perhaps we should go to the library, and I’ll tell you all I know.’
Maria spun round, trembling with anger. ‘Sir … NO!’
‘Maria,’ Uncle Percy said calmly. ‘Otto Kruger came looking for something. Something, it seems that concerns Becky or Joe. Now you know Kruger better than anyone, and the horrors he’s capable of, it’s only fair they know what we know. Who knows, they may even be able to help…’
- Chapter 10 -
Bowen Library
Becky had never entered Bowen library before. A sprawling room on the top floor, it had t
all walls and an ornate rococo ceiling. Thick with dust, a stale smell emanated through the room. She had the feeling it was the one room she’d seen that was off-limits to Maria’s thorough cleaning regime. Books of all shapes and sizes, old and new, filled the bookshelves, with the uppermost tiers occupied by ancient ragged scrolls, coiled up, and tied with string.
Uncle Percy ushered Becky and Joe to a large, circular table in the centre of the room. He moved to a corner shelf, pulled out a thick leather bound volume and returned to the table. ‘Where to begin?’ He placed the book down on his right. ‘About a month ago, a good friend of mine, Bernard Preston, turned up at the Hall. He’d been shot and was dying. Now according to his time machine, he had travelled to London on the 15th January 1900. Upon examining the bullet, however, it was clear that the gun from which it was fired was not made until many years later. Therefore, he had to have been murdered by a time traveller.’
The words made Becky shiver.
‘Now just before he died, he told me to see someone named Aubrey. Later, I discovered he was referring to the seventeenth century writer and antiquarian, John Aubrey. Now, Aubrey’s specific area of expertise was Stonehenge. You’ve heard of Stonehenge?’
‘Of course,’ Becky said.
‘I went there with the school.’ Joe crumpled his nose. ‘It was naff.’
Uncle Percy shot Joe a disapproving look. ‘I assure you, Joe. Stonehenge is far from naff. In fact, I believe somehow the monument lies at the very heart of this mystery. Anyway, I visited Aubrey, and he told me that Bernard had indeed been to see him to discuss a legend associated with Stonehenge.’
‘What legend?’ Becky asked excitedly.
‘Well, as you may know, Stonehenge took hundreds of years to build. Anyway, there is an ancient legend that states that when it was finished, God was so delighted he rewarded its makers with a powerful object. A divine object.’
‘The Golden Fleece,’ Becky said.
‘Precisely. Now, of course, stories like this are common throughout history, and more often than not are total poppycock. I didn’t see why this one would be any different. That was until I scrutinized his research. His investigations, both academic and in the field, have convinced me that the legend was indeed based on some semblance of fact. To what extent, I’m not sure, but I am in no doubt that the Golden Fleece existed. You’ve heard of the Golden Fleece, Joe?’’
