by carl ashmore
The Time Hunters
and the
Spear of Fate
By
Carl Ashmore
For Lisa and Alice
For Kath, Caitlin and Eleanor
For Steve and Victoria
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the following people for their unwavering support for the TH Books:
Mum, Athina, Keith, Barbara, Alex Massey, Aud, Rob, Liz, Isla, Pete, Izzie, Tom, Jane, Mache, Gabe, Sean, Jen, Gingerlily, Vanessa, Kay, John Lindenberger, Tej, Amy, evertheoptimist, Scott, Phil Jones, Willie Wit, Hales, JJ Readalot, Cheryl-Ann, Shiloh, Austin, Wyatt, Dakota, Fogle, Libby, Marty, Stephen, Hannah, Abby, Petrona, Grayson, Johnna, Keegan, Kolson, Kim England, Alina, Eric, John, Dawn Hills, Claire Thacker, Sue P, Emma Sly, Joo, Lynn, Tracey, Heidi, Max, JJulieJ, Mel Green, Emily and Max, Sarah and Ellie Mai, Dave Burgess, Kathryn, Mark, Ashleigh, Kerry, Mick, Marie Goldstraw, Jarod, Annie and Bump, Mikey P, Ross, Caralyn Beattie, Dylan Kirkhart, Dustin Wright, Jo Tucker, Sally Parsons, Lynda, Davey, Jasmyn, Tom Hollinshead, Richie and Seth.
In memory of Bernard Ashmore
CHAPTERS
Chapter 1: Tut's Toy
Chapter 2: Megaloceros Giganteus
Chapter 3: Peas in a Pod
Chapter 4: Hologramaphone Alone
Chapter 5: Betty the Deville you know
Chapter 6: Help
Chapter 7: This Time it's Personal
Chapter 8: The Lost Scroll
Chapter 9: At last Atlantis
Chapter 10: Tibet or not Tibet
Chapter 11: Snow fun at all
Chapter 12: Orff's Gift
Chapter 13: The Abominable Dead
Chapter 14: Orichalcum
Chapter 15: Where there's a Will...
Chapter 16: Doctor Death
Chapter 17: The Chamber of the Ancients
Chapter 18: Bullseye
Chapter 19: Utterly Butterby
Chapter 20: The Omega Defect
Chapter 21: Spitting Fire
Chapter 22: The Great River
Chapter 23: The City of the Dead
Chapter 24: All Fired Up
Chapter 25: Mamma Mia
Chapter 26: The Snake in the Grass
Chapter 27: The Chambers End
Chapter 28: The Sanctuary
Chapter 29: Flight and Fight
Chapter 30: Just Deserts
Chapter 31: Becky's Memorial
Chapter 32: Katanga
Epilogue: The Time Hunter
Chapter 1
Tut’s Toy
Egypt. The Valley of the Kings. November 26th 1922. 2.00pm.
Howard Carter’s hand wouldn’t stop trembling. He mopped a thick line of sweat from his brow and stepped back to admire the sealed door illuminated orange from the torchlight behind him. The outline of the Royal Necropolis seal, the jackal and nine captives, was faint but unmistakable. Lightly, he brushed away a layer of dust, to reveal the pictogram behind. Carter recognised it immediately. In that instant, an older man’s voice met his ears.
‘This is it, Howard,’ Lord Carnarvon exhaled. ‘Look at the seal impressions, the cartouche. It’s him. I know it.’
Carter examined the doorframe. ‘It doesn’t mean this is his tomb, sir,’ he replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could. ‘Remember when Davis found the cache of Akhenaten. It was similar to this.’
‘Similar but different,’ Lord Carnarvon said eagerly. ‘On the other side of this door lies the forgotten one. I’m certain of it.’ His eyes shone with child-like glee. ‘You’ve found him, Howard. You’ve found him.’
Deep down, Carter believed his benefactor to be right, but he wasn’t about to voice it out loud. He’d suffered too many disappointments to feel anything less than cautious. ‘We shall see, sir. We shall see.’
‘Damn it, man - call me George, will you?’ Lord Carnarvon insisted. ‘You’re on the precipice of the greatest discovery of the century. I think we can drop the formalities. What say you, Evelyn?’
A young dark-haired woman with pearl-white skin clasped the older man’s hand. ‘Daddy, I really don’t think Mr Carter cares how we address each other at this particular moment. Isn’t that correct, Mr Carter?’
Carter’s heart was pounding so loudly he didn’t hear a word. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Herbert?’
Lady Herbert smiled kindly. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Go on then, man,’ Lord Carnarvon urged. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Carter swallowed hard. His gaze fell nervously on the hammer in his right hand, before settling on the chisel in his left. The same chisel his grandmother had given him on his seventeenth birthday. He angled the chisel’s nib on the door’s left hand corner and raised the hammer. BUMPH – a chunk of plaster fell away.
Inhaling a lungful of warm, stale air, he struck the chisel again. With a puff of dust, it broke through to the other side; he heard the soft crackle of plaster speckle the floor beyond.
His pulse racing wildly now, Carter pulled the chisel free to expose a small circular hole. Slowly, meticulously, he chipped away its edges, until the hole was the size of a dinner plate. Then he turned to the tall, moustached man on his left, ‘Arthur, could you pass me a candle, please?’
‘Certainly, old chap.’ Arthur Callender drew a candle from his shoulder bag, lit it and passed it over.
Dabbing his brow again, Carter inserted the candle into the blackness and watched the flame flicker left and right. ‘No foul gases,’ he said in a relieved voice.
‘Thank God,’ Lord Carnarvon said. ‘Then come on, man. Don’t keep us in suspense… take a look.’
‘And the best of luck, Mr Carter,’ Lady Herbert said sincerely. ‘You deserve it.’
Carter glanced back at her. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ A nervous smile split his face. ‘Here goes nothing…’ He leaned forward and his head disappeared from sight.
It took a while for Carter’s eyes to adjust to the soft glow of candlelight, but when they did he saw a mass of objects surface from the gloom: golden objects - glistening, gleaming, as clean and flawless as the day they had been placed there.
In that moment, Carter knew he had fulfilled his lifelong dream. As a boy, he had visited William Amherst’s ‘Egyptian Room’ at Didlington Hall, and since then had been obsessed with Ancient Egypt. And now he had made the most important discovery in the history of Egyptology. Tears misted his eyes.
He had found the Boy King.
He had found Tutankhamen.
‘Can you see anything?’ Lord Carnarvon asked impatiently.
Carter took a long time to reply. ‘Yes,’ he said in barely a whisper. ‘Wonderful things …’
‘Let me see …’ Lord Carnarvon shuffled to Carter’s side. ‘Mr. Callender, would you be so kind as to get an electric torch?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Callender said, turning away and exiting the passageway.
‘Howard, would you widen the breach so an old man can share in your glory?’
‘Of course.’
For ten minutes, Carter chiselled neatly at the hole, until it was as wide as a dustbin lid. At the same time, Callender returned with an electric torch, which he promptly handed to Lord Carnarvon.
‘I feel like a boy again,’ Lord Carnarvon said, his voice aquiver.
‘And you look like one, Daddy,’ Lady Herbert said. ‘I’ve never seen you happier.’
‘Aside from your birth, child, I doubt I have been.’
Lord Carnarvon gripped Carter’s arm, steadying himself, before directing the torch ahead
. He sent a beam of misty light into the opening.
At once, the two men gave simultaneous gasps of astonishment.
The antechamber was overflowing with artefacts – gilded chests, ornamental plates, silver vases, a golden throne, disassembled chariots – all of them piled shambolically from floor to ceiling. Two life sized ebony-black statues of Tutankhamen faced each other on the North wall, as if guarding the way ahead.
Carter and Lord Carnarvon stood there for an age, silent, motionless, as the sheer enormity of the moment swept over them. Then Carter lowered his gaze. It was then something caught his eye - something he would never have expected in a million years. His head reeled. ‘Shine the light down there, please, sir.’
Lord Carnarvon noted the confusion in his voice. ‘What is it, Howard?’
Carter pointed downwards. ‘The light … there, please.’
Lord Carnarvon complied. To his surprise, the torchlight illuminated a wide assortment of children’s toys. ‘But they’re just toys, Howard. Tut was barely out of childhood when he died, it makes sense they’d be buried with him.’
Carter didn’t respond. Instead, he extended his arm, gesturing for Lord Carnarvon to move back. ‘Stand with Lady Herbert, please, sir.’
Lord Carnarvon looked confused. ‘What do you –?’
‘Move back!’ Carter bellowed, his voice rebounding off the walls.
Shocked by Carter’s tone, Lord Carnarvon stepped into the arms of his equally bewildered daughter.
Carter flung the chisel aside, and raised the hammer high. There wasn’t a trace of precision this time as - BAMMM - he slammed the hammer into the door. The walls shook; heavy clumps of plaster pounded the ground.
Callender had never seen his friend act in such a way. ‘What are you doing, Howard?’ he yelled.
Carter ignored him. Teeth gritted, he struck the door again, harder this time. The hole widened further; his legs were engulfed in a cloud of dust and plaster.
‘Howard, what the hell is going on?’ Callender asked. ‘You’re acting like a lunatic.’
‘Quiet, Arthur,’ Carter replied forcefully. Then, slowly, he leaned into the hole, his top half disappearing from view. He appeared to be scrambling for something on the floor. A moment later, he stood upright, utter confusion on his face.
‘Howard,’ Lord Carnarvon barked. ‘What has come over you?’
Wordlessly, Carter turned towards them. Cradled in his hands was an object, an ornately carved wooden object, painted in the most vibrant of reds.
Lord Carnarvon couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘My Lord!’
‘I - I don’t understand,’ Lady Evelyn gasped.
Callender had turned as white as a sheet. ‘I - it can’t be,’ he gasped. ‘It’s just not possible.’
Silence surrounded them.
Finally, Carter spoke, ‘What should we do?’
‘Put it back, man,’ Lord Carnarvon said at once. ‘We need time to think about this. Let us secure the tomb for the day, put it under armed guard, allow no one to enter, and we shall discuss the implications of all of this over dinner.’
‘But we’re having dinner with Charles Butterby tonight, Daddy,’ Lady Herbert said. ‘He’s made the trip from England.’
‘I don’t even know this Butterby chap,’ Lord Carnarvon sighed irritably, ‘but very well. We have dinner with Butterby and then the four of us meet up at my accommodations afterwards. Either way, we tell no one about any of this until we’ve had time to discuss it.’
‘You’re right, sir.’ Carter said. ‘And I apologise for raising my voice.’
‘Not at all, Howard,’ Lord Carnarvon said kindly. ‘I’m certain I would have been somewhat quick-tempered if I’d have been the first to spot it.’
Carter nodded. Returning the object to the antechamber, he delicately placed it beside the model of a funery ship, and allowed his gaze to fall on it one last time. His head reeled as he pondered the all-important question.
What was a toy double-decker bus doing in the tomb of the most famous Pharaoh of them all? A tomb sealed from the outside world for over three thousand years.
Chapter 2
Megaloceros Giganteus
Becky Mellor stared out of the train window. A carpet of snow had fallen overnight and bleached the Cheshire plains a glittering white. She took a deep, satisfying breath and thought about the days ahead. This would be her first Christmas at Bowen Hall, her first Christmas as a time traveller.
Better still, her mum wouldn’t be joining them until Christmas Eve, so she had three days to enjoy all the unique experiences only Bowen Hall could offer; things she couldn’t do when her mum was around: long, meandering walks across the fields with Pegasus and Gump, the winged horse and Triceratops; playing football in the Entrance Hall with Milly and Sabian, the Sabre-tooth tigers; taking leisurely strolls to Bowen lake to see Deirdre the dodo; and perhaps even a time trip or two with Uncle Percy and Will.
It all sounded wonderful. She couldn’t wait.
Just then, from nowhere, an image of her dad, John Mellor – smiling, healthy and safe - formed in her mind. Guilt swept through her. How dare she feel so happy when he was imprisoned somewhere in time, enslaved by the villainous time traveller, Emerson Drake? A flurry of questions rushed into her head. Where was he? When was he? Would he even know Christmas was approaching?
Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of her twelve-year old brother, Joe, glugging the last of his lemonade and slamming the empty can on the table.
‘Go on then,’ Joe said, looking at his sister, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Becky looked at him, puzzled. ‘Go on, what?’
‘Let’s see you crush it.’
‘What?’
‘If you’re telekinetic you should be able to crush the can, no sweat. So let’s see you do it.’ His eyes scanned the carriage. ‘Go on, no one’s watching.’
Becky scowled at him. ‘Oh, shut up.’
‘If you can use your mind to body slam Jack the Ripper then surely you can crush this little can.’
Becky sighed heavily. How many times had she and Joe had this conversation? Ever since she’d hurled George Chapman into a wall without actually touching him, she had known she was telekinetic. It was the strangest thing. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She just knew that somehow she was developing strange powers … changing. She couldn’t explain it if she tried. ‘I can’t switch it on and off like a light,’ she growled with frustration. ‘I’ve told you that a zillion times. It only happens when I want something really badly or I’m stressed or under threat.’
‘So if I bounce this can off your forehead, you’ll be able to crush it then?’ Joe replied with a grin.
‘No, but one way or another I’ll crush your fat skull.’
Joe beamed. He loved winding Becky up. ‘So what have you got me for Christmas?’
‘I’m not telling you,’ Becky replied. ‘But it’s expensive.’
‘You’re only saying that so I buy you something expensive, aren’t you?’
Becky was. ‘No. Seriously, I’ve spent a fortune on you. I hope you’re grateful.’
‘So what is it?’
‘Not telling, but it cost a bomb,’ Becky replied. ‘What did you get me?’
Joe smiled. ‘I got you those trainers you wanted.’
‘And…’
‘And what?’
Becky looked disappointed. ‘Is that it?’
‘What do you mean, is that it?’
‘Well they wouldn’t have cost you ninety quid.’
Joe snorted loudly. ‘Where am I gonna get ninety quid from?’
‘I spent well over ninety quid on your present,’ Becky lied.
Joe fell silent. ‘Did you?’
‘Yeah,’ Becky replied, trying her best not to giggle. ‘I saved really hard.’
Joe looked guilty. ‘I – err, I…’
‘I did without loads of things so I could afford it. I wanted to get you something really
special.’
‘Did you?’ Joe said in a weak voice.
Becky huffed irritably. ‘I’m going to take it back then, get a refund, it’s not fair. I’m not being tight but -’
‘Don’t do that,’ Joe said at once. ‘Have you really spent over ninety quid on me?’
Becky hadn’t spent anywhere near that. ‘Yes,’ she replied, keeping her voice low. ‘You’re my brother. You’ve saved me from robot budgies and zombie pirates. Ninety quid’s nothing compared to that.’
Joe thought hard for a moment. ‘All right … I’ll get you some more stuff. I promise.’
Desperate to laugh, Becky acted as casually as she could. ‘That’s up to you.’
‘I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t,’ Joe mumbled sourly.
Becky was looking forward to Christmas even more now.
*
The train rattled and creaked, trundling through town after town, village after village. Soon, Becky realised once again that she and Joe were the last ones in their carriage. After a few minutes, the train reduced speed.
Becky watched eagerly as they passed the sign for Addlebury station; coated in heavy snow, it swung lightly on its rusty iron frame, propelled back and forth by a stiff breeze. Sitting up straight, she felt a sliver of anticipation as the narrow railway platform appeared, decked with two wrought iron benches and a dilapidated redbrick station house. She jumped up and heaved her suitcase from the luggage rack.
Joe did the same. ‘If Uncle Percy’s driven here in the Silver Ghost, d’you think he’ll ultra-boost us back to Bowen Hall? It’s freezin’ out there.’
‘With all of this snow?’ Becky replied. ‘I think that might be too bonkers, even for him.’ She approached the exit door as the train squealed to a halt. The electric doors hissed open and she stepped out. The bitter cold tore through her like a scythe, her breath forming misty clouds, which veiled the way ahead. Joe followed her out, and together they stood alone on the empty platform.
