by carl ashmore
‘They kidnapped him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ Joe added, horrified.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘And what about Will?’ Becky asked. ‘Where is he now?’
‘He stayed behind,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘He’s an excellent tracker and is going to try and find Edgar. I offered to stay, too, but he said I’d slow him down. Sadly, he’s almost certainly right. Anyway, he’ll get in touch when he’s found him. Then we’ll take it from there.’
Becky looked confused. ‘But how will he contact you?’
‘He’s carrying a pagidizor. He’s also wearing a portravella, stocked with plenty of Gerathnium and is very well armed.’ Uncle Percy noted the look on Joe’s face. ‘Don’t worry about Will, he’ll be fine and I’m sure we’ll be able to get Edgar back, safe and sound.’
Becky’s legs had turned to jelly. ‘But Edgar could be already be dead?’
‘If they wanted to kill him they could have done it along with his brothers. No, I think Drake wants him alive. I’m sure of it.’
Tears fogged Becky’s vision. ‘I hope so…’
Silence surrounded them.
‘I’m taking this costume off,’ Joe said. ‘Forget the stupid party.’
‘I agree, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said, removing his hat. ‘I don’t think any of us are in the mood for it now.’
Cheerlessly, Joe turned round and was about to climb the stairs when a hand pulled him back.
‘No, Joe,’ Becky said quietly. ‘I don’t particularly want to go now, either, but I think we should. We can’t do anything for Edgar from here, and if we don’t go tonight we won’t be able to thank the people we should. There are loads of travellers trying to find dad. The least we can do is show up and thank them.’
Joe hesitated, pondering this for a moment. ‘Okay.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Let’s leave it an hour. Talk it through amongst yourselves. I certainly don’t mind giving it a miss if that’s what you want.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘What I will say is that if your only reason for going is out of obligation to the GITT community you really shouldn’t. They’re trying to find your dad because they think the world of him. He’s part of their family. It’s as simple as that…’
*
Becky went back to her room. The minutes crawled by. Her every thought was plagued with terrible visions of the murder of Gergo and Gergan, of Edgar being forced to watch it all. It felt like someone was stabbing her heart with a knife. Her hatred for Emerson Drake raged within her like a forest fire. The hour soon passed and before she knew it she was rapping firmly on Joe’s bedroom door.
The door opened to reveal Joe, now wearing a pair of trousers, a Manchester City football shirt and a jacket. ‘So we’re going?’ he asked.
‘I think we should,’ Becky replied. ‘We don’t have to stay long.’
Joe forced a smile. ‘Maybe it’ll cheer us up.’
Becky didn’t look convinced.
A few minutes later, Becky and Joe returned downstairs to see Uncle Percy had changed into a formal black suit and tie. ‘I didn’t feel like dressing up either,’ he admitted. ‘Now are you sure you want to go? We really don’t –’
Becky took a deep breath. ‘Let’s do it…’
An icy breeze pummelled Becky’s face, forcing her to concentrate on something other than Edgar, as she followed Uncle Percy across the winding side path towards the Time Room. A few moments later, Uncle Percy pointed a small gadget at a circular pad to the right-hand side of the door. ‘I think it’s time you both met Betty, the third of my time machines, don’t you?’
Entering the Time Room, Becky’s eyes widened. In the centre of the room was an old fashioned American car, coloured from bumper to tailfin in the most brilliant bubblegum pink.
Uncle Percy approached the car. ‘I really was hoping we might all be in better spirits when you first met her.’
‘What type of car is it?’ Joe asked enthusiastically.
‘A 1955 Cadillac Coup Deville. Isn’t she a belter?’
Joe’s eyes bulged like golf balls. ‘It’s the coolest car I have ever seen.’
Becky wasn’t so sure. ‘It’s very, err, pink.’
‘Pink’s my favourite colour,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s Betty’s colouring that resulted in her being involved in an amusing and somewhat culturally significant story. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Sure,’ Becky said.
A smile split Uncle Percy’s face as he recalled the memory. ‘Well, some time ago I took her on a time trip to 1952, to Memphis, Tennessee. Anyway, I was driving past Loew's State Theatre when a young usher, evidently with his mind on other things, stepped out into the road and I nearly hit him. Fortunately, I swerved and struck a water hydrant instead.’
‘Were you hurt?’ Joe asked.
‘Not in the slightest. I did, however, feel like I’d been walloped over the head when I recognised the young usher.’
‘Who?’ Becky asked.
‘Only the King of Rock and Roll: Mr Elvis Presley, himself,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘You’ve heard of Elvis?’
‘Of course,’ Becky replied.
‘Quiff bloke,’ Joe added.
‘And a fine quiff it was, too,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes. Anyway, he ran over and helped me out but he never once took his eyes off Betty. A few years later, after he’d become famous, he bought a pink Cadillac and kept it until the day he died.’ He brushed his hand affectionately across the car’s bonnet. ‘I like to think it was Betty that sparked his love affair with the pink Caddy.’
Becky found herself grinning.
‘Anyway,’ Uncle Percy continued. ‘She’s loaded with Gerathnium so why don’t we shake a tail feather back to the middle Palaeolithic era. If you’re familiar with a golden oldie like Elvis, I’m thinking you might recognise the musical entertainment laid on for tonight.’
‘Why? Who is it?’ Becky asked.
‘You’ll have to wait and see…’ Uncle Percy said mysteriously.
Uncle Percy opened the rear doors and Becky leapt in, followed by an eager Joe.
Becky sank into the saddle beige leather seats, a rich, sweet aroma filling her nostrils, and scanned the lush chrome interior. Uncle Percy climbed in the front, keyed six digits on to the time-pad and sat back. At once, a series of buttons and knobs and dials erupted into life. Streams of light poured from the dashboard, gathering in clouds, before surrounding them, igniting their faces like candles on a pitch-black night.
The Cadillac shuddered slightly and with a thunderous bang, it disappeared.
*
Becky’s eyes took some time to adjust. Whereas the Time Room was so bright and vibrant, their new location was dim, gloomy and vast, illuminated poorly from above by rows of track lights, which sent thin shadows on to the dozens of tall pillars that buttressed the high ceiling and the sprawling mezzanine floor.
‘It looks like an NCP car park,’ Joe said, somewhat disappointedly.
‘And that’s pretty much what it is,’ Uncle Percy agreed. ‘This is the arrivals hangar.’
‘And we’re definitely underwater?’ Becky asked.
‘More than half a mile beneath the surface,’ Uncle Percy said, flinging open the driver’s door. ‘Come on. I imagine the band is coming to the end of its first set, but don’t worry … they’ll be on again later. I doubt you’ll want to miss them.’
Intrigued, Becky and Joe followed him out.
Glancing round, a grin formed on Becky’s face. They were surrounded by the most bizarre mix of time machines, from numerous historical eras: cars, minivans, a penny-farthing bicycle, a blue police phone box, a hang-glider, a miniature steam train, a Venetian gondola, and various styles of motorbike and scooter.
‘Is Bruce coming?’ Becky asked, her eyes searching out ‘Sweet Sue’, Bruce Westbrook’s silver Harley Davidson motorbike.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Uncle Pe
rcy replied. ‘The doctors have put a strict no-alcohol clause in his recuperation and I think the temptation for him to fall into a vat of tequila tonight was too much for him to handle.’
Becky chuckled, when a loud, squelchy snort echoed from behind. Looking back, she saw an enormous camel wearing an ornate leather saddle and drinking from a bucket of water.
‘Ah, Kareem’s here.’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Good evening, Jawna.’ He waved at the camel, who promptly looked up, shot him an imperious look, and returned to her water. His voice fell to a whisper as he leaned into Joe’s ear. ‘Between you and me, I find Jawna a bit too snooty for her own good.’
Joe laughed. ‘Someone has a camel for a time machine?’
‘Kareem Kassab does. Well, strictly speaking the time machine is the saddle but, yes, I suppose you could say that.’
‘Doesn’t travelling scare her?’ Becky asked, concerned. ‘I mean … there’s all the lights, the noise.’
‘Oh, no,’ Uncle Percy replied casually. ‘Kareem and Jawna have been travelling companions for decades. She’s an old pro. Anyway, shall we check out the party?’ He set off in the direction of a set of large doors at the far end of the room.
As Becky trailed him, her gaze was drawn to a most unexpected object, painted luminous green, set beside a stretch black limousine. ‘Is – is that a public toilet?’
‘It is, but personally I wouldn’t use it.’
‘Why not?’ Becky asked.
‘Because you might find yourself in Nanjing, China in 1375... that public toilet is Dilbert Wong’s time machine.’
Becky’s crumpled her face. ‘Really?’
‘His time machine’s a bog?’ Joe said with delight.
‘That’s one way of putting it, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said disapprovingly. ‘With respect to Dilbert, he’s got a weak bladder and a strong sense of propriety. I suppose he doesn’t want to be stuck in Bronze Age Bavaria without a suitable place to visit when needs must. You know what they say, when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go...’
Becky was about to respond when a loud crack echoed to their left. A giant tractor had materialised in an adjacent parking bay. A man dressed as a deep-sea diver leapt down and landed with a clank beside them. He was wearing a copper helmet, which he removed to reveal a mass of curly orange hair and a wild, tangled beard spotted with grey, behind which sat a wide grin. ‘Halifax, me old mucker,’ the man said. ‘Good to see you and Merry Christmas.’ He extended his hand.
Uncle Percy shook it. ‘Merry Christmas, Malcolm. Becky, Joe … can I introduce you to Malcolm Everidge – a very old friend, unparalleled expert in medieval history, esteemed time traveller and a fellow OTTER.’
Everidge’s eyes shone as he looked down at Becky and Joe. ‘Well, bless my soul,’ he said warmly. ‘I was chuffed to bits when I heard you’d be coming. Merry Christmas to you both.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Becky and Joe said simultaneously.
Everidge’s eyes fell on Joe and he paused for a moment. ‘My goodness, young man, you really are the spitting image of your father.’
‘Thanks,’ Joe replied.
Everidge opened his mouth as if to say something else but seemed to change his mind, turning instead to Uncle Percy who looked strangely flushed.
‘Anyway … must dash,’ Everidge said, the words tripping quickly off his tongue. ‘It’s not every day you get to witness a musical treat like this and I’ve already missed most of the first half. See you later, kids.’ And he hurried away as quickly as he could.
Uncle Percy watched him leave. ‘I have to agree with Malcolm about the musical treat. Come on.’ He turned quickly and marched off, leaving Becky and Joe to exchange puzzled glances.
‘What d’you reckon this musical treat is?’ Becky said in a low voice.
Joe shook his head. ‘No idea,’ he whispered back. ‘But if I know Uncle Percy’s oddball mates it’s probably a Brontosaurus playing the bongos.’
Becky and Joe had only advanced a few feet when the sound of music met their ears. With each step, it grew louder all the time. By the time they had reached the door, Becky could make out guitars, drums, and singing, punctuated by loud hollers of approval from what sounded like a large gathering of people.
Stopping at the door, Uncle Percy’s eyes sparkled. ‘Welcome … to this year’s GITT Christmas party.’ He pushed the door open.
Following him inside, Becky’s legs turned to jelly. She was in an enormous glass-domed room, its walls decorated with murals depicting nautical scenes – a submarine painted egg-yolk yellow, a dolphin being tickled by a Mermaid, hundreds of golden starfish – and arched windows, through which she could see huge shoals of fish drifting across an endless seabed.
Looking round, she saw hundreds of people dressed in the most wonderful costumes sitting at round tables - some in sumptuous dinner gowns and suits, others in marine-themed outfits from lavishly dressed pirates to human sized sea-urchins. A cocktail bar had been set up on the right hand wall below a sign that read ‘Octavia’s Octopus Garden - Try our history-making Seafood Cocktail.’
However, it was the giant stage at the far end of the room that made her head whirl and, more precisely, the four-piece band that performed on it. All four members were dressed identically in grey suits and ties, with collar-length dark brown hair shaped with a straight fringe.
Her mouth dried as she tugged absently at the hem of Uncle Percy’s jacket. ‘Tell me that’s a tribute band?’
‘What’s a tribute band?’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘A band of lookalikes and sound-alikes,’ Becky replied, her eyes locked on the stage. ‘Tell me that’s not the real thing.’
‘It’s the GITT Christmas party – of course it’s the real thing. Anyway, can I assume from your somewhat stupefied expressions you’ve heard of them?’
‘Course we have,’ Joe panted.
‘We might be young,’ Becky replied. ‘But everyone’s heard of The Beatles…’
Chapter 6
Help
Becky’s head spun as she watched the singer, a man she recognized as John Lennon, scream a final note, voice his thanks for being welcomed into the travelling community, and compliment a traveller in the front row on his Walrus costume, promising to write a song about it one day. Then he joined the other Beatles in a bow before leaving the stage to a thunderous round of applause.
‘The Beatles were time travellers?’ Joe asked, flabbergasted.
‘For tonight, yes,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘As for their tomorrow, I’m afraid they won’t remember a thing.’
‘What do you mean?’ Joe asked.
‘I know it’s rather naughty of us, but there’s no point in being time travellers if we can’t indulge ourselves once in a while. Do you remember when I eradicated your mother’s memory just after Bertha materialized in your back garden, damaging, if I remember, what was a quite magnificent oak tree.’
‘Yes,’ Joe replied. ‘You used a Memoraser.’
‘That’s right. And being memorased is precisely what’ll happen to The Beatles after the party. They won’t remember any of this. It wouldn’t be fair to send them back to, what, 1963, with this knowledge in their heads.’ He pointed to an empty table near the stage. ‘Anyway, I’ve reserved a table so shall we sit down and I’ll get some drinks.’
As they walked, Becky couldn’t help but notice that head upon head was turning in their direction, each smiling widely before nudging the person next to them and saying something she couldn’t quite hear. In fact, it happened so many times she began to feel very uncomfortable and was thankful when they reached their table. Just as she was about to sit down, however, a drill-like shriek ripped her ears. She looked round to see a heavily made-up woman in a sheer black dress, her auburn hair piled high like a pineapple, charging towards them.
Becky recognised her as Annabel, the GITT receptionist.
‘You’re heereeee!’ Annabel flung her arms around Becky’s neck.
‘Hi Annabel,’
Becky said.
Annabel pulled away. ‘Oh my dear, you’re even more radiant in real life.’
‘Thanks,’ Becky said sincerely. ‘Your dress is really pretty.’
‘Aw, you are a darling. We both know I’ve eaten far too many cakes in my life to wear it with any degree of dignity, but I appreciate you saying it anyway.’ Annabel rotated towards Joe, craning her neck to meet his eyes. ‘And, Joe, you were a mere slip of a thing when I saw you last summer. Look at you now - you’re virtually a man.’
‘Hiya, Annabel,’ Joe replied with a smile.
Annabel’s expression changed. ‘And you …’ She shot Uncle Percy an accusatory glare. ‘You said you were arriving at seven. And you’re never late. What happened? I’ve been worried sick.’
‘I’m sorry, Annabel, but something came up,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Still, we’re here now, so Merry Christmas and -’
‘ - And I want my pressie,’ Annabel said quickly, and from nowhere she held aloft a sprig of mistletoe and launched herself at him, planting a lengthy kiss on his lips, before breaking off. ‘Merry Christmas, Mister Halifax.’
Uncle Percy looked flushed. ‘I, err, …’
Surprised, Becky was about to laugh when she heard a stern voice.
‘Percy Halifax, I’m surprised at you. You do know you’re canoodling with a married woman!’
Becky swiveled round to see a short, stout middle-aged man approach them; he had a round, stern-looking face, flaming red hair, ruby red cheeks, and brilliant green eyes, which peered censoriously over half-moon spectacles. He would have cut quite an imposing figure if he hadn’t been dressed as a lobster.
‘I - I wasn’t canoodling, Charles,’ Uncle Percy replied uncomfortably.
‘It looked like it from where I’m standing.’ The man wagged a giant orange pincer at Uncle Percy. ‘It’s a good job Annabel’s husband is at the bar.’
‘We did nothing that wasn’t in keeping with the festive spirit,’ Uncle Percy insisted. ‘I can assure you of that.’
The man’s expression turned from disapproval to delight. ‘I’m pulling your leg, you old rascal.’
‘Oh, err, good,’ Uncle Percy replied, sounding relieved.
