by carl ashmore
‘Why is everyone trying to hide things from us?’ Becky asked irritably.
‘We’re not. I’m not. I just, err, well we have to get going and wouldn’t you rather meet Blanche?’
‘No,’ Becky said. ‘I want to know what’s in your pocket. Is it what Butterby was holding?’
‘Mister Butterby, if you please.’
‘Mister Butterby then.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Now would you like to meet Blanche?’
Becky opened her mouth to challenge again when Joe said, ‘Shut up, Becky. It’s none of your business. And I want to see Blanche.’
Seeing that Becky was about to blow her top, Uncle Percy said, ‘Come on then, Joe.’ He strode over to the metal steps that led to the viewing balcony above. Eagerly, Joe raced after him.
Unsatisfied, but keen to see the new time machine, a surly Becky followed them up the steps to where Uncle Percy was keying something on to a workstation.
‘Now Blanche is the largest of my time machines,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘But she’s a beauty. A bone-fide classic of automotive design.’
At once, Becky’s anger subsided, replaced by excitement. She joined Joe at the bannister. Together, they watched the floor separate in the middle and inch open like a lift door, revealing a giant red vehicle on the platform below.
Red?
As the vehicle rotated slowly upwards, Joe clapped his hands. ‘Brilliant!’ he bellowed.
The revolving platform came to rest. Gazing at the vehicle, a smile rounded Becky’s mouth. ‘I should’ve guessed.’
‘Blanche is a 1956 Routemaster double decker bus,’ Uncle Percy declared proudly.
‘Fantastic,’ Joe gushed. ‘And what else does she do? I mean, can she turn into a giant skateboard?’
Uncle Percy chuckled. ‘Not exactly, but I have made some substantial modifications.’ He lowered his voice to a mutter. ‘I only hope we don’t need to use them.’
Becky and Joe were too caught up in the moment to hear.
‘Can we go inside?’ Joe asked eagerly.
‘Be my guest.’
A moment later, Becky and Joe were thundering down the steps in a mad dash to be the first to see Blanche close up. The instant they reached the floor, however, a hissing sound echoed from their left, and the Ectolift doors slid open. Edgar emerged, his massive body quivering madly. Barbie’s tiny metal hand was wrapped tightly around his baguette-sized finger like a mother holding the hand of a frightened child.
Uncle Percy looked over, concerned. ‘Are you feeling all right, Edgar?’
‘I ruddy well am not!’ Edgar whimpered. ‘I d-did not enjoy that one bit…’
Barbie looked at Uncle Percy, who seemed puzzled. ‘The Ectolift, sir. I believe it scared him.’
‘Ungodly creation that it is,’ Edgar continued. ‘Surely, only the Algea, the deities of pain and torture, could devise such a contraption.’
‘It’s just a lift, Edgar,’ Uncle Percy said, smiling. ‘They’re actually quite common in our time.’
‘Then much as I am keen to learn about this twenty first century, I shall return to my time forthwith should there be other such horrors.’
‘I understand,’ Uncle Percy said kindly.
Edgar swallowed a calming breath, steadied himself, and took a few seconds to scan the Time Room; his gaze moved from computer to computer, clock to clock as he absorbed every detail. The moment he spied Will, however, his bottom lip wobbled. In three massive steps, he had seized Will in a crushing bear hug. ‘William … my saviour.’
‘Greetings, my friend,’ Will replied cheerfully. ‘I am glad your wounds are healing.’
‘All because of your intervention,’ Edgar said sincerely. ‘I owe you my life.’
‘Twas nothing,’ Will replied.
‘I shall not forget,’ Edgar said. ‘I shall not rest until I have repaid that debt.’
‘There is no debt to repay.’
Finally looking himself again, Edgar saw the double-decker bus and his jaws fell open. ‘And what manner of vehicle is this? Lordy, it is redder than the great columns at Knossos…’
‘It’s another time machine, Edgar,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘And thanks to Barbie’s hard work over the last few hours, it’s particularly Minotaur friendly. Thank you again, Barbie.’
Barbie bowed. ‘My pleasure, sir.’
‘Now, everyone, please apply your transvocalisors …’ Uncle Percy passed out three sets of transvocalisors to Becky, Joe and Will, who put them on, and then gestured to the bus. ‘And climb aboard…’
Becky and Joe didn’t need asking twice and raced through the rear entrance.
To Becky’s astonishment, the interior had been fashioned into what looked like a very comfortable mobile home; the usual passenger seats had been removed and replaced with a gigantic Chesterfield sofa with four plump chiffon cushions; a wide hole had been cut in the roof, allowing ample space for Edgar’s head to pop through to the second deck; silk curtains in mint green, tied back with matching ribbon framed the windows, and two large cupboards, a small fridge and four chairs lined the aisle which led to the driver’s seat.
‘Is this what you meant when you said you’d made modifications?’ Joe asked Uncle Percy who had joined them inside.
‘Not exactly,’ Uncle Percy replied evasively.
Edgar’s eyes widened as he followed them in; hunched over, he made his way to the sofa and sat down. ‘Goodness gracious me, isn’t it smashing?’
Uncle Percy pointed at a cupboard. ‘I’ve also made sure you’ve got ten boxes of cornflakes for the trip, Edgar, and a few gallons of milk.’
‘You spoil me, Perce, you really do.’
‘You should rent this out,’ Joe said, impressed. ‘You know, for weekend breaks and stuff. It’s way cooler than Ernie Budger’s dad’s caravan.’
‘I don’t think so, Joe,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I doubt there’s a huge market for a London red bus with armour plating and bulletproof windows made from thermoplastic, polycarbonate, and numerous layers of laminated glass, do you?’
‘Why would we need bulletproof windows?’ Becky asked, suddenly concerned. ‘I mean, we’re going to Ancient Egypt, and you are planning on taking us back far enough to avoid Drake’s dingbats, aren’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘But it’s better to be safe than …’
Just then, Becky spied a dot of light reflected his eye; turning to face the Time Room floor, she saw the light balloon in size, before exploding with a crack to leave Charles Butterby standing there. He was wearing an ankle length tunic, brown cloak, sandals, a curious black onyx beaded necklace, and was carrying a small cloth rucksack.
Becky could tell at once something was wrong. Butterby’s complexion, usually so rosy and flushed, was colourless, his eyes dull and gloomy; even his red-hair seemed to lack its usual vitality.
Uncle Percy noticed, too. Passing Becky and Joe, he exited the bus. ‘Are you all right, Charles? You don’t look at all well.’
Butterby took a few moments to respond. ‘Yes, Percy,’ his voice quivered slightly. ‘I’m just a bit shaken up. I’ve been visiting some of the elderly members of the community to see how they’re coping after the attack.’ He sighed. ‘They’re scared. Very scared, indeed.’
Uncle Percy nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m sure they are.’
Butterby’s face grew stern. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how furious I am with all of this … I mean, an attack on the entire community. Contemptible. I even lost my beloved spectacles in the rumpus.’ He gave a humorless chuckle. ‘And to think I once considered Emerson Drake a friend, a kindred spirit. I feel such a damn fool.’
‘He fooled us all, Charles.’
‘I suppose,’ Butterby replied bitterly. ‘Anyway, are we ready to depart?’ He raised his bag high. ‘I’ve got all I need.’
‘Are you sure you should be coming?’ Uncle Percy said kindly. ‘You really do look poorly. Perhaps you should stay and get some rest?�
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‘I’ll be better with that Egyptian sun on my face. And besides, if you recall I am something of an Egyptophile, and may be of some use on this little quest of yours.’ Becky, Joe and Edgar emerged from the bus. His gaze fell on Edgar and his expression froze like a corpse. ‘Oh - my - word.’
‘Edgar, this is Charles Butterby,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘He’s the president of our travelling organization. He’s also a smashing chap and all round philanthropist.’
Edgar smiled at Butterby. ‘Greetings, Mister Butterby. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’
‘Call me Charles, please,’ Butterby enthused. ‘And the pleasure is truly mine. I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘All good, I hope,’ Edgar replied.
‘Of course.’ Butterby shook his head with disbelief and said, ‘A genuine Minotaur. How wonderful.’ He turned to Becky and Joe. ‘Hello again, Becky and Joe. And may I apologize to you both for the appalling incident at the Christmas party. I’m so glad neither of you were hurt.’
‘No sweat,’ Joe said.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Becky replied.
‘No, but it was my name on the invitation,’ Butterby replied, ‘so I do feel somewhat responsible.’ He glanced at Uncle Percy. ‘So then, Percy, shall we hit the road?’
‘I think we should,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘Do you have the Gadeirus Tablet?’ Butterby asked eagerly.
Uncle Percy pulled the Gadeirus Tablet from beneath his cloak and passed it to Butterby, whose eyes twinkled like a child’s.
‘My word,’ Butterby said, studying it closely. ‘And is this authentic Atlantean script?’
‘It certainly is,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘And has, thanks to Edgar, been translated into a short but illuminating riddle.’
‘Amazing,’ Butterby said breathlessly. ‘And can I assume you’ve solved the riddle?’
‘Becky did it in seconds.’
‘Marvellous,’ Butterby said, smiling at Becky. ‘Then we should get a move on. The sooner we find the Spear of Fate, the better for all of us, and the worse for Mister Emerson Drake…’
‘Absolutely,’ Uncle Percy agreed.
Becky saw this as the ideal opportunity to ask something that had been bothering her. ‘Mister Butterby, can I ask you something?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Earlier, when the Hologramophone was on you, it seemed to me you were trying to hide something from Joe and me. Can I ask what it was?’
Butterby looked flustered. ‘I – ’
‘It’s quite all right, Charles,’ Uncle Percy interrupted. ‘I believe I can answer that.’ He walked over to a workstation desk, opened a drawer and pulled an object draped in brown cloth into the light. ‘Becky, Joe, you’ve heard of Tutankhamen?’
Becky nodded. ‘’Course.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe said. ‘He was that Pharaoh that died when he was a kid. Mum took us to see a Tutankhamen exhibition at the Trafford Centre a few years ago. It recreated his tomb and all the artifacts in it. It was brill. Apparently, it was exactly like when that archaeologist bloke found it.’ He looked at Becky. ‘What was his name?’
Becky thought for a moment. ‘Err, Howard Carter.’
‘Ah, I’m delighted you know about Howard Carter,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Anyway, although I’m certain your tomb and its artifacts were a faithful replica of the original, I can guarantee it wasn’t quite how Howard Carter found it. There was certainly one item that has never since seen the light of day - an object, found by Carter, that went missing the very night it was discovered and was never heard of again …’ he inclined his head toward Butterby, ‘… thanks to Charles, here, who obtained it during a recent time trip to Egypt on the 26th November 1922.’
‘What artifact?’ Joe asked impatiently.
Uncle Percy unravelled the cloth to reveal the contents inside. ‘This carved wooden object was found in the antechamber of Tutankhamen’s tomb. We can only assume it was one of the boy Pharaoh’s favourite toys …’
Becky looked down. She gasped with astonishment. Her gaze flicked over to the double-decker bus before returning to Uncle Percy. ‘There was a toy bus in Tutankhamen’s tomb?’
‘That’s right.’
Joe stared intently at the bus. ‘What are all those black dots?’ he asked suspiciously.
Becky looked again. Joe was right. Painted on the bus’s bodywork and windows were a series of tiny but very distinct dots.
‘I’m not sure,’ Uncle Percy replied feebly.
‘Really?’ Joe asked, unconvinced. ‘What do they look like to you, Becks?’
Becky looked again. Straightaway, she could see what he was getting at. Dread swept through her.
Joe face turned solemn. ‘Because they don’t half look like bullet holes to me...’
Chapter 20
The Omega Defect
‘I wouldn’t start jumping to conclusions, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said in his most reassuring voice.
‘Oh, come on,’ Joe replied. ‘It looks like something in C.O.D.’
Uncle Percy looked clueless. ‘Cod?’
‘It’s a game,’ Becky chipped in.
‘About fish?’ Uncle Percy replied innocently.
‘Not exactly,’ Becky replied to the sound of Joe’s sniggers. ‘It stands for ‘Call of Duty.’
‘Ah, well,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘As you well know, I don’t know about any such game, young man, but if I can reiterate: I’ll be setting the chronalometer to a hundred years before any firearms are due to arrive in Egypt, so let’s not allow our imaginations to run riot, shall we?’
Becky thought for a few seconds before speaking. ‘How did it get into Tutankhamen’s tomb?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Does it mean we get to meet Tutankhamen?’ Joe asked.
‘I seriously doubt it,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘We’ll be arriving in Egypt over a hundred and twenty years before he was even born. For all we know, it could have been passed down for generations.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, are we ready to leave?’
‘Too right,’ Joe said eagerly.
Becky’s stomach gave a jolt of excitement.
Uncle Percy glanced over at Will, who nodded back. ‘Then let’s go.’ He entered the bus, followed by Butterby, Joe, Will, Edgar and finally Becky.
As Becky made her way down the aisle, she watched Edgar sink into his chair. She could see he looked nervous. Moving over, she cupped his giant hand in hers and gave it a kindly squeeze. ‘It’s all right, Edgar. Time travelling’s a piece of cake.’
‘The one time I remember doing it Heim had just murdered my brothers,’ he replied glumly.
Becky fell silent. ‘I am sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Miss Becky,’ Edgar replied. ‘We are travelling now to thwart this beast’s plans, and those of Emerson Drake. And I would be no where else…’
Joe watched Uncle Percy relax onto the driver’s seat. ‘Are we registering the trip?’
‘I’m afraid the registering days are over for the time being,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I’ve informed Charlie Millport where and when we’re going, but after Drake’s attack, Mary Cassidy’s blackmail, it’s not safe to make any trip on the record. We do, however, have plenty of Gerathnium. All red tape has been dispensed with for the moment.’
Butterby appeared at Joe’s shoulder. ‘Do you have a bathroom on board, Percy?’
‘Upstairs, Charles.’
‘Many thanks,’ Butterby walked off, taking his bag with him. He returned minutes later looking considerably brighter, a rosy glow having returned to his cheeks, and settled on to his chair. ‘Why is half of the top deck blocked off?’
Uncle Percy shifted awkwardly on his seat. ‘There’s an apparatus I’ve had installed up there that’s somewhat delicate.’
‘What is it?’ Joe asked, intrigued.
‘It’s of no immediate importance,’ Uncle Percy replied bluntly as if that was the end of the matter.
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sp; Butterby looked at Becky. ‘How very mysterious,’ he said. ‘Anyway, your uncle’s secretive behaviour aside, I’m quite excited about this little adventure, aren’t you?’
Becky masked her concerns with a polite nod.
‘I’m glad, Charles,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘And I’m also aware we have a very serious job to do but it shouldn’t all be about work. That’s why I’ve decided to take the scenic route to Memphis.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Joe asked, finding a seat near Becky and Edgar. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see,’ Uncle Percy replied.
Butterby looked at Becky and Joe. ‘Am I right in thinking you’ve never visited Egypt before?’
Becky and Joe nodded.
‘Then you’re in for a treat,’ Butterby added. ‘It’s a wonderful era. For me, the most sophisticated, elegant, and dare I say civilized culture there’s ever been. What do you know of it?’
‘I’ve seen ‘The Mummy’ on Netflix,’ Joe replied quickly. ‘I’ve seen pictures of the Pyramids.’
‘There have been one hundred and thirty eight pyramids discovered in Egypt, Joe. I can only assume you mean those on the Giza plateau.’
‘I suppose,’ Joe replied. ‘And what’s that big dog thing with the human head.’
‘The Sphinx,’ Becky replied.
‘Yeah, I‘ve seen a documentary on that. And our form teacher, Mister Everall, is a right nut on the subject. Obviously, we’ve seen Tutankhamen’s tomb at the Trafford Centre. And one of mum’s favourite films is that … err, who was that famous queen?’
‘Cleopatra,’ Becky suggested.
‘That’s the one,’ Joe said.
‘Ah, Cleopatra, truly a fascinating woman,’ Butterby said, looking starry-eyed and distant. ‘And nothing like her traditional portrayal in popular culture, of course.’
‘What do you mean?’ Becky asked.
‘Well, if nothing else, she must’ve weighed a metric tonne.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, her derrière was as big as this bus.’
Becky and Joe laughed.
‘Now, Charles,’ Uncle Percy said firmly. ‘Let’s keep it civil. These are impressionable minds, after all.’
