by carl ashmore
Becky was slightly intrigued now. ‘Okay, what is it?’
At that moment, she felt something cold land softly on her nose.
‘Ah, right on cue,’ Uncle Percy said, looking up.
Becky tracked his gaze to see thick flakes of snow, the size of cupcakes, tumbling from the clouds above, landing delicately on the leaves like puffs of lace, painting the trees a gleaming white.
Joe looked unimpressed. ‘So, let me get this straight,’ he said to Uncle Percy. ‘Your wonderful experience, and the reason you’ve brought us here, is to watch it snow?’
‘Not exactly, Joe.’ Uncle Percy’s voice dropped to a whisper. He approached a line of tree ferns that blocked the way ahead. ‘This is the reason I’ve brought you here.’ Without looking back, he pressed on through the leaves, before disappearing from sight.
‘If this is your Chrissie pressie,’ Joe whispered to Becky. ‘I’m really hoping I get gift vouchers.’
Becky trailed Will and Joe into the undergrowth, emerging on the other side to see the lake, snow dissolving on its glassy surface like smoke in the wind. Uncle Percy was standing there, his right index finger pressed against his lips. ‘Now stay very quiet and very still,’ he said faintly. ‘And watch…’
Puzzled, Becky gave a silent nod. Almost immediately, she heard the sound of rustling leaves, quickly followed by the soft, delicate crunch of footsteps. Then, from all sides, dozens of animals surfaced from the trees – elegant animals of the purest white, their majestic horns preceding them like lances, their cloven hooves finding snow for the first time in small, graceful steps.
‘Unicorns!’ Becky gasped, her heart thumping.
Uncle Percy’s eyes met hers. ‘Last summer I told you there was an island in the South China Seas where Unicorns still existed. I was talking about Katanga Island. It seems Adma wasn’t the last unicorn on earth. In fact, I think she found a mate. And I think you’re looking at the product of that union – I think you’re looking at her descendants.’ His voice inflated with pride. ‘These Unicorns are alive because you rescued Adma, Becky. They exist because of you…’
Becky was overwhelmed.
Uncle Percy smiled contentedly. ‘I hope you like your present.’
Becky could hardly speak. ‘I do…‘ she replied quietly. ‘It’s the best present anyone could ask for.’
‘I am glad,’ Uncle Percy replied with a smile. ‘And I know it’s a few days early in our time, but Merry Christmas, Becky.’
Becky smiled back at him. ‘Merry Christmas, Uncle Percy.’
‘Now perhaps we should return to Bowen Hall?’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Personally, I would like nothing better than a foaming bath, a slice of Maria’s Christollen and a goblet of mulled wine.’
One after another, Uncle Percy, Will, and finally Joe slowly entered the trees, until only Becky remained. Taking a last, lingering look at the unicorns playing joyfully in the deepening snow, she turned and tracked the others. As she made her way back to the time machine, she mulled over Uncle Percy’s words and knew at once he was right: a wonderful life was about wonderful experiences. And she had every intention of filling hers with the most wonderful experiences she could. But before that, she knew her first experience on getting home had to be a somewhat ordinary one: she had to get Uncle Percy some more Christmas presents. After all, he’d taken her to a remote desert island in the South China Seas, to witness unicorns enjoying their first snowfall, and all she’d got him was some aftershave, a toolbox and a pair of glow-in-the-dark socks.
Epilogue
The Time Hunter
In another time, another place, as far away from happiness as it was possible to be, a man sat shivering against a damp, stone wall, surveying his tiny cell. There was no bed, no sink, just a bucket for a toilet, and a small food bowl, empty now of its foul, putrid contents. There was no light, bar the sliver of sunlight that seeped in reluctantly through the small, high window above, as if fully aware this was no place for light to exist. He could hear the moans and cries of fellow inmates voicing their despair somewhere close by, but he hadn’t seen them.
And, more importantly to his captors, they hadn’t seen him.
The man inhaled deeply; the foul, rotten air stung his lungs. Still, he barely noticed it anymore. There was only so much the human body could take before its senses grew numb, and his body had been subjected to more than most.
How many cells like this had he seen: a hundred? A thousand? He’d lost count. After a while, they were all the same - the sights, the sounds, the smells - they all reeked of the same thing: Death.
But John Mellor had no intention of dying, far from it. Although his body had been battered, ravaged, assaulted in every way known to man, his spirit was strong.
Emerson Drake would not break him.
His eyes met a cockroach crawling across the floor. In an instant, he had snatched it up and tossed it into his mouth, swallowing it whole. It didn’t even seem disgusting anymore. On so many occasions, insects had been his only source of protein. He had to eat them. It was the cost of survival. And it was a cost he was willing to pay.
He had to survive.
And, on the rare occasion, when hopelessness consumed him, when he felt like giving up, conceding defeat, closing his eyes and praying never to breathe again, that’s when the images would float into his head - wonderful, glorious, life-affirming images of his daughter, Becky, Joe, his wife, Catherine. Their faces gave him hope in his darkest moments, they filled his weary lungs with air.
At that moment, the cell door banged open. A thunderous voice shook the room. ‘To your feet, prisoner!’
Mellor knew the gaoler wasn’t speaking English, but the transvocalisors he had been forced to wear since his capture, the one vestige of his former life as a time traveller, translated the words perfectly.
The gaoler, a short, stocky man with sunken cheekbones, and black, almond-shaped eyes, shuffled in, quickly followed by two Associates, one slightly taller than the other, each carrying pistols which were raised before them.
‘Get up,’ the taller Associate said coldly. ‘Mister Drake wishes to see you.’
Refusing to display any emotion, John Mellor climbed slowly to his feet, his long, matted brown beard tumbling down his emaciated, filth-stained chest.
The gaoler approached him. As he did, he raised the heavy, silvery grey metal casing, like a severed head, into the half-light, casting an eerie shadow on the opposite wall.
Mellor’s stomach sank: The Mask - his one companion on countless trips in time, from cell to cell, dungeon to dungeon, hiding his face from the world, ensuring his complete anonymity wherever and whenever he went.
With a twisted grin, the gaoler opened the mask’s clasps. He separated its plates, its hinges squeaking faintly in the gloom, and encased it around Mellor’s face, locking it into place; it fit perfectly, like a glove, as it had done so many times before.
Breathing through a thin rectangular slit, Mellor straightened his back, refusing to show any hint of frailty to his captors.
‘You should be grateful, Mellor,’ the taller Associate mocked. ‘Mister Drake has made you famous. You’re a celebrity…’
And John Mellor couldn’t disagree. He was famous. Emerson Drake had ensured he would forever have a place in the history books. He’d become an enigma, a mystery never to be solved. And his sobriquet had been become legendary, a name that would forever ignite the imaginations of authors, historians and schoolchildren everywhere.
John Mellor was the Man in the Iron Mask.
If you enjoyed ‘The Time Hunters and The Spear of Fate’ would you be so kind as to leave a review on Amazon.
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My other Books
The Time Hunters - amazon.co.uk
The Time Hunters - amazon.com
The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity - amazon.co.uk
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The Time Hunters and The Spear of Fate - amazon.co.uk
The Time Hunters and The Spear of Fate - amazon.com
Bernard and the Bibble - amazon.co.uk
Bernard and the Bibble - amazon.com
The Night they Nicked Saint Nick - amazon.co.uk
The Night they Nicked Saint Nick - amazon.com
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