Boy Who Stole Time

by Mark Bowsher

  The first thing he stumbled upon was a trap market; something the magician had warned him about. He saw an entranceway to a souk adorned with purple drapes. Turbaned merchants were offering spices and silver teapots and rugs and all kinds of exotic items to entice him in. He was intrigued and entered a labyrinthine arcade of market stalls set into alcoves, all no larger than a few telephone boxes, each packed with lanterns or spices or furniture or rugs or teapots of all shapes and sizes. A man wearing an eyepatch tried to force a game board, very similar-looking to draughts except with hexagonal spaces, on him. Everyone attempted to persuade him to part with money he didn’t have to purchase souvenirs he didn’t want. ‘Where you from?’ they’d ask. He could never quite find a way to explain. He moved faster and faster and journeyed deeper and deeper into the souk until he swore he was encountering the same merchants and the same stalls he’d passed earlier. He even ran into the man with the eyepatch and the hexagonal draughts board again. Krish began to cotton on to what was happening. The whole passageway was slightly curved and he noticed that a long way back along the walkway there were merchants furiously at work packing up their stalls. With one decisive sprint to the right he evaded the merchants and dived under the purple drapes. He emerged onto the street and looked back to see that the souk was only a few hundred feet long. It comprised a series of tents that were being taken down at one end and quickly reconstructed at the other. The tents were pitched in a rough circle so the unfortunate customer became trapped within as the market went on and on and on. The merchants gesticulated and threw spices at him. He never set foot in a trap market again.

  During his time at the Broken Scythe he didn’t find out much. He discovered that people laughed at him if he mentioned the Night Ocean or FireHawks. He knew it was ludicrous, and clearly a joke that the King had made, but he preferred to have some hope to cling to.

  He struggled to adjust to the short days and nights on this world. He tried staying awake for two days and the night in between, sleeping during the second night, but he then found himself sleeping through the night and the next day, only to wake up as the sun was setting. His body was confused and he walked around in a daze through the nights and the days, which were often just as noisy as each other as there were always some people who were still up and about at all times. A nocturnal existence didn’t curry much favour with Tol either, who wanted him to be washing up teapots during the day when the Scythe was busiest.

  Tol also liked Krish to write out the new menus for him. Tol wasn’t the best at spelling. Krish was pretty surprised that he was able to translate not only this world’s spoken language but also its written language. This helped him correct errors in Tol’s old menu.

  ‘This creature—’ he pointed to one item on the menu ‘—“mined trarker”. Do you have to, like, dig it up?’

  ‘What the ’ell yer babblin’ on about?’ Tol was half laughing, half looking genuinely cross. ‘Course yer don’t “dig it up”! Yer got trarkers your side of The Scar!’ Krish kept forgetting that his cover story for not knowing much about this world was being from the other side of something called The Scar. ‘They live out in the wilds! Any kid knows that!’

  ‘Right,’ Krish tried to retain his patience. ‘So they’re not found in mines?’

  Tol laughed and shook his head like Krish was stupid. ‘No!’

  ‘Well, why does it say “mined trarker” then?’

  ‘It don’t say that! It says “minced trarker”! Can’t you read?’

  Krish smiled politely and started correcting the menus. He could read. He just found it easier to understand if all the letters were both present and in the right order.

  After a few more days he settled into a pattern of going to bed just before the sun rose, sleeping through the next day and night, and waking just as the sun was coming up on the second day. It began to feel more like a winter’s day back home where half the day was dark anyway. As he got used to this routine his mind began to feel more awake. Unfortunately this also meant he was all the more aware of how hopeless his situation was and how little he’d achieved in the week or so since he’d arrived. He set himself a deadline: three more days and I’ll…well, I’ll have to come up with another plan. Perhaps one that actually is a plan.

  Krish also discovered the school, which was in the bar at the Broken Scythe.

  He came downstairs on the first day, knowing he had an hour or so to kill before he was meant to clean the carpet in the bar, and found thirty or forty children sitting on the floor in front of a teacher who was writing on a blackboard.

  ‘Now,’ said the teacher to her class, ‘who can tell me the best way to fix a crop-spinner?’ A sea of hands appeared in the air above the children. All the questions were similar; questions about crops, about farming or about mining. Nobody learned about science or maths or English or history or anything. The teacher was fairly young and slim, with a round, friendly face and short straight, black hair tied back. Her face might have appeared kindly but she was capable of giving harsh, piercing glares when required.

  Krish found out from Tol that the reason the teacher, named Madam Nboosa (you had to say the ‘N’ from the back of the throat through closed lips), always seemed so tired was that she came straight from the field where she worked during the night. One day by the trenches he saw her giving an impromptu lesson to a number of the children working there, who Tol said couldn’t afford to go to school. She would even bring the occasional satchelful of vegetables into the class to share with the children, which seemed to be an incentive for some of the smaller, hungrier-looking children to turn up. (For the better-fed kids who screwed their noses up at the vegetables it appeared to be good motivation to bunk off.) As far as he could tell, Madam Nboosa was an entire school all by herself; a teacher, headmistress and dinner lady all rolled into one.

  ‘Where’s Balthrir today?’ Nboosa asked her class. ‘She’s been off for the last week. If anyone knows and isn’t telling me they’ll be in detention for a year!’

  The children sniggered and said that her parents couldn’t afford the fees any more. Another said that she preferred to hang around the market these days. Some minutes later Krish realised exactly who this Balthrir character was.

  He had gone upstairs to sweep the landing by the guest rooms. When he opened the broom cupboard, the sight that greeted him took him quite by surprise. In the cupboard were a number of people, all standing around, apparently completely unaware that he was gawping open-mouthed at them. One lady was humming away to herself, as if looking around at some picturesque landscape rather than the side wall of the broom cupboard. One was miming having a shave and another appeared to be fast asleep despite standing bolt upright.

  To say that Krish was confused would be an understatement roughly the size of Australia.

  ‘Oi!’ came a voice behind him. ‘Get off my turf!’

  Krish turned around to see the magician, still wearing her bent hat, coming up the stairs holding her staff. She looked furious.

  ‘If yer think yer gonna muscle in on my territory yer got another think coming, matey boy!’

  ‘Sorry, I have no idea—’

  The magician turned around and saw a guest coming up the stairs. She threw her hat and staff into the corner and quickly tied a belt around her middle. She suddenly looked much less like a magician. She turned to Krish and thrust a coin into his palm.

  ‘Five Kalrahs. Keep yer trap shut, all right?’ She turned to the guest, adopting a smile so wide that it must have hurt. ‘My friend! Lookin’ for a room?’

  ‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact,’ said the guest.

  ‘Step right this way, sir! The manager’s out and about at the mo doin’ whatever managers do but do you know what? Sneaky bugger always overcharges for the worst rooms. You want something decent-sized for a decent price, right?’

  ‘Well, I suppose.’

  ‘Excellent! Got just the right thing for yer!’ The magician led the guest over to the broom cupboard
, her hand on his back to guide him. ‘Now this room has the best view of the Forgotten Mountains and it’s ten Kalrahs off tonight.’

  ‘Oh marvellous!’ The guest quickly parted with his money and Krish noticed the magician grab hold of her staff from the corner and, unseen by her customer, wave it over his head. Colour bubbled briefly over the guest’s head before she opened up the cupboard door. ‘How charming!’ he said before the magician slammed the door shut behind him.

  The magician spun round to face Krish. ‘Temporary delusion spell. Advanced stuff, eh?’

  Those big, deep, dark eyes again, staring right at him. He’d better say something smart. ‘So…’ he began. ‘You’re a magician?’

  ‘Oi!’ The ‘magician’ produced a rather pointy finger and practically stuck it up Krish’s nose in disgust. ‘I wasn’t the only seventh-grade pupil to get a double-distinction in wizardry to be a flippin’ conjuror, boyo!’

  Whoever she was she was coarse and rude and determined to annoy him. Krish liked her very much. He spent most of his life being polite and kind and half the time he just wanted to say whatever he felt like without caring who he offended.

  ‘So, what are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Cor, you really ain’t the sharpest tool in the utility belt, are yer? I’m a bloody wizard!’

  ‘But that thing you did… with the temporary delusion… thing… and the tiger! I saw you… magic up a tiger in the street! But you didn’t want anyone to see. I mean, I don’t really know anything about magic but… you seem much better than the other mag— wizards, but you were acting like you were… well, a bit rubbish at magic.’

  ‘Ha! Yeah. Not much room for a good wizard round ’ere.’

  ‘Erm, why is it such a bad thing to be a good mag— wizard?’

  ‘Listen, sonny Jim! There are three types of wizard – the cheap conjurors who make a bob or two on the street and –’ in hushed tones, looking around – ‘ones who run the odd little scam –’ then back to her normal volume – ‘or the super-uber-awesome wizards who work for kings and queens and nobles and all that.’

  ‘Oh. You must earn a lot of money then, I guess?’

  ‘Enough.’ And then little quieter, ‘Almost enough.’

  ‘Oh.’ Krish detected that he shouldn’t really be probing but since she was the first person he’d had a proper conversation with in a long time he risked it. ‘Enough for…?’

  The wizard stared into nothingness for a moment, looking away from him. She seemed tense, as if she was sucking some great feeling in. All of a sudden she peered over at him, her face lighter, relaxed. She turned her head on its side and pulled an odd expression.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But, why the ’ell are you listenin’ to anything I’m sayin’?’ She didn’t seem cross. In fact she appeared quite amused.

  ‘What?’ said Krish.

  ‘I said, why the ’ell are yer listenin’ to anything I’m sayin’? In’t I clearly a bloody maniac?’

  ‘Er… yeah. I guess.’

  ‘Well, people don’t tend to listen to bloody maniacs. Particularly when they’re like, well, me.’

  In a strange way, Krish knew how she felt. ‘People don’t really listen to me much either.’

  The wizard nodded. ‘Yer a bit borin’.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being boring.’

  ‘I wasn’t sayin’ there was anything wrong with that. It’s interestin’. More interestin’ than most people ’round ’ere ’oo pretend to be interestin’ when really they’re bloody borin’ down to the bone!’

  ‘So…’ Krish was trying to get his head round what she’d just said. ‘You’re saying that I’m so boring that I can’t even be bothered to pretend to be interesting and that’s… interesting…?’

  ‘Yeah! At least you’re yerself.’

  ‘You’re very much yourself too.’

  ‘Well ’oo the ’ell else would I be?’

  ‘Good point. I just meant… you don’t pretend to be anything you’re not, I guess.’

  They stared at each other for quite some time, approvingly Krish thought, until he braved breaking the silence.

  ‘So, you’re not a super-uber-awe—’

  ‘Well, I probably am but there’s no place for a good wizard on the streets. The rubbish ones don’t think it’s fair that there are some better than them and yer end up being turfed out of town pretty sharpish. Best to play it for laughs and ’ope for a few sympathy Shellas. The best wizard always ends up in the court of the King and that’s old Eshter in this neck of the woods and she’s been hangin’ around a long time! It’s one good wizard per king. That’s the rule. Ain’t another crown-wielding fat-cat this side of The Scar!’

  ‘Why don’t you cross The Scar?’ By now Krish had figured out that ‘The Scar’ was some kind of river or even ocean.

  ‘I’m scared of water.’

  ‘And you’re meant to be in class!’ came the voice of Madam Nboosa from below, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

  The wizard muttered a word Krish had heard a lot on Dawson’s stealing and fighting game.

  ‘Quick!’ she said. ‘Cover for me! Just nod yer head a lot. Don’t say a word!’ The wizard passed her staff over Krish’s face and he felt a tingle before she disappeared behind a wooden statue at the far end of the corridor.

  ‘There you are!’ said Nboosa to a rather confused Krish. ‘Come on, Balthrir! Back to class!’ Balthrir? Did he look like this Balthrir character?

  Krish suddenly realised he was wearing the wizard’s clothes. And had her hands as well. He was a bit taller too. More her height. Then he realised.

  ‘Balthrir! Come on! I’m not making the whole class wait for…’ Nboosa stopped and examined Krish from a slightly different angle. An amused smile crept across her face. ‘Oh, very good! The nose isn’t quite right and there’s not quite the right level of arrogance in the eyes but a good try! Balthrir! Come out!’ She was talking to the rest of the room now.

  Balthrir emerged from behind the statue.

  ‘Oooh!’ Balthrir’s smile was so bright Krish felt he needed sunglasses, and her tone was sickly sweet. ‘Madam Nboosa! Fancy seeing you ’ere! Looking for a room? Mr Nboosa kick you out again?’

  Madam Nboosa’s crossed arms did not look amused.

  ‘If that broom cupboard is full of people under a temporary delusion spell you’ll be in serious trouble, young lady!’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “full”,’ said Balthrir under her breath in a tone that suggested she wished she’d crammed in a few more.

  ‘And I suppose you haven’t bothered with your homework either,’ added Nboosa.

  ‘’Omework…?’ said Balthrir in the tone of someone trying to remember what they had for breakfast three Tuesdays ago. ‘Oh that! Yeah, done that!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Nboosa re-crossed her arms a little tighter than before. ‘Have you considered maybe progressing from having done your homework to handing it in?’

  ‘Oh, well I would’ve done, miss, course I would’ve done, but it was too good. Not one to blow my own trumpet but it was pretty damn awesome. Tooawesome, in fact, for anyone to read. Didn’t want you to ’ave to go through all that “Oh, Balthrir’s the best! She’s so brilliant! You lot, pack yer bags and get out of here! Balthrir clearly has such an advanced intellect that I’m just going to have to tutor her one-on-one if I’m to have enough energy to match her mental prowess!” Would ’ave been embarrassing for yer, miss. So I burned it.’

  Nboosa raised an eyebrow. ‘You burned it?’

  ‘Yep. It was so good that I ’ad to burn it. Plus I know yer can’t burn stuff in the classroom, miss. Wouldn’t want yer to get in trouble again. Not after Tol caught you smokin’ in there last week.’ Balthrir said this last sentence a little more quietly as she took a tentative step towards Madam Nboosa. Nboosa tried to retain her composure but Krish could tell a pang of nerves had just shot throug
h the teacher’s body. She uncrossed her arms and spoke to Balthrir in a lighter tone.

  ‘Just empty that broom cupboard and give everyone their money back. And release whoever that is.’ Nboosa indicated Krish and he felt a tingle as Balthrir returned him to normal. ‘It’s a good mask spell, Balthrir.’

  ‘One of yours, miss.’ Balthrir gave a hopeful smile to her teacher.

  Nboosa sighed. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t teach you more magic, Balthrir. You know it’s very much…’ She lowered her voice. ‘Of personal interest to me.’ Nboosa returned to normal volume. ‘But the King demands that the syllabus focuses almost exclusively on mining and agriculture these days.’

  ‘But, miss, I don’t want to learn about plants and rocks and all that! They’re rubbish!’

  ‘Well, you don’t have a choice.’

  ‘But I can’t afford all the exams! I mean, my parents can’t afford ’em,’ Balthrir hastily corrected herself. ‘Why can’t I just sit my wizardry exams?’

  ‘Because wizardry isn’t compulsory. Agriculture and mining are. You’ll never make a Shella out of magic anyway. No matter how good you are at it. Now get that broom cupboard cleared and if I ever catch you running a scam while you’re meant to be in class again I’ll take you straight to the authorities. I’m sorry, Balthrir, but I won’t have a choice in the matter next time. And you’ll have to give me that staff once you’re finished with this lot. You can have it back at the end of the lesson.’

  Madam Nboosa walked back downstairs.

  Balthrir looked crushed. She walked up to the cupboard, let the guests out one by one, gave them their money back and solemnly apologised to them all as Krish swept the room.

  ‘Balthrir!’ Madam Nboosa called from below.

  Balthrir turned to Krish, removing the belt from her middle and picking up her staff and floppy hat.

  ‘See yer ’round, kid.’ And then, rather sheepishly, she added: ‘Thanks for listenin’.’

  ‘Krish.’ He offered his hand and they shook. Then he said out loud something that had just crept across his mind. ‘Your parents don’t pay for your lessons, do they?’