The Timepiece and the Girl Who Went Astray: A thrilling new time travel adventure

by O. R. Simmonds

  With that, Chief Inspector Voakes rose from his seat and headed out of the briefing room. As he walked, the frequency of the camera flashes intensified and cries from the gathered journalists built to an unintelligible cacophony. The report then cut back to the studio and the newsreader began elaborating on further details of the case.

  Frenz turned away from the television and said, ‘Well, Will, this is going to make our journey back to London more difficult.’

  ‘What the hell are we going to do, Frenz? Now the whole country knows who I am!’

  Avy leaned forwards, her elbows resting on the table, and said, ‘I have an old Lambretta out back. You can take that. It’s small but it’ll get you where you need to go. I have some helmets and goggles too – that’ll help hide your faces.’

  ‘Thank you, Avy,’ Frenz said.

  The pair locked eyes as though each had more to say but the moment passed, their words unspoken. Avy instead forced a sad smile and turned from Frenz to look at Will. She studied him for a moment. ‘Will, I believe their story about Abigayle to be untrue, but is there any truth to the murder of the shop owner?’

  Will had been struggling with the knowledge that the man he’d seen gunned down was Frenz, albeit a much older Frenz. He was afraid of the implications of telling Frenz what was going to happen to him when he was the one man who could help bring Abigayle back. He reluctantly decided to keep quiet about it, making a promise to himself to tell Frenz once Abigayle was safe. He looked at Avy and said, ‘I never knew the guy. I’m just a patsy. I was there, but it was your pals little and large who did it.’

  Avy nodded thoughtfully, then said, ‘Tyke and Wigmore? Yes, I’m not surprised to hear that. What of your brothers and these fraud charges? Is that the real reason you moved to London?’

  Will heaved a heavy sigh, dropping his head low in front of him, then looked up sheepishly. ‘Parts of what they said is true, but it’s not how it sounds.’

  Avy leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘Well, why don’t you tell us about it?’

  Frenz said, ‘Avy, is this really necessary? We don’t have a lot of time here.’

  Avy edged forward, a determined look in her eyes. ‘I’m not letting this man walk out of here with that thing strapped to his wrist without being sure that he’s the right person for the job.’

  ‘Avy, I’ll be by his side the entire time if –’

  ‘Even more reason for me to be sure now. If he is who the police say he is, then you’ll be in danger too.’

  Will stirred, cleared his throat and said, ‘Frenz, it’s okay. The lie is already out there so let me at least tell you both the truth.’

  Frenz said nothing at first, thinking, and then gestured for him to proceed.

  ‘First off, let me deal with what they got right: both of my older brothers are currently enjoying the hospitality of the state. They’re in for fraud, like the man said, but I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Then why was your response to jump on the next flight out of the country?’

  ‘I can explain that.’ Will took a breath as if he was about to unload a heavy weight from his conscience. ‘My brothers followed my mom in the family business. They both became pickers like her.’

  ‘Pickers?’ Avy asked.

  ‘They go around the country searching through people’s houses, barns and sheds looking for stuff. Usually old, valuable stuff. They buy anything that’s for sale and then sell it on. My mom always had a great eye for “rusty gold” as she called it. My brothers too, maybe even more so. But my mom was an honest, caring woman. She would sometimes haggle to pay more for items just so the people she was buying from got a fair deal. My brothers, on the other hand, were greedy. They’d low-ball people whenever they could, just to make a few extra bucks. After a while though, they got a bad reputation for it. People found out they were taking advantage of their grandparents or their sisters and mothers, and folks just stopped selling to them.

  ‘This all meant that they were both running out of money and they had no other skills to speak of. Picking was all they could do. So, they got into contact with this guy, some wealthy landowner and collector, what was his name? D-something, I think. He had a funny first name, like a military title. His dad was some big-shot millionaire down in Arizona. Anyway, this Mr. D. was the kind of guy who thought being ruthless and greedy was a good thing. He liked my brothers right away and had them go out and search for a pair of bicycles. Old and super rare. The only two of their kind ever made, my brothers said. Mr. D. gave my brothers six months to find the bikes. He gave them a couple of leads and paid their way. If they found the bikes, they were due thousands of dollars in return.

  ‘So, my brothers search for months and months and run down all the leads, but they can’t find the bikes. What they do find, though, is dozens of similar bikes and hundreds of parts from the same manufacturer. And can you guess what they did?’

  Frenz spoke up first. ‘They made forgeries.’

  Will snapped his fingers. ‘Exactly. And my brothers, they know their stuff. Well enough to fool Mr D.’

  Avy and Frenz exchanged concerned looks.

  Will continued, ‘Anyway, whatever my brothers did with those bikes, it was good enough to get them paid. They took the money, and everything seemed great. The story even made the local news. It was a big deal in Iowa, at least.’

  Avy asked, ‘And you had nothing to do with it or this Mr. D. character?’

  ‘No! I was in college when all this was going on.’

  ‘So, what happened? How did your brothers end up in jail and you fleeing the country?’

  Will took another deep breath. ‘My mum got sick while I was in college. The money my brothers had made from the bike scam wasn’t going to be enough to pay her medical bills, so I had to drop out. I spent most of what was left of my college savings trying to help her get better, but it was no use. Not long after my mom died a story popped up on the national news about the discovery of two rare bikes in a barn out in northern California. The real ones. It didn’t take long for the cops to get wind of this since everyone knew how my brothers had made their money. They were arrested pretty quickly after that. I was kind of glad Mom wasn’t around to see it,’ Will said, the words seeming to wound him as they left his mouth. ‘With them locked away in the state pen, it just left me, my dad and my sis.

  ‘It didn’t take long for this Mr. D. guy and his cronies to come around looking to get their money back. They showed up one day when I was out and pressed my old man. It was my sister who told me about what he did, though. The spineless prick told them that he had no money, but that his youngest son – me – had plenty of savings left and that they should come after me instead. When my sister warned me, she told me to get out of town. To take what was left of my college savings and go. And that’s what I did.’

  Avy locked eyes with Will for an uncomfortable few seconds, then stood and walked over to a wooden plaque with a series of brass hooks attached to it. Each of the hooks had a set of keys dangling from it. She grabbed a single key with a black rubberised grip and tossed it to Frenz, who caught it clumsily. Avy said, ‘You should get going if you hope to cross today.’

  Frenz looked to the floor and nodded in response. Will said, ‘Thanks, Avy. And I’m sorry about everything.’

  Pointing to Frenz, but keeping her gaze locked on Will’s face, Avy said, ‘William Wells, you look after this man, understood?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, ma’am.’

  ‘You two should steer clear of Dublin, they’ll be watching the ferries. Head to Ballycotton, it’s on the southeast of the island. There’s a harbour there with plenty of fishermen and sailors with little love for the English. And not all of them bother with television, and the papers won’t have your picture yet. Offer one of them enough money and they’ll see you across the channel.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  May 17th, 1984, 07:25

  Avy handed Frenz two scuffed, oil-stained white h
elmets and two pairs of black-rimmed goggles. She gave him one last look, laid her hand on his forearm then leaned forwards and kissed him gently on the cheek. Reaching into her pocket – a motion that Will eyed warily – she pulled out a large brass key with an unusual cylindrical head and passed it to him. ‘I have a feeling you’re going to need this when you get there.’ Frenz thanked her with a smile. Turning to Will, she said, ‘I do hope you are able to find Abigayle.’ With a warm smile, she added, ‘My mother was always very fond of the name Abigayle, you know?’ She then walked to the kitchen and sat down at the table with her back to them.

  Frenz led Will down the stairs, through the workshop and out through the back door of the building. The door opened into an alleyway no more than a metre wide, lined on either side with slanted and uneven buildings that looked as if they might topple over any second. The buildings were leaning towards one another to the extent that some of the roofs were almost touching. It gave the alleyway a tunnel-like feel. As Frenz weaved his way to the right, past dustbins and storage boxes, Will asked, ‘What do you think she meant by that?’

  ‘By what?’

  ‘The thing Avy said about her mom liking the name Abigayle.’

  ‘Oh, that. Well, her mother liked it enough to give the name to her daughter.’

  ‘What? I don’t…’

  ‘Avy is short for Abigayle. Which itself derived from the Hebrew name, Avigayil.’

  ‘No kidding?’

  ‘I kid not. Now, help me with this.’

  Frenz was gesturing to a dull green tarpaulin, the topside of which was almost completely covered in bird droppings. The tarpaulin was being held down at ground level by several large, smooth rocks, most likely salvaged from the nearby beach. Frenz and Will moved the rocks and lifted the tarpaulin free. Dried bird faeces cracked and puffed into white clouds of dust. Will unwittingly inhaled some of the dust and gagged, much to Frenz’s amusement.

  Even though the baby-blue Lambretta had been under the tarp, it had still rusted in the sea air. It was smaller than Will had expected. ‘This is it?’ he said. ‘I thought there’d be a sidecar or something.’

  ‘This will be just fine.’

  ‘How are we going to fit onto that thing?’

  Frenz grinned as he tossed Will his helmet and goggles.

  ‘I bet this thing won’t even start. How long’s it been sitting here?’

  Frenz pulled the scooter free from its crusty cocoon, threw one leg over the seat, gripped the handlebars, adjusted the throttle and gave the starter pedal a kick. The engine flashed to life on the first try. Frenz looked up at Will satisfied, nodded for Will to jump on and said proudly, ‘I doubt there’s a piece of machinery Avy owns that isn’t tuned to perfection.’

  Will grumbled protestations quietly under his breath when at the opposite end of the alley a flash of blue caught his eye. He crouched low and scuttled forwards for a closer look. Hunkered down behind a dustbin, Will could see five or six police cars pulling along Main Street and stopping diagonally along its length, blocking the road. Car doors were flung open and from the lead car Will caught the unmistakable glimpse of DI Moss.

  Will rushed back towards the waiting Lambretta before pulling the helmet down over his ears and jumping on the back. ‘The police are here. We’ve got to go.’

  Frenz nodded. ‘You better hold on.’ Before Will could respond, the small bike lurched forwards, forcing him to wrap his arms around Frenz’s waist as they weaved down the narrow lane and away from the main road. Will glanced over his shoulder for the first five miles but saw no sign of blue lights in pursuit. Somehow, they had managed to get out of town unseen.

  * * *

  Will hadn’t enjoyed the bus journey from Dublin to Dingle, but less than ten minutes in to the loud, bumpy and petrifying journey riding pillion on the Lambretta, it suddenly didn’t seem so bad. The roads leading out of Dingle were treacherous: riddled with potholes and bumps, flanked by sheer drops into rivers and gorges. Some roads barely qualified as roads at all, with loose gravel and mud instead of tarmac. Frenz seemed to be quite enjoying himself in contrast to Will, whose knuckles had turned white as he gripped the slack fabric of Frenz’s top.

  They headed east out of Dingle, past the sumptuous beauty of Inch Beach and through Midtown. They then angled southeast past Killarney National Park, through Macroom and then onto Cork, where they headed south into the centre of Ballycotton.

  The town was small and charming, even compared with Dingle. Aside from the few commercial properties scattered around the harbour, the town predominantly consisted of squat, single-storey residential buildings. The harbour itself had a skewed G-shaped construction, with two narrow jetties sweeping out at either end and an opening at the far side leading to the Irish Sea. It was home to a half-dozen large fishing vessels, a handful of smaller boats and at least two craft from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution.

  The journey to Ballycotton had taken just over three hours and it was now approaching lunchtime, so Will and Frenz decided to stop by a local public house to refuel and recover from the bone-shaking journey. After climbing off the bike, Will would feel vibrations buzzing through his hands and feet for some time afterwards.

  The two of them entered a cramped but charming public house not far from the centre of town. A plaque above the bar claimed that the building had been constructed in the late 1500s from salvaged oak timbers of the Spanish Armada. Thick beams lined the walls and ceilings and the original cargo mortices and grooves were clear to see. The beams were supported by bare brick walls that were lopsided and irregular. Smoke hung thick in the air. There were just three other patrons tending to their drinks. Even so, the place felt crowded.

  They approached the bar and enquired about food, but the bartender offered only crisps and chocolate. They took both, despite their questionable nutritional value and conspicuously smudged use-by dates. While they ate, they asked the bartender – who universally tend to be the font of local knowledge in small towns like this one – if he might know of a fisherman or boat captain who would be open to undertaking some additional freelance work. The bartender pointed to a man sitting in a darkened corner booth, whom he called ‘Beardy John.’

  Will and Frenz finished their food and approached the man. He wore stained grey dungarees over a navy and red knitted jumper. His faded blue cap was dotted with numerous fishing hooks sticking through the brim, and his dense grey beard concealed his mouth entirely. He was nursing a small glass half filled with a reddish liquid that could have been a bloody Mary. He was slumped in the booth to one side and appeared to be drunk to the point of being unconscious.

  Will settled into the booth opposite the man and said, ‘Hi, er, Beardy John, is it?’

  There was no response so Will edged forwards and tapped the man gently on the shoulder. Beardy John stirred, coughed, grumbled something, then opened his eyes. Will said, ‘Hey, how’s it going? You’re Beardy John, right?’

  Beardy John fixed his eyes on Will and nodded yes.

  ‘We’ve been reliably informed,’ Will said, ‘that you might be just the man to help us out.’ Will offered his best attempt at an endearing smile, but it fell flat. Beardy John continued to stare at Will unblinking. Will looked up at Frenz for some support. Frenz, unflustered, reached into his pocket, retrieved some notes and laid them on the table in front of Beardy John, who mumbled something in return but spoke with an accent so thick that they couldn’t understand what he’d said. The only indication that his lips were moving at all was the gentle rustling of his facial hair. Neither Frenz nor Will was completely certain their conversation had ended on an agreement until John stood and shook both their hands. He was a giant of a man, a clear foot taller than both Will and Frenz. His hands were large, with ridged fingers that resembled tree trunks. The skin was hard and calloused. John quickly downed the remaining red liquid in his glass and strode out of the pub.

  Will looked at Frenz and said, ‘Hey, is he going to be okay to operate a bo
at?’ As he spoke, the bartender approached and collected Beardy John’s empty glass. Will continued, ‘How many drinks do you think he’s had?’

  Before Frenz could respond, the barman frowned at Will and said, ‘What? Beardy John? No, he’s t-total. That was spiced tomato juice he’s drinking.’

  ‘But he seems barely conscious,’ Will offered.

  ‘He’s got twins,’ the barman said. ‘Girls. Two years old. He’s not getting much sleep at the moment, but he’ll be fine once he gets some sea air in his lungs.’

  Outside, Beardy John climbed onto his bicycle and rolled down the hill towards the harbour. He didn’t seem to pedal at all between the pub and the harbour, and his irregular riding method gave the impression that he relied more on luck than judgement; however, it seemed effective enough. Will got the sense that this wasn’t the first time he’d made the commute in this fashion.

  Will and Frenz followed on their Lambretta. When they pulled up to the harbourside, the appearance of the two of them on the small scooter drew a warm chuckle from Beardy John, who continued to chuckle all the way along the jetty. He stopped next to a thirty-foot beam trawler called The Beard of Ballycotton, then jumped aboard and began making preparations to set sail. It looked as if the old vessel had had a rough life, with multiple layers of flaking paint on the hull and deep grooves in the gunwale where the ropes had worn away the wood over the years.

  After pushing the Lambretta up alongside the boat, Frenz paused to contemplate how they might lower the bike onto the main deck. He was eager that they take it with them to avoid the need to find an alternative mode of transportation once they reached England. Will would have been happy to throw the thing in the harbour.

  As Frenz was surveying his surroundings, looking for some spare rope or a large plank to use as a ramp, he felt the bike suddenly topple away from him and over the edge of the jetty. He turned his head and reached out an arm, hoping to catch it before it fell, but he was too late. Just as he was about to scream out in frustration, he saw Beardy John cradling the bike in his arms, like it was no heavier than a newborn baby, and gently placing it on the deck. He looked up and grunted in his throaty, heavily accented English: ‘Let’s be off then.’ Will and Frenz looked at each other, surprised, and climbed aboard.