by carl ashmore
Becky never thought for a moment it would be.
Chapter 19
From Boy to Maniac
Uncle Percy opened his mouth to speak but closed it again almost immediately. He did this a further three times before finally seeming satisfied with what he was about to say. ‘Emerson Drake was born in 1961 to a Yorkshire industrialist, Herman Drake and his wife, Eleanor Drake. The Drake Family had for many years enjoyed a prosperous domination of the coal mining industry, primarily by exploiting their workforce in the cruellest of ways – poor wages, even worse working conditions. But nothing mattered to Herman Drake bar the pursuit of wealth and power. His immense wealth enabled him to hold sway over many in the British Government. He was a quite despicable man, cruel and bitter, with extreme right wing views. During the Second World War, although this was never made official, he was heavily involved in an organisation called The Right Club.’
‘What’s the Right Club?’ Becky asked.
‘They were a secret society headed by the Member of Parliament Archibald Ramsey. Highly unscrupulous, they were Pro-Nazi and very dangerous. I am, however, in no doubt that Herman Drake and not Archibald Ramsay was the real brain behind the movement, a puppet master par excellence, if you will. And during the war, The Right Club made its primary goal to destabilise Churchill’s government and forge an alliance with Adolf Hitler. With this in mind, their aim was to assassinate Winston Churchill.’
Becky was shocked. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Of course, they failed, and many of those involved were sent to prison. Herman Drake, however, somehow eluded capture and even consolidated his power after the war had ended.’
‘What was Drake’s mum like?’ Joe asked.
‘An alcoholic,’ Uncle Percy replied, ‘and far more interested in Dior dresses than her newborn baby. She saw Emerson as a parasite, something that thwarted her efforts to socialise, entertain and shop. So yes, it’s safe to say Emerson Drake was born into a somewhat dysfunctional family.’
‘You sound sorry for him?’ Becky asked.
‘As a baby and a child … absolutely. It’s impossible not to be. And I’m afraid things were to get much worse for the young Emerson Drake. He was barely an infant when his parents were killed in a house fire. Anyway, he was sent to live with his Grandmother, Agnes Drake, in Whitby. And it was Agnes, I believe, that inflicted the lifelong psychological damage that would define Emerson forever.’
‘What did she do?’ Becky asked quietly.
‘It’s what she didn’t do … and that was to show him any love, affection or anything that could be described as innate human tenderness. Agnes Drake didn’t have an ounce of feeling in her body for anyone or anything, with the exception of her three Norfolk Spaniels. There was certainly no love left for Emerson.’
‘Good,’ Joe said stubbornly.
Uncle Percy scowled. ‘Hardly, Joe. No child deserves that.’
‘He didn’t have to turn into a scumbag just because he didn’t have a cuddle every now and again, did he?’
‘Perhaps not,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘But that’s very easy to say when you’ve been brought up surrounded by love and kindness. In retrospect, I don’t believe Emerson had much of a chance. Nature and nurture were both very much against him. The other thing about Agnes Drake was that she was a religious fanatic and a true bigot. Religious extremism has always been an immensely destructive force, just look at some of the dreadful events that have occurred in your lifetime. For the most minor violations of her strict rules – spilling some orange juice, leaving a handprint on her polished silver - she would make Emerson recite the bible for hours on end. For more serious misdemeanours, she would beat him with it until he was black and blue. Often, she would take Emerson and her dogs for long walks along the cliffs overlooking the sea, and on many occasions threaten to push him off if he failed to meet her perversely high standards. You must remember he was only seven years of age…’
Becky didn’t know what to say. ‘She should’ve been locked up.’
‘I agree,’ Uncle Percy replied simply. ‘But who knew? Abuse is always a terrible thing. And abuse of a small child, any kind of abuse, is the most deplorable thing in the world. Anyway, inevitably Emerson grew detached from the world. He couldn’t form friendships. Instead, he immersed himself into scholarly pursuits. He had a natural ability for science and mathematics and that became his life. He never attended school. He had a long line of home tutors, who resigned very quickly when they realised what Agnes was like. In the end, he pretty much tutored himself. When he was eight years of age, one by one, Agnes’ beloved dogs met with strange accidents. Over a six month period, all three died from seemingly natural causes or misfortunes around the house.’
‘And he did it?’ Joe asked.
‘Im afraid so,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I can’t be certain of his reasons … whether it was to punish her for the way she treated him, or whether he thought without the dogs around she would be compelled to offer him love and kindness, I can’t be sure. Either way, it didn’t work. If anything, she got worse.’ He sighed deeply. ‘And then one day, when they were out walking, it was Emerson who snapped and pushed the old lady over the cliffs. Agnes’ corpse was found the very next day on the rocks below.’
Becky could barely speak. ‘And what did the police say?’
‘The police believed she took her own life.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Joe asked.
Uncle Percy filled his lungs with air. ‘Shortly after I finished creating Barbie, I sent her back in time to compile an optohistophibic folio on Emerson’s early life.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Do you remember the optomediaphibic folio we watched about Israel Hands in Bowen Library … the one Barbie had compiled from digital sources?’
Becky and Joe nodded.
‘An optohistophibic folio is an application within Barbie’s circuitry that records first hand actual events, and doesn’t use any secondary sources. To cut a long story short, Barbie travels back in time and, using her Invisiblator so she’s never seen, records certain relevant events, then edits them into chronological order for a final Hologramophonic presentation. And that’s how I know it was Emerson that pushed his Grandmother… I saw it with my own eyes.’
A chill swept through Becky. ‘So what happened to him after that?
‘He was taken in by his distant uncle, Wilfred Hunt, and his wife, Emily. The Hunts were good people, kind people. But I think by this point there was no saving him. And the Hunts had a daughter, Melanie, whom they loved dearly. They did their best to treat Emerson with the same affection as Melanie, but as the years passed, Emerson grew fiercely jealous of her.’ Uncle Percy wavered, momentarily unable to continue.
‘What happened then?’ Joe asked.
‘Melanie was found drowned in a local lake,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Again, it looked like an unfortunate accident.’
Joe’s face turned white. ‘But Drake did it?’
Uncle Percy nodded. ‘Yes. As you can imagine, the Hunts were devastated with grief, barely being able to function properly. I even went back and tried to stop Melanie’s murder but the Omega Effect intervened. The Hunts still tried to raise Emerson as their own, but by this point he was beyond help. Later, as a young man, he went to Oxford University and that’s where I met him.’
‘So what was he like at Oxford?’ Joe asked.
‘To be honest, by then he was able to become two people – the public Emerson Drake, a charming, outwardly gregarious young man and the other - the one no one but him knew about - the cold, calculating monster within. Personally, he never liked me. I think deep down I always knew that. And that was partly because he envied my friendship with a girl we both knew, a girl that, although I was blind to it at the time, had something of a soft spot for me.’
Becky recalled their discussion the previous November when Uncle Percy told her about his tragic past. ‘You mean Stephanie Calloway.�
�
‘I do … yes.’
‘Who’s she?’ Joe asked.
‘She became my girlfriend, Joe.’
‘You?’ Joe said in a surprised tone. ‘With a girlfriend?’
‘Shocking, eh?’ Uncle Percy replied with a doleful smile. ‘Well, Emerson liked Stephanie very much. He made many attempts to woo her, but she rejected every one of his advances. Amazingly, she preferred me. To be frank, I’m surprised he let me live. Everything else he envied - Agnes’ dogs, Melanie Hunt – well, they all seemed to come to a tragic demise…’
Joe leaned forward. ‘So why do you think he –’
Joe’s words were silenced by Uncle Percy’s raised hand. ‘Do you mind if we stop there, Joe. There really isn’t much else to say and I think I’ve had enough talking about Emerson Drake for one night. Perhaps we should change the subject to one more in keeping with this lovely night, what do you say?’
But neither Becky nor Joe could offer a response. Uncle Percy did his best to steer the conversation to more jovial topics, but they all knew the evening was over.
What more could possibly be said?
*
An hour or so later, Becky and Joe lay in their tent, neither saying a word. Frogs croaked somewhere close by. The blackness drifted over them like a funeral shroud. The gruesome revelations about Drake had left them both feeling sick and appalled.
‘So you feel sorry for him?’ Joe asked finally.
Becky exhaled heavily, and considered her words before she spoke. ‘As a baby, yep … course I do. I might loathe the man, but no one deserves to be brought up like that, even Emerson Drake. Course, as an adult – well, we all make our choices in life, don’t we? He chose to be a murderer. Maybe you can forgive him for knocking off his psychoid granny. But that’s it! The rest is mindless, crazy murder. No matter how I feel about him as a child, I could never feel sorry for the man.’
Joe sat up on his elbows. ‘Okay, I’ve got a question for you.’ He stopped himself before continuing. ‘You know what he’s done, what he’s capable of doing?’
‘Go on.’
‘Could you kill him?’
The words hung thick in the air.
‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’
‘Seriously, could you kill him? Joe repeated. ‘If killing him would stop all of this, could you, would you kill him?’
‘This isn’t Call of Combat 15, or whatever stupid game you’re into on the Xbox one. This is someone’s life you’re talking about.’
‘I know,’ Joe replied. ‘And I know very well it’s not a game. But look at the man I’m talking about… he’s a monster. I’m just asking if you could do it if it came to it?’
Becky thought hard for a few seconds. Finally, she said softly, ‘I don’t think I could kill anyone. I really don’t. If I did then it wouldn’t make me any better than them, would it? I want him arrested and locked up forever, that’s it.’
‘But what prison could hold him? He’s much too clever to be just banged up in Strangeways. He’d get out. And then he’d kill again. Besides, the world doesn’t even know about time travellers. To lock him up in a normal prison means the world would have to know about Time Travel. And no one wants that.’
‘He could be dumped on a tiny island a million years ago, like we did with George Chapman. Just left, with no time machine, no portravellas, no way of escaping. That’s what I’d do.’
‘So you’d like him to be stuck on a desert island, eating coconuts and workin’ on his tan? Some punishment that’d be.’
Becky scowled. ‘Well I don’t think I could kill him…’
‘I could,’ Joe said without a trace of hesitation in his voice.
‘That doesn’t make you cool, you know?’ Becky snapped back.
‘I know,’ Joe replied. ‘But I could. And I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.’
‘Then I suppose that’s what makes us different. If I killed somebody, I don’t think I’d sleep well again for the rest of my life …’
*
Becky woke to hear a light breeze licking the tent, its fabric fluttering like a moth in flight. She pushed herself vertical. At once, her muscles screamed with pain. The previous day’s riding had taken its toll. She couldn’t help but dread what was to come. Irritably, she thumped Joe awake, who groaned an obscenity, before rolling over and going back to sleep. Becky crawled outside to see a glittering coat of dew lay all around. Will stoked a newly built fire, set upon which was a tin pot filled with a brown mushy substance that bubbled and popped. To his right, Uncle Percy was folding up his tent. His eyes brightened when he saw Becky. ‘Good morning, my dear,’ he said cheerily.
‘Morning,’ Becky replied, getting to her feet, her face grimacing with pain.
‘Are we suffering today, by any chance?’
‘Just a bit,’ Becky winced.
‘A day in the saddle will do that to anyone. What you need is a dip in the river. It’s rather bracing at first but you’ll soon get used to it. It’s worked wonders for my arthritis.’
Becky glanced over at the surging water. She shivered at the thought of it. ‘I’d rather eat my own feet.’
Uncle Percy chuckled. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. And with regards to food, Will’s preparing us a lovely breakfast of rye bread and pottage, which he assures me is a delicious soup of grains, turnips and celery.’
‘Sounds scrummy…’ Becky mumbled sarcastically.
After breakfast, they packed quickly and were soon on the road again. As the morning deepened, swirling cloud thickened overhead. By lunchtime, the sky had turned charcoal grey, leaving no one in any doubt a storm was brewing. By early evening, the heavens opened. Rain pelted down in sheets, turning the already rutted paths to sludge. A harsh wind howled, causing the trees to sway back and forth like pendulums. Their pace slowed, but they pressed on nonetheless.
As night began to fall, Becky could not have felt more miserable. Drenched to the skin, cold, and aching from toe to head, she wondered whether the journey would ever end. Then, as they came to the slope of a high hill, Will’s upstretched hand ushered them to a standstill and they gathered in a circle.
‘We have made fair time,’ Will said. ‘Alnwick Castle is just beyond this mount.’
Joe expressed his heartfelt thanks with a selection of rather choice words, which earned him a heated glare from Uncle Percy.
Will turned to Becky and Joe. ‘But there is a certain matter of which you should be mindful. A matter you may well find unforeseen.’
Becky’s recalled Uncle Percy’s words: ‘And there’s a little surprise for you but I’ll save that until tomorrow.’ Her gaze found Uncle Percy. ‘Is this the surprise you were on about?’
Uncle Percy grinned. ‘Let Will finish.’
‘Alnwick Castle is an eminent stronghold and belongs to esteemed nobles, the De Vesci family,’ Will said. ‘A friend of mine was wed to Edward De Vesci, a nobleman whom I discovered latterly was slain in Jerusalem. But this lady friend I have not seen for many a year, so I wish your behaviour to be courteous and not - ‘ he paused, ‘- roguish…’
Becky swapped a confused look with Joe. ‘Why would we be roguish?’
‘What does that even mean?’ Joe asked.
A strange glint flashed in Will’s eyes. ‘Because my friend’s wedded name is Marian De Vesci…’
‘Maid Marian?’ Becky breathed.
‘Marian is a maid no longer,’ Will replied simply. ‘She is a Baroness now, and should be treated as such with grace and courteousness.’
Speechless, Becky glanced at Joe, who looked equally flabbergasted. ‘We’re gonna meet Maid –’ Her words were cut short by an almighty BOOM, which shook the ground like an earthquake. It appeared to come from the other side of the hill. A flash of orange lit the sky.
‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Joe yelled.
Uncle Percy gulped. ‘It - it sounded like a tank!’
Chapter 20
Siege
M
ore sound came from beyond: gunfire, shouts, and screams.
Will pulled his horse right and galloped to the top of the hill. Everyone followed, stopping in a line. Not one of them could believe what they saw.
A giant castle rose from the landscape; built on raised earth, it was bordered by high walls and a deep trench, six feet wide. A smouldering crater, thirty feet wide, punctured the fronting wall. Dust thickened the air around the hole. Some distance away, a green Sherman tank inched forward, thin tendrils of smoke rising upward from a gun that had just been fired. Military jeeps zigzagged left and right, dodging flaming arrows, which rained down from archers on the castle’s ramparts. Inside the jeeps, Associates fired back with machine guns. Alongside the Associates, sixty or so Knights, clad in cloaks of the deepest blue, raised their swords and shields and waited to attack.
Will’s jaws tightened. ‘King John’s men.’
Just then, dozens of Alnwick Knights raced out from the breach in the wall. The King’s men charged. Steel met steel in a thunderous clash.
Becky struggled to comprehend the chaos unfolding before her. Her horror increased when she saw a giant reptile step out from behind the tank, its skull elongated to a point at the cranial crest. It screeched hideously from a long toothless beak, before extending its fibrous wings and taking to the air. Then it flew toward the castle. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s a Pteranodon,’ Uncle Percy replied, eyes wide with shock.
‘There are Associates, King John’s men, tanks and cyrobot dinosaurs?’
‘The Pteranodon isn’t strictly a dinosaur, it’s a –’
‘Oh, please, shut up!’ Becky snapped.
‘Point taken.’ Uncle Percy glanced at Will, who looked as if his mind were wrestling a thousand thoughts. ‘Now, Will, don’t do anything. We need a strategy.’
Will glimpsed the blackening sky above. ‘I have one.’
‘What’s that?’ Joe asked.
Before anyone could stop him, Will had grabbed his horse’s reins and was charging at the fray, pulling his bow from his shoulder.
