The Time Hunters and the Lost City (The Final Chapter in the Time Hunters Saga Book 5)

by carl ashmore

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again.’

  ‘Really?’ Kenneth said. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, sir. You’re a very handsome gentleman and she’s very pretty from the portraits I’ve seen of her. I believe you would make an excellent couple.’

  ‘Please, Kenneth… not you, too,’ Uncle Percy muttered sourly.

  ‘Personally,’ Kenneth continued. ‘I think it would be nice to see a spot of romance at the Hall. In actual fact, on that very topic, I invited Barbie to accompany me on a time trip to Renaissance Venice while you were away, but she replied by saying she’d rather go with a sandwich toaster.’ He looked crestfallen.

  ‘Who can blame me?’ Barbie said under her breath.

  Kenneth acted like he hadn’t heard her. ‘Anyway, sir, can I assume from the bag that you obtained the head?’

  ‘You can. And we have.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Joe said. ‘Get it out. Let’s have a gander.’

  ‘It’s not a Royal Doulton vase, Joe.’

  Joe waved his hand dismissively. ‘I’m only playing.’

  ‘I don’t think a severed head is something to be played with, do you?’

  ‘It is if you wanna play dodgeball,’ Joe replied with a grin. ‘You’d do anything to dodge it.’

  Becky could see Uncle Percy’s temper rising, so thought it best to interrupt. ‘Shouldn’t we focus on the letter? I mean there was loads in it, including something about us finding a map … oh, and a riddle.’ Her eyes found Uncle Percy’s. ‘Have you any thoughts?’

  ‘About the riddle?’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Oh, I think I’ve solved that.’

  Becky looked surprised. ‘Really?’

  Uncle Percy shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t think Sir Walter meant it be the most challenging puzzle of all time. However, there’s much more in the letter than just the riddle.’

  ‘Well read it again, will you?’

  Uncle Percy pulled out the letter, unfolded it and began to read.

  Becky and Joe listened patiently, following every word until Uncle Percy read:

  ‘… Watt was ne’er killed by Spaniards but by the terrible hands of those that protect El Dorado, the Ewaipanoma, for they truly are the flesh-eaters of fable and guard the city with ferocious resolve.’

  It was then Joe raised his hand and said, ‘Hang on … What are these flesh eating Ewaipanoweythingies?’

  ‘The Ewaipanoma,’ Uncle Percy replied, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. ‘As a matter of fact Sir Walter Raleigh mentioned them in a book he wrote in 1596, The Discoverie of Guiana. Of course, in the book he was only describing a legend at that point and certainly hadn’t encountered them first hand. It seems he would have to wait over twenty years before that happened.’

  ‘So what are they?’ Becky asked, an ominous feeling sweeping through her.

  ‘They were purportedly a race of giant humanoids-’ Uncle Percy hesitated before continuing, ‘- giant headless humanoids.’

  ‘Headless?’ Joe said, stunned. ‘Then how are they gonna eat anything?’

  ‘Their eyes were supposedly in their shoulders, their mouths in their stomachs.’

  ‘That’s bonkers,’ Joe replied. ‘But then, if you think about it, so are some of the other things we’ve seen this last year.’

  An uncomfortable silence passed between them all.

  ‘Carry on with the letter,’ Joe said.

  Uncle Percy cleared his throat and continued.

  ‘… Upon returning to England, and afore my arrest on false charges, I sited the map within an oriental strongbox which I gave to my esteemed and trusted friend, adventurer and fellow member of The School of Night, Sir Oliver Fisher … ’

  It was Becky’s turn to interrupt. ‘So we have to get a strongbox that contains a map from Oliver Fisher… I get that, but what’s this School of Night? Didn’t Sir Walter mention it in his prison cell, too?’

  ‘He did, yes,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘I know a bit about it, but Kenneth would you access your archives, perform an optomediaphibic scan of online sources, and elaborate further.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ A brilliant blue light gleamed in Kenneth’s eyes. He waited a moment to process his findings and then said, ‘The School of Night was a clandestine organisation formed by Sir Walter Raleigh and Henry Percy. It consisted of an assembly of intellectuals and progressive thinkers from various fields, including poetry, exploration, science, ethnography, mathematics, and medicine, who would meet in secret to discuss forbidden knowledge.’

  ‘Forbidden knowledge?’ Joe said. ‘Forbidden by who?’

  ‘The church, primarily,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘If memory serves it was also called The School of Atheism … and at that time atheism was considered as serious a criminal act as treason, and punishable by death.’

  ‘Atheism?’ Joe said. ‘Isn’t that when you don’t believe in God?’

  ‘Correct,’ Uncle Percy replied, ‘but as the monarch was the head of the church, then any act against the church was considered a direct attack on the monarchy.’

  ‘So what kind of knowledge was considered “forbidden”?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Nothing provocative by contemporary thinking,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘In the main they would’ve merely been concepts and ideologies that didn’t fit in with the doctrine of the church. Of course, to even discuss such matters in the early sixteenth century would’ve been considered highly seditious.’

  ‘However, sir,’ Kenneth said. ‘Over time it seems The School of Night fostered a somewhat different agenda.’

  ‘Really?’ Uncle Percy replied, surprised.

  ‘Yes, sir. I have accessed the Bodleian Digital Library archive and identified the diaries of Thomas Harriet, a contemporary of Sir Walter Raleigh’s and a fellow member of the School of Night. In these diaries he claims The School of Night’s rationale expanded to include the protection and concealment of all secrets pertaining to the location of El Dorado.’

  ‘Is that so, Kenneth?’ Uncle Percy said, intrigued.

  ‘It appears so, sir.’

  ‘So what about the riddle, Uncle P?’ Joe said. ‘You said you’d cracked it?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Read it out for us,’ Becky said. ‘Let’s see if we can, too.’

  Uncle Percy began to read again.

  ‘Herodotus, a tale he voiced

  Of the tyrant’s slave

  Now woad and ash and gunpowder

  Accompany me in my grave

  A withered canvas, mine eyes can’t see

  Bears a love which feeds my breath

  The sun and air that shares my blood

  And survives beyond my death’

  After contemplating this for a few seconds, Becky decided it was futile. ‘Haven’t a clue and can’t be bothered to try. Now tell us what you what you think.’

  Uncle Percy smiled. ‘Well, Herodotus was a Greek historian and one of his favourite stories was about an Anatolian tyrant called Histiaeus, who sent secret messages to his son-in-law, Aristagoras, tattooed on the shaved head of a slave. Also, woad, ash and gunpowder were used by pirates in the sixteenth century to make crude tattoos.’

  ‘So you reckon Sir Walt’s got a tattoo on his scalp?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Joe’s face ignited. ‘Then let’s get shaving!’

  ‘We don’t really need to,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘The answer’s actually in the riddle.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘He’s actually spelling it out for us – “The sun and heir that shares my blood”

  Joe looked confused. ‘But how can sun and air share blood?’

  ‘Because he’s engaging in wordplay.’

  Joe looked none the wiser. ‘Ugh?’

  ‘He means ‘son’ and ‘heir’ … doesn’t he?’ Becky said. ‘He’s got his son’s name tattooed on his head.’

  ‘Ah, ok,’ Joe said, nodding with agreement. ‘Well his name was Watt, wasn’t it?’ He hesitated a second. ‘But hang on… the riddle s
aid something about surviving beyond his death. But Watt was killed by those headless Ewoks. He didn’t survive beyond anyone’s death.’

  Uncle Percy gave a knowing smile. ‘Sir Walter and Bess had a second son – Carew. And that’s what I believe is inscribed on his head.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ Joe said, disappointedly. ‘So no head shaving then?’

  ‘I’ll get Kenneth to double check but it would be nicer to keep him intact.’

  Just as everyone seemed satisfied they had the answer, something else occurred to Becky. ‘But how does the name Carew help us with a strongbox?’

  ‘That I don’t know,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  Kenneth took a step forward. ‘Sir, may I offer a suggestion?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Sir Walter Raleigh made a point of stating it was an oriental strongbox. Well, it was the Chinese who invented ‘wordlocks’ in the 12th Century. Perhaps the strongbox is sealed by a wordlock, one that needs a word to open it.’

  A smile split Uncle Percy’s face. ‘Now that does sounds feasible, Kenneth. Well done.’ He gave Kenneth an appreciative pat on the shoulder. ‘So our next move is obvious: we find Sir Oliver Fisher, find this oriental strongbox, and with a bit of luck find a map that leads us to El Dorado. Come Becky, Joe, I think we’ve earned a spot of lunch. Barbie, while we’re gone would you be so kind as to examine Sir Walter’s scalp, just to confirm we’re right, then return the head to Mrs Raleigh, ensuring you’re not seen.’

  ‘I shall, sir.’

  ‘And Kenneth, would you gather as much information as you can about Sir Oliver Fisher, focussing on his movements shortly after Sir Walter Raleigh’s arrest.’

  ‘It would be my absolute pleasure, sir,’ Kenneth gushed.

  ‘Excellent,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Then Barbie, Kenneth, if we could reconvene at 1.pm in the library, then we can take it from there.’

  And with that, Uncle Percy, Becky and Joe walked toward the door.

  Waiting for them to leave the Time Room, Barbie turned to Kenneth. Then she kicked his shin, which echoed through the room with a resounding clank.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Kenneth said as if in pain.

  ‘You are such a Sidney suck up!’ Barbie growled.

  Chapter 17

  The Trail of Francisco Vásquez de Coronado

  As agreed, Becky, Joe and Uncle Percy made their way to the library at one. Barbie and Kenneth were already there, lined up like two children, each keen to regale their parents with all that had happened that day at school.

  Kenneth was the first to speak. ‘I trust you had an agreeable lunch, sir.’

  ‘We did, thank you, Kenneth,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  Barbie dispensed with the small talk and launched into her speech before Kenneth could say another word. ‘I’ve found out a great deal of information, sir,’ she said. ‘As senior Electroic Cognitive Gynoid, alongside my allocated tasks, I took the initiative of investigating Sir Oliver Fisher’s movements, too.’

  ‘But that was my job,’ Kenneth interrupted weakly.

  ‘And an important job, too, which is why I deemed it vital someone reliable should undertake it.’

  ‘I am reliable. I have the same Impentrex Core as you do.’

  ‘But I’m more experienced at using it. Now shut up!’

  ‘Seriously,’ Uncle Percy groaned. ‘If the two of you don’t stop bickering I’ll deactivate you both.’

  ‘Please don’t, sir,’ Kenneth said.

  Barbie huffed loudly.

  ‘Okay then, Barbie, you’re up. What exactly did you find out?’

  ‘I can confirm that the name ‘Carew’ is indeed inscribed onto Sir Walter Raleigh’s scalp.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And I did a comprehensive investigation on Sir Oliver Fisher movements just after his meeting with Sir Walter Raleigh and discovered that whereas Raleigh had just returned from a voyage, he was about to embark on one.’

  ‘Really?’ Uncle Percy said, intrigued.

  ‘Yes,’ Kenneth said. ‘He was –’

  ‘I won’t tell you again,’ Barbie interjected, her delivery slow and menacing. She turned back to Uncle Percy. ‘Yes, sir, although less renowned, Fisher was as much an explorer as Raleigh. He’d completed a number of notable expeditions to China, South America, India, but this particular trip saw him depart for North America, determined to follow in the footsteps of Francisco Vásquez de Coronado.’

  ‘The Spanish Conquistador?’ Uncle Percy said.

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘I knew that,’ Kenneth offered weakly.

  ‘Who cares?’ Barbie mumbled to Kenneth, before raising her voice again. ‘To be more specific, Sir Oliver Fisher wanted to continue De Coronado’s search for the legendary city of Cibola.’

  ‘Ah,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘How very interesting.’

  ‘What’s the city of Cibola?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Like El Dorado, it’s a mythical city made of gold,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘If memory serves Francisco Vásquez de Coronado combed much of the American Southwest searching for it.’

  ‘And did he find anything?’ Joe asked.

  ‘He didn’t find any lost city, that’s for sure.’ Uncle Percy said. ‘He did, however, lay claim to discovering the Grand Canyon.’

  ‘Wow. That must’ve been hard to find,’ Joe said sarcastically.

  ‘So what happened to de Coronado?’ Becky asked.

  ‘There are numerous stories,’ Barbie replied. ‘However, the most widely accepted is that he stopped looking for Cibola but turned his attentions to something else–’

  ‘What something?’ Joe cut in.

  ‘A fabled gold mine somewhere in the Superstition Mountains, Arizona,’ Barbie replied. ‘However, as he searched for the mine his men began to vanish mysteriously - many of whom were found dead, headless, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. He fled the area soon after, never to return.’

  ‘Headless?’ Joe said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened to the heads?’

  ‘No one knows,’ Barbie replied.

  ‘Great,’ Becky said miserably.

  It was clear Uncle Percy had no interest in discussing headless corpses. ‘And what has this to do with Sir Oliver Fisher?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ Barbie said. ‘It is said he followed Coronado’s path into the Superstition Mountains and was never seen again. However, the Apache believe he found the gold mine … and never left it. They believe his corpse is still there. And I happen to agree with the Apache on this.’

  ‘And have you any idea as to the location of this mine?’

  ‘None whatsoever, sir.’

  ‘So we’re somewhat stuck then?’ Uncle Percy said.

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There is another rumour,’ Barbie said. ‘It just so happens that the Superstition Mountain range is also the setting of another legend: the story of the Lost Dutchman Mine.’

  A knowing smile creased Uncle Percy’s face. ‘And you think the two gold mines are one and the same?’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘What’s the Lost Dutchman Mine?’ Becky asked.

  ‘It’s one of the great treasure stories of the Old West, Becky,’ Uncle Percy replied, a childlike twinkle in his eye.

  ‘What kind of treasure story?’ Joe asked eagerly.

  Uncle Percy looked at Kenneth, who seemed somewhat downhearted he hadn’t had the chance to speak. ‘Kenneth, do you know the story?’

  Kenneth perked up immediately. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then would you do the honours?’

  ‘Of course,’ Kenneth said happily. ‘At some time in the mid nineteenth century, no one knows precisely when, a gold prospector named Jacob Waltz - a German by lineage, but known as the ‘Dutchman’ - was alleged to have found a gold mine with some of the richest bonanza gold ore known to exist in the Old West. Waltz never fully excavated the mine, but it is said he would lea
ve his lodgings in Phoenix for many weeks at a time, and when he returned his saddlebags would be filled with gold ore. His whole life, he never once revealed the location of the mine and the secret died with him, although he did supposedly leave a few mysterious clues as to its whereabouts. To this day, however, it has never been found and the story has become one of the greatest legends in the American Southwest.’

  Becky thought on this for a moment. ‘So if we can find this Dutchman Mine you think we might find Sir Oliver Fisher and the strongbox?’

  ‘I think it’s the best plan we have, Miss Becky,’ Kenneth replied.

  Joe beamed. ‘And lost gold mines, mysterious clues, and mutilated bodies - well, that does sound right up our street.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it was right up our street,’ Uncle Percy frowned. ‘But if we’re going to search for the Lost Dutchman’s Mine I know precisely whose street that is up.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Joe asked.

  ‘The self-proclaimed Arizonian Wildman,’ Uncle Percy replied with a smile. ‘Bruce Westbrook … I know for a fact he’s always been intrigued by the legend of the Dutchman’s Mine.’ He turned to Barbie. ‘How are your Gerathnium levels, Barbie?’

  ‘At seventy eight per cent, sir.’

  ‘Excellent, then would you be so kind as to go and get Bruce. The access codes to his Time Room mainframe are set into your datastore. From there you should be able to track him down, whether in the past or present.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Immediately Barbie’s eyes flashed white and a moment later she was enveloped in a silvery light. With a boom, she vanished.

  Before their ears had a chance to stop ringing, a further explosion signalled Barbie’s return.

  Becky was shocked to see Barbie was unaccompanied.

  ‘Is there a problem,’ Barbie?’ Uncle Percy asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’

  Uncle Percy’s face flashed with concern. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I found Mister Westbrook. He’s in El Dorado -’

  ‘He’s found El Dorado?’ Joe gasped.

  ‘I was about to say El Dorado, Kansas,’ Barbie replied. ‘It’s a small town in the Central United States.’