by carl ashmore
Lady Raleigh’s eyes widened with each step. ‘‘Tis the most beautiful vision I have ever seen.’ She reached out and her hand found its way into Uncle Percy’s. ‘I thank ye again, sire, for bringing me here. Your actions will bring me returns mere words cannot voice.’
‘If it helps with your grief I’m happy.’
‘So where can this holy goblet be found?’ Lady Raleigh asked.
‘We don’t know,’ Uncle Percy replied, scanning the area. He pointed north, where the light appeared even brighter. ‘But the light seems to emanate from that direction, so I suggest we start there.’
They traversed the enclosure and passed beneath an archway flanked by two columns, when they came to an abrupt halt. They had entered a large courtyard with a magnificent altar in its centre, set upon which was a dazzling golden cup with a tall stem and wide rim; shimmering light spread outward from it, as though it were alive, feeding energy into the walls, the floor, everything it touched.
Becky’s heart pumped so loudly she felt sure everyone could hear it.
‘The Sacred Chalice,’ Joe exhaled. ‘Another Eden Relic … we’ve done it again.’
‘It seems so,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘You found it?’ Lady Raleigh whispered, as though barely able to trust her own eyes.
Walking slowly, as if in a hypnotic trance, the four of them approached the Sacred Chalice. Becky, Joe and Lady Raleigh each wore the widest of smiles.
Uncle Percy, however, did not.
In fact, he had never looked graver in his life.
They came to a halt about five feet from the altar, each of them studying the Sacred Chalice, basking in its aura, its celestial splendour. After a few seconds of silence it was who Joe spoke, ‘So what do we do now?’
Uncle Percy hesitated, before exhaling a weighty sigh and saying, ‘I’m not sure that’s up to me, Joe.’ As he turned to Lady Raleigh, disgust spread across his face. ‘Is it, Lady … Whatever your name is?’
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. What was Uncle Percy doing? ‘What’s going on?’ she said.
‘Oh, this isn’t Lady Raleigh,’ Uncle Percy replied simply. ‘We’ve never actually met her. C’mon, my dear, let’s drop the pretence now. The game’s over. It’s quite all right. No one will hurt you.’
For a moment, Lady Raleigh’s expression displayed shock, but then to Becky’s horror, a foul smirk curled on her mouth, a smirk that didn’t belong to the woman she thought she knew.
‘Hurt me?’ Lady Raleigh sneered, her British accent vanishing, replaced by one with a European brogue. ‘Oh, Percy, you are so very funny.’
And then Becky understood. Lady Raleigh was an imposter! Furthermore, she knew it had been she who had insisted on Uncle Percy bringing her to El Dorado. Confusion and anger surged through her in equal measure. This, however, was immediately usurped by blind terror.
Lady Raleigh pointed a small pistol at Uncle Percy’s heart. ‘Drop your gun, Percy.’
Uncle Percy gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘As you wish.’ He pulled free his pistol and let it clatter to the floor.
‘And, Joe,’ Lady Raleigh said. ‘Drop your bow, please.’
Swiftly assessing the situation, Joe knew he had no choice. He threw down his Joe-Bow.
‘Now we’ve done as you’ve asked,’ Uncle Percy said calmly. ‘Perhaps you could tell me how and when you knew I was coming to see Lady Raleigh in the first place?’
‘We’ve had an informant on Lady Raleigh’s staff for some time, ever since Keith Pickleton confessed about Sir Walter Raleigh. We knew you’d visit her sooner or later. Our informant intercepted the letter you sent and we organised for the real Lady Raleigh to be away so I could take her place.’
‘Well played,’ Uncle Percy said acidly. ‘Then perhaps now you should reveal your true face. I know you’re not a Cyrobot so I can only assume you’re wearing one of Emerson Drake’s highly amusing Optimo-masks.’
‘You shall know my identity in a moment,’ Lady Raleigh replied. ‘But I’m curious as to what gave me away.’
‘Well, for one thing you’re an appalling actress.’
‘I’m an excellent actress.’
‘Actually, yes, you probably are. Okay then, let’s just say you were working from a poorly researched script, not to mention your costume and make-up could do with some work.’
‘And by that you mean?’
‘When I kissed your hand at Sir Walter’s home there were flecks of nail polish on your fingers. You’d tried to remove all traces of them but they were still visible nevertheless. Now, granted, nail polish did exist in China 3000 years ago, but not so much in Britain until the late seventeenth century. Now I would’ve probably overlooked that if it weren’t for the fact you claimed to have never met Sir Oliver Fisher.’ Uncle Percy smiled sourly. ‘As Walter and Bess’ wedding was so hush-hush because of Queen Elizabeth’s disapproval, Sir Oliver was the only witness at the wedding. Subsequently, I really do think the actual Bess Raleigh would’ve recalled him. As soon as I found that out … I found you out. Furthermore, only ten minutes ago, I referred to Lady Raleigh’s deceased son as Wyatt, when his actual name was Watt. Most mothers tend to know the first names of their children.’
Lady Raleigh shrugged. ‘It is all of little consequence.’
‘So who are you really?’
‘My real name is Margaretha Geertruida Zelle. I was born in 1876 in the Netherlands.’ Lady Raleigh’s fingers probed the base of her neck, and she dug her perfectly manicured nails in, tearing away a thin layer of plastic to reveal a much younger woman beneath. Her jet black hair curtained a beautiful face with flawless olive skin and flirtatious dark eyes.
A knowing smile formed on Uncle Percy’s face. ‘Ah, of course - the famous Mata Hari.’ He glanced at Becky and Joe. ‘It seems as though we’re in the presence of a celebrity.’
‘A pretty crap one then,’ Joe replied scornfully. ‘Like Barry Chuckle.’
Becky wasn’t in the mood for jokes. ‘So who’s Mata Hari?’
‘She was a well-known dancer, actress and courtesan in the early twentieth century,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Although it was her work as a double agent in the First World War that made her notorious. She was supposedly executed by the French in 1917 for revealing their secrets to the Germans. I suppose we have Drake to thank for the circumstances surrounding your alleged death? Let me guess - the firing squad fired blanks and you were fitted with blood packs and squibs?’
‘Oh, no,’ Mata Hara replied. ‘The French authorities did kill someone. As a matter of fact, I know the name of the poor soul picked to be shot in my place – she was my age, we shared the same build, and she wore an Optimo-mask that perfectly replicated my face. I believe you know her, too: Annabel Mullins.’
The words stung Becky’s ears, piercing her to her very core.
Annabel Mullins, the kindly GITT receptionist, had been shot and killed by a firing squad in 1917.
Chapter 29
Return of the King
Uncle Percy’s face bled of colour. ‘Please say you’re joking.’
‘I never joke when it comes to the passing of another,’ Mata Hari said, clearly enjoying the devastation her words were causing. ‘If it’s any consolation she took the whole affair with dignity and courage. I admired her very much.’
Hatred swelling within her, Becky glared at Mata Hari. Then she stepped forward and with one powerful swing sent her fist into Mata Hari’s chin, knocking her to the ground.
Eyes wide with rage, Mata Hari pointed the pistol at Becky. ‘I SHOULD KILL YOU FOR THAT!’
‘Try it!’ Becky replied coolly. ‘You’ve no idea what I can do.’
Uncle Percy barged in front of Becky, arms extended, forming a human shield. ‘No!’ he said. ‘Mata Hari … put your gun down! This isn’t what Drake wants, you know that.’
On hearing Drake’s name, Mata Hari calmed at once. ‘No. It is not.’ She clambered to her feet and wiped away the blood that leaked from her
mouth. ‘And I would not wish to interfere with his plans in anyway.’ She stretched out her hand and pushed the central ruby stone on her wedding ring, which gleamed neon red as though powered by an electrical charge. All around, orbs of light flickered around the courtyard. As they grew in size, Joe gathered up his bow.
In a succession of explosions, a dozen Associates materialised, guns raised.
Becky’s heart sank further when Otto Kruger stepped forward, a sword hanging from his waist and a Glock pistol in his hand. He glanced at the Sacred Chalice and an unpleasant smile rounded his mouth. ‘It seems Mister Drake has outsmarted you again, Percy Halifax.’
‘Do you think so?’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’
‘Really?’ Kruger replied. ‘But I –’
Before Kruger could finish, Joe withdrew an arrow and fixed it to his bowstring. He fired, the arrow whizzing toward Kruger.
With superhuman speed, Kruger caught it mid-air, the arrowhead inches away from his forehead. He snapped the shaft in his fingers. Expressionless, his cold green eyes found Joe. ‘Boy … if you try such a thing again the next sound you’ll hear will be that of a bullet ripping through your skull.’
Joe didn’t flinch. ‘Big man with a gun …. But you killed my friend, Will, with a blade.’ He flung down his bow and withdrew his sword. ‘How about you and me goin’ one on one?’ He strode forward. ‘Or are you too chicken?’
‘What’re you doing?’ Becky asked, panicking.
‘Don’t get involved, Becks,’ Joe replied.
Kruger drew his sword. ‘You will let this happen … whatever happens!’ he said to the other Associates.
‘Uncle Percy … stop this!’ Becky said. Spinning toward him, she was astounded to see he wore a curious expression on his face.
‘I’m not sure I can,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘In fact, I think this is the beginning of the end …’ He entered six digits into his portravella.
‘What’re you doing?’ Becky panted. ‘Where are you going?’
Uncle Percy didn’t reply. ‘Joe’s right. Don’t get involved. Trust me.’ And with his words lingering in the air - BOOM - he vanished.
Joe didn’t even hear Uncle Percy’s departure; every sense he had was focussed on Kruger, and Kruger alone. He wanted vengeance, he wanted payback.
He wanted Kruger’s blood.
Kruger’s eyes gleamed as he reached the centre of the courtyard. ‘So you believe you can win the fight the groundsman never could?’ he said, watching Joe pace in a circle like a tiger waiting to attack.
‘Don’t you think for a second you could ever beat him,’ Joe replied. ‘He let you kill him. You didn’t beat him. And don’t forget he took your arm…’
‘And I took his life.’
‘Then I’m gonna take yours.’
Kruger chuckled coldly. ‘Perhaps if you were a man. But you are just a child – a weak … feeble … fragile boy…’
‘That’s okay.’ Joe shrugged. ‘You’re just a tosser!’
With cat-like speed, Kruger attacked, swinging his sword skyward. Joe pivoted left and brought up his sword. The two blades clashed in a thunderous clang as steel met steel. Kruger’s sheer strength threatened to knock the blade from Joe’s grasp, but he held on tighter than ever.
Kruger lunged again, bringing his sword down, targeting Joe’s neck. Joe deflected the blow, and thrust his blade at Kruger’s stomach. Kruger blocked the strike, his green eyes alive with venom.
Joe drove his blade forward again. In a lightning fast movement, Kruger swivelled round. Seeing Joe’s guard was down on his left hand side, he balled his metallic hand into a fist and sent it into Joe’s face. Joe yelled in pain and crumpled to the ground, clutching his chin in agony.
Becky stared in horror at it all. She knew she’d been told not to intervene, but what choice did she have? Her eyes locked on Kruger, ready to employ her telekinesis, when -
A ball of light appeared to her right, breaking her concentration. Her heart leapt as Uncle Percy materialised beside her. To her surprise, his chin sported a hint of stubble as if he’d been away for some time. Just then, her eyes were drawn to a second orb of light, which expanded in size, before exploding with a snap. A second figure stood there for the briefest of moments, before powering off in Kruger’s direction.
Kruger stared at Joe, a smile skirting his lips. ‘You fight well, boy … but your fighting days are at an end. It is time for you to be reacquainted with your mentor.’
And then another voice filled the air.
‘For once, monster, you do speak the truth.’
Surprise flashed on Kruger’s face as a sword sliced through his neck, severing his head which rolled across the ground. His body slumped to the floor, blood pooling all around it.
Despite the gruesome sight, tears of delight dampened Becky’s eyes.
Will Shakelock was standing over Kruger’s headless corpse, his hand grasping the long hilt of his Japanese Katana sword. He looked at Joe, who had frozen with shock, and a kindly smile curled on his mouth. ‘I have been informed, Joe, you believe me dead … well dead I may shortly be … but for now, in this timeline, so is the beast, Otto Kruger. And for the pleasure of making that happen, I would gladly die a thousand deaths…’
Will extended his arm and pulled a dumbfounded Joe to his feet. Then he heaved him into a hug. ‘The future you know must remain the same,’ he whispered, ‘but for now I am here to fight beside you … fight and defeat Emerson Drake. And fight we truly shall…’
Chapter 30
Rosebud House
A hundred emotions registered on Joe’s face as he buried his head in Will’s shoulder. ‘I-I don’t understand.’
‘In truth, even my understanding is limited. I know that which I need to know … no more and no less.’
‘But how can you be alive? I saw you die.’
‘Because I have not been killed yet,’ Will said simply.
Joe was speechless.
‘Your uncle hath collected me at a time before what you have seen to be true. But I know that my death is how it must be … how I want it to be.’
‘You can’t want to die?’
‘If the surrender of my life gives the future I believe to be true, I welcome it.’
Joe bowed his head. ‘Stay with me.’
‘I shall stay until what needs to be done is achieved,’ Will replied gently. ‘And then I must return from whence I came. Those are my deeply felt wishes.’
Joe’s reply was lost beneath Mata Hari’s voice. ‘Well this is all very touching. I’m not sure I understand what is happening.’ She turned the gun on Will. ‘And I don’t know who you are, sir, but I don’t believe Mister Drake will take kindly to his Associate being killed … I know he valued Otto Kruger’s services highly.’
‘I should gladly take Drake’s head, too, should the opportunity arise.’
‘That is a matter you can discuss with him shortly,’ Mata Hari replied. ‘As a matter of fact, we’re going to see him right now.’ She nodded at the Associates, who pushed Uncle Percy and Becky toward Will and Joe.
Mata Hari approached the Sacred Chalice, hunger in her eyes, and withdrew a silk cloth from her dress pocket. She wrapped it around the chalice. ‘Mister Drake will be very, very pleased.’
Any joy Becky felt at seeing Will again evaporated as she watched an Associate input digits onto his wrist portravella and grab her arm. Other Associates did the same with Uncle Percy, Will and Joe. A second later, they were engulfed in a scarlet light and with a BOOM they vanished.
Becky barely had time to process any of it when a new location presented itself. As her eyes adjusted, she saw they were in a sprawling dining room with a high vaulted ceiling, similar to something at Bowen Hall, but devoid of any of its charm, character or warmth. The paintings on the walls bordered on the chilling, and the long, highly polished table and chairs that filled the room suggested the utmost opulence whilst giving the air they had never actually
been used for a single social function.
Emerson Drake was sitting at the head of the table, framed by floor length lace curtains behind, and illuminated in part by the dull glow from the dozen candles fixed to the bronze candelabrum on his left. His hand rested on Excalibur, which lay flat across the table. He looked up. ‘Welcome everyone to Rosebud House,’ he said, his words hollow and unemotional. His eyes found Mata Hari. ‘Margaretha, do you have the Chalice?’
‘I do, sir.’ Mata Hari approached him and unravelled the cloth. She placed the cup gently on the table, careful not to touch it with her fingers and stepped back.
‘Very good,’ Drake replied. Slowly, he reached out and took it in his hands, which trembled with anticipation. Even in the half light, his dark, sunken eyes gleamed.
Becky felt sick to her core.
Drake pressed the cup against his cheek. ‘The Cup of Jamshid,’ he exhaled, his voice quivering. ‘The True Grail … The Giver of Immortality … The final Eden Relic.’ Tenderly, he returned it to the table, and looked up at the group. Then the awe left his face, replaced again by cold indifference.
‘Percy, I do feel for you,’ he said, feigning sincerity. ‘Once again you have reached the end of your quest only to be defeated in the final throes of the game. I should credit your efforts, but your arrogance would convince you I couldn’t have achieved this result without you, and that’s simply not true. In fact, as with any great leader, it’s just a matter of utilising your resources in the most effective way … and you are and have always been nothing more than my resource. I once told your nephew and niece you were my puppet, and on this occasion I have played the role of puppeteer to perfection. Even you cannot disagree.’
‘Perhaps it is you who’s been played, Emerson,’ Uncle Percy said.
‘I really don’t think so. Now where is Mister Kruger?’
Mata Hari stepped forward. ‘Sir, Otto Kruger is dead…’
