by carl ashmore
The
Time Hunters
and the
Box of Eternity
By
Carl Ashmore
FOR LISA and alice – as everything is.
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- Chapter 1 -
Chapman’s Choice
Wandsworth Prison. April 6, 1903.
A gas lamp flickered outside George Chapman’s cell door, tinting his black eyes orange, and he heard a distant bell ring a quarter to midnight. He wrapped a blanket round his shoulders and watched a spider scuttle down the damp stone wall.
Then a bitter realisation struck. The spider would outlive him.
Teeth-gritted, Chapman swelled with rage - he wanted to destroy it, to crush it in his fingers. But then, as it scurried onto the floor, he felt an unexpected emotion, one he’d never experienced before in his thirty-seven years.
Mercy.
For three weeks, since a jury convicted him of murdering his wife, the spider had been his only companion in this filthy box of a room. Perhaps it should live.
Turning to face the barred window, Chapman thought about the day ahead, his last on earth, the day of his own execution. And the same recurring question crept into his mind: how would he feel when death finally came? For so many years, he’d seen so much of it, more than anyone could possibly imagine. And it was this fact that afforded him his greatest thrill. His true identity remained secret.
No one knew who he really was.
He was about to laugh, when a sudden chill swept the air. Confused, he glanced round, seeking its source. At once, streams of dazzling crimson light shot all around – twirling, crackling, spitting. Momentarily blinded, Chapman clamped his eyes shut, smothering his head with the blanket. Then - BOOM – the light vanished.
A voice sliced the darkness. ‘Severin Klosowski?’
Dazed, Chapman threw the blanket off. ‘Who – who is it?’ he said. ‘How do you know my real name?’
‘I know many things.’ A besuited sallow-faced man stepped out of the shadows, holding a two-handled black leather briefcase. ‘You were born in 1865 in Nagorna, Poland. You arrived in London in 1887, and changed your name to George Chapman in 1895. Shall I elaborate on that heart-warming story?’
‘No!’ Chapman snapped back. ‘But I - I don’t understand.’
‘I would be astonished if you did,’ Emerson Drake replied calmly.
Chapman’s face flushed red. ‘What narcotic have you given me? Which hallucinogen? Regardless, I shall tell you nothing of my secrets, my - ’
‘Silence! You’ve been given nothing,’ Drake cut in, ‘other than the prospect of a lifeline. My time here is short … so let me ask you a question: Do you want to live?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At two o’ clock tomorrow afternoon you’ll be taken to a room they call the Cold Meat Shed and met by William Billington, who will proceed to hang you by the neck until you are dead. Now that is one possible chain of events - the other is up to you. So I shall ask one last time - do you want to live?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well,’ Drake replied without emotion. ‘So be it. However, you shall not live as you have lived. You shall be mine. You will do my bidding. Is that acceptable?’
‘I’m confused.’
Drake’s cold blue eyes met Chapman’s. ‘Let’s just say, I am a great admirer of your work and I believe you can offer much to my organisation. In return, your loyalty will be rewarded. Do we have a deal?’
Chapman took a moment to survey his tiny cell and an incredulous smile arched on his mouth. ‘I shall do whatever you wish.’
‘A wise decision,’ Drake replied, offering him the second handle on the briefcase. ‘Take this handle.’
Chapman eyed the briefcase suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
‘This is a Portravella, a portable time travelling device.’
‘Time travel?’
‘I shall explain later.’ Drake glanced at his wristwatch. ‘A warden named Gordon Bridge will make his rounds in precisely sixty-seven seconds. I would like to have left by then.’
‘As you wish,’ Chapman replied eagerly.
‘However, just one more question,’ Drake asked. ‘How does it feel being the most infamous monster in the history of mankind?’
Chapman looked startled but composed himself at once. He noticed the spider scuttle past him. Then he crushed it beneath his bare foot. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Mister Drake.’
Precisely a minute later, Gordon Bridge found the cell deserted.
- Chapter 2 -
The Return of the Traveller
‘Haven’t you finished packing yet?’ Joe Mellor said, his eyes flicking from his sister’s half-packed suitcase to the mountain of clothes on her bed. ‘We’ll never leave at this rate.’
‘Nearly,’ Becky replied. ‘Besides, we can’t go anywhere until Uncle Percy gets here, so shut your -’
‘Why are you packing so much, anyway?’
‘Unlike you, I like to change my underwear on a daily basis.’
Joe ignored the comment. ‘But we’re only going for a week.’
Becky gave a low growl. ‘I’m aware of that, pimple brain. Now why don’t you go and play with your bow and arrow and bog off.’
‘Because I’d rather stay here and annoy you.’
Becky rolled her eyes. ‘The reason I’m packing so much is because who knows where we’ll end up?’ She lowered her voice to a murmur. ‘Can I remind you that Uncle Percy is a time traveller and this is the first time we’ll have seen him since the summer without mum being there.’
‘So?’
‘So he might take us on a trip?’
‘Yeah, I know that,’ Joe replied. ‘But I don’t see the point in packing all those clothes for a day trip to Stone Age Coventry, do you? Not unless you’re trying to pull a caveman.’
Becky shot him a ferocious glare. ‘Oh, just get lost and go and do whatever it is little boys do.’
A triumphant glint flashed in Joe’s eyes. ‘Little?’ he snorted. ‘I’m taller than you now, haven’t you noticed?’
Becky felt nauseous. Joe had struck a nerve. Since his recent twelfth birthday something terrible had happened. Joe had grown an extra foot in height and, even worse, developed an irritating streak of self-confidence, particularly when talking to her. ‘Yeah, well, as your limbs have grown, so your brain’s shrunk. It’s now roughly the size of a chicken dipper.’
Joe tilted his head as if studying Becky closely. ‘I’m not being funny, Becks, but have you put on weight?’
Becky looked dazed, confused even, as she took a few moments to mull over Joe’s words. Then, she erupted. ‘No … I have not!’ she roared. She scooped up a trainer and hurled it at his head, missing it by a whisker.
Joe sped from the room and leapt down the stairs, three at a time.
Becky powered after him, narrowly avoiding Mrs Mellor who emerged from her bedroom and said, ‘What’s all the shouting about?’
‘It’s him,’ Becky yelled, her fists clenched. ‘This time, he’s … dead!’
‘Calm down, young lady,’ Mrs Mellor said. ‘Joe. Get up here, please … now!’
Joe shuffled back up the stairs. When he reached the top, Mrs Mellor turned to face them both. ‘Now, will somebody tell me what on earth has prompted World War Three?’
; ‘He called me fat!’ Becky snarled.
‘I didn’t,’ Joe replied. ‘I asked if you’d put on weight. I didn’t say you had.’
Becky scowled at him. ‘Don’t be such a smart ar -’
‘That’s enough, Becky!’ Mrs Mellor turned to Joe. ‘If you ever say anything like that to your sister again, you’ll be in serious trouble. Do you understand me?’
‘But –’
‘No, buts… I mean it. And I would’ve thought you both had something better to do considering Uncle Percy is due here in ten minutes.’
Becky glanced at her watch. Ten minutes! Straight away, her desire to rip Joe’s head off vanished, replaced by a wave of anticipation. She was returning to Bowen Hall and, more importantly, to its astonishing residents: Uncle Percy, the eccentric but brilliant inventor; Will Shakelock, groundsman, real life medieval action hero and all round hunk; Maria and Jacob, housekeeper and butler, the friendly elderly couple from nineteen thirties Germany; Milly, the Sabre-tooth tiger and her cub, Sabian; Gump, the baby Triceratops and, perhaps most incredibly of all, Pegasus, the snow-white winged foal.
Becky dashed back to her room and continued to pack. Throwing a final sock ball onto the pile, she felt her lucky pendant roll against her neck. She stopped for a moment and cradled it in her fingers. The pendant had been the last gift from her dad before he supposedly died, and was by far her most beloved possession. Recently, however, it had taken on a new level of significance. Only a few months ago, she had discovered he’d been a time traveller and, even more astonishingly, was still alive – imprisoned somewhere in time by a rogue traveller, Emerson Drake.
It had been the most extraordinary revelation and had taken all of her resolve not to tell her mum but, on Uncle Percy’s recommendation, she and Joe had chosen to say nothing, at least until he’d been found and rescued.
And Uncle Percy had promised to do just that. Ever since Drake had boasted of his celebrated prisoner, Uncle Percy had worked tirelessly, night and day, following clues, chasing leads, using each and every one of his countless resources to find him.
Becky just knew one day he’d succeed.
*
Sunlight spilled through the window, illuminating Becky’s long wavy black hair as she coiled it into a ponytail. She heaved the suitcase to the door and lugged it downstairs, placing it beside Joe’s at the front door. She glanced at her watch again.
Uncle Percy had agreed to collect them at eleven and, being a time traveller, he had a tendency to be exceptionally prompt. In fact, she’d never known him to be late for anything. Not once.
Becky pulled on her duffel coat and listened out for the crunch of a vehicle pulling onto the graveled driveway. Hearing the kitchen clock toll, she entered the lounge, and stared out of the wide bay window. As the clock sang its eleventh chime, she knew something was wrong. And when Joe joined her, she could tell from his expression he thought the same; any grievance they had vanished at once.
‘Where is he?’ Joe asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Becky replied.
Seconds became minutes. Becky rang Uncle Percy’s mobile but got no answer. After the fifth attempt, she gave up and paced the room, with Joe sitting on the couch, rapping the arMisterest nervously and gazing into space.
Mrs Mellor watched them both with a bemused look on her face. ‘What’s the matter with you two? He’s allowed to be late.’
‘You don’t understand, Mum,’ Becky replied anxiously. ‘Uncle Percy is never late.’
‘I’m sure he isn’t,’ Mrs Mellor replied. ‘But if he’s coming on the M6, he’s probably stuck in traffic. You know how busy it gets.’
‘He won’t be coming on the M6.’
‘How on earth do you know?’
Becky wasn’t about to say he’d almost certainly be arriving in a time machine. ‘I just do.’
‘Even if he hasn’t come on the motorway,’ Mrs Mellor said, ‘he could’ve still broken down.’
‘He’s the best inventor in the world, Mum. Anyone that can invent the Fuzzbagatron can fix a car.’
Mrs Mellor’s face creased. ‘What’s a Fuzzbagatron?’
‘A tubey thing that pings a lot.’
Joe looked up. ‘Becky’s right, Mum. He won’t have broken down.’
Mrs Mellor gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Personally, I think you’re both overreacting. However, if you’re so worried then give Maria a ring. I’m sure she’ll know what’s going on.’
Becky spent the next ten minutes holding the phone away from her ear as an increasingly frantic Maria fretted about Uncle Percy’s whereabouts. By the time Becky hung up, Maria had become a hysterical wreck.
‘Maria said he left three hours ago,’ she whispered to Joe. ‘He was wearing his best suit, carrying a bunch of Stephanie Roses and was going on a quick trip before coming to collect us.’
‘A quick trip? Where to?’
‘She wasn’t sure.’
Joe pondered this for a moment. ‘Okay, still, that’s great.’ He looked relieved. ‘He’s travelling. That’s why he’s late.’
‘Don’t be thick. The fact he’s time travelling means he can pinpoint to the second when he gets here. No, something is definitely wrong…’
As the hours passed, Becky felt consumed with fear. Where was Uncle Percy? When was Uncle Percy? And what could she do about finding him? She phoned Bowen Hall repeatedly, but abandoned the idea when Maria’s words became little more than incomprehensible howls, punctuated by great stuttering breaths.
It was six in the evening when a somber looking Mrs Mellor lowered a bubbling lasagne onto the kitchen table. ‘Come on,’ she said softly. ‘I know you’re worried, but you should both try and eat something.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Becky replied.
‘Me neither,’ Joe agreed.
Becky was about to ask if she could be excused when the most wonderful idea burst into her head. She knew exactly what to do!
Uncle Percy registered his trips with GITT (The Global Institute for Time Travel) precisely for situations like this. If only she could contact Annabel, the GITT receptionist, then she could find out exactly where and when he was. She also recalled Uncle Percy had mentioned a highly trained division within GITT called ‘Trackers’ that specialised in rescuing travellers in distress.
She leapt up excitedly and seized her phone when a number of things happened at once: a terracotta vase sat on the fridge rattled violently; the back door swung open as if struck by a fierce gust of wind; and a ball of light appeared, bright against the starless sky, above the oak tree that filled the garden.
Panicking, Becky glanced out of the window.
She knew precisely what was going on.
The light swelled – crackling and fizzing – as thin torrents of electrical charge shot out, coiling round the tree’s branches like shimmering silver ringlets. Then – CRACK – a whip-like noise split the night. Then silence.
Becky didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She raced outside and stopped dead in her tracks, struggling to grasp the astonishing sight before her. Perched in the tree’s branches, like a gigantic bird’s nest, was a green and white Volkswagen campervan.
Time crashed to a standstill.
Only when Becky heard a high-pitched squeak from behind, did she tumble back to reality. Blood froze in her veins. She turned quickly to see Joe, his head cupped firmly in his hands, and to his left, her mother, her mouth opened so wide it nearly touched her knees. Mrs Mellor had seen everything.
- Chapter 3 -
Memorasing Mum
Horrified, Becky’s eyes flicked from her mother to the campervan and back again. Then the campervan’s door opened and Uncle Percy leaned out, waving cheerfully. ‘Good - ’ He glanced up at the coal-black sky, before shifting his gaze to the bewildered group. ‘- Evening, everyone…’
Becky stood there, unable to find a reply.
Uncle Percy climbed out. As he did his foot caught on a branch and, before he could stop himself, he plunged f
orward, landing face down with a splat in a puddle of mud.
Becky forgot about her mother and rushed to his side. ‘Are you okay?’
Uncle Percy pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his face clean. ‘I’m fine. How embarrassing!’ he said. ‘How are you, Becky?’
Becky was about to reply when she noticed his long silver hair was matted with blood. ‘You’re bleeding.’
‘Oh, it looks worse than it is. Had a bit of an incident at Mammoth Gorge.’ Uncle Percy stood up and flattened out the creases in his suit. He waved at Mrs Mellor and Joe. ‘Hello, Catherine. Hello, Joe. Sorry I’m late.’
Mrs Mellor’s jaw had now dropped so far it threatened to fall off altogether.
Uncle Percy patted down his hair in a vague attempt to look presentable. ‘I do hope it’s still the right day.’ He whispered in Becky’s ear. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Gosh, Catherine, I bet you’re wondering what on earth is going on, aren’t you?’
Mrs Mellor gave a shaky nod of the head.
‘Okay,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘The thing is … I’m a time traveller. And Becky and Joe - well, I suppose they are, too.’
‘What are you doing?’ Becky gasped, before being silenced by a shake of Uncle Percy’s head.
‘Becky and Joe discovered my little secret when they visited in the summer. In fact, they caught me performing some rather crude dentistry on my Sabre-tooth tiger, Milly, and I couldn’t really talk myself out of that one.’ He chuckled. ‘Anyway, we had a jolly fine time, visiting Ancient Greece, finding the Golden Fleece, meeting the Argonauts and befriending a Minotaur named Edgar. Crikey, it was a fun adventure, wasn’t it?’ He grinned at Becky and Joe, who looked dumbstruck but forced a nod.
‘Anyway, I’m telling you this because I’ve been on a trip today and was unfortunately involved in a Mastodon stampede. As you can see from the state of Bertha, my time machine, it was – rather like a Mastodon - somewhat hairy.’
