by carl ashmore
A groaning sound came from below. Becky and Joe raced to the banister as the floor below gradually vanished into the wall, to be replaced by a revolving platform, on top of which stood a coal-black car. Gleaming beneath the Time Room’s lights, the car’s curved bodywork and orange sign, TAXI, made it one of the most recognisable vehicles in the world.
‘It’s a London Black cab!’ Becky said.
‘A 1958 Austin FX4 Hackney carriage, to be precise,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘And I do believe that she is the perfect time machine for our particular requirements...’
‘Shall we go then?’ Joe asked eagerly.
Uncle Percy nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
Becky and Joe hurried down the steps, each trying to beat the other to see Beryl up close for the first time. At the bottom, they met up with Will. Uncle Percy followed them down, before inserting the Gerathnium cube into a slot above the boot; with a clack, it snapped into place. ‘Hop in, then …’ he said, opening the rear doors.
Becky and Joe leapt inside, the sweet, soothing smell of scots pine filling their nostrils. Then Uncle Percy climbed in, Will joining him up front.
Typing a destination code on to Beryl’s keypad, Uncle Percy turned to Will. ‘Are you ready, William?’
Will gave a knowing smile. ‘For whatever arises…’ he replied, patting his jacket pocket mysteriously.
‘Excellent,’ Uncle Percy said, sitting back. ‘Then let’s get going. After all, in the words of Mister Frank Sinatra, ‘Chicago is my kind of town!’’
‘Who’s Frank Sinatra?’ Becky asked.
Shaking his head, Uncle Percy’s disappointed tut was masked by a soft sputtering sound as streams of blue and white light encircled them. A moment later, Beryl had vanished.
- Chapter 13 -
To Rebecca, with love ….
Becky looked ahead to see a wall of dull white light. Fearfully, she glanced around. It was everywhere. This couldn’t be Chicago: had something gone wrong? Her concerns soon faded when she heard Uncle Percy say, ‘Now, it won’t look much at the moment, but you just wait…’ It was then she realised she was staring at a muddy grey sky.
Uncle Percy climbed out, straightened his tuxedo and levelled his bowtie. Then he opened the rear door. Instantly, Becky felt an icy wind pummel her face. ‘Wow!’ She clamped her hat securely to her head as she got out. ‘That is some wind.’
‘They don’t call it the Windy City for nothing.’
Joe looked around, confused. ‘Where exactly in Chicago are we?’
‘The Palmer House Hotel,’ Uncle Percy replied.
Joe looked disappointed. ‘Really? Then it’s either very small or -’
Becky’s gaze tilted downwards. ‘I think we’re standing on it, Joe,’ she said, suddenly noticing the muffled hum of traffic drifting up from below. She and Joe walked across the roof to a wide ledge.
Cars were everywhere, clattering along, horns tooting. Hundreds of people scurried along the broad, tree-lined streets like soldier ants, dashing in and out of gigantic, flat-roofed buildings. In the distance, she saw a vast stretch of water coated in a low-hanging mist, through which boats dipped up and down like ducks on a pond.
‘Time Travel is wicked!’ Joe said.
Uncle Percy walked over to them, Will at his side. ‘That’s Lake Michigan,’ he said, pointing. ‘She’s impressive, isn’t she?’
Becky could barely find the words.
‘Now let’s go and purchase a painting.’ Uncle Percy pressed the Invisiblator button on his key fob and Beryl instantly vanished. Then he turned to Becky and Joe. ‘Follow me...’
As they approached what looked like a trap door set into the roof, Becky caught sight of a rectangular piece of cherry-red card; flapping wildly, it appeared to be nailed to the door. Confused, she glanced over at Uncle Percy, and her blood turned to ice. He had stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body rigid.
‘What’s is it?’ Joe asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Uncle Percy replied. He marched over and ripped the card from its nail. Becky saw it was an envelope. Then her stomach reeled. Written on its face in elaborate handwriting were four words:
To Rebecca, with love …
‘T-that’s my name,’ Becky said. ‘Uncle Percy, that’s my name!’
Enraged, Uncle Percy tore it open pulled out a red card. The words Happy Valentine’s Day to a Special Girl glinted silver in his eyes. ‘How dare you,’ he growled.
Becky’s head was spinning. ‘Uncle Percy, why has it got my name on it?’
Uncle Percy didn’t reply.
‘Should we depart?’ Will asked Uncle Percy.
‘Not yet.’
‘What’s going on?’ Becky asked, her voice rising. ‘Pass it to me!’
Uncle Percy gave a heavy sigh. Then he handed it over.
Her fingers trembling, Becky took it. And when she turned the page, it felt like time itself had stopped.
Dearest Rebecca,
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Daddy is bleeding
And it’s all down to you
Oh, and Percy, you continue to astound me. You are either supremely stupid or supremely brave. My money, as always, is on the former. Infact, I always thought you were a something of a Moran. Anyway, I know you’re going to have fun. I have, after all, read tomorrow’s newspaper.
Regards,
Emerson
Becky shivered with anger. She stared at the card again and again until anger blurred the words beyond recognition.
‘This is just one of Drake’s cruel little games,’ Uncle Percy said softly to Becky. ‘You mustn’t take his words to heart.’
‘Why not?’ Becky replied quietly. ‘He’s right. Dad is suffering because of me.’
‘He’s not right.’
Becky’s lip quivered as she held back the tears that once started would never stop. ‘But if I had persuaded dad to give Drake the information he needs then –’
‘Then neither of you would be alive now,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Drake wouldn’t let you go, and he would certainly know better than to release John. No, whatever it is your father knows, it’s important enough to Drake to keep him alive. And as long as he is, there’s hope. Never forget that.’
Joe looked baffled. ‘Let’s have a gander, Becks,’ he said, reaching out for the card.
Before he could grab it, however, Becky had torn it into shreds and pitched them in the air.
Joe watched as the pieces soared like confetti towards Lake Michigan. ‘What did it say?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Becky replied. She looked at Uncle Percy. ‘What did Drake mean: ‘I’ve read tomorrow’s newspaper?’ Oh, and I know you say he’s clever but he must be something of a moron himself if he can’t spell ‘moron.’
Uncle Percy opened his mouth as if to reply but closed it immediately. He sank into deep contemplation. Then his face drained of colour and he scooped up the suitcase. ‘We‘re going back, come on…’ He marched over to Beryl. ‘Chop chop, everyone…’
‘What?’ Becky said. ‘Why?’
‘This was a big mistake. In the time machine, please.’
Becky didn’t budge. ‘We’re not going anywhere. I’m not letting Emerson Drake’s stupid card put me off.’
‘Me neither,’ Joe added.
‘It’s not the card,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Well, it is, but that’s not it. I mean, it’s shocking, of course.’ He appeared furious with himself. ‘I just can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. I’m such a fool!’
‘What’re you harping on about?’ Joe asked.
‘It’s just something happens today - February 14th 1929 - right here, in Chicago. Something monumental. And I forgot about it.’ Uncle Percy shook his head, furious with himself. ‘What a bloody idiot you are, Halifax!’
‘What troubles you, old friend?’ Will asked, as puzzled as Becky and Joe.
Uncle Percy exhaled heavily. ‘Today is perhaps the most infamous day in the history of t
his great city, and I’m not saying we’re involved, we’re probably not. It’s most likely just Emerson’s idea of a joke. But I don’t want to take that risk.’
‘So what happens today?’ Becky asked.
Uncle Percy hesitated. ‘The Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre!’
‘Okay, I’ve heard of it,’ Becky said. ‘But I don’t know anything about it. What happened?’
Uncle Percy sighed. ‘It’s not a pleasant story.’
Becky looked defiant. ‘Nothing with the word ‘massacre’ in is gonna be cuddly wuddly. But I think we’ve got a right to know what happened before we make the decision whether to leave or not?’
‘We’re not making the decision. I am.’
‘But we need that painting,’ Joe said.
‘We need to stay alive, Joe,’ Uncle Percy replied, looking to Will for support. ‘Don’t you agree, Will?’
Will thought for a moment. ‘I agree with Miss Becky.’
Becky gave a look of satisfaction as she turned to Uncle Percy. ‘So what happened at this massacre?’
Uncle Percy fell silent. ‘From what I remember, it is alleged that some of Al Capone’s men –’
‘Al Capone?’ Joe repeated. ‘He’s like the number one gangster of all time, right?’
‘He does have something of a reputation.’
‘His nickname was Scarface, wasn’t it?’
‘I believe it was.’
‘I wish I had a cool nickname like that.’
‘What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?’ Becky asked, irritated. ‘I think Wally Foo Foo suits you just fine. Now, shut up!’
‘Eat me,’ Joe barked back.
‘Do you want to hear about this or not? Uncle Percy asked.
‘Sorry,’ Becky and Joe said at the same time.
Uncle Percy took a deep breath. ‘As I was saying, it is alleged some of Al Capone’s men captured seven members of a rival gang, lined them against a wall in a garage and shot them dead. The victims worked for the Irish mobster, Bugs Moran. You see, Becky, I’m guessing Emerson’s spelling was just fine and dandy.’
Becky considered this for a moment. ‘I mean obviously that’s bad. I mean really bad. But at the end of the day there’s nothing to suggest we’re involved, is there? If we were, then surely we’d be in the history books and stuff.’
Uncle Percy looked unconvinced. ‘Well, err, time travelling is complicated. Events can be changed, you know. The Omega Effect doesn’t always happen.’
‘I know,’ Becky said, ‘but we might only have one chance to get this painting. One chance. We have to get it, and then get out of here double quick - no gangsters, no garages, no hanging around.’
‘That’s right,’ Joe said.
Uncle Percy eyes met Will’s, who nodded to indicate he agreed with Becky.
Uncle Percy looked defeated. ‘Very well, I hope you’re right.’ He heaved open the trap door, to reveal a ladder that led below. ‘Come on then…’
Eagerly, Joe followed Uncle Percy down, trailed by Will, leaving Becky to bring up the rear, feeling happy she had got her way, but racked with bitterness that her first Valentine’s Day card had come from a murderous psychopath.
- Chapter 14 -
The Man with Many Names …
Becky climbed down the ladder to find herself in a cramped store room. Uncle Percy inched open the door, peered out, and upon seeing the coast was clear, ushered them into a long, dimly-lit corridor at the end of which was a lift. Reaching it quickly, they gathered inside as Uncle Percy pressed the button marked ‘Lobby.’
As they descended, Becky found herself nervous, scared and angry. Emerson Drake knew they were here. How? Did he watch her read the card? And what did his message to Uncle Percy mean? Her mind spiralled, searching for answers, when her thoughts were cut short by the clang of a bell. The lift doors opened and they stepped out. The view took Becky’s breath away.
Enormous golden chandeliers shed light over the vast lobby as hordes of elegantly dressed men and women sat on velvet seats, sipping champagne and talking in loud, snooty voices; dozens of bell-hops, sporting circular red hats, raced in all directions, heaving bulky suitcases. A banner that read ‘Christie’s Charity Auction - ‘A Taste of the Caribbean’ fluttered high above two bronze winged statues which surveyed the room like gleaming sentries.
‘Very posh!’ Joe said, impressed.
‘Indeed, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said, looking more relaxed now than he’d been in the last few minutes. ‘I’ve never actually visited the Palmer House Hotel before … she really is a treat, isn’t she? If I can draw your attention upwards.’
Becky looked up to see the most spectacular ceiling. Hand-painted with rich, vibrant colours, there were twenty one giant frescoes, each one depicting a different mythological scene.
‘Painted by French muralist, Louis Pierre Rigal, in 1900,’ Uncle Percy said, ‘each panel features a famous Greek myth. For example, if you look over there…’ he gestured to their left, ‘you may recognise that particular one. It does, after all, include a couple of our friends.’
Becky looked over to see that one of the frescoes contained the image of a ferocious-looking Minotaur engaged in a mighty battle with a muscular Greek warrior.
‘Theseus and the Minotaur,’ Joe laughed.
‘Since when did the real Theseus look like Jason Statham?’ Becky said.
Uncle Percy looked baffled. ‘Who?’
This time, it was Becky who gave a disapproving tut.
‘Much as I would appreciate investigating the lobby further,’ Uncle Percy said, ‘the Auction starts in ten minutes. And I think we should take a peek at the lots, don’t you?’
Becky trailed Uncle Percy into another room where she saw row upon row of tables, buckling under the weight of thousands of pieces of pirate paraphernalia: cutlasses, muskets, cannons, boarding axes, jewelry, tattered black flags emblazoned with white skulls, and even a ship’s figurehead in the shape of a mermaid.
‘This-is-ace…’ Joe said.
‘It brings the schoolboy out in me, too, Joe.’ Uncle Percy pulled out a booklet from his pocket.
‘What’s that?’ Becky asked.
‘It’s the auction brochure,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I had Barbie acquire it for me in advance.’ He flicked it open to a page Becky couldn’t quite see.
‘Yeah, but we know what we’re buying,’ Becky said. ‘The painting that was in the optomediaphibic folio, aren’t we?’
With a disinterested grunt, Uncle Percy continued to peruse the page, glancing up from time to time to look around the room.
Becky was about to scold him for his lack of interest in what would be their million dollar investment when she heard Joe say, ‘And there it is …’
Becky looked over to a collection of paintings being scrutinised by a crowd of engrossed onlookers. One painting, in particular, had captured their attention. It captured Becky’s, too. Twice the size of the others, the portrait of Blackbeard looked positively fearsome. Sitting on a huge golden throne and wearing his finest regalia, Blackbeard could have been mistaken for royalty, except for the ferocity of his expression; his sunken eyes were so wild they appeared to pop out of the canvas, his gritted yellowing teeth barely visible behind the untamed mass of pitch-black whiskers. He held a cutlass in one hand and a gleaming silver compass in the other.
‘Scary guy,’ Joe whispered to Becky. ‘So if it’s a marker then how’s it going to work?’
‘I dunno,’ Becky replied. ‘Maybe there’s a map on the back.’
Joe’s eyes ignited. ‘Or maybe it has something to do with the compass? Maybe there are clues all over the painting? We just have to know what to look for.’
Becky arched round to ask Uncle Percy’s thoughts on the matter but to her surprise he wasn’t even looking at the painting. He was talking in hushed tones to Will, the brochure wide open before them. His finger flicked between the brochure and a small painting to their left, depicting a pretty but sad-looking woman
and a newborn baby wrapped tightly in a thick woolen blanket.
Becky looked confused. ‘You do know the painting you’re about to spend a million dollars on is this one, don’t you?’ She pointed at the portrait of Blackbeard.
‘What?’ Uncle Percy glanced over but appeared to lack any genuine interest. ‘It is impressive, isn’t it?’ he said half-heartedly.
At that moment, they heard a voice from behind. ‘Ah, the Halifax party has finally decided to show. Greetings. I was getting worried.’
Becky felt a stab of fear, until she saw a short, rotund gentleman with a shiny head shuffle towards them. He wore a tartan kilt which barely covered his bulbous knees, a horsehair sporran, and a snow-white tuxedo that struggled to contain his ample midriff. Becky recognised him at once as Keith Pickleton, Uncle Percy’s friend and fellow time traveller.
‘Keith,’ Uncle Percy replied, extending his hand. ‘I’m so glad you came.’
‘A pleasure, old chap,’ Pickleton replied, although Becky detected a hint of doubt in his voice. Then he whispered, ‘Any sign of the bad guys?’
Uncle Percy shook his head. ‘Not as yet.’
‘Smashing,’ Pickleton said, sounding relieved. ‘Not that they worry me, you understand?’
‘Of course not.’
‘But we don’t want any bother,’ Pickleton added.
‘Indeed, we don’t,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Anyway, although the irony is not lost on me, time isn’t on our side, so do you think you and I could have a quiet word?’ He led Pickleton out of earshot and soon the two of them were deep in conversation; every now and again, they would glance up at the Blackbeard portrait before refocusing on the open brochure.
‘What’s he up to? Joe whispered to an equally confused Becky.
‘No idea,’ Becky replied. She watched intrigued as Uncle Percy slipped something into Pickleton’s right hand, which the little man subsequently thrust into his sporran.
After a few seconds, a grave looking Pickleton gave a firm nod and disappeared through a door, above which was a sign that read, ‘Charity Auction – this way!’
