The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity (The Time Hunters Saga Book 2)

by carl ashmore

  ‘It seems his home is as delightful as his name,’ Uncle Percy said.

  ‘What is this place?’ Joe asked, looking up at the sign.

  ‘I hope it’s not a restaurant,’ Becky replied.

  Uncle Percy approached the front door and took a deep breath. ‘Well, here goes…’ He rapped twice. Nothing. He was about to knock again when the door burst open.

  Becky’s knees turned to jelly.

  Filling the doorway was the largest man she’d ever seen. His tangled head of carroty-red hair brushed the ceiling. Nearly as wide as he was tall, his massive belly was pressing against an off-white apron stained with blood. In his right hand he held a set of rusted iron tongues, which contained an enormous shark’s jaw, devoid of flesh.

  But it was when the man leaned into the light that Becky had to choke back a scream. There was a wide, hollow crater in his bearded face where his nose should have been.

  Uncle Percy appeared lost for words. Then something quite unexpected happened. The man chuckled. ‘Swab me poop deck and call me a cuttlefish, Ol’ Stinky Mo’s got himself some visitors.’

  ‘Er, indeed you have, sir,’ Uncle Percy said, bowing. ‘Can I assume you are Stinky Mo… the doctor?’

  Stinky Mo’s grin widened. ‘I ain’t no medical man, sir. Known as The Surgeon, but it’s just because I be well known round these parts fer hackin’off limbs. See …’ He held up his left arm to reveal a gleaming iron hook instead of a hand. ‘I even done me own.’

  Uncle Percy masked his surprise. ‘Oh, well done, very impressive.’

  Stinky Mo nodded proudly. ‘Had no choice. Had ‘alf of it bitten off by a Tiger shark just off Melee Island. It had my nose, too.’ He pointed the hook’s tip to the hole in his face. ‘Can ye believe it? Still, it took some years but I got my revenge on that shark. No one messes with Ol’ Mo Baggely. Anyway, where’s me manners? Come on in.’ He turned and disappeared into the shack.

  Uncle Percy raised his eyebrows. ‘What a friendly chap.’

  Once inside, Becky was stunned to see dozens and dozens of shark jaws mounted on three of the four walls. On the fourth wall, just below a black flag with a silvery shark stitched into its midpoint, was a gigantic dead shark; perfectly preserved, it was perhaps sixteen feet in length, with an off-white underbelly, striped markings on its back and a distinctive ruby-red fin.

  Becky’s eyes were glued to it.

  Stinky Mo noticed. ‘I see yer admirin’ me prize possession, girlie. Some people like paintin’s, ‘specially well-heeled folk, like you, sir.’ He gestured at Uncle Percy. ‘Me, I like to decorate me home with the beast that took my conk.’

  ‘That’s the shark that ate your nose?’ Joe said.

  ‘That it be. It took me six years ter find him … Ol’ Blood Fin - that’s what I named him. Six years, and I never once stopped searchin’. Gave up a perfectly good career as a pirate, I did … Gingerbeard, they called me - scourge of these seas in my day. But I gave up piracy ter become a sharker.’

  ‘You’re Gingerbeard?’ Joe asked, recalling the keg of rum at the auction in Chicago.

  ‘Aye, boy. That I was,’ Stinky Mo said, pointing at the shark. ‘Then, when I finds him, I hung up my compass and charts, gave up my name, and retired to this ‘ere swamp. Anyway, who are ye all and wha’ yer want with Ol’ Mo?’

  ‘Where are my manners?’ Uncle Percy said. ‘My name’s Edward Mallory.’ He nodded at each of them in turn. ‘May I introduce William Shakelock, and Becky and Joe Mellor. We’ve travelled some distance to find you.’

  But Stinky Mo’s face had lost its colour. For an instant, Becky thought he didn’t believe Uncle Percy, but then his expression turned to one of grief.

  ‘Yer the priest, eh?’ Stinky Mo said. ‘Then that must mean young Israel has passed on.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘I am sorry. Israel was a good man. A tough sea-wolf, no doubt, but a bucko of fine character… You know, I was the one who taught ‘im the ways of the ocean … I was his first proper captain. Before he sailed with that bilge-sucking Blackbeard.’ He spat on the floor. ‘Thank the Lord that rapscallion’s gone.’

  ‘Blackbeard’s dead?’ Uncle Percy asked.

  ‘I reckon so, aye. Disappeared from these waters some time ago. And scum like Edward Teach don’t just vanish. Aye, he’s with Davy Jones, I be certain of it… Anyway, I s’pose yer come fer Israel’s effects. He said yer would. Ter be honest, I never held no store in it. I never thought you’d make the trip.’

  Uncle Percy looked perplexed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Yer’ve journeyed from England, ‘ave yer not?’

  ‘Yes … we have.’

  ‘Then that’s a long way ter sail for some wax and a good fer nothin’ bag of feathers.’

  Becky shot Joe a puzzled look.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Uncle Percy asked.

  Stinky Mo disappeared through a side door on the left hand wall. When he returned, he was carrying a large candle in the form of the Madonna and child. ‘Bein’ a man of the cloth I suppose you may appreciate it. But, I’ll tell yer this … it ain’t Blackbeard’s Treasure.’

  Becky’s heart thundered. She remembered the poem: For with good Mo, I’ve left a light, that will guide you in your plight.

  The light was a candle!

  She glanced at Joe, whose eyes had doubled in size.

  ‘Thank you, Mo.’ Uncle Percy said quietly. ‘It means a lot.’

  Stinky Mo didn’t look convinced. ‘Arr, if that’s what ye think, then so be it. You just make sure yer be takin’ the other thing, too. If he stays here any longer I swear I’ll feed the beggar to the crocs.’

  Uncle Percy seemed confused. ‘He?’

  ‘Israel didn’t tell ya?’

  ‘About what?’

  Stinky Mo gave such a vigorous laugh that a number of the shark jaws rattled noisily on the walls. ‘Sounds like Israel, that does. He didn’t mention Mister Flint?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come with me.’ Sniggering, Stinky Mo shuffled through the right hand door.

  They emerged on to the rear porch overlooking the swamp. The deafening chatter of a thousand insects filled their ears.

  Becky watched as Stinky Mo approached a tall iron cage cloaked in a long, ragged piece of green cloth.

  ‘Hello, Flinty.’ Stinky Mo’s eyes gleamed wildly. ‘Looks like our voyage is at an end. Yer new owners be ‘ere for ya.’

  A piercing, high-pitched screech bellowed from the cage.

  ‘Faaaaatso! Faaaaatso!’

  Stinky Mo growled as he whipped the cloth off the cage to reveal a blue and white parrot. ‘Yer shut yer beak, yer lily-livered, hog-squigglin’, rum guzzlin’ bilge rat… I’ve told you, I’m heavy boned … I ain’t fat.’ He looked at Uncle Percy. ‘Anyhows, that’s what Israel left ya - a candle and a bird that can’t fly. Now considerin’ he was Blackbeard’s second, it ain’t much, but that’s all yer get.’ He nodded at the cage. ‘And it be only fair I warn ya - you bein’ a man of God – the feathered rat only drinks rum … and plenty of it!’

  *

  Ten minutes later they were standing beside Beryl. Stinky Mo had invited them to share his lunch, but as he was serving Salamander Surprise everyone seemed rather keen to leave as soon as possible.

  Joe poked his fingers through the cage bars at a decidedly bored looking Mister Flint, while Uncle Percy rolled the candle between his fingers, studying it closely.

  ‘He really was an excellent artist, wasn’t he?’ Uncle Percy said. ‘A painter and a sculptor!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Israel carved this piece himself.’

  ‘And how will it help us find Mary Island?’ Joe asked.

  ‘The answer to both questions, I believe, will soon be revealed.’

  ‘And what about this parrot?’ Joe asked. ‘Should we just let it go?’

  ‘That doesn’t seem fair, really. He can’t fly. He’d be the victim of a predator in no time at all. Besides, he’s a very pretty pa
rrot, aren’t you, Mister Flint?’

  Mister Flint puffed out his chest. ‘Prettyyy as a pppicttuuree…BWARRKK… Pretty as a Pictttuuurreeeee.’

  ‘Can we just forget about the parrot for a moment,’ Becky said. ‘What do you mean the answer will soon be revealed?’

  Uncle Percy rooted in his pocket and withdrew his keys. ‘Again, as with the painting, which incidentally also depicted a mother and child scene, this is another childhood amusement that perhaps Israel enjoyed with his friend. It’s certainly another stenographic device for hiding secret messages. Do you know what I’m referring to, Will?’

  Realisation dawned on Will’s face. ‘Indeed. It was a practice used by both sides during the crusades.’

  ‘I imagine it would have been,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Observe.’ Uncle Percy positioned the candle on the floor then directed a key at its tip. ‘Stand back.’ He squeezed the key and a thin jet of flame shot out. The wick ignited. Turning a tiny dial on the key, the flame intensified until it spurted out like a flame-thrower. The wax melted quickly, leaking to the floor in gooey clumps.

  Becky looked on, transfixed. More wax fell away. Slowly, bit-by-bit, something was being revealed beneath: a strangely shaped block of wood.

  Uncle Percy extinguished the flame and scraped the remaining wax from the wood. Then he jumped into Beryl, only to emerge seconds later with Israel’s map. Smoothing it out on the ground, his eyes examined each island. Then a look of satisfaction crossed his face, as he set the wood on to the island in the top right hand corner. A perfect fit. ‘I think we’ve found Mary Island, don’t you?’

  - Chapter 22 -

  The Soggy Flannel

  Becky stared at the map with amazement. They had solved another part of Israel Hands’ poem. Of course, she knew they still didn’t know how to find the archipelago, but it was certainly a step in the right direction. ‘What do we do now?’

  Uncle Percy pondered for a moment. ‘I think we need some advice.’ He pressed something in his pocket. Almost immediately, the temperature dropped. A stale wind blew back Becky’s hair. She glanced happily at Joe who looked back at her, his lips forming a name, as a ball of light swelled before them. Becky shielded her eyes as she heard a whip-like snap.

  ‘Howdy all …’ Bruce Westbrook’s smile covered his entire face, his huge legs straddling a shinier than ever Sweet Sue. He was wearing a red velvet coat and trousers with knee-length boots and a wide-brimmed leather Tricorne hat; four flintlock pistols and a heavy cutlass were tucked securely into a wide leather belt.

  ‘Bruce!’ Becky raced over and hugged him.

  Bruce seemed overwhelmed, ‘Well, missy. Ain’t that just the finest welcome any man could have.’

  ‘You look great,’ Joe said.

  ‘Thanks, buddy.’ Bruce dismounted Sweet Sue and straightened the lapels on his coat. ‘I’ve won many a doubloon in this get up. Lost plenty, too.’

  ‘Thank you for coming, Bruce,’ Uncle Percy said sincerely.

  ‘My pleasure, Perce,’ Bruce replied as Will walked over and shook his hand. ‘Good to see you’ve arrived in Nassau.’ He scanned the swamp and his brow crumpled. ‘You’ve not picked the prettiest part of town, have you?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  Uncle Percy spent the next few minutes explaining to Bruce what had happened since they had last seen him, about Devil’s Spear Island, the procurement of the map, the meeting with Stinky Mo and the wooden block in the form of Mary Island. Bruce listened intently, offering murmurs of approval every now and again.

  ‘So although we’ve a map of this archipelago,’ Bruce clarified. ‘And we know which one of these islands is Mary Island … we still don’t know how to get there?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  ‘So what we need’s a sailor that knows these islands and a ship to take us there.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Bruce thought hard for a moment. ‘I ain’t as familiar with Nassau as your old mate Reg Muckle, Perce, but I’d bet a dime to a donut that someone at The Soggy Flannel would be willin’ to help if the price was right.’

  ‘The Soggy Flannel?’ Becky giggled.

  Bruce smirked. ‘The Soggy Flannel is a real pirate bar. And it’s run by an old friend of mine, Battle-axe Beattie.’

  ‘Battle-axe Beattie?’ Joe snorted.

  ‘That’s right, kid. A whole lotta woman is our Beattie, tough as a sandstorm and used to be a buccaneer herself. She knows everythin’ and everyone in this town.’

  ‘Is she single because Will’s available?’ Joe said.

  ‘Will’s a tough hombre, but she’d eat him up faster than grass through a goose.’

  ‘Tis a shame,’ Will replied with a smile. ‘She sounds as fair a maiden as Venus herself.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘And where is The Soggy Flannel?’ Uncle Percy asked.

  ‘It’s right on the docks. First bar a sailor sets eyes upon when he arrives in port. Many don’t get much further. They’ll just squander any money they’ve earned right there.’

  ‘Then that sounds just like the place for us,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Care to come along for the ride?’

  ‘I ain’t dressed like a Hog’s feast for nothin’, Perce,’ Bruce replied. ‘Besides, The Soggy Flannel sells the most disgusting grog this side of Port Royal. And I love the stuff …’

  Bruce entered the coordinates for The Soggy Flannel into Beryl’s chronalometer. Then he programmed Sweet Sue to return to his ranch in Arizona and joined the others in the taxi. Moments later, Beryl materialised behind a large timber building. Although the sun was dazzling, long shadows cloaked them in a cooling darkness. Leaving Mister Flint in the taxi, Uncle Percy ushered them out quickly and flicked on the Invisiblator button. Beryl disappeared without a trace.

  Becky felt worried and thrilled in equal measure as she heard Bruce say ‘Welcome to debauchery central,’ and followed him on to the quayside. At once, she felt like she’d walked onto a film set. Dozens of ships were docked in the wide harbor; flags of every colour caught the slight wind from towering masts. Drunken pirates were everywhere, swearing, shouting, stumbling around and waving half-full bottles of rum, their contents slopping messily on to the dusty ground.

  Joe looked taken aback. ‘What time of day is it?’

  ‘Two in the afternoon,’ Uncle Percy replied with a frown.

  Becky watched as a fistfight broke out.

  Joe looked shocked. ‘Pirates were like Chavs but with bigger earrings!’

  Uncle Percy made a disapproving murmur as they reached a sign that read: The Soggy Flannel. Then he turned to Becky and Joe. ‘Actually, I think it’s best if the two of you return to the time machine. I’m not at all sure it’s wise for you to come in here.’

  ‘Why not?’ Joe replied indignantly.

  ‘It’s good for our education,’ Becky said at once.

  Uncle Percy scowled. ‘You tell me how observing a hundred inebriated criminals is good for your education?’

  Becky thought for a moment. ‘I think it’s important for Joe and me to be aware of the dangers of alcohol, don’t you?’

  Uncle Percy couldn’t find a response. ‘Er, well, you’re right, of course, but ’

  ‘- And you can’t just show us a rose-tinted vision of history all the time, can you?’

  Again, Uncle Percy was lost for words. Eventually, he gave a reluctant sigh and said, ‘Very well, you can come in.’ He was about to open the door when - SMASSHHH - the window shattered. With a dull thump, a pirate landed at his feet, groaning. He looked down, horrified.

  ‘Make certain ya can afford t’ pay fer yer Grog before ya go in,’ the pirate mumbled, ‘that landlady ain’t ter be trifled with.’ Then he lost consciousness.

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ Uncle Percy said weakly. He looked back at Becky and Joe. ‘Promise me you’ll stay close.’
<
br />   Becky couldn’t take her eyes off the unconscious pirate. ‘Yeah,’ she squeaked.

  Clasping his walking cane tightly, Uncle Percy pushed open the door, which unleashed a thick cloud of tobacco smoke and the booming yells, raucous laughter, and tuneless singing of the pirates inside. Becky watched as Uncle Percy led them to a long, crowded bar where a huge woman with an eye patch over her right eye and a neck as thick as a barrel was serving drinks. The moment she spied Bruce, the woman’s visible eye widened with delight.

  ‘Bruce Westbrook,’ she said with a wide smile that exposed her six remaining teeth. ‘It be grand to see you, deary.’

  Bruce smiled. ‘Howdy, Beattie. How’re ya darlin’?’

  A stocky pirate with no neck stared down at his empty tankard. ‘Oi, Luv!’ he barked at Beattie. ‘Any chance o’ another grog!’

  Beattie ignored him, her eye trained on Bruce. ‘Oh, I be doin’ fine.’

  The no-necked pirate looked increasingly irritated. ‘Luv! Any chance a buccaneer can actually get himself a drink in this hell-hole?’

  Beattie looked over at Bruce. ‘Hang on a tick, deary.’ She turned to the no-necked pirate. ‘I be beggin’ your pardon, sir, but –’ BAM! She slammed her massive fist into his jaw, before turning back to Bruce. ‘Sorry ‘bout that…’

  Even Bruce didn’t know where to look. ‘It’s rowdy today, Beattie.’

  ‘Aye,’ Beattie replied. ‘Calico Jack’s ship has just got back and his boy’s be throwin’ pieces of eight all over Nassau. I’m more than happy ter take my share. Anyway, you come for a game?’

  ‘No game, Beattie,’ Bruce replied. ‘I’m here on business.’ He gestured at Uncle Percy. ‘My friend here is lookin’ to charter a ship.’

  ‘And who is your friend?’

  Uncle Percy stepped forward. ‘Percy Halifax, at your service.’

  ‘I doubt yer could handle bein’ at my service, handsome,’ Beattie said with a wink. ‘But any friend o’ Bruce’s is a friend o’ mine.’

  Uncle Percy smiled back. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So yer lookin’ to charter a ship? Well, I reckon there’s plenty round ‘ere that’ll willingly take that contract. Most are just rogues, mind. To get a loyal and dependable crew will cost.’