Felix Jones and The Dawn Of The Brethren

by Julian Roderick

  “Run!” shouted Tom.

  “Shut up, you fools!” growled Sneak as he applied his handkerchief over their mouths. Tom and Poppy dropped their weapon cases and the limp Guardians were carried through reception and dumped unceremoniously in the boot of the Gold Typhon’s car.

  The Gold Typhon left the assembly to stunned silence. He thanked Mr Moreton for his hospitality and jumped into the back of the waiting black car. The pupils poured out of the school hall and straight into their lunch break, all none the wiser as to what had happened to Felix, Tom and Poppy.

  The gates rolled back and the car drove slowly on to the gravelled drive alongside the Silver Typhon’s pool house. The rest of the Typhon Pack were waiting inside. Sneak signalled for some help and the prisoners were bundled inside and tied to chairs. A bucket of icy water was used to wake them up from their chloroform induced sleep.

  “Not again!” croaked Poppy.

  “Where are we?” asked Tom.

  “Some strange over the top shrine to Greek and Egyptian Gods by the look of it!” she replied.

  “When are we?” he snapped.

  “Still at home! I think” she replied as the Gold Typhon entered alongside Curly’s dad.

  “Why are there only two?” asked the leader of the Typhon. Tom and Poppy looked around, he was right.

  “Where’s Felix?” Poppy whispered. Tom shrugged his shoulders in reply. “Is he dead?” Poppy’s eyes began to well up with tears.

  “Don’t think so!” said Tom. “They need him to read the Book.”

  “Where is the Keeper?” screamed the Gold Typhon.

  “My lad and his gang will have him. They’ll be here soon,” replied Curly’s dad, more in hope than certainty. The hum of the gates opening signalled an arrival. In trudged Tubby, Lofty, Bingo, Bobo and the rest of the gang. There was no sign of Felix.

  “Where is Felix Jones?” shouted the Silver Typhon. “Where is Curly?”

  “We chased him down to the staffroom,” panted Tubby.

  “Curly followed Felix in,” quivered Bingo.

  “By the time we got in…” added Lofty.

  “There was nobody there.” Tubby at last had regained his breath. “We thought Curly had taken him out of the fire door and back here.”

  Tom looked at Poppy with a knowing look.

  “They can’t have just disappeared!” stated the Gold Typhon.

  “Do you know where they have gone?” he asked Tom.

  “We’ve been with your men all the time,” replied Tom. “They could be anywhere.” Poppy smiled as she knew Tom was telling the truth. Felix and Curly could be literally anywhere.

  “Let them go!” screamed the Gold Typhon. He once again pushed Curly’s dad in the pool and stormed off. “You have two days to find him or else!” He jumped in the car and left.

  Tom and Poppy sat on their stump scratching their heads.

  “Well at least our things got handed in to the school office,” said Tom, patting his guitar case.

  “I’m just glad we have our names scrawled on the cases. Wouldn’t like to explain the sword if they’d had to look inside!” Poppy laughed.

  “Where is he?” asked Tom.

  “Somewhere on a picture in the staffroom is my guess,” replied Poppy. “Only this time he has Curly for company. Hope he leaves him behind.” The two of them laughed at the thought of Felix being trapped with Curly in some far off land a long time ago.

  19

  Felix relaxed in the safety of the time vortex. They had escaped once more. Curly’s soothing voice broke the mystical trance Felix was in, “What the hell is going on Jones?”

  “Curly! How did you get here?” Felix was running through the events following the appearance of the Gold Typhon. He had no idea where Curly had come from. He looked all round him for his Guardians, but they were nowhere to be seen. Felix gulped and accepted that his only companion on this trip was the one person that made life difficult for everyone.

  “This had better be a dream!” shouted Curly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, this is real,” Felix replied. He knew that what was about to happen would really play with Curly’s mind.

  “Here!” said Felix. He held out a boiled sweet for Curly. “It’ll make thing better.”

  “I’m not one of your namby pamby mates, I’m a Typhon Cub!” was the angry reply. Curly knocked the sweet out of Felix’s hand. Seconds later Curly passed out.

  Felix sat for an age waiting for Curly to wake up. He giggled at the sight of his enemy laying there unconscious with a boiled sweet, still in its wrapper, lodged between his lips. Felix pulled the Book out from his school blazer and began his usual routine.

  Location Chicago, Illinois, United States of America

  Date 13th February 1929

  Languages English and Italian

  Felix read on. He was engrossed in the history of the city but was a little worried about the time period they had ended up in. The current Keeper was in Berlin so there was no chance of help if they needed it. He knew there would be plenty of pictures on walls in Chicago, so a way out would be easy. Felix smirked and decided he would have some fun with Curly before they went anywhere else. He sat looking out at the boats bringing goods into Chicago Docks across Lake Michigan. The smell of freshly baked food and fish filled the air but there was still no sign of Curly waking up. Men climbed scaffolding as tall buildings were being built all round him. The hustle and bustle of 1920s Chicago was mesmerising but Felix knew he had to move on soon.

  Felix decided to speed things along a little. He found a metal bucket, walked down a wooden staircase to the water and filled the bucket with icy cold water. It didn’t take long for Curly to come to his senses once the bucket had been emptied on his head.

  “What the hell!” he squealed.

  “Just thought you’d slept for long enough,” laughed Felix. “Time to get moving.”

  “Who do you think you are? Giving me orders,” snarled Curly. “Only my dad tells me what to do!”

  “OK boss! Lead on.” said Felix. Curly stood up and tried to dry his hair with his hands. He took four steps and stopped.

  “Where the hell are we? This isn’t anywhere I know.” Curly sat on an empty fruit box and scratched his head. He watched men carrying bulging sacks of goods back and forth. Curly looked at their clothes, he scratched his head a little more and studied a lorry and car as they passed by. “Are we at a museum?” he asked.

  “Sort of!” replied Felix. “We’re in Chicago in 1929!”

  “Don’t be stupid,” snapped Curly. “Nobody can travel back in time.” He stood up and approached an old man who was reading his newspaper on a bench. “What’s the date?” he asked rudely.

  “A ‘Please’, wouldn’t hurt young man,” said the man. Curly grabbed him by the arm, making him drop his paper, and repeated the question. “Thirteenth of February,” whimpered the old man.

  “What year?” Curly screamed.

  “The year of our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Twenty Nine you stupid boy!” shouted the old man. He pulled himself free of Curly’s grasp and stormed off. Curly stood motionless, not really believing what he had just heard. Felix picked up the newspaper and thrust it into Curly’s face. Curly read the date, shook his head in astonishment and asked quietly, “How did we get here?”

  “We’ll save that for another day,” said Felix. “Let’s get out of here and find some food and somewhere to sleep.” This time Curly followed Felix like a lost puppy.

  20

  Tom and Poppy met the following morning at Tom’s house. They sat eating bacon sandwiches watching the national news on television - the usual mix of politics and the economy. They nearly fell off their stools at the first headline on the local bulletin.

  “Two schoolboys, Felix Jones and Rupert Higgins are missing after chase through school.”

  “The police will want to talk to us today,” said Tom. “About this and the burglary stuff!”

  “We’re off to Berl
in on the school trip tomorrow,” said Poppy. “If we can avoid them and figure out what’s going on, we can jump on the bus tomorrow morning at three and get out of here.”

  “You’re not suggesting we bunk off school are you?” smirked Tom.

  “Not at all, we try your old Birmingham trick and get sent home or to the library,” she replied. They picked up their school bags and left for a day’s hard work.

  During registration, Tom laid it on thick with Mr Taylor their form tutor. “Sir, I got home after all that happened yesterday and found my pet tortoise dead! I’m so upset sir, please can I have a note to work in the library?”

  “Stop talking nonsense Matthews!” the History and PE teacher had heard plenty of tall tales from Tom in the past. “Get to your lesson!”

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” screamed Poppy.

  “What now?” Mr Taylor shouted across the classroom.

  “My arm!” Blood was oozing through her school shirt. “I’ve cut it on the chair leg.”

  “Matthews, take her to the school office and get that seen to,” ordered the teacher. He handed them a note to excuse them from their first lesson.

  Tom rushed Poppy out into the corridor. “It’s OK, no harm done”, she said. In her hand were two joke blood capsules. Tom giggled and led the way to the library. The librarian Mrs Clark welcomed them and sat them in the working area behind all the bookshelves. They knew that if they were quiet she would forget they were there, and leave them alone.

  “What’s the plan?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know where we should start,” replied Poppy.

  They sat there without saying a word for the next ten minutes.

  “We know that Felix is somewhere and is probably safe. We need to figure out the rest.”

  “What?” Tom asked. He had been nodding off to sleep.

  Poppy frowned. “What do we already know you muppet?”

  “Keeper, Brethren, Book, Guardians, time travel, Merlin, water, swords, Typhon, take your pick!” Tom had thought about nothing else since Felix had gone missing. “Why don’t we find out where Felix is? Then we don’t have to worry about him.”

  “And how are we going to do that? Clever clogs!” snapped Poppy. Tom nodded his head towards Buckley who had just started his rounds to check the school’s light bulbs. Poppy caught the caretaker’s eye and summoned him over with a nod of her head. Before he could say hello Poppy asked, “What paintings or photos are up in the staffroom?”

  Not expecting a grilling, Buckley asked, “What?”

  “Pictures in the staffroom. What are they? Where are they? Go and draw a map.” Poppy could be really bossy when she wanted something quickly.

  Buckley jokingly pretended to doff his cap and said, “Yes boss! Straight away boss!” He scurried off down the library’s back stairs to the staff area. He disappeared into the staffroom with the paper and pencil that Poppy had supplied.

  “This Typhon lot will hold the key to this,” Tom suddenly blurted out.

  “What do you suggest? We capture Curly’s dad, tie him up and torture him until he tells us everything.” Poppy knew he was right but she wanted to be in charge for once.

  “I’m only thinking out loud,” replied Tom. He looked a bit hurt by Poppy’s outburst. “You know it’s where we have to start!”

  “I know!” Poppy replied with an apologetic smile.

  Buckley returned with a map the Ordnance Survey would have been proud of. On it was marked the door, windows, tables, chairs, bookcases and most importantly a description of each of the pictures on the walls.

  “I hope he hasn’t ended up there!” Poppy pointed at three words, sewerage works 1963. Tom laughed

  “Or there!” Tom laughed as he circled gladiators Rome 24BC.

  “Let’s do this logically,” suggested Poppy. “He ran in through the door here. The tables and chairs would block off all these pictures.”

  “So that leaves these two,” said Tom. “Chicago docks 1929 or Barcelona Cathedral 1994.”

  “He would have rushed at Curly as he came through the door if he is true to form”, said Poppy.

  “Barcelona is near the fire door which was locked last time we were there.” Tom and Poppy were happy with their conclusion that Felix was in Chicago in 1929.

  “Right then. Now for the Typhon.” Poppy blurted out. “Come on, find out what you can.” She pointed Tom towards the bookshelves as she logged on to a computer. Mrs Clark was oblivious to their presence as they became engrossed in their research.

  21

  Felix and Curly trudged through the streets of Chicago. Felix wanted to find the nearest picture and get out of there but he knew the only way make sure he got Curly home was to look for the clock and the object. All the gentlemen were dressed in sharp suits, long coats and highly polished shoes. The ladies showed off figure hugging, short dresses adorned with pearls and shiny brooches.

  “How are we going to get money for a place to stay? Curly had suddenly turned from a thug into a thirteen year old schoolboy.

  “Here,” said Felix. He handed Curly a tatty old box that had been sat in a doorway. “Get shining!” Curly opened the box to reveal a step for customers to put their shoes on and an array of cloths and polishes to make their shoes ship shape. Curly immediately sprang into action drumming up trade, he was a natural. Felix pulled out his guitar and began busking. Passers-by stopped to listen and get a shine on their shoes before returning home. The money soon started to add up to a fair amount.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Felix looked up to see a boy in his late teens running towards Curly. “That’s my shine kit!” He looked as if he was going to kill Curly. Curly knew that he was going to get thumped. He closed his eyes, stuck his arm out and clenched his fist. The teenager ran straight into the outstretched arm and fell on his backside.

  “Run!” shouted Felix. Curly picked up his money and followed Felix up a side alley. The pair crouched behind a barrel and grinned at each other. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep,” suggested Felix. They asked an old lady where they could find a room for the amount they had in their hands. Curly held out the coins. “Northside,” she answered. She gave them rough directions to the area where they would find some boarding houses.

  Once there, Curly turned to Felix and swallowed hard, not knowing what to do next. All around them were coffee houses and restaurants, the businesses had Irish names. Groups of men loitered on street corners, smoking and taking sneaky drinks from paper bags. All the bars had signs saying ‘No liquor’ in the windows. Curly laughed, “Pubs with no booze!” Felix had read about this when he was waiting for Curly to recover from his journey through the time vortex.

  “It’s Prohibition,” said Felix. “Booze is outlawed.” Felix grabbed Curly’s arm and guided him through the door of a building that looked like a hotel. Felix filled in the registration card and the boys walked up nine flights of stairs to get to their room.

  It stank! Black mould lined the ceiling. The beds were little more than planks of wood with thin sacks of straw as mattresses. The sheets and blankets were filthy and the window had what looked like a bullet hole in it. “I’m going down to complain,” said Curly.

  “Be my guest,” replied Felix. “I’ll watch you fly out on to the street from here!”

  “Do you think they have room service?” Curly asked through a huge smile. Felix laughed and suggested a quick shower and out for something to eat. Curly opened the only door inside their room. He turned round with a shocked look on his face, “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “I think we’re sharing,” said Felix. He opened the door and searched the corridor for the bathroom. “There you go,” he said as he opened the door. A woman screamed. “And sing when you’re in there!” The two boys laughed together once again.

  An hour later they were ready to go exploring. The pair settled on a diner on the next street for food. They ordered beef stew, which seemed to be just about the only thing on the menu in this Irish part of
the city. Curly set about his dinner as if he had moments left to live, it was gone in seconds.

  “Right squirt! What’s going on? How are we back in 1929? How did we end up in Chicago?” All signs of friendliness had disappeared and Curly was back to his old self.

  “Keep your voice down. You never know who’s listening!” Felix knew he couldn’t tell Curly anything that would jeopardise his safety when they returned home. “I am a time lord!”

  “Like Doctor Who?” suggested Curly.

  “Sort of. I can travel through time using this magic book.” Felix took out The Book of Words and handed it to Curly. Curly flicked through the pages and threw it back at Felix.

  “Never! There’s nothing in it.”

  “Only I can read it,” said Felix. “It tells me everything.”

  “You’re winding me up!” snarled Curly. “I’m warning you, any funny business and I’ll finish you.” Felix had a feeling he meant it.

  Throughout their meal men in long coats and trilby hats had entered the café and disappeared into the back room.

  “What’s all that about?” Curly asked. Felix looked at his menu. There was all the information he needed, ‘proprietor George Moran’.

  “This is the Irish Mob!” whispered Felix.

  “Gangsters!” cried Curly.

  “Sssshhhhhh!”

  “My dad’s a gangster. I’m a gangster. My grandad was a gangster. I speak their language. Generation of gangsters! It’s in my blood. Leave this to me,” insisted Curly. Before Felix could say another word, Curly was heading towards the door to the back room. Felix, knowing it could be a bad move, followed. Curly may be a pain but he felt responsible for him.

  Curly burst in to the smoke filled back room. Felix stumbled in behind him. They were greeted by a series of clicks as pistols and shotguns were cocked ready to shoot. The boys slung their hands in the air but expected the worst.