CHAPTER THIRTY–FOUR – CUSTOS CRASTINOS
The Clock was gone! Perhaps the Custodian had indeed tricked him and got him to lose his powers whilst defeating Redfeld – killing two birds with one stone, as it were. He could ask the Professor or Septimus: but the Professor was weak, and Septimus was injured and neither looked in a state to answer. Later perhaps – but not now.
But how to get them all back to the Institute? He looked around at them; each one was staring at him in consternation as he stood there, his mind working overtime. The sea crashed on the rocks below; way over on the horizon came the glimmer of approaching dawn and with it a sharp drop in temperature. Tom was just about to shake his head and admit his loss of power when he realised he did not need the Clock if he still had the Map. He did not need to move them in time, just in space – and only across England, from Cornwall to London. He searched for the globe and laughed with relief to find it was still there. So, he could still Walk, even if just in space not time.
“Right, hold on to each other everyone – here we go.” He reached out and held Septimus’ shoulder; the Welshman did the same to the Professor. Edward, Charlie and Mary linked arms and Mary also touched the Professor’s other shoulder. When everyone was in the chain, Tom Walked them back to the Professor’s office, where they all landed in an untidy heap in front of the desk – apart from Septimus who ended up sitting on it and knocking off a paperweight in the process. Both paperweight and papers went flying.
Hearing the commotion, Mr Phelps was in the room in an instant, still in his pyjamas and dressing gown. His usual irritation vanished when he saw the state they were in, and in a bustle of activity he whisked everyone off to the rooms upstairs and was soon on the phone to Doctor Makepeace.
Septimus and Neoptolemas were the most hurt and in need of medical attention, but almost everyone had cuts, bruises and scratches, so it was a good two hours before Tom was able to go upstairs and into the room occupied by Septimus, to see how he was.
Septimus smiled at him and added a weary wink. “You did well, Tom. That was impressive with the clock and all, boyo.”
Returning his smile, Tom shrugged. “You know, I just remembered something,” he said.
“What was that?”
“Back in my house, before we were attacked and went off to Ancient Persia, you were about to say something to me about my parents.”
“I was?” Septimus said vaguely then, his eyes lighting up, added, “That’s right, so I was.”
Tom waited a moment as Septimus nodded but said nothing.
“So ... would you like to share it with me, or am I keeping you up?”
“Sorry, boyo, was miles away. Ok, this is the deal: I remembered your parents.”
“What!”
“I could remember hearing your dad shouting at us on New Year’s Day and seeing you and him in the car in that car park.”
Tom was confused now.
“So?”
“So, Tom, if they really had died in that house fire, I don’t think I should have remembered that. You were the one away from the present day when Redfeld supposedly went back and murdered your parents. You were insulated from the effect. But no one else was. So, if your parents had died, I don’t think I should have remembered them. So I think the penny dropped that day and I worked out they were still alive.”
Tom’s mouth fell open. “And you didn’t think it might have been a good idea to tell me that, you daft Welshman?”
“Sorry. If you remember, it all got a bit busy after that!”
Tom stared at him for a moment and then relaxed. “It did that, it certainly did that!” he said softly.
They sat together for a few minutes, before Septimus’ eyes became heavy and he drifted off to sleep. Tom left him to rest and quietly left the room.
The Professor was next door and was wide awake sitting up in bed reading. The book’s title was A History of Tintagel. There was a chair beside the bed. Tom perched on the edge of it and tried to frame a few questions, but the Professor spoke first.
“I guess I owe you some explanation. I kept you in the dark a lot and I apologise for that. You are young and I was trying to protect you. In the end it did not quite work out that way and it was you who protected me.”
“I might not have done had it not been for this,” Tom grinned and pulled the acorn from his breast pocket. They both looked at it and Neoptolemas laughed.
“Ah yes, the acorn; I hoped you would find it and realise its significance. You keep it, Tom, as a memento – and a reminder that from little acorns great oaks do grow.”
“So, Professor, you were trying to do a deal with Redfeld to get him to leave me alone?”
“Well yes, but far more than that. I am very fond of you and can appreciate your talents but there was a lot more going on here than just the fate of one schoolboy.”
“And so you went along with Redfeld, pretending to help him to open his portal, but then planned to close it?”
“Yes.”
“What was the point of that? Wouldn’t he have just opened another one?”
“Ah well. That’s the thing. Redfeld used his projection device to come across to our world at Tintagel. He couldn’t just open these portals at will, you see. He only managed to do it at random weak points between the realities. He had to move his equipment around to these weak points when they were suitable to use, but they were unstable. Trafalgar’s portal was closed down and could not be used again, but he had found a particularly viable one at Tintagel. What he wanted was to stabilise the portal there and make a permanent connection for his invasion.”
Tom nodded – he had been right about that then.
“But,” the Professor went on, “he could only pass back and forth to his equipment; he could not move through space and time as we Walkers can. I knew that if I could collapse the Tintagel portal he would be cut off and stranded here in our world. It would have taken him many years to build another projection device, if indeed he ever could. Yes, he might have caused some trouble here in our world, but far less than if he had been allowed to reach his own reality and organise his invasion force.” The old man sighed, “That was the reasoning behind my plan.”
“You must have known he would kill you?”
The Professor shrugged. “It was a possibility, but it seemed a risk worth taking.”
“So then, when I shattered the clock ...”
“Well in a way you did muck up my plan, yes, but I think the catastrophic surge of energy created by that calamity will have destroyed any electrical equipment close by...”
“Like his projector?”
“Indeed. And on top of that, from what you say Redfeld and his men were likely to have been badly injured, if not killed, by the speed at which they were sucked through the portal. You did well, Tom. You stopped his invasion. His equipment is almost certainly wiped out and with any luck we will not see Captain Redfeld again.”
Tom nodded thoughtfully, “He could still be alive, though, Professor.”
The old man nodded. “He could; but one day at a time, Thomas, eh? Let’s savour the victory we have for the moment. So, do you have any more questions?”
“Well, there is the little matter of how you look so much like the Custodian and Colonel Theilmann. You are even similar in personality – at least to the Custodian if not the Colonel.”
The Professor said nothing for a long time. Finally, with a shrug, he spoke. “You know what they say, Thomas: you can’t choose your relatives, just your friends!”
“So you are brothers?”
“A little more than that, in fact.”
“Well triplets then. That is what I meant.”
“Thomas, I was an only child.”
“Eh?” Tom frowned, “Well then what ... I mean, how ...?”
“I was an only child who happened to be present at The Event, the cataclysm that split The Twisted Reality from our reality. I do not recall most of it, so it’s no good asking me about it right now. But
just at the moment the realities split I must have been positioned at exactly the right co–ordinates; in the right spot you might say – or the wrong one, depending on your point of view – for I was also split: divided into three in fact. Theilmann and the Custodian look like me and are similar to me because we are – or rather, were once – the same person.”
Tom’s mouth dropped open and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears, “My God! I never guessed,” he said, rather inadequately. “That’s awesome!”
The Professor shrugged. “Well, it is ancient history now. We all have a job to do,” he added, yawning. Tom could see he was tired and got up to leave. The Professor flicked through a page or two of his book and ended up gazing at a photo of the castle.
“Anything they got wrong?” Tom asked gesturing towards the book.
“They certainly make no mention of a portal to another world, but some of the legends make a little more sense, I would say.”
Tom laughed at that and turned away.
“Before you go, Thomas, one more thing: have you decided what you will you do? Now that Redfeld is gone, your family is safe and the Custodian seems content to leave you alone, you could be plain old Tom again. Schoolboy Thomas Oakley as you once said you wanted to be. We can take this talent away and make it not bother you ever again.”
Tom turned back and looked down at the Professor for a long moment, not sure how to answer.
“So, is that what you want, Thomas,” the old man prompted, “or do you want to keep your powers and use them? You might be young and it might just have been circumstance that made Charlie, Mary and Edward – all a few years older than you – follow your lead, but follow you they did and I believe they would again. You make a good team and Redfeld is not the only threat to our world. There will always be unscrupulous men and women with the ability to Walk, who dream of amassing wealth and power for themselves. What do you say, Tom? Will you join us in the fight for good against evil?”
“I did almost die more than once, Professor. I did almost lose my family. What you suggest does put me at risk of that again in the future.”
The Professor nodded, “That is certainly true and I have no right to ask it of you. Forgive me.”
Tom sighed and shook his head wondering if now was the right time to tell the old man that he had lost the ability to move through time. Or had he? He clung to a small hope that the Custodian had spoken the truth and all would be as it had been before. “To be honest, Professor,” he said, “I don’t yet know myself what I want to do. I need to have a think. I need to get home and see if everyone is all right and if I have my life back.”
The old man looked a little disappointed, but nodded without further comment. Tom leaned forward and held out his hand. With a brief smile, Neoptolemas clasped it and they shook hands. “See you Professor; I will talk to you later.”
‘Now we shall see if the Custodian lied,’ thought Tom. He turned away from the bed and Walked the ninety miles home to his house. He actually planned his arrival to be at the corner of his street as he dared not appear outside his own house; not until he was sure it was there.
He peeked slowly round the corner, almost afraid to look. The door was there. So too was the rest of the building. Tom felt a lump rise in his throat as he walked along the street. Just walked: using his own two feet. Never before had the simple terrace house seemed so wonderful. Tentatively he approached his home. It suddenly occurred to him that his parents might have missed him. How long had he been gone? What day was it now, Friday? When had he last seen them – was it Thursday morning? Had they been worried and called the police. If so how would he explain where he had been? In the end though, he realised none of that mattered if they were still alive. He would explain it away somehow.
At last he stood in front of his house, in his road, lined with his neighbours’ houses. It was with a vast sense of relief that he heard the noise from the telly in the living room. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement and turned to see Kyle Rogers and his gang coming towards him.
“Oi, Oakley, you nutter, come here and give me yer money!”
Tom drew a deep breath all of a sudden aware that he was no longer afraid of this pathetic bully. He had been in a battle against Zulus, survived a raging inferno and a flooding submarine, escaped from Alexander the Great and from another reality, and finally he had defeated an evil enemy. This stupid boy was nothing compared to that. Tom gave a bored yawn, “Push off, Rogers, and take your gang with you!”
There was silence.
“What did you say, you little rat?”
“You heard me. Get out of here!”
Kyle stepped forward and swung a club–like fist, but Tom was ready for him. He Walked just a tiny fraction to his left, but enough to move like a blur. The other boy lost his balance, swung round and then fell over, landing heavily on an elbow. Tom heard a crack and Kyle gave a scream and grasped his arm. He took one terrified look at Tom and then scampered to his feet and backed away, his face alternating between agony and a new look of surprised respect. Kyle’s gang melted away like butter on a hot day and Tom was left alone feeling suddenly liberated. He punched the air in triumph.
Then he chuckled softly to himself and, taking out his own front door key, opened the door and went in. His dad looked up as he passed the living room.
“Hello, Tom ? I didn’t know you were out,” he said. Then a slightly puzzled expression came on his face as if he was trying to remember something. “I could have sworn you were in your room. Not seen much of you this weekend. What you been up to? Saving the world, eh?” he asked, with a grin.
For a moment Tom stopped in his tracks and his mouth dropped open, but he could see his dad was teasing him. “Something like that, Dad, something like that!”
His dad studied him for a moment. “You ok, boy? You look ... I don’t know, different: older somehow,” he asked, with an anxious voice. You haven’t had another of those funny turns, have you?”
“I’m ok, Dad – just a bit tired. Think I will go and rest. Where’s Mum by the way? ”
“Oh, Tom, that is really weird. She is out at Gran and Granddad’s. You won’t believe this, but about two hours ago their grandfather clock – that one in the hall you like a lot – it just cracked. The whole face of the clock. Must be some type of metal fatigue or something. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, I can believe it, Dad!” Tom said, then seeing surprise on his dad’s face, added, “I mean, blimey Dad, how weird is that!”
“Right, off to your room and study – your mum said don’t forget you have that French test again tomorrow. After flunking the last one your teacher will not be pleased, nor will your mum if you fail again. Better go and learn it!”
“French test?”
“Tom, you came home on Monday night with a two out of ten in the last test and a note from your French teacher threatening serious penalties if you did not perform better.”
“Er, ok Dad ... it’s Friday today though. I have the weekend to learn it, I ... ” but his Dad was staring at him.
“It’s Sunday afternoon, Tom, what are you talking about! The French test is tomorrow. Get upstairs and get learning. Friday indeed!!” His dad said incredulously.
French test! Tom thought. What French test? This was the problem with Walking back and forth in time you tended to lose track of what you were doing before you left. From Tom’s point of view he had left his house to help rescue Charlie on a Thursday. But soon after that, Redfeld changed the past so it seemed as if Tom’s parents and his house had perished. Tom’s own body clock told him that he had only spent about thirty–six hours since that moment, but somehow in all his travels back and forth it was now Sunday evening and the correct timeline and history had been reinstated.
To his dad, his sister and everyone else it seemed as if the days were just following each other as they always did. Presumably then, when the Custodian had said, ‘Your reality will be restored...’ he had meant tha
t he would tidy up the timelines and history so that no one would notice what had happened; so did that mean he had reinstated their memories as well? Tom thought for a minute; there was a way he could check. He ran upstairs to his room, switched on his PC and got into his online messenger program. He nudged Andy, whose messenger name with the tag line, “Great and powerful god of doom” was showing up as online. Would Andy remember him too?
‘Andy ? it’s Tom, hi.’
‘Wotcha Tom wot’s new?’
‘Not a lot. Er, do we have a French test tomorrow?’
‘Er, yes of course we do. Don’t say you forgot! You’ll be dead 2morro if you only get 2 out of 10. You better go learn it m8,’ Andy typed his reply.
‘Yer right, ok I will. One thing tho. Do you remember when we swore to be loyal desparados no matter wot happened?’
‘Course I do. Not like I’d ever forget that idiot! Pals to the end, that’s us.’
‘Ok – that’s all.’ Tom rattled off on his keyboard.
‘Wots wrong?’ Andy typed.
‘Nothing m8. It’s ok now. Everything is ok.’
‘Well push off and learn that boring French ; –)’
‘Oui mon ami!’ Tom jokingly replied.
‘Eh? Andy asked.
‘LOL. Maybe you better learn some as well pal. CU’
‘CU, typed Andy.
Tom closed down the box sat back and sighed. His family were alive. His house was still standing. Andy knew him and it sounded like he had a school to go to in the morning. He had his life back and Redfeld was gone, back to his world and its horrors. Tom’s own world was safe, at least for now.
So this left only one thing he had to do: one thing to decide. Did he want his powers? With them he had saved his world and also rescued his new friends Charlie, Edward and Mary from various horrible deaths to water, steel or fire in the past. And yet, he had almost lost his own life and his family forever.
He knew he had to choose and soon. But without the Clock, did he still have the power to Walk through time? ‘There are other clocks, Thomas Oakley,’ the Custodian had said.
Tom looked across his room at his brass alarm clock – once his father’s before him – it was on his bedside table ticking away the seconds. He watched it for a while, remembering how he had seen it shattered and looking like screwed up sweet paper in the flame–blackened ruins of his home. The tiny second hand sped round its circuit. The minute hand plodded ponderously in pursuit, whilst the hour hand appeared to ignore them both, moving so slowly that you could hardly notice.
Then, as he had once done with the antique grandfather clock when Septimus first taught him how to Walk, he closed his eyes and visualised it in his mind, ticking gently. He watched himself reach out with his fingers, touch the hands and turn them. As he did this, he became aware of the Flow of Time; it was exactly the same as it had been with the old grandfather clock. He was in contact again. The Custodian had been right after all ... there were other clocks.
The Clock and the Map were there, within reach. If he wanted them he could use them to protect his world … or he could use them for himself … or he could go to the Professor and ask to have the powers taken away. He could be normal again. Safe and anonymous: just an 'ordinary' schoolboy. He let his mind wander over that possibility. These powers had cost him a lot: ridicule, fear and pain. Had they been worth it? ‘Whatever the cost,’ his dad had said. ‘To a very few these powers are granted,’ Redfeld had said. What had the Custodian said?
‘But I will be watching you. Thomas Oakley. That is my job to watch and to guard the future.’
Tom knew he was not 'ordinary' and his life would never be normal in the future. He had made his choice. He stared at the clock for a moment, then at last, aware that he had made his decision, he spoke out loud.
“No, it’s not your job, Custodian, to watch and guard the future. It’s mine. Mine and the Professor’s: Custos Crastinos; that’s what I am. I am Tomorrow’s Guardian!”
For a moment longer he gazed at the clock then he opened the French text book and began studying for the test the following day.
Read on for a sneak peek at the sequel to Tomorrow's Guardian:
Yesterday's Treasures
Tomorrow's Guardian Page 35
