The Time Hunters
The
Time Hunters
Carl Ashmore
Copyright © 2010 Carl Ashmore
All rights reserved.
Addlebury Press
For Alice and Lisa
For Gabe and Athina
For Pamela
Prologue
A Blast from the Past
Bowen Hall was blanketed in snow. Thick, silky snow. The kind you want to gobble up with a large spoon. And it made the Hall look spectacular. Everything was in place for a perfect Christmas Eve night.
But then something peculiar happened. An unnatural wind swept the grounds, the temperature plummeted. Suddenly an explosion of light erupted across the front lawn; thin fingers shot from corner to corner. The light spiralled like a dazzling whirlwind. Then - BOOM - it vanished.
A small vintage three-wheel car now stood where the light had been. The Reliant Robin’s door creaked open and a man stumbled out. Dressed in a pinstriped suit and bowler hat, Bernard Preston forced a step. On the second, he collapsed.
Preston knew he had only minutes to live. He must make them count. After all, he’d made it to Bowen Hall, the home of his dearest friend - the one person who could right these terrible wrongs.
Preston struggled to his feet and lurched forwards, his eyes fixed ahead. He limped slowly on, fighting the stubborn snow, to the enormous oak front door and rapped twice before his legs gave way. Using the last of his strength, he tugged a scrap of paper from his pocket.
At least this would be in safe hands now!
The door creaked open. A tall, willowy figure stood there, a paper hat flattening his shoulder-length silver hair. Percy Halifax stared into the distance, a bemused smile on his face as though the victim of an impressive practical joke. Then he heard a low rasping voice.
‘P – Percy…’
Horror-struck, Percy dropped to his knees; his eyes widened as a scarlet puddle spread before him. ‘Bernard, what the -’
‘Y-you must listen to me. He’s alive. It was n-no accident.’ Preston’s eyelids flickered. ‘You must find the Fleece … S-see Aubrey…’
‘Bernard, stay with me. Just - ’
‘P- protect – the – child …’ His voice trailed to silence.
With these dying words ringing in his head, Percy spotted the note and prised it from Preston’s grip. Through dampening eyes, he began to read.
A.J E
17 Cromwell Gardens,
Kensington
Mary’s Comb: 6768956665
15th January 1900
SS?
At once, air clawed in Percy’s throat. He struggled to breathe. One of his oldest friends was dead. Shot in the back. But who could kill a man like Bernard Preston? A good man. The finest of men. And as his gaze fell on an unusually large black bird circling above, a crushing sense of purpose swept over him. He could do something about it. He could try and prevent Bernard from dying. He knew there were no guarantees, but he could try. It had worked before.
For the next hour, Preston’s words visited him again and again. ‘Find the Fleece…’ - ‘See Aubrey...’ - ‘He’s alive...’ Then there was the mysterious note. What could it all possibly mean?
Percy Halifax demanded answers. And he was determined to get them. However, no matter how much he discovered about Bernard Preston’s final hours (and in time that would be a great deal) something still puzzled him. Which child was he supposed to protect? From what?
And why…?
Chapter 1
Uncle Percy
Becky Mellor lay in bed, her eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling. She had woken up in a rotten mood and just knew today was going to be one of those days. For one thing, she’d discovered a spot the size of a gerbil on her forehead. Her bedroom door crashed open and her younger brother darted in, his hands flapping like a seal.
‘C’MON!’ Joe yelled. ‘Mum says we’ll be late if you don’t get a move on.’ He hurled her duvet to the floor and ran off.
Becky growled. She loved Joe, but there were times she wanted to beat him with a spade. Furthermore, she was fully awake now and the horror of today struck her. For the next six weeks she had to stay with an uncle she’d never actually met.
Her fingers reached for her lucky pendant. As she clasped it, she couldn’t help but think today would be the worst of her life. Who was this Uncle Percy anyway? From what little she did know, he sounded like a total loony - a batty hermit who spent his days inventing silly gadgets that probably didn’t work. It didn’t matter how upbeat her mum tried to be, the reality was for six long weeks she wouldn’t be able to see her friends, go on Facebook, sleep when she wanted to, or do anything that resembled her normal routine, which she happened to enjoy very much. No, this would be the dullest summer of her life. She was determined to hate every minute of it.
*
Becky dragged herself out of bed, cleaned her teeth and smeared half a tube of concealer over the offending spot. After changing into a t-shirt and jeans, she slouched downstairs into the kitchen.
Joe sat at the table. Looking up at her, utter joy spread across his face. ‘Look at that zit, Mum. It’s like a third eye.’
‘Shut up,’ Becky snarled.
‘Pack it in, you two,’ her mother said firmly, thrusting a bowl of cornflakes in front of Becky. ‘And I don’t want any trouble from you, young lady. Today’s going to be hard enough as it is.’
‘Tell Monkey Boy to keep his gob shut then.’
‘Has someone got out of the wrong side of bed?’
Becky noticed her mother’s blue eyes seemed dimmer than usual. She seized her spoon and plunged it angrily into the bowl. ‘Not at all, I’m just being abandoned by my mother for the summer and palmed off on a barmy old nutter, who I don’t know. Other than that, everything’s great.’
‘Uncle Percy is not, as you so delicately put it, a ‘nutter’. He’s a little eccentric perhaps, but also very warm, exceptionally kind and lots of fun. Your dad thought the world of him, and I know you will too. His home, Bowen Hall, is a wonderful place. I’m surprised you don’t remember it.’ She looked to Becky, hoping for a change of heart. ‘You’ll be able to ride, swim - ’
‘If it’s so great,’ Becky said sharply, ‘why aren’t you coming?’
Her mother sighed. ‘Because I need to work. Because if I don’t work, how will we keep a roof over our heads?’
‘I know you do, but I can look after the house while you’re not here,’ Becky pleaded. ‘I can even look after him.’ She wagged her finger at Joe. ‘I’m old enough.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ Joe barked.
Mrs Mellor joined them at the table. ‘You’re thirteen. Joe’s eleven. You both need looking after.’ She sighed again. ‘I mean, if your dad was alive then …’ her voice faltered, ‘but he isn’t, so that’s that.’
Becky felt guilty. It had been six years since her dad had drowned in a boat accident off the Welsh coast, and she knew this coming Thursday would have marked their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Her temper faded at once. ‘It’s just we’ve never met him.’
‘You have met him,’ her mother said, composing herself. ‘We’d see him all the time when you were little. He thought the world of you - of both of you.’
‘Then why haven’t we seen him since?’
Her mother shifted uneasily on her seat. ‘Well, quite some time ago, he and your dad had an argument and they didn’t speak for a while. Your dad died before they had a chance to settle their differences.’
‘What was it about?’ Becky asked, suddenly intrigued.
‘I honestly don’t know. Your dad wouldn’t talk about it. But I know he deeply regretted it. Anyway, I was delighted when Uncle Percy phoned to invite you for the summer.’
‘He did, silly,’ her mother said, smiling, ‘but I have to work. Besides, you’re always harping on about wanting more independence. This is the perfect opportunity. And it’s not like I won’t be seeing you. I’ll visit every weekend and some evenings. Trust me, you’ll have an incredible time...’
Becky remained unconvinced.
*
Manchester Piccadilly station bustled with people as Becky trailed Joe into the concourse. Spotting a trolley, Mrs Mellor piled their cases onto it and approached the ticket kiosk. She paid for two tickets and they walked to platform fourteen. The small platform hummed with activity as commuters rushed from the standing train and scampered up the steps to make their next connection.
‘You’ve got your mobiles,’ her mother said, her voice quivering. ‘I’m only a phone-call or a text away.’ She bent over to embrace Becky.
Becky returned a half-hearted hug, she couldn’t help it. Still, as she felt her mother’s trembling body, she said, ‘We’ll be all right, Mum.’
‘Of course you will.’ Mrs Mellor sniffed loudly. ‘Just look after each other and have a wonderful time.’
Becky and Joe scaled the train’s steps, lugging their suitcases behind them. They moved into the nearest carriage, wedged their cases into a heaving luggage compartment, and moved down the aisle to a vacant table. Mrs Mellor, tears flowing freely, trailed them to the flanking window. A few moments later, the train shuddered and Becky’s heart sank further. Throwing her mother a final, doleful wave, she sighed as the train edged out of the station.
‘So what d’you reckon he’s like?’ Joe asked excitedly.
‘Who?’
‘Mr Potato Head. Uncle Percy, of course.’
Becky shot Joe a dismissive look. ‘Well, if you want my honest opinion, he sounds like a right numpty.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, firstly, he claims to be an inventor. I mean it’s not the coolest job in the world, is it? Secondly, from what I can gather, he’s a recluse and we’ve got to put up with that for six boring weeks. And, unlike you, I actually have a life!’
‘I think he sounds great,’ Joe gushed. ‘Mum says he’s well funny and Dad liked him, so I don’t see why we won’t. She says he’s got a massive house.’
‘Yeah,’ Becky snapped back, ‘and it wouldn’t surprise me if we were there to clean that “massive” house, to wash for him, cook for him. We’ll be a couple of house-slaves, you just wait…’
And with that, Becky made it perfectly clear she had no intention of discussing the matter further.
The train rattled through the Cheshire plains, passing mile upon mile of patchwork fields, thick woodland, and stopping at, what seemed to Becky, every boring village in the North West of England. After a very long hour, in which she said nothing to Joe bar the odd grunt, she watched as a rusty sign heralded the final stop: Addlebury.
As the train juddered to a halt, Becky stood to see she and Joe were the last passengers in the carriage. With a huff, she grabbed her shoulder bag and marched to the luggage compartment to collect her case.
‘Come on. Let’s get it over with.’ Becky waited as the doors opened and a gust of warm air brushed her face. Hesitantly, she took her first step onto the platform. Looking round, she saw it was deserted. ‘See… the old git couldn’t even be bothered to meet us. I say we get back on the train and -’ But before she could finish, a man appeared in silhouette at the end of the platform, his dusky shadow lengthening before them. The man strode into the light, a glowing smile on his tanned face.
Uncle Percy was not as old as Becky had expected - maybe fifty years of age - with broad shoulders, long grey hair, and warm hazel eyes. ‘Welcome, Becky. Welcome, Joe. How wonderful to see you both again.’
Joe threw him a wide smile.
Becky didn’t.
‘I’m your Uncle Percy,’ he continued, oblivious to Becky’s reaction. ‘But you can call me whatever you’d like. I’ve always been partial to the name Colonel Igidor Puffbury if you’d prefer that.’
Even Becky’s lips curled into a smile, although in truth it was chiefly due to her uncle’s peculiar dress-sense. He wore a tweed sports jacket with a striking crimson rose in the lapel, a gold tie with the letter ‘G’ embroidered on it, Bermuda shorts, sandals, and a violet waistcoat. He was also holding the largest pair of driving goggles she’d ever seen.
‘Hello, Uncle Percy,’ Joe said enthusiastically.
‘The pleasure is mine, Joe.’ He gave Joe’s hand a sturdy shake.
Becky offered a considerably more muted, ‘Hiya.’
‘And hello to you, Becky.’ Uncle Percy bowed. ‘My, my, you have grown into a dazzling young woman.’
Becky considered belching just to see his reaction.
‘Please, allow me to lighten your load.’ He leant over and took their cases. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey?’
‘It was fine,’ Joe said. ‘I like your flower.’
‘Thank you. It’s a Stephanie Rose. It’s unique to Bowen Hall, that’s where I live. Anyway, let’s get going. I know a few people who are most eager to meet you.’
‘Who?’ Becky asked warily. There had been no mention of anyone else.
‘Just my friends,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Maria is particularly excited. I’ve told her so many stories about you both, she feels she knows you already.’ Spinning sharply on his back foot, he marched towards the exit. ‘Follow me …’
Becky arched her eyebrows with suspicion. How could he know anything about them?
‘Who’s Maria?’ Joe said, struggling to keep up with his uncle’s lengthy strides.
‘I suppose you’d call her the housekeeper,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘That’s certainly what she calls herself.’
‘You have staff?’ Becky asked.
‘Gosh, no,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Well, I don’t consider them staff, anyhow. They’re my friends. I’m sure Maria would disagree, however. I think she rather likes the idea of being an employee. She even insists on wearing a uniform, which rather puzzles me.’
‘Are you, like, dead rich?’ Joe asked.
Uncle Percy chuckled. ‘To be perfectly honest with you, I really don’t know. I think some of the patents do rather well, but I leave those things to other people. Most of the profits go to various charities. I have no interest in money, whatsoever. No, as long as we can maintain the integrity of Bowen Hall, that’s all that concerns me.’
Becky stifled a laugh. She didn’t believe a word of it. She followed Uncle Percy to the car park where she froze to the spot. Standing there, glinting in the harsh sunlight, was an ancient silver car the likes of which she had never seen before, except in history books or very old films.
‘Wow!’ Joe exclaimed.
Becky’s eyes widened with horror. It’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!
‘Do you like her?’ Uncle Percy asked.
‘That’s yours?’ Joe asked.
‘Indeed, it is,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘It’s a 1907 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. There are only two with the original chassis still in existence, and I’m fortunate enough to possess one of them. Of course, I’ve made some minor modifications to make it a tad more suited to modern driving, but essentially it’s the same car.’
‘It’s ace.’ Joe’s eyes flicked to his sister. ‘Isn’t it, Becky?’
‘Yeah,’ she lied, thankful her friends couldn’t see her.
Uncle Percy swung open the passenger doors and gestured for them to climb aboard. Joe leapt in. Becky followed, glancing from side to side to check no one was watching.
Uncle Percy mounted the side step and settled onto the claret leather seat. ‘Now, seatbelts on, please,’ he said. ‘We don’t want any accidents, do we?’
Becky couldn’t help but think that a minor accident resulting in her being sent home was fine by her.
Fixing his goggles, Uncle Percy turned the ignition key and the engine purred into life. Reversing, he turned a shar
p right down a leafy side street and in a matter of seconds, they were surrounded by countryside.
‘Mum says you’re an inventor, Uncle Percy,’ Joe said.
‘I am, indeed.’
‘So what was the last thing you invented?’
‘Erm, let me see … The Gumchumper, I think.’
‘What’s a Gumchumper?’
‘Well, have you ever noticed how much discarded chewing gum litters the streets of every town? The Gumchumper is a device to remove even the most stubborn gum off the pavements, leaving the surface as good as new. It’s like a lightweight vacuum cleaner but considerably more powerful. I’ve sent them to a number of town councils. I do hope they use them.’
The Gumchumper? Becky thought. What a complete dweeb!
They stopped at a set of traffic lights, when they heard the deafening blast of a car horn. A black convertible car pulled alongside them. Two young men, wearing baseball caps and tracksuit tops, were smirking at Uncle Percy. The driver, who had very short mousy-brown hair and a pale, flat, pimply face nudged his friend and sniggered. Becky suddenly felt very exposed.
‘Oh, dear,’ Uncle Percy said, flashing them a courteous smile. ‘Morning.’
The driver responded with a rude hand gesture.
Uncle Percy exhaled heavily. ‘I loathe bad manners.’
The driver sounded the horn again.
Uncle Percy tutted. ‘Becky, Joe, are your seatbelts securely fastened?’
‘Y-yes,’ Becky and Joe stammered, as the traffic lights flashed amber.
Immediately, the spotty driver revved his engine and a cloud of fumes billowed from his exhaust.
‘BRACE YOURSELVES, PLEASE!’ Uncle Percy shouted over the din of screeching tyres. ‘Things are going to get rather stirring.’ He reached for the gear stick, flipped open its cap to reveal a scarlet button and pressed it. At once, the Silver Ghost made a deep rumbling sound, like an aeroplane readying for take-off. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t mention this to your mother …’ The amber light flashed green.