The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity
Read The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity Online
Authors: Carl Ashmore
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #General
The
Time
Hunters
and
the
Box
of Eternity
By
Carl
Ashmore
FOR
ALICE AND LISA
FOR
MAY AND TED
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I
would like to thank the following people for their unwavering online support of
‘
The Time Hunters
’
books on both sides of
the Atlantic.
In
the UK - Ed, Dawn Hills, Vanessa Jackson, Lynn, Kay, littlesheepy, Willie Wit,
Gingerlily, Golden Girl Kay, Davina, Suze, Carol Ann, Joo, Emma Sly,
Knightmare, Chris, Kate, Ignite, Max, JJ Readalot, K, Phil.
And
a special mention to Steve and Victoria - congratulations on your engagement.
In
the USA - the CAFC: Libby, The Quad Squad, Stephen, Marty, Hannah and Abby;
Alina, James and Oliver Holgate; Kim, Lance, Grant, Lucas; Cheryl-Ann, Austin,
Wyatt, Miss Dakota, Petrona, Grayson, Tricia, Eric, Therese, Tipp, Sarah,
Rachel Natalie Weaver, Johnna, Keegan and Kolson.
CHAPTERS
Chapter
2:
The Return of the Traveller
Chapter 4:
The Travelling Times
Chapter 5:
A Rose by any other Name
Chapter
6:
The Wild Wild Westbrook
Chapter 7:
A Fistful of Doubloons
Chapter 8:
The Box of Eternity
Chapter
12:
A Hackneyed Approach
Chapter 13:
To Rebecca, with love...
Chapter
14:
The Man with Many Names
Chapter
15:
Scars, Stars and Cadillac Cars
Chapter 16:
Street Fighting Man
Chapter
17:
2122 North Clark Street
Chapter 20:
Devil's Spear Island
Chapter
21:
Stinky Mo's Shark Shack
Chapter
23:
Firearms and Forearms
Chapter
26:
Snake, Rattle and Roll
Chapter
28:
Mr Flint's Revelation
Chapter
29:
Teach's Treasure Trove
Chapter
33:
The Maritime Mausoleum
Chapter 1
Chapman
’
s Choice
Wandsworth Prison, London.
April 6, 1903
A gas lamp flickered outside George Chapman
’
s cell door, tinting
his black eyes orange, and he heard a distant bell ring a quarter to midnight.
He wrapped a blanket round his shoulders and watched a spider scuttle down the
damp stone wall.
Then a bitter realisation struck. The spider would outlive him.
Teeth-gritted, Chapman swelled with rage; he wanted to destroy it,
to crush it in his fingers.
But then, as
it scurried onto the floor, he felt an unexpected emotion, one he
’
d never experienced
before in his thirty seven years: mercy. For three weeks, since a jury
convicted him of murdering his wife, the spider had been his only companion in
this filthy box of a room. Perhaps it should live.
Turning to face the barred window, Chapman thought about the day
ahead, his last on earth, the day of his own execution. And the same recurring
question crept into his mind: how would he feel when death finally came? For so
many years, he
’
d seen so much of it, more than anyone could possibly imagine.
And it was this fact that afforded him his
greatest thrill. His true identity remained secret.
No one knew who he really was.
He was about to laugh, when a sudden chill swept the air. Confused,
he glanced round, seeking its source. At once, streams of dazzling crimson
light shot all around
–
twirling, crackling, spitting. Momentarily blinded, Chapman clamped
his eyes shut, smothering his head with the blanket. Then -
BOOM
–
the light vanished.
A voice sliced the darkness.
‘
Severin Klosowski?
’
Dazed, Chapman threw the blanket off.
‘
Who
–
who is it?
’
he panted.
‘
How do you know my real name?
’
‘
I know many things.
’
A besuited
sallow-faced man stepped out of the shadows, holding a two-handled black leather
briefcase.
‘
You were born in 1865 in Nagorna, Poland. You arrived in London in
1887, and changed your name to George Chapman in 1895. Shall I elaborate on
that heart-warming story?
’
‘
No!
’
Chapman snapped back.
‘
But I - I
don
’
t
understand.
’
‘
I would be astonished
if you did,
’
Emerson Drake replied calmly.
Chapman
’
s face flushed red.
‘
What narcotic have you given me?
Which hallucinogen? Regardless, I shall tell you nothing of my secrets,
my -
’
‘
Silence! You
’
ve been given nothing,
’
Drake cut in,
‘
other than the
prospect of a lifeline. My time here is short … so let me ask you a question:
Do you want to live?
’
‘
What do you mean?
’
‘
At two o
’
clock tomorrow
afternoon you
’
ll be taken to a room they call the Cold Meat Shed and met by
William Billington, who will proceed to hang you by the neck until you are
dead. Now, that is one possible chain of events - the other is up to you. So, I
shall ask one last time - do you want to live?
’
‘
Yes,
’
Chapman grunted.
‘
Very well,
’
Drake replied without
emotion.
‘
So
be it. However, you shall not live as you have lived. You shall be mine. You
will do my bidding. Is that acceptable?
’
‘
I
’
m confused.
’
Drake
’
s cold blue eyes met Chapman
’
s.
‘
Let
’
s just say, I am a great admirer of your work and I believe you can offer
much to my organisation. In return, your loyalty will be rewarded. Do we have a
deal?
’
Chapman took a moment to survey his tiny cell and an incredulous
smile arched on his mouth.
‘
I will do whatever you wish.
’
‘
A wise decision,
’
Drake replied, offering
him the second handle on the briefcase.
‘
Take this handle.
’
Chapman eyed the briefcase suspiciously.
‘
What is it?
’
‘
This is a
Portravella
,
a portable time travelling device.
’
Chapman
’
s brow creased.
‘
Time travel?
’
‘
I shall explain later.
’
Drake glanced at his
wristwatch.
‘
A warden named Gordon Bridge will make his rounds in precisely
sixty-seven seconds. I would like to have left by then.
’
‘
As you wish,
’
Chapman replied
eagerly.
‘
However, just one more
question,
’
Drake asked coolly.
‘
How does it feel being the most infamous monster in the history of
mankind?
’
Chapman looked startled but composed himself at once. He noticed the
spider scuttle past him. Then he crushed it beneath his bare foot.
‘
I don
’
t know what you mean,
Mr Drake.
’
Precisely a minute later, Gordon Bridge found the cell deserted.
Chapter 2
The Return of the
Traveller
‘
Haven
’
t you finished packing
yet?
’
Joe
Mellor groaned, his eyes flicking from his sister
’
s half-packed suitcase to the mountain of
clothes on her bed.
‘
We
’
ll never leave at this rate.
’
‘
Nearly,
’
Becky shot back at
him.
‘
Besides,
we can
’
t
go anywhere until Uncle Percy gets here, so shut your -
’
‘
Why are you packing so
much, anyway?
’
Becky smiled sarcastically.
‘
Unlike you, I like to change my underwear on a
daily basis.
’
Joe ignored the comment.
‘
But we
’
re only going for a week.
’
Becky gave a low growl.
‘
I
’
m aware of that, pimple brain. Now why don
’
t you go and play with
your bow and arrow and bog off.
’
‘
Because I
’
d rather stay here and
annoy you.
’
Becky rolled her eyes.
‘
The reason I
’
m packing so much is because who knows where we
’
ll end up?
’
She lowered her voice
to a murmur.
‘
Can I remind you that Uncle Percy is a time traveller and this is
the first time we
’
ll have seen him since the summer
without
mum being there.
’
‘
So?
’
‘
So he might take us on
a trip?
’
‘
Yeah, I know that,
’
Joe replied
dismissively.
‘
But I don
’
t see the point in packing all those clothes for a day trip to Stone
Age Coventry, do you? Not unless you
’
re trying to pull a caveman.
’
Becky shot him a ferocious glare.
‘
Oh, just get lost and go and do whatever it is
little
boys do.
’
A triumphant glint flashed in Joe
’
s eyes.
‘
Little?
’
he snorted.
‘
I
’
m taller than you now,
haven
’
t
you noticed?
’
Becky felt nauseous. Joe had struck a nerve. Since his recent
twelfth birthday something terrible had happened. Joe had grown an extra foot
in height and, even worse, developed an irritating streak of self-confidence,
particularly when talking to her.
‘
Yeah, well, as your limbs have grown, so your brain
’
s shrunk. It
’
s now roughly the size
of a chicken dipper.
’
Joe tilted his head as if studying Becky closely.
‘
I
’
m not being funny,
Becks, but have you put on weight?
’
An abrupt silence fell over the room. Becky looked dazed, confused
even, as she took a few moments to mull over Joe
’
s words. Then, she erupted.
‘
No … I have not!
’
she roared. She
scooped up a trainer and hurled it at his head, missing it by a whisker. Joe
sped from the room and leapt down the stairs, three at a time. Becky powered
after him, narrowly avoiding Mrs Mellor who emerged from her bedroom.
‘
What
’
s all the shouting
about?
’
her mother demanded.
‘
It
’
s him,
’
Becky yelled, her
fists clenched.
‘
This time, he
’
s … dead!
’
‘
Calm down, young lady,
’
her mother said
firmly.
‘
Joe.
Get up here, please … now!
’
Joe shuffled back up the stairs. When he reached the top, Mrs Mellor
turned to face them both.
‘
Now, will somebody tell me what on earth has prompted World War
Three?
’
‘
He called me fat!
’
Becky snarled.
‘
I didn
’
t,
’
Joe replied.
‘
I asked if you
’
d put on weight. I
didn
’
t say
you had.
’
Becky scowled at him.
‘
Don
’
t be such a smart ar -
’
‘
That
’
s enough, Becky!
’
Mrs Mellor turned to
Joe.
‘
If
you ever say anything like that to your sister again, you
’
ll be in serious
trouble. Do you understand me?
’
‘
But
–’
‘
No,
buts
….’
Mrs Mellor threw
Joe a formidable look.
‘
I mean it, Joe. And I would
’
ve thought you both had something better to do
considering Uncle Percy is due here in ten minutes.
’
Becky glanced at her watch. Ten minutes! Straight away, her desire
to rip Joe
’
s head off vanished, replaced by a wave of anticipation. She was
returning to Bowen Hall and, more importantly, to its astonishing residents:
Uncle Percy, the eccentric but brilliant inventor; Will Shakelock, groundsman,
real life medieval action hero and all round hunk; Maria and Jacob, housekeeper
and butler, the friendly elderly couple from nineteen thirties Germany; Milly,
the Sabre-tooth tiger and her cub, Sabian; Gump, the baby Triceratops and,
perhaps most incredibly of all, Pegasus, the snow-white winged foal.
Becky dashed back to her room and continued to pack. Throwing a
final sock ball onto the pile, she felt her lucky pendant roll against her
neck. She stopped for a moment and cradled it in her fingers. The pendant had
been the last gift from her dad before he supposedly died, and was by far her
most beloved possession. Recently, however, it had taken on a new level of
significance. Only a few months ago, she had discovered he
’
d been a time
traveller and, even more astonishingly, was still
alive
–
imprisoned somewhere
in time by a rogue traveller, Emerson Drake.
It had been the most extraordinary revelation and had taken all of
her resolve not to tell her mum but, on Uncle Percy
’
s recommendation, she
and Joe had chosen to say nothing, at least until he
’
d been found and
rescued.
And Uncle Percy had promised to do just that. Ever since Drake had
boasted of his celebrated prisoner, Uncle Percy had worked tirelessly, night
and day, following clues, chasing leads, using each and every one of his
countless resources to find him.
Becky just knew that one day he would succeed.
*
Sunlight spilled through the window, illuminating Becky
’
s long wavy black hair
as she coiled it into a ponytail. She heaved the suitcase to the door and lugged
it downstairs, placing it beside Joe
’
s at the front door. She glanced at her watch again.
Uncle Percy had agreed to collect them at eleven and, being a time
traveller, he had a tendency to be exceptionally prompt. In fact, she
’
d never known him to
be late for anything. Not once.
Becky pulled on her duffel coat and listened out for the crunch of a
vehicle pulling onto the graveled driveway. Hearing the kitchen clock toll, she
entered the lounge, and stared eagerly out of the wide bay window.
As the clock sang its eleventh chime, Becky knew something was
wrong. And when Joe joined her, she could tell from his expression he thought
the same; any grievance they had vanished at once.
‘
Where is he?
’
Joe asked.
‘
I don
’
t know,
’
Becky replied.
Seconds became minutes. Becky rang Uncle Percy
’
s mobile but got no
answer. After the fifth attempt, she gave up and paced the room like a caged
animal, with Joe sitting on the couch, rapping the armrest nervously and gazing
into space.
Mrs Mellor watched them both with a bemused look on her face.
‘
What
’
s the matter with you
two? He
’
s
allowed to be late.
’
‘
You don
’
t understand, Mum,
’
Becky replied
anxiously.
‘
Uncle Percy is never late.
’
‘
I
’
m sure he isn
’
t,
’
her mother
replied.
‘
But if he
’
s coming on the M6, he
’
s probably stuck in
traffic. You know how busy it gets.
’
‘
He won
’
t be coming on the M6,
’
Becky said
confidently.
‘
How on earth do you
know?
’
Becky wasn
’
t about to say he
’
d almost certainly be travelling by time machine.
‘
I just do.
’
‘
Even if he hasn
’
t come on the
motorway,
’
her mother said,
‘
he could
’
ve still broken down.
’
‘
He
’
s the best inventor in
the world, Mum. Anyone that can invent the Fuzzbagatron can fix a car.
’
Mrs Mellor
’
s face creased.
‘
What
’
s a Fuzzbagatron?
’
‘
A tubey thing that
pings a lot.
’
Joe looked up solemnly.
‘
Becky
’
s right, Mum. He won
’
t have broken down.
’
Mrs Mellor gave an exasperated sigh.
‘
Personally, I think you
’
re both overreacting.
However, if you
’
re so worried then give Maria a ring. I
’
m sure she
’
ll know what
’
s going on.
’
Becky spent the next ten minutes holding the phone away from her ear
as an increasingly frantic Maria fretted about Uncle Percy
’
s whereabouts. By the
time Becky hung up, Maria had become a hysterical wreck.
‘
Maria said he left
three hours ago,
’
she whispered to Joe.
‘
He was wearing his best suit, carrying a bunch of Stephanie Roses
and was going on a quick trip before coming to collect us.
’
‘
A quick trip? Where
to?
’
‘
She wasn
’
t sure.
’
Joe pondered this for a moment.
‘
Okay, still, that
’
s great.
’
He looked relieved.
‘
He
’
s travelling. That
’
s why he
’
s late.
’