by carl ashmore
‘Just through here,’ Uncle Percy said, disappearing through a gap in the trees.
Becky followed. At once, sunlight blinded her. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself on the top of a cliff overlooking a vast canyon at the base of which were thousands of large animals, covered with long, shaggy, dusty-brown hair and huge curved tusks.
‘Are they woolly mammoths?’ Joe asked.
‘They are indeed. I call it Mammoth Gorge. Do you like it?’
‘It’s amazing,’ Joe replied. ‘Isn’t it, Becky?’
Becky said nothing.
‘Are you all right, Becky?’ Uncle Percy asked.
She remained silent.
‘Becky?’ For a moment, Uncle Percy felt anxious until he saw her eyes were damp with tears. He gave a knowing smile. He’d reacted the same way when he first saw it.
*
‘I trust everyone’s hungry?’ Uncle Percy said, spreading a picnic blanket on the ground. They launched into the picnic, and then lay on their backs, watching condors weave the velvet blue sky. Soon, the only sound that could be heard was the soft, rhythmic purr of Joe sleeping.
Becky saw this as the ideal opportunity to raise something that had been bothering her. ‘Who’s Bernard Preston?’
Uncle Percy sat up sharply. ‘What?’
‘The traveller last night mentioned something about Bernard Preston’s murder and a manuscript. I was wondering who he was. It’s just… I’m sure I’ve heard that name before.’
Uncle Percy’s expression became unreadable. ‘Well, it’s a common name, but it’s unlikely you’ll know this Bernard Preston. Remember when I said that at Oxford, Professor Locket told my class about the existence of time travel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bernard Preston was one of that group.’ Uncle Percy arched his eyebrows, welcoming the opportunity to reminisce. ‘There were nine of us in total: myself, Bernard, Mary Blyton, Emerson Drake, Ricardo Nero, Stef Calloway, Malcolm Everidge, Ian Cuthbertson, and Sally Everard. We called ourselves The Otters. The Oxford Time Travel Exploration and Research Society.’
‘And are they all time travellers?’
‘They certainly were. Malcolm, Ian and Sally are still active. Unfortunately, Emerson Drake was killed in a aeroplane crash. Stef passed away some time ago. Ricardo died last year, and Mary stopped travelling when her children were born. And then, of course, there was Bernard …’
‘And how was he…’ Becky hesitated, ‘killed?’
Uncle Percy fell silent. ‘He was shot in the back.’
‘And you’re trying to find out who shot him?’
‘Something like that.’
‘So how does the manuscript fit in?’
‘It’s related to something I believe he was working on.’
‘And what was that?’
Uncle Percy mouth curled into a bemused smile. ‘You really are an inquisitive young lady, aren’t you?’
‘Mum reckons I’m just plain nosey. And that I get it from my dad.’
Uncle Percy nodded. ‘Yes. I believe you do. Bernard was searching for something … searching through time.’
‘What?’
Uncle Percy hesitated. ‘A relic. A very old, very important relic.’
‘What relic?’
Uncle Percy tilted forwards, his eyes locking on hers. ‘The Golden Fleece.’
Becky had to suppress a laugh. The Golden Fleece – she’d heard of it, of course. As a matter of fact, on countless occasions, her dad had read it to her as a bedtime story. She remembered it vividly. It was about a man called Jason who gathered fifty of Greece’s mightiest warriors, the Argonauts, and embarked on a dangerous quest to find the Golden Fleece, fighting dragons and all kinds of mythical creatures. ‘But wasn’t the Golden Fleece just a -’
‘A fairy story? A myth? That’s certainly what I thought until I studied Bernard’s research. No, incredible though it may seem, there is quite compelling evidence to suggest that the Fleece existed.’
Becky wanted to continue her questions when a croaky voice interrupted.
‘Any more butties left?’ Joe said, yawning.
‘I think you’ve polished them off, young man,’ Uncle Percy said, glancing at his fob watch. ‘Deary me, is that the time? I think we’d better be getting back.’
But Becky didn’t want to go home yet. She wasn’t nearly satisfied. How could she be? A murder. A mysterious document. A search through history for a fabulous relic. She needed to know more. As her mum always said, she was plain nosey.
Just like her dad.
*
The campervan reappeared back in the Time Room, the return journey being as uneventful as the outward one. No headaches, no travel sickness, no having to endure her mother’s Elton John CD’s – as far as Becky was concerned, it really was the only way to travel.
Uncle Percy, Becky and Joe left the Time Room, talking excitedly about their trip. All the while, Becky was processing what she’d been told.
As they entered the kitchen door, Uncle Percy came to an abrupt halt, his gaze set on the far wall. A painting had been slashed from left to right, exposing the canvas beneath.
Becky noticed it too. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Quiet, please,’ Uncle Percy replied.
Through the silence, Becky heard something. A crunching sound. Staring into the parlour, a shiver shot down her spine. A bag hung from the light fitting. It was moving. Uncle Percy raced over and tore it open.
Becky felt sick to her stomach. Sabian was lying at the bottom, his jaws tied together with rope, wriggling like a fish in a net. She screamed.
Uncle Percy untied the rope and wrenched Sabian to his chest.
‘W - who could’ve -?’ Joe began.
‘Shhh.’ Uncle Percy handed the trembling cub to Becky. ‘I want you both to take Sabian to the tree house. Find Will. Tell him there’s trouble. And wait there until I come and get you.’
‘I’m not leaving you,’ Becky said defiantly.
‘Now is not the time for rebellion,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘You must do as I say. Get to the tree house. Tell Will. And stay there. RUN!’
Becky glanced at Joe. She knew Uncle Percy was right. Taking Joe’s arm, she sprinted off.
Uncle Percy’s face grew fierce. Marching purposefully down the corridor, he stopped half-way down, unsheathed a sword from a scabbard hung on the wall and continued into the entrance hall. Quickly, he scanned the area. Empty. Then he heard a muffled whimper coming from the morning room. The sword tightened in his grip and he threw open the door. What he saw repulsed him. Maria and Jacob were lying on the floor, squirming, their hands, feet and mouths bound by thick rope. Uncle Percy raced over and removed Maria’s binds. She flung her arms around his neck. ‘He is here. HE IS HERE.’
‘Who’s here?’ Uncle Percy replied, untying Jacob.
‘Otto Kruger,’ Maria cried.
‘Otto Kruger?’ Uncle Percy said, clearly recognising the name.
‘And three others. They are after the children.’
‘The children?’ Uncle Percy said with disbelief.
‘Yes, sir,’ Jacob said, taking his panic-stricken wife in his arms.
Uncle Percy struggled to catch his breath. ‘Why the children?’
‘He didn’t say,’ Jacob replied. ‘But he wanted to know where they slept. You must take them at once. You must flee.’
Uncle Percy stood up. ‘No one is leaving, Jacob. I assure you of that.’ He exited the room. Swiftly, he went from door to door, checking each room, but found each one empty. Then he heard footsteps. Whipping round, his sword raised, he saw Will emerge from the passageway, a sword in his hand, his bow and quiver of arrows across his back.
‘I was in the far field. I heard nothing.’
‘Not to worry,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I’m glad you’re here. There are four of them. They’ll be well-armed.’ Then, to his frustration, he saw two familiar shapes race into the entrance hall. Becky and Joe stood there, panting; Milly at their side. �
�I told you both to stay at the tree-house.’
‘We wanted to help,’ Becky said.
‘That’s right,’ Joe added.
Uncle Percy’s expression softened. ‘Then go and comfort Maria and Jacob in the morning room. They’ve been through a terrible ordeal.’ He turned back to Will. ‘I’ve checked the downstairs rooms. Let’s try upstairs. If we’re lucky, they’re still here. Just remember, Will. They’re very dangerous.’
Fury crossed Will’s face. ‘As am I.’
Uncle Percy moved swiftly upstairs, Will to his rear. He stole down the corridor, then promptly stopped. Becky’s bedroom door was ajar. In a flash, he kicked the door open to find the room ransacked. Bed linen had been torn and strewn on the floor, pillows ripped apart, drawers emptied, cabinets overturned, clothes and jewelry scattered everywhere. Will left the room, only to return moments later. ‘Joe’s chamber has been ravaged too.’
Uncle Percy surveyed the chaos, desperately trying to make sense of what had happened. The intruders had looted the children’s rooms. Why?
By early evening Becky and Joe had searched their rooms to find nothing had been taken.
At seven o’ clock everyone assembled in the kitchen. A shocked Maria sat by the coal fire, shivering, her blank eyes fixed on the dancing flames, a thick woollen blanket coiled tightly round her shoulders. Jacob sat alongside his wife, tenderly stroking her hands. Will stood by the window, arms crossed, seemingly furious the intruders had escaped.
Becky sat at the table, her gaze locked on the far wall. Finally, she spoke, ‘Why us? Why our rooms?’
‘I don’t know, Becky,’ Uncle Percy said quietly. ‘I really don’t. But there is one thing I do know: it’s not safe for you here. I’ll phone your mother and drive you back to Manchester tonight.’
Becky looked mortified. ‘No way. We want to stay here. Don’t we, Joe?’
Joe nodded. ‘Too right.’
‘But it’s not safe,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘There are things happening that I can’t -’
‘We don’t care,’ Becky said. ‘We want to stay with you!’
‘I’m sorry, but if Otto Kruger and his thugs are -’
Becky interjected. ‘- Are after us, then we’re best staying here.’
‘I don’t think they are after you. I don’t see how they can be.’
Becky bolted upright. ‘Well, they were after something. And that something was in our rooms, right?’
‘It appears so.’ Uncle Percy sighed. ‘That’s why you should be at home with -’
‘With who, Mum?’ Becky interrupted. ‘What’s she going to do if those psychos turn up, hit them with a baguette? Here we’ve got you to protect us, and Will, and a prehistoric tiger with massive fangs. Back home we’ve got no one.’
Uncle Percy’s eyes searched out Will’s, eager for advice. Will deliberated for a few seconds, and then nodded coolly. Uncle Percy turned to Becky and Joe. ‘Very well, you can stay.’ Becky beamed at Joe.
‘What do you think they were looking for?’ Joe asked.
‘I’m afraid, Joe, I have absolutely no idea.’
‘It’s to do with the Golden Fleece, isn’t it?’ Becky said sharply.
A tense silence swept the kitchen.
‘The Golden Fleece?’ Joe blurted. ‘What are you talk -’
‘Shhh,’ Becky snapped back. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
Uncle Percy hesitated for a moment. ‘It may be.’
‘I knew it!’ Becky said, sounding triumphant.
‘Knew what?’ Joe barked.
Uncle Percy breathed heavily. ‘Perhaps, we should go to the library, and I’ll tell you all I know.’
Maria spun round, her face scarlet with rage. ‘SIR! NO!’
‘Maria,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Otto Kruger came looking for something. Something, it seems, that concerns Becky or Joe. You know Kruger, and what he’s capable of, it’s only fair they know what we know. They may even be able to help.’
And then it struck him: Bernard Preston’s dying words. “Protect the child.” Could Preston have been referring to Becky or Joe? The thought seemed absurd. But then so was the idea of Otto Kruger taking one step inside Bowen Hall.
*
Becky had never entered Bowen library before. A sprawling room on the top floor, it had high walls and an ornate ceiling. Thick with dust, a stale smell emanated through the room. She had the feeling the library remained off-limits to Maria’s thorough cleaning regime. Books of all shapes and sizes, old and new, filled the bookshelves, with the uppermost tiers occupied by ancient ragged scrolls, coiled up, and tied with string.
Uncle Percy ushered Becky and Joe to a circular table in the centre. He moved to a corner shelf, pulled out a thick leather bound volume and returned to the table.
‘Now - where to begin?’ He placed the book to his right. ‘Last Christmas Eve, a good friend of mine, Bernard Preston turned up at the Hall. He’d been shot in the back. He was dying. Now, according to his time machine, he had travelled to Oxford on the 20th January 1900. Curiously, however, after examining the bullet, it became clear that the gun from which it was fired was not made until some years later. Therefore, he had to have been murdered by a time traveller.’
The words made Becky shiver.
‘Now, just before he died, he told me to see someone named Aubrey. Later, I discovered he was referring to the seventeenth century writer, John Aubrey. Now, Aubrey was a learned man, but his specific area of expertise was Stonehenge. You’ve heard of Stonehenge?’
‘Of course,’ Becky said.
‘I went there with the school.’ Joe crumpled his nose. ‘It was naff.’
Uncle Percy smiled. ‘I assure you, Joe, Stonehenge is far from naff’. In fact, I believe the monument lies at the very heart of this mystery. Anyway, I visited John Aubrey, and he told me that Bernard had indeed visited him to discuss a legend associated with Stonehenge.’
‘What legend?’ Becky said excitedly.
‘Well, as you probably know, Stonehenge took hundreds of years to build. Anyway, legend has it, that when it was finished, God, for want of a better term, was so delighted he rewarded its makers with a powerful object. A divine object.’
‘The Golden Fleece?’ Becky said.
‘Precisely. Now, of course, stories like this are common throughout history, and, more often than not, are total poppycock. I didn’t see why this one would be any different. That was until I scrutinised his research. His investigations, both academic and in the field, have convinced me that the legend was, indeed, based on some level of fact. To what extent, I’m not sure, but I am in no doubt that the Golden Fleece existed. You’ve heard of the Golden Fleece, Joe?’
‘Course,’ Joe said, ‘It was dad’s favourite book. It’s an awesome story.’
Uncle Percy continued. ‘Yes, it is. Anyway, as Stonehenge was finished so long ago, before recorded time, no one knows precisely when it was completed, or indeed who completed it.’
‘Couldn’t you just use the time machine and go and get it,’ Becky said.
‘To do that, you would need an exact date, time, location and who it was presented to. I have none of these. Anyway, Bernard believed, as with the popular legend, that at some point it was taken to Ancient Greece. But he had no idea as to where or when. So, he started investigating more contemporary sources.’
Uncle Percy pulled the book closer. He pressed three letters on the padded cover and the book’s title illuminated red. Suddenly a bookshelf creaked open, exposing a compact wall safe concealed behind it. Becky and Joe looked at each other in astonishment. Uncle Percy approached the safe and typed nine digits into a keypad. The safe door sprang open.
From what little Becky could see, the safe contained old documents, an old watch, a necklace, blueprints for a building and other assorted valuables, but Uncle Percy closed the door before she could get a better look. He returned carrying just two items: a scrap of paper and an object wrapped in cloth. He passed Becky the note. ‘This is the reason w
hy Bernard came here on Christmas Eve.’
A.J E
17 Cromwell Gardens,
Kensington
Mary’s Comb: 6768956665
15th January 1900
SS?
Uncle Percy studied Becky and Joe’s rapt faces. ‘I believe A.J.E. to be the initials of the Victorian archaeologist, Arthur John Evans. Now, Evans was also the curator of the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford; hence, perhaps, why Bernard was in Oxford on 20th January 1900, the night he was shot. I think he may have been on his way to visit Arthur Evans.’
‘But the address is in London,’ Becky said.
‘Quite right. Evans kept an apartment there.’
‘So who was Mary?’ Becky asked. ‘And why her comb?’
‘Obviously that was perplexing. Unfortunately, to find the answer I had to bend the law, somewhat. I did what I believe Bernard was planning to do. I broke into the apartment on the 15th January 1900, the same date as the note. ’
‘You did? ’ Joe said appreciatively. ‘Wicked!’
‘I’m not proud of it, Joe,’ Uncle Percy replied, ‘but it was necessary. Anyway, I scoured the rooms and found a painting of Mary Magdalene in his study. Behind the painting was an iron safe. The numbers are the safe’s combination.’
‘So what was in it?’ Becky asked eagerly.
Uncle Percy un-furled the package to reveal an orange disk, about seven inches in diameter with strange markings spiralling round a central hole.
‘What is it?’ Becky said.
‘The simple answer is, I don’t know. The metal is unlike any I’ve seen.’
‘So where did this Arthur Evans get it?’ Becky said.
Uncle Percy shrugged. ‘He’d recently returned from an archaeological dig at Knossos on Crete. It’s likely he found it there. That’s why I’m going to Oxford tomorrow on the 19th January 1900 to talk to him.’
‘Can we come?’ Becky said immediately.
Uncle Percy walked to the far side of the room, and stared out of the window.
‘We’re involved now, whether you like it or not,’ Becky said.
Uncle Percy continued gazing into space. As the seconds passed by, Becky glanced anxiously at Joe. Then she watched as her uncle’s mouth edged open. ‘I suppose it may benefit your education to see Victorian England.’