The Time Hunters and the Sword of Ages

by carl ashmore

  Dear Barbie,

  We’re doing something bonkers. Uncle Percy and Will have gone to Medieval England 2 look for something called the Sword of Ages and left us behind (Gits!). Anyway, we’ve got a portravella and are going to input these numbers into it as a destination code: 13 – 19 – 39. We’re hoping they take us to Medieval England – we don’t know where or when, but we’re planning on finding Uncle Percy. If that’s not the case and we end up in Iron Age Bolton, could you come and get us. Soz 2 dump this on you, but there’s no one else we can ask.

  Ta,

  Becks and Joe

  Xxx

  PS. If Uncle Percy gets back before we find him, can you not mention any of this and come and get us anyway. If he finds out what we’ve done, he’ll kill us!

  Satisfied they had said all that needed to be said, Becky scribbled ‘For Barbie’ on an envelope, slipped the letter inside, and she and Joe went to the Time Room where they slid it under the door.

  An hour later, rain was falling hard from black clouds, splattering thick beads on to Becky’s bedroom window. Inside the room, the air seemed unusually sticky and Becky gulped deep breaths to calm her nerves as she watched Joe circle the room, scribbling in a notebook as if making preparations for a camping trip.

  ‘Now should we take a packed lunch?’ Joe asked in all seriousness.

  ‘You do know we’re not going to Alton Towers,’ Becky replied dully. ‘Food is the last thing we should be worried about.’

  ‘We don’t know where we’re going,’ Joe replied bluntly. ‘That’s why we should take some grub.’

  ‘Alright then,’ Becky agreed. ‘Maria and Jacob should’ve left by now so we can grab something from the kitchen.’

  Joe nodded. ‘What about clothes?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘You’ll look outta place running round a castle in your Converse All Stars.’ He paused. ‘Where do you reckon Uncle Percy gets his stuff from?’

  ‘I dunno, maybe he’s got a costume cupboard, but if he has it’s probably in the Time Room and I don’t think I could break into there even if I tried.’

  ‘Then let’s go as we are and find clothes when we get there.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Becky went silent for a few seconds, knowing full well his reaction to her next words. ‘Joe … maybe this is a mistake.’

  An ugly sneer spread on Joe’s mouth. ‘You’re chickening out on me. I knew it … I knew you would.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Becky shot back. ‘I just think more can go wrong than right.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I dunno. A billion things.’

  Joe waved his hands dismissively. ‘Nothing’s gonna go wrong.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that.’

  ‘You can’t be sure Uncle Percy and Will aren’t being forced to eat each other’s severed toes when we’re sitting round here doing nothing…’

  Becky couldn’t argue with that.

  They spent the next hour or so filling two backpacks with items they thought they might need: a torch, a box of matches, a first aid kit, a Swiss army knife they found in the kitchen drawer, and an assortment of food including a meat and potato pie, a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, four apples, and two large bottles of water.

  They met up at eleven in Becky’s bedroom. The rain outside was falling harder now and a snarling wind clattered the window frame.

  Becky’s stomach rolled in all directions as she stared at the portravella on her dressing table.

  Joe looked at her, gripping his Joe-bow, a sword slipped into his belt. ‘Go on, then,’ he urged, an eager glimmer in his eye.

  Striving to stop her hands trembling for fear Joe would see, Becky picked up the portravella, flicked the green button and watched the dial light up: Destination Code.

  Joe slung the backpack across his shoulder. ‘This is mad,’ he grinned.

  Becky didn’t smile back. ‘Yeah, it is.’

  Joe raised the lottery ticket, which he had meticulously taped back to its original form. ’13 – 19 – 39,’ he said.

  Becky curled the portavella across her wrist, fastened the strap and inputted the number 13 in the first box. With unsteady fingers, she typed 19 in the second box.

  Solemn-faced, Joe took her arm. ‘Here goes nothing,’ he said.

  For the first time, Becky detected a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

  The moment Becky entered the final digit, the portavella vibrated softly. Fizzing light extended over her hand, zigzagging upward, covering her arm like a fiery tentacle. Then, in a silent blast, the light surrounded her, blinding her, cocooning her entire body in a shimmering orb. Joe’s grip tightened as he roared, ‘Here we goooooo!’

  Becky said a silent prayer.

  Then they vanished.

  *

  The next instant, the smell of damp earth filled Becky’s nostrils, and she heard the soft rustle of leaves wrestling a stiff breeze. Glancing round, she saw they had materialised in a forest, surrounded by honeysuckle bushes and tall birch trees, their lean silver trunks shining like totem poles.

  ‘Well, we’re certainly in England,’ Joe said. ‘It’s freezin’. D’you reckon it’s Sherwood Forest?’

  ‘It could be anywhere, Joe. And any time…’

  ‘It could be,’ Joe replied in such a happy-go-lucky tone it made Becky want to slap him. ‘But we’re here now, so what we gonna do?’

  ‘I thought you were in charge.’

  ‘I ain’t thought that far ahead,’ Joe mumbled, scanning the area. ‘I s’pose we should take a look around and – ’ He stopped abruptly, his gaze locking on something in the distance. His face whitened. Then he swore loudly and charged off.

  Flushed with a sudden panic, Becky shouted after him, “What is it?’ Without waiting for a reply, she set off after him. It was only a few seconds before Joe slowed to a halt. Catching up with him, Becky saw something that made her feel sick.

  Beryl, Uncle Percy’s London Hackney cab, was upturned in a flattened bush, its bodywork pulverised in a shambolic blend of dents, scratches and punctures. The driver’s door had been ripped from its hinges and dangled high above them in the boughs of a nearby tree. Shattered plastic, wire, glass and metal littered the ground like glittering confetti.

  Her blood turning to ice, Becky peered through the gap where the door had been. The car’s interior had been similarly ravaged. The control panel had been smashed irreparably, leaving a chaotic mound of severed wires and cables. But there was no sign of Uncle Percy or Will.

  ‘What the hell’s happened?’ Joe gasped.

  Becky couldn’t find any words. ‘No idea.’

  ‘At least we know Will and Uncle Percy are here,’ Joe said, trying to sound as upbeat as he could, ‘in this time period … somewhere.’

  Becky was about to reply when, from somewhere in the distance, a shrill hissing sound split the silence, followed by a series of slow, heavy thuds, which echoed against the hard ground in a slow, steady rhythm.

  ‘Are they … are they footsteps?’ Joe panted, extending his Joe-Bow and pulling an arrow from his quiver.

  Becky stared into the undergrowth, fearful of what she might see. The trees were older, thicker, their giant, gnarled trunks and low hanging branches blocking the way ahead. ‘Dunno,’ she replied hastily. ‘But let’s not hang around to find out…’

  The thuds grew in volume, their frequency increasing. It was as if the trees themselves had come alive and were advancing with deadly intent.

  Desperate to run, Becky found her legs had turned to stone. Then all went silent. Suddenly, the bushes ahead parted like curtains, and an enormous reptilian head poked through – scaly and orangey green with what were undoubtedly feathers on its crown. The creature’s jaws opened slightly as if in a taunting smirk, flaunting tiny, saw-toothed teeth. Slowly, a huge sickle-clawed foot pressed forward, and the creature heaved its massive body into the light.

  ‘It’s a Velociraptor,’ Joe gulped.


  And amidst her paralysing terror, her utter disbelief, one thought flashed through Becky’s mind. When were they?

  Chapter 14

  Big Bad John

  The Raptor sprang into the open, landing with such force it fractured the ground. It was enormous - much larger than Becky had seen in any film. Seething, its huge head tilted right; blood-red eyes peered down at Becky and Joe. Then it gave a thunderous roar.

  Blind with terror, Becky felt her ear drums burst.

  Joe an arrow into the Raptor’s mouth.

  The Raptor’s jaws slammed together, shattering the arrow’s shaft like a toothpick. In one swift movement, Joe had reloaded. He fired again, this time the arrow thumped into the Raptor’s skull. The dinosaur didn’t flinch.

  Joe couldn’t believe it.

  And then, from their right, came a stomach-turning sound: more footsteps.

  ‘RUN!’ Becky screamed. She raced off, heart pounding.

  Joe didn’t hesitate. Catching up with Becky in seconds, he reloaded. Spinning round, he fired a shot into the Raptor’s breast. It was then he saw two other Raptors join the first. ‘There’s three of them …’ he yelled.

  Dodging tree after tree, Becky and Joe sprinted deeper into the forest. Glancing back, Becky could see the Raptors were gaining on them, devastating every tree that blocked their path. Then – thwack - her foot snagged a fallen branch. She fell hard, hurtling to the ground, barrelling over – once, twice – before rolling to a standstill.

  Joe skidded to a halt. ‘Becks!’

  Sensing triumph, the Raptors decelerated to a saunter, their eyes locked on their prey in a terrifying glare.

  Becky knew they were dead.

  Just then, she heard shouting. From high in the trees, voices bellowed, distracting the Raptors. And then arrows fogged the air, zipping toward the Raptors, each one hitting its target.

  The Raptors barely noticed. Glancing upward, they roared in unison.

  Then an amazing thought occurred to Becky: If there were humans, they couldn’t be in Prehistoric times. It could only mean one thing.

  ‘The Raptors, Joe,’ Becky gasped. ‘They’re Cyrobots…’ And she remembered exactly how to stop a Cyrobot. ‘Fire an arrow in their eyes… their right eyes…’

  Joe pulled free an arrow, and fired at the nearest Raptor, piercing its eyeball. The Raptor stiffened, like a waxwork dummy. Joe reloaded, adjusted his aim and fired again. The second Raptor froze. Grinning, Joe turned to the final Raptor, winked at it and fired again. Direct hit. All three Raptors stood as still as statues.

  Becky exhaled with relief.

  All around, men leapt from the trees – a dozen men - hoods veiling their faces. One man towered above the others. He marched up to Becky and Joe with giant strides, before removing his hood.

  Becky saw he was a handsome black man, as tall and sturdy as the trees themselves, with a welcoming face and deep brown eyes, which radiated kindness. To her surprise, he appeared as stunned as she was. The other men removed their hoods and were approaching the Raptors, prodding and poking, dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

  ‘Good day to ye,’ the man said in a deep, velvety voice.

  ‘H-hello,’ Becky said.

  ‘Hi,’ Joe managed.

  The man nodded at the Raptors. ‘And what manner of dragons are these?’

  Becky looked at Joe. Neither knew what to say.

  Joe thought it best to say something than nothing at all. ‘We think they’re Velociraptors.’

  ‘I have never heard or seen such things in all my days,’ the man said, shaking his head. ‘And I have journeyed far and wide.’

  ‘They’re pretty rare,’ Joe said weakly.

  ‘Rare, indeed,’ the black man replied, staring at the Raptors. ‘What type of creature remains standing in death?’

  Joe didn’t know how to reply to that.

  ‘Allow me to present myself - I am John Edmund Little.’ The black man bowed. ‘But most round these parts know me as Little John.’ He waved at the men behind, who had moved away from the Raptors and gathered in line. ‘And these are the virtuous men of Sherwood, merry and bold.’

  Becky stifled a gasp. She was staring at the legendary Merry Men of Sherwood Forest. ‘I’m Becky Mellor,’ she spluttered. ‘This is my brother, Joe.’

  Little John’s eyes narrowed as they met Joe’s. ‘Do we know each other, boy? Your face seems known to me.’

  ‘Err, no,’ Joe said.

  ‘Your father, then?’ Little John said. ‘Perchance I know him?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  Little John didn’t look convinced. ‘Well, your parentage aside, thou art as fine an archer as any I have seen. A true dragon slayer.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Now permit me to present my brothers in arms.’ Little John pointed at the man closest, who was short and stout with ginger hair and scarlet cheeks that bordered a wide smile. ‘This be Arthur Stutely - brawler, glutton, with a heart as fine as this here forest. Don’t let his portly shape fool you … he’s as quick as a roebuck and as strong as an ox in a scrap. Ain’t that right, Arthur?’

  ‘Aye, John.’

  Little John pointed to the next in line, an extremely handsome man with tanned, flawless skin and a smile that could melt butter. ‘And this be Alan A Dale - minstrel, poet, enchanter of fair maidens, and a warrior as good with a dagger as with his lute. Aye, Alan’s a fine musician, but he can spear a gnat’s arse from twenty yards with a blade. Do I speak the truth, Alan?’

  ‘You always do, John,’ Alan A Dale replied.

  Next, Little John gestured to a young man with fair skin, bulbous eyes and large croissant-like ears. ‘And this be the baby of the group, Aleric Fletcher – an upstart, with an unruly mouth that oft times earns him a clip around the ear for his cheek.’

  Fletcher grinned at Becky and Joe. ‘Good den to ye.’

  ‘And the rest o’ these rascals …’ Little John pointed to each man in turn, ‘be David Beale of Doncaster, Eldred Mulch, Arthur Berrymead, Michael Brundle, Kevin Costly, Bill Williams, Russell Crowfeet, and Errol Flint. A finer, more virtuous band of villains, scoundrels and thieves you could never wish to meet.’ He gave a hearty laugh. ‘They keep the breeze in Sherwood’s trees and be the scourge of the Sheriff of Nottingham and that arrogant toad, King John. Don’t you lads?’

  The merry men nodded enthusiastically, many of them shouting an agreement.

  Little John looked at Joe’s clothes. ‘Now what manner of garments are you wearing? I have seen naught like them even on the Crusades. Y’ain’t Italians, are you?’

  ‘No.’ Becky shook her head. ‘We’re British.’

  ‘Good,’ John said with a grin. ‘Them Italians may look as fair as a serving wench, but I ain’t ever happened upon one that could wield a bow like you, boy. You must’ve had a grand tutor.’

  ‘I did,’ Joe smiled, knowing full well his next words would cause a stir. ‘Will Shakelock…’

  The smile left Little John’s face. ‘You know Will?’

  Joe nodded. ‘That’s why we’re here. We’re looking for him. Is he with you?’

  Little John looked dismayed. ‘No, boy.’

  Becky could tell from Little John’s reaction there was more to the story. ‘But you’ve seen him … recently?’ she said.

  ‘Aye,’ Little John replied. ‘Seen him and his silver-haired friend, Percy Halifax.’

  ‘That’s our Uncle Percy,’ Joe said eagerly. ‘Where are they now?’

  Little John hesitated. ‘They’ve been captured … captured by the Sheriff’s men.’

  ‘Captured?’

  ‘Aye,’ Little John replied. ‘Two moons ago, from what we hear. They lodged with us for a few nights, and then said they had to depart for Alnwick Castle in Northumberland. They were keen to find our fat friar, Tuck, but he left us for Alnwick some time ago on matters of the cloth.’

  ‘So where are they being kept?’ Becky asked.

  ‘In the dungeons of
Nottingham Castle.’

  ‘Then let’s go and get them,’ Joe said at once.

  ‘That’s where we’re goin’ now, boy. Futile though it may be…’

  ‘Futile?’ Joe said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Coz they’re due to be hanged, drawn and quartered afore sunset….’

  Chapter 15

  Not in Nottingham

  A bitter chill gripped Becky’s heart. Hanged, drawn and quartered! ‘So how do we get them out of these dungeons?’ she asked, her voice barely audible.

  Little John frowned. ‘We cannot. Our spies inform us that twenty strong of the Sheriff’s finest men guard them noon and night. And they are not unaided – a new evil has darkened the city of Nottingham – an evil in the guise of men, cold-hearted and brutal, who wear strange apparel and brandish weapons of such power to strike fear in Lucifer himself.’

  ‘They’re Associates,’ Joe said coolly. ‘We’ve encountered them before.’ He glanced over at the Raptors. ‘They would’ve brought those dragons with them.’

  ‘Who are these Associates?’ Little John asked.

  ‘That’s a long story,’ Becky said. ‘But you’re right … they’re pond scum and they’re dangerous.’

  ‘So if you can’t get to the dungeons,’ Joe asked, ‘what’re you planning to do?’

  ‘No more than give our lives to save our friend,’ Little John replied. ‘Will and your uncle are to be executed in the market square. The Sheriff has fashioned gallows for all to watch. He wants a spectacle to rival Cleopatra’s entrance to Rome. You see, many years back, afore Will’s disappearance and that of the …’ Little John stopped himself mid-sentence, glanced almost undetectably at the merry men, before continuing, ‘Afore Will’s disappearance, he were the Sheriff’s nemesis. He made that fool Sheriff’s life a living hell. And that of Prince John, as he were at the time, before the death of his brother, our rightful King, the Lionheart.’

  ‘Richard the Lionheart?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Aye,’ John replied. ‘Anyway, if Will weren’t already enough of a legend before he vanished, then after, he became one like no other. A legend that neither the Sheriff nor time could abate. The good folk of Nottingham adored Will above all, excepting God himself. And it were no surprise, not after what he gave them.’