by carl ashmore
As the midday sun reached its apex, the procession set off slowly. Aleric Fletcher led the way, brandishing a wooden cross. Tuck followed close behind, wielding a bronze thurible before him, suspended on a single chain, which perfumed the air as it swayed left and right. Behind him, the coffin bearers - Little John, Arthur Stutely, Uncle Percy and Joe – held Will’s coffin firmly to their shoulders.
Becky and Marian, her face screened behind a lace veil, came next, their hands entwined as one, with the remaining merry men and their families bringing up the rear.
As they walked, Becky saw the most remarkable thing … something that moved her beyond words. Hundreds of people, perhaps thousands, were emerging from the shadows of the trees – men, women and children - flanking the path ahead on both sides, each clasping a candle that flickered in the dark forest. Somehow word of Will’s death had travelled far and wide, and the people of Nottinghamshire had turned out in force to lament the passing of their champion. For the first time in what seemed like forever, a smile found its way on to Becky’s face.
Within twenty minutes they had passed Beryl’s ravaged shell, and were standing beside an already dug grave beside the sapling that would one day be known throughout the world as The Major Oak.
Becky stood graveside, barely able to comprehend what life would be like without Will. Since their first meeting, her life had changed forever. She had journeyed in time, battled an array of the most fantastical foes, encountered some of the very best and worst specimens of humankind, and throughout Will had been ever present, protecting her and Joe, a shining example of courage and decency in a strange and often violent world. But now he had gone.
He was a memory.
*
The service itself lasted no more than twenty minutes. Tuck recited three passages in Latin from a hand painted bible; Alan A Dale performed a ballad so melodious it silenced the birds in the trees; and both Uncle Percy and Little John delivered such heartfelt eulogies their words were barely audible over the sobs from many in the crowd. Tuck gave a final reading as Will was lowered into the ground. Then the merry men stepped up one at a time and scattered soil on the coffin below.
Marian was the last to approach the grave. Lifting her veil, she knelt down, closed her eyes and whispered something only she could hear. After the service was over, the grave was filled in and the crowd dissolved into the forest.
Even then, Joe couldn’t bring himself to leave the grave, as he stared at the stone headstone that read:
‘Here lies William Shakelock
Lord of the Forest
Prince of Thieves
King of Englishmen’
‘Come, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘It’s time we thought about going home…’
Soon after they returned to the camp where they said their goodbyes to the merry men.
‘If there ever be an occasion you need friends, Percy Halifax,’ Little John said. ‘Then the good men of Sherwood shall be proud to join those ranks.’
‘I know that, John,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘And thank you.’
Little John turned to Joe. ‘The friar deems you would make a fine king. Are you sure that is not your wish? There are many that would support your claim.’
‘I’m no king,’ Joe replied.
‘Only one worthy of the title would ever say such a thing.’
It’s still no,’ Joe replied, shaking his head. ‘Besides, Will gave me a job to do before he died.’ He fixed Uncle Percy and Becky with a determined look. ‘And I intend to do that.’
‘And you will resume your quest for the Holy Sword?’ Tuck asked Uncle Percy.
‘I’m not sure yet, Angus,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Will was content for Drake to take it so he must’ve known something we don’t. Either way, it’s the last thing on my mind at the moment.’
Marian embraced Becky. ‘Well, Becky, I bid you a safe journey and pray our paths cross again.’
‘I’d like that,’ Becky said, returning the hug twofold. ‘Will you be okay?’
“Time heals many things,’ Marian replied sadly. ‘But a love lost can never be truly healed, only mourned. Be that as it may, the true offence would’ve been if Will and I never voiced our feelings. So I will always have his words to comfort me in the dark years to come …’
A short while later, Uncle Percy, Becky and Joe returned to Will’s grave one last time. As they stood there, Joe turned to Uncle Percy and said, ‘Uncle Percy, can I ask you something?’
‘Of course, Joe.’
‘What did Will say to you when he was dying? He whispered something to you, what was it?’
‘I can’t tell you that at the moment.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he asked me to show you,’ Uncle Percy replied mysteriously. ‘I believe he thought it might help us deal with the grief. It might even explain in part why he wanted everything to turn out the way it did.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘As you well know, with regards to time travel, whatever we do in the past can have a knock on effect and even instigate change in the future - if the Omega Effect doesn’t occur, that is. This is something he didn’t want to run the risk of changing.’
Becky mulled this over for a moment. ‘But what could be so important he’d rather die than risk changing this ‘something’, whatever it is?’
‘Just take my arm and we’ll see,’ Uncle Percy replied.
Becky and Joe grasped his forearm as he tapped in six digits on his portravella. A moment later, they vanished.
*
As Becky’s eyes adjusted to the new environment, she saw trees surrounded them once more. ‘Are we still in Sherwood Forest?’
‘No,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘So where are we?’
‘Oh, you’ll recognise it soon enough,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Come on.’
They had only advanced a few steps when a familiar building appeared through the branches: Wulvern House.
‘What’re we doing back here?’ Joe asked.
‘Hopefully, we’re here to see someone,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Well … two people actually.’
Staring out at Wulvern House, Becky thought it even lovelier than before. Bordered by great beds overflowing with flowers of every colour, the house had been newly painted and the wide lawns freshly shorn. ‘How far into the future have we come?’
‘Nearly five years from the day of Will’s funeral,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘Okay,’ Becky nodded. ‘So who lives here now?’
‘Marian.’
Becky looked surprised. ‘Marian?’
‘Yes,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘Can we see her?’
‘Let’s just stay out of sight … for today at least,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Now we might have to wait some time, but I’m hoping that –’
‘Look!’ Joe cut in, pointing at the house.
The front door opened. Marian appeared, a large wicker basket crammed with food in her right hand. She was laughing and shouted back to someone to her rear.
At that moment, Becky had the shock of her life. A small boy followed her out, his long wavy brown hair dishevelled and wild. He wielded a fishing pole above his head like a quarterstaff, and thrust it forward as if striking an invisible foe.
‘Joe Shakelock,’ Marian said. ‘You shall break that pole if you are not watchful.’
‘Forgive me, Mama,’ the boy replied, grinning. ‘I just like to fight.’
‘I know,’ Marian smiled, shaking her head. ‘And for that you are truly your father’s son.’
Becky glanced at Joe, who had frozen with astonishment.
Joe Shakelock.
‘You asked me what Will said when he was dying, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘He told me about this. He knew Marian would have his son.’
Becky’s head spiralled. ‘But how … what … when?’
‘The night we stayed at Wulvern House,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Marian and Will stayed up most of the night talking
. Apparently, that wasn’t all they did. They made a child … and many months later, Marian named that child, Joe.’
Joe’s face blushed with pride. It took him a few seconds before he could formulate any words. ‘Let’s go home …’ he said quietly.
Uncle Percy coiled his arm round Joe’s shoulder. ‘Yes, let’s …’
Watching Marian and Joe disappear into the distance, Becky found herself flooded with conflicting emotions – sorrow, joy, grief, and to her surprise hope. Will had made the ultimate sacrifice, but he had done it for a reason – a reason he was convinced warranted paying that price. And she had to believe the same. She had to believe he knew something good was around the corner. Yes, they had lost Excalibur, but the war with Drake was far from over, and it was a war she intended to win.
A war they had to win … for Will’s sake.
But for now Uncle Percy was right. Emerson Drake should be the last thing on their minds. Now was a time to reflect, to rebuild, and do everything they could to support Joe in the difficult months ahead. And she would willingly do that. After all, he was her brother. She would have it no other way.
Epilogue
Name and Shame
John Mellor was certain he currently inhabited a cell in a Russian Gulag camp. He wasn’t exactly sure of where or when, although if pushed he would estimate somewhere between 1936 and 1939. He was also convinced it was a labour camp, not that he was ever let out to work. He would’ve preferred that. At least he might’ve seen another human being, other than his brutish prison guard, Olaf, even if he was forced to wear the iron mask so no one could identify him. Instead, he sat here day in, day out in a concrete dungeon with no bed, no chair, and no windows to give any indication there was even a world outside.
The Associates had been clever this time. They made sure Olaf gave him more food than at his former prisons, not enough to increase his strength or weight, but enough to keep the breath in his lungs. He had also been given an extra layer of clothing and a yak-hair blanket to help combat the minus twenty degree temperatures that were a nightly occurrence. Yes, it was clear someone had been given strict instructions to keep him alive. And that was fine by him, because he had no intention of dying.
As he sat huddled in the corner, his cell door opened and a gigantic Associate filled the doorway, blocking whatever light came from the single bulb in the corridor behind.
‘On your feet!’ the Associate growled. ‘It’s your lucky day, son.’ Striding forward, he kicked Mellor brutally in the ribs.
The kick hurt much more than Mellor would reveal. ‘You call that a kick?’
The Associate kicked him again, harder this time. ‘I can do this all day.’
‘I can take it all day.’
The Associate grasped a handful of Mellor’s long matted hair and wrenched him to his feet. ‘I don’t think so, son. Besides, you’re goin’ on a little holiday. Mister Drake reckons you need a bit of sun.’
‘That’s very kind of him,’ Mellor replied. ‘I fancy a fortnight in the Bahamas –a beach hut, champagne cocktails, swordfish on the barbeque.’
‘I don’t think that’s what Mister Drake’s got in mind,’ the Associate replied. ‘But in a few seconds you can ask him yourself.’ He drew his right cuff to reveal a wrist portravella. Keying in six digits, he grabbed Mellor’s neck. A moment later, the two men were encased in a glittering sphere of crimson light. In a shattering boom, they vanished.
His ears still ringing, John Mellor felt a sudden rise in temperature. Looking round, he knew at once he’d arrived in the atrium of a vast Roman Villa. The high-ceilinged room had frescoed walls, towering marble pillars, a large golden statue of the God, Jupiter, and a lengthy mosaic floor that led to a balcony outside, standing upon which was Emerson Drake.
‘Nice to see you again, John,’ Drake said, extending his arms. ‘And welcome to Ancient Rome.’
Mellor told him precisely what he could do with his welcome.
‘Now, now, that’s hardly polite,’ Drake replied. ‘After some of your recent accommodations, I thought you might appreciate a few hours in this beautiful city, particularly on this momentous night.’
‘Why?’ Mellor replied. ‘D’you plan on killing yourself? I would appreciate that.’
‘Heavens, no. Why would I do that when I’m so close to realising my ambitions? No, today is the 18th July 64AD. Does that date ring any bells?’
‘The Great Fire of Rome?’ Mellor replied dryly.
‘Quite right,’ Drake replied. ‘And it’s literally just started, why don’t you come and take a look? We have excellent seats…’
Mellor didn’t move.
Drake gestured to the Associate. ‘Mister Denton, would you persuade our friend here to come and join me?’
The Associate pulled out a pistol and pressed it against Mellor’s spine, shoving him forward. ‘Come on, son, be a nice boy and do as Mister Drake says.’
Reluctantly, Mellor joined Drake on the balcony.
‘Now just look at that view,’ Drake said, pointing ahead. ‘Isn’t that the most extraordinary sight?’
Mellor didn’t respond immediately. There was no doubt Ancient Rome was one of the most spectacular cities the world had ever seen, but the Great Fire lasted for six days, destroyed seventy per cent of the city and killed thousands of Roman citizens, most from whom were from the poorest sections of the population. ‘If you like watching people burn to death, then I suppose it is.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a killjoy. Seriously, I always find the experience so calming. Actually, this is my sixth time of watching the fire and I always find a different villa to enjoy the show.’ He looked back at the Atrium. ‘I’m particularly fond of this one. It’s the home of the notable politician, Claudius Aelius, and is on Palatine Hill, so we’re really quite close to all the action. Exciting, eh?’
‘You are a sick monster.’
‘Do you think so?’ Drake smiled cruelly. ‘If I am, then I’m a sick monster with an Eden Relic.’
Mellor struggled to hide the shock on his face.
Drake enjoyed the reaction. ‘Yes, I am now in possession of the Sword of Ages – the legendary Excalibur - a particularly important relic if you know the full extent of its powers. But I doubt you will, and I certainly know that fool, Halifax, won’t have a clue what it can do.’ He chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’ve not brought you here to gloat about the sword, I have others news. Tragically, your old friend, Will Shakelock, is now dead … and perhaps more significantly to you and your family, your adopted son knows all about his real daddy. Poor Joe, he really didn’t take it well. Little tyke.’
Enraged, Mellor was about to launch himself at Drake when he heard the harsh click of a gun being cocked.
The Associate levelled the pistol at Mellor’s head. ‘Calm it, son.’
‘What does Joe know?’
‘Everything,’ Drake smirked. ‘Well … nearly everything. There are some things very few people know about. For instance, I’ve been finding out some wonderful tales about you, ones that have led me to the conclusion you and I are not so different after all.’
‘We’re as different as you can get,’ Mellor fired back.
‘Really?’ Drake replied with mock sincerity. ‘And would Edward Timmerson agree with you on that?’
The colour drained from Mellor’s face.
‘Yes, I know all about poor Mister Timmerson,’ Drake replied. ‘What a heart-warming story that is. I wonder how Rebecca will feel when she finds out about him?’ He snorted. ‘Seriously, how can you call me a monster, because if I am - what on earth does that make you?’ Then Drake began to laugh - a laughter that settled on the warm night air, before mingling with the screams of terror rising from the inferno below.
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Links to My Other Books
The Time Hunters
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The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
The Time Hunters and the Spear of Fate
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
Bernard and the Bibble
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
The Night they Nicked Saint Nick
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
CARL ASHMORE
Carl is a children’s writer from Cheshire, England. He has written six books for children: ‘The Time Hunters,’ ‘The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity,’ ‘The Time Hunters and the Spear of Fate,’ ‘The Time Hunters and the Sword of Ages,’ ‘The Night they Nicked Saint Nick,’ and Bernard and the Bibble.’
He is currently working on the fifth and final book in The Time Hunters series.
He can be contacted at [email protected]