Toby shook his head.
‘It’s a universal energy that tracks with time. And each creature has its own little bit of aether just like a fingerprint or footprints in the sand. To most people footprints quickly disappear, but there are a few who can always see the footprint no matter how hard the sea tries to wash it away. And this machine can see that footprint . . . back in time! It looks at real events in the past as if you were actually there. It’s like leaving a paper trail with only your name on it. Wherever you go and whatever you do the aether has recorded it. All you need is a name. Toby, name any piece of history you like . . . anything. Go on!’ said the professor with increasing excitement in his voice. He had regained his colour. It seemed the professor had forgotten about the portly ghost. Toby, on the other hand, had not.
4
The General
The pain in Toby’s arm had gone but the frightening memory had not. Professor Laken was still talking about his Arc Light, and Toby felt upset. It was as if the professor was trying to show off a new toy – and now he was eagerly waiting for Toby to choose some long-forgotten moment in history. Toby didn’t want a history lesson.
‘Okay, how about a little help – Battle of Hastings?’ suggested the professor.
The professor grabbed hold of a handle hanging above his head and twisted it. The screen burst into a kaleidoscope of colours, creeping beyond the silver confines of the Arc Light’s concave mirror and filling the entire room. Toby hung on to the side of the mirror and steadied himself; the sudden movement made him feel dizzy. The colours disappeared and were quickly replaced by greys and blacks and flashes of silver as they formed foggy swirls, filling the attic room to bursting point. Suddenly out of one dark corner a gigantic horse and rider broke through a wall of fog and vaulted over their heads. It landed on the far side of the room, turning on the spot to face an enormous howling, hairy man swinging a double-headed axe. They clashed and the rider screamed and fell off his horse into a bloody mess on the soggy ground. The room erupted with deafening noise – bellows of anger and cries of pain, metal clashing against metal and the terrifying screams of horses. Toby covered his ears; men shouted and hollered, swords and axes clashed, and arrows whizzed overhead. He gawped as a soldier had his arm sliced off not two feet away. Incredibly, the professor grinned. Toby just stared, gobsmacked. He was transfixed by the raging battle as two armies were hell-bent on killing each other. The putrid smells of the brutal battle invaded his nose. He slammed his hand to his face rapidly. They were in the middle of a war and Toby’s shock turned to disgust. It was the deathly stench of a battlefield – Hastings, 1066.
‘It stinks,’ shouted Toby over the deafening noise.
A soldier splatted, face down, into the sodden ground in front of him. Black mud splashed up in a gooey, foul-smelling wave. Toby shielded himself, instinctively covering his face with his arm, waiting for the impact.
Nothing happened.
Toby opened his eyes. The noise and the battlefield had gone. The professor was still grinning.
Toby was dumbstruck. He absent-mindedly patted himself down, checking for wounds and missing limbs. Legs, arms, hands and fingers were all accounted for. Toby was breathing quickly. All his frustrations had been forgotten, which he realised was exactly what the professor had hoped for. Watching the battle as if he was an actual soldier had been exhilarating – scary, but exhilarating.
He laughed. ‘Awesome!’ Toby’s smile ran from ear to ear. ‘Uhm . . . Elizabeth the First,’ he demanded, jumping up and down with excitement.
The professor grinned. He twisted the handle again. The colour of the dark attic merged into something close to a dirty grey colour. Small columns of light stretched down from tiny square windows high above. What little light there was cast eeriness to an already murky looking room. Toby’s eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. Shadowy images emerged from the blackness shifting slowly – people. And they were milling around, quietly muttering to each other. They wore odd clothes, strange clothes from another century. The professor started to walk forward, boldly meandering in and out of groups of sullen-looking people. Toby followed, not wanting to be left behind. No one seemed to notice them.
‘This is the Queen’s court,’ said the professor. The austere silence exaggerated his voice. Toby cringed, expecting someone to say, Shhh!
‘They can’t hear us or see us, Toby. Come on,’ said the professor casually.
He walked past the fierce-looking guards standing at the doors at the end of the hall and straight through the stone wall. Toby stopped just short of the solid looking structure expecting to stub his nose on the cold stone. But before he had time to think where the professor had gone or even how he could possibly walk through a solid wall he was forcibly pulled through by the professor’s rapidly reappearing hand. Toby held his breath but he needn’t have. It was very quick and painless. It felt like a puff of wind – over in a second.
In the adjacent room an old lady sat on an ornately decorated high-backed chair. She wore a grizzled expression behind pasty white make-up. Large pearl earrings hung from her ears. She was whispering to a man who had knelt on one knee and was leaning forward. As she opened her mouth Toby drew in a sudden and very sharp breath. All of her teeth were pitch black. He bravely edged closer, only to recoil in disgust. The smell reminded Toby of when he had fallen face first in pig muck five years ago. He wanted to be sick.
‘That’s disgusting,’ said Toby, squeezing his nose so tight it hurt.
‘That is Queen Elizabeth the First, young Toby, albeit as an elderly queen. Personal hygiene was not a priority in those days. She never did look after her teeth – far too much sugar. She was warned,’ said the professor wistfully.
‘That’s gross,’ muttered Toby. He had stopped squeezing his nose and shoved his sleeve up his nostrils instead. He stared back at the queen and saw the man turn his head. It was as if he was looking straight at Toby, and for a fleeting moment he thought he recognised him.
The queen and her advisor faded into darkness. Toby and the professor were back in the dimly lit attic room. The professor was still holding on to the handle.
‘You can let go of your nose now, Toby,’ said the professor.
‘That was so cool! Disgusting, but cool,’ he said, screwing his face up in a mixture of delight and revulsion. ‘Were we really there?’ said Toby, excited almost beyond words.
‘Absolutely. You can hear, see and smell but you cannot touch or talk to anyone in the past. We have tried but it’s impossible. If they are aware of anything at all it will be like a very light breeze. Maybe they think we are a spirit, who knows? We have tried to make a connection of sorts before but nothing happens. I now believe we can only observe . . . it really does seem you can’t change history once it’s happened,’ said the professor, sounding disappointed. It didn’t last. He continued excitedly. ‘And that was the past – now for the present. Here’s London as it is today. Normal, busy . . . and completely oblivious to what’s really going on,’ said the professor, moving the handle to one side.
This time the images flickered to life on the concave mirror. The room around them remained dark. Toby and the professor were distant observers watching from the attic as if it was a very large TV screen.
‘Professor, where’s the London Eye?’
The large Ferris wheel that sat on the south bank of the Thames had disappeared. There was just a space filled with small wooden rowing boats. It was as if it had never been built. The professor didn’t answer. He guided the Arc Light along the same route that Toby had flown the night before. The professor had either not heard his question or wasn’t keen to answer. Whitehall, the road that connected Trafalgar Square with the Houses of Parliament, looked different too. Toby stared hard, rubbing his eyes and not really understanding what he saw. And then it clicked.
‘That’s horses and carriages down there. Is there a parade on?’ asked Toby, feeling very unsure.
‘Not exactly. Do you remember
our conversation when you realised you could fly?’
They both smiled at the memory. Charlie had laughed hysterically to the point of uselessness after watching Toby fly straight into a large tree on his first flight. Toby had not known who to talk to. The professor had sat Toby down and placed a cold pad to the bump on his head. Toby’s story would have invited laughter and accusations of childhood fantasy from most adults but not from the professor. He had listened to Toby, absorbing every detail as if it was the most normal thing to have happened, like falling off a pushbike or peeling the skin off the top of hot rice pudding. Somehow the professor hadn’t appeared surprised. It was as if he had been expecting it.
‘It takes an open heart to hear and absorb something that is out of the ordinary. This,’ said the professor, pointing at the image on the Arc Light, ‘is a little like your flying. Think a little more laterally. Do you understand what I’m asking?’ Toby shook his head. ‘Okay,’ said the professor thoughtfully. ‘What you are looking at is London, but this is not a parade, Toby. This is how people live . . . at least in this London.’
‘This is Victorian London?’
‘Well . . . I can understand why you would say that, given what we have just looked at, but no. We already know this apparatus has a time element, but this is not linear history, this is not last year or ten years ago or two centuries ago,’ said the professor. ‘Have you heard of parallel universes?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Toby matter-of-factly, ‘read about them in loads of books. A world in a mirror image, more or less. You can see it but you can’t interfere. It’s like the opposite of you. Is that what this is?’
‘Yes,’ said the professor, scratching his head. ‘Are you okay with that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Toby brightly.
‘You wouldn’t believe the problems I have had explaining this to other people,’ said the professor absent-mindedly.
‘That’s because they’re adults. I’m a child. How?’ asked Toby suddenly. ‘I mean, how can you see?’
‘See this world, you mean?’
‘Yeah, is this HD and where do you get the power from? There’s no plug.’
‘Oh!’ said the professor in surprise. ‘I really didn’t expect that as a first question.’
‘I’m a—’
‘Child, yes I know. I didn’t take that into account. Sorry, Toby, I spend far too much time around adults.’ The professor laughed. Toby looked at the professor waiting for an answer.
‘Gold,’ said the professor finally.
‘Gold?’ said Toby, half laughing.
‘It’s powered by gold, but not any old kind of gold. You couldn’t rob the Bank of England and place one of their bars in this expecting it to work, certainly not! This is gold with amazing properties . . . it’s Cornish pixie gold, probably one of the most magical substances known to this world and, unfortunately, very rare. So rare in fact I’ve almost run out of the stuff, more’s the pity,’ sighed the professor.
‘So why don’t you talk to the Cornish pixies and get some more?’ asked Toby reasonably.
‘That is a very good question. Unfortunately, they don’t have any more of that gold. It was stolen many years ago. And I am down to my last few grains. Enough to drive this Arc Light one more time, and then . . .’ the professor shrugged his shoulders in resignation. ‘If only—’
‘Who stole it?’ interrupted Toby.
‘That’s also a very good question – I believe it was pirates. Now that would make a very interesting story after the brandy; if you like brandy, of course,’ he said, cracking a grin at Toby.
‘So if the pirates took it why don’t the Cornish pixies get it back? Then you could have more goes with this.’
The professor chuckled patiently. ‘Ah, that’s a fine question too. I believe the pirate ship sank in a battle with the Royal Navy, along with its captain. Alas, no one knows where the gold is now.’
The professor was left with a forlorn look on his face. One could be forgiven for thinking he was mourning the loss of his favourite puppy. All Toby could think about was – what if the gold could be found?
The meeting room he had seen the previous night appeared on the Arc Light screen and Toby forgot about the gold – he recognised it immediately. He nervously took one step back into the shadows of the attic. His back itched where the feathers had been ripped out. The professor seemed to notice Toby’s apprehension.
‘This is still the parallel universe, so it’s the same room but different – and this is happening now, remember. Parallel universes are not about looking back in time. This is the second function of the Arc Light,’ said the professor.
The image on the Arc Light zoomed in on the windows directly behind a large stone balcony at Admiralty Arch, and it refocused to show the interior. Toby shivered. He was still standing back from the Arc Light, but the shadows of the attic room gave him little comfort.
The room was identical in every detail. Had the professor not told him otherwise Toby would have thought he was looking at a recording of last night’s meeting. There were many people around a large solid table. They seemed to be in the middle of a very heated discussion, just like last night. Heads bobbed up and down like jack-in-the-boxes as fists were thrust into the air angrily. It was all uncomfortably familiar.
A silvery glint flickered in the corner of Toby’s eye.
Toby instinctively looked to the far end of the table. He froze instantly. Fear gripped him again like an ice-cold hand squeezing his heart tightly. His eyes were wide open with expectation. He tried to say something but the words did not come – they wouldn’t. It was as if something was stopping Toby from talking. He had stopped breathing. His mouth gaped and closed like a fish out of water. Instinctively his body commanded him to breathe; he took a sharp and very loud breath. Two short words shot out of his mouth like a pebble from a slingshot.
‘That’s him!’ he squeaked, feeling utterly shaken.
‘It’s okay, Toby, no one can see us,’ said the professor reassuringly.
The portly ghost from last night’s meeting emerged from behind a tall wooden chair, its medals glistening ghostly silver. It locked its fiery eyes on to Toby.
‘It’s him,’ stuttered the professor. His mouth gaped just like Toby’s.
His words were so hoarse and quiet it sounded like he had no air left in his lungs. The professor looked at the ghost and then to Toby. He wiped a creeping bead of sweat from his brow and watched in shock.
‘Toby, walk around the table,’ he commanded. Toby responded almost automatically, continuing to stare at the ghost’s dreadfully mesmeric eyes. The ghost drifted off the floor and started to float along behind the seated attendees at the meeting table, pulling on the backs of the chairs. His eyes followed Toby’s every step. It floated towards the large balcony window, staring out into Trafalgar Square and back through the Arc Light.
‘Oh, my, that’s not possible,’ said a stunned Professor Laken. He twisted the handle clumsily. London disappeared in a blur. The Arc Light went dark and all light was lost in the room. Toby continued to stare as if the ghost was reaching through into the attic room, as the professor rustled with something. A shaft of sunlight rapidly illuminated the now blank face of the Arc Light.
‘Toby?’ said the professor in a shaking voice. Toby did not answer. The professor took a deep breath. He walked around the Arc Light and placed a comforting hand on Toby’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go downstairs and grab a cup of tea.’
Toby sipped at the tea absent-mindedly. It was scalding hot, but he didn’t notice. His mind spun in knots driven by fear and shock – so many questions. They churned around his head in one large gooey mess like a ball of grass in the mouth of a large bullophant. He had said nothing since leaving the attic room. He didn’t understand why the portly ghost wanted him, wanted to hurt him. He was only thirteen years old. He had done nothing, in fact the worst thing he had ever done was let off a stink bomb in the girl’s school toilets.
Robert
, the butler, had been roaming around the house gathering possessions and filling cases. The professor sat opposite Toby. His head was full of questions too. Professor Laken knew the ghost as the general – an old adversary from centuries ago. He had been certain Toby’s mystery assailant from Trafalgar Square had been part of Merlin’s prophecy but, having seen the identity of the ghost, he was now uncertain. He didn’t know what to say, should say, to Toby.
‘What does it mean?’ asked a trembling Toby.
The professor believed the ghost was interested in him, not Toby, which meant he was in grave danger. If Toby remained with the professor, then Toby was in danger too. Robert continued to pack bags. The professor was leaving, which meant there was only one option for Toby.
‘You need to see Charlie, now. She will shed some light on this . . . far more than I can.’ The professor swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, Toby, it’s the best thing . . . you’ll understand in time.’ The professor pointed to a ghostly letter that shimmered on the mantelpiece. ‘I do not have your skill to handle such things.’ The professor swiped his hand straight through the letter as if it was a three-D image from a projector. ‘Please deliver it,’ said the professor clumsily.
The letter hovered in perfect balance just above the sideboard giving off a ghostly, silver light. Toby could see the name: Charlie Turpin. He did the very thing the professor couldn’t do and picked it up, angrily shoving it in his pocket. Toby had spent enough time around adults to realise the professor was not telling him everything.
It was the professor who showed me the Arc Light. It was the professor’s fault the portly ghost saw me. And he’s refusing to tell me anything. Toby’s thoughts spun with accusations.
Toby Fisher and the Arc Light Page 3