Time-Travel Bath Bomb

by Jo Nesbo

  She whispered it so softly that the professor, Nilly and Joan didn’t hear it. But Raspa must have heard it, because she leaned over to Lisa and her desert voice blew right by Lisa’s ear:

  “Maybe so, Lisa. Maybe so. But there’s still one thing that can save her.”

  “Death,” Lisa whispered. “You said that a person who was willing to die could change history.”

  “Correct.”

  “Doctor Proctor,” Lisa said slowly. “He said that he would rather die than lose her.”

  “He did,” Raspa replied. “But it would have to happen before Juliette dies herself.”

  Lisa bit her lower lip. Juliette’s dress had caught fire. Doctor Proctor sank to his knees, sobbing.

  “Elementary!” Lisa suddenly exclaimed. “Nilly, do you still have the fartonaut powder?”

  But Nilly didn’t hear her. He was staring at the bonfire, mesmerised. Lisa stuck her hands down into both pockets of his uniform and pulled out a little plastic sack.

  “Is that more time soap bath bomb?” Raspa asked.

  “No,” Lisa said. “This is an even bigger invention. One of Doctor Proctor’s.” Then she tipped her head back, opened her mouth wide, and poured in a good mouthful of the light-blue fartonaut powder.

  “What are you doing?” Raspa asked.

  “Changing history,” Lisa said. “Eight! Tell Doctor Proctor that he should get ready to go and take Juliette’s place. Seven!”

  “What?”

  “Six! Five!”

  Nilly, Joan and the professor turned towards Lisa and Raspa.

  “Nilly and Joan,” Lisa yelled, bending over and aiming her bottom at the bonfire. “Hold on to me tight! Four! Three!”

  Nilly understood what his best friend meant right away. As Raspa whispered something in Doctor Proctor’s ear, Nilly darted over, grabbed Lisa by one arm and waved to Joan to grab the other.

  “Two! One! Zer—”

  The noise was so loud that Nilly’s ears curled up in gleeful pain, Doctor Proctor felt his skull crunch and Raspa’s eyelashes flew off. The flagpoles in the square bent, people toppled over and the priests did somersaults with their robes and adornments flapping around their necks. When they finally recovered their senses, they coughed and blinked their burning, watering eyes, but couldn’t see anything. Because the bonfire and all the torches had been blown out and the smoke lay thick over the marketplace in the night-time darkness.

  “Nilly!” Lisa yelled in the darkness, coughing.

  “Joan!” Nilly yelled in the darkness, coughing.

  “Doctor Proctor!” Joan yelled in the darkness, coughing.

  But there was no response from Doctor Proctor. Instead they heard voices from the square shouting:

  “Light the bonfire again!”

  Nilly’s hand found another hand.

  “Is that you, Lisa?” he yelled. “Talk to me, Lisa!”

  A voice very close to his ear whispered, “So girls can’t fart, huh? You owe me a ton of sticky caramels.”

  “Lisa!”

  “Come on, let’s find Joan.”

  They fumbled around in the smoke and darkness until Nilly’s hands touched a head that suddenly pulled away from him.

  “You’re messing up my hair!” a voice complained.

  “Joan!” Lisa said. “Let’s hold hands so we don’t lose each other.”

  But that turned out not to be necessary because the smoke had already started to clear up and they could see the first torches in the square being lit again. And hear voices yelling: “There were some strange people over there and one of them fired off a cannon from their backside. I saw it!”

  “Witches and wizards! Get them.”

  “Get them into the bonfire with that other witch!”

  “I think it’s about time for us to be going,” Nilly said.

  “But . . . what about Juliette?” Joan asked.

  “And Raspa,” Lisa said. “Raspa?”

  “Look!” Nilly said, pointing. “Someone’s coming.”

  And sure enough two silhouettes shrouded in smoke came scurrying towards them. One was supporting the other, and they didn’t look like priests, bishops or prison guards.

  “Run, kids, run!” It was Juliette’s voice. “They’re right behind us. Back to the cell!”

  And so they ran. And as they ran, they heard an unpleasant and now very familiar sound behind them. The crackling sound of firewood burning, the roar of flames devouring wood, the whistle of wind whirling towards the witch’s pyre.

  “Don’t look back, kids!” Juliette shouted.

  They did as she said. They didn’t look back, just ran. Ran and tried not to think about what was happening to Doctor Proctor on the fire behind them. Ran into the courtyard, through the open door, which they then closed and locked behind them, down the spiral staircase, back down the corridors they’d come through before and, finally, back into the dark prison cell. Lisa held the door open until the last two were in and then she pushed it shut again.

  The light from the fire was flickering through the window slit high up on the wall above them.

  “Terrible . . .” Joan whispered.

  “I have to look!” Nilly said, clutching on to the tall, skinny, soot-blackened form who had entered the room with Juliette. The form positioned itself against the wall and Nilly clambered up onto its shoulders. It wasn’t hard to spot. The flames lit up her face . . . Wait! Her? That . . . but that was . . .

  Nilly stared in confusion first at the woman on the bonfire, then down at the person whose shoulders he was standing on.

  “Doctor Proctor?” Nilly gasped.

  “Yes, indeed.” The professor sighed.

  “But . . . but . . .”

  “Raspa had just finished helping me untie Juliette in all the smoke and confusion,” the professor said. “I was about to tie myself to the stake when everything went black. After that I’m really not sure what happened.”

  “But I am,” Juliette said. “Raspa knocked Victor out with her wooden leg. I have no idea why. I leaned down over Victor and just barely managed to get him to come to and when I looked up again, Raspa had disappeared in all the smoke. I got Victor back onto his feet and realised I was going to have to drag him back to the prison cell where my bath was so that we could get out of here. And then I spotted you, my dear children . . . You have no idea how relieved I was!”

  “Us too,” Lisa said. “What do you see out there, Nilly?”

  Nilly was staring out through the bars. The flames were now engulfing Raspa’s trench coat and wooden leg and her face was glowing red and gold. Nilly wasn’t sure, but it actually looked like she was smiling as she stood there, flashing those sharp teeth of hers. And she was shouting something. It was hard to hear over the roar of the flames, but it sounded like . . . like: “Give me an L!”

  Nilly shouted as loud as he could through the bars, “L!”

  Like an echo from far away came, “Give me an I!”

  “I!”

  But then the fire drowned out the rest, and Raspa was engulfed in flames that stretched up and spluttered sparks like shooting stars into the velvety black, strangely beautiful night sky.

  Nilly waited a little longer. Then he slid down from the professor’s shoulders.

  “We don’t need to wait for Raspa,” he said, sounding unusually subdued for Nilly.

  “What?” Joan and Juliette asked.

  But Doctor Proctor and Lisa didn’t say anything. The professor looked at Nilly for a long time. Then he nodded slowly at the bath. “Come on, everyone. We have to get out of here before the bubbles are gone.”

  “Look,” Lisa said, pointing down at the dirt floor.

  It was Raspa’s jar of time soap bath bomb.

  “Hm,” Doctor Proctor said, holding up the jar. “This means we have enough powder to take a little holiday. I think we need one. What do you all say to a couple days on a sunny Caribbean island, long before it was discovered by the tourist industry?”

 
WHEN THE TWO prison guards pulled open the door to the cell, all they saw was an empty room with three baths in it.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the taller of the two said. Under his helmet he was sporting an unbelievably stupid-looking bowl haircut and on his upper lip he wore a large handlebar moustache.

  “Yes, what is the meaning of this?” the other one said. Under his helmet he had an inconceivably stupid-looking bowl haircut and on his upper lip there wasn’t so much as a wisp of hair and no moustache at all.

  “Hm,” Handlebar said. “There was only one bath in here earlier when we came to get Joan of Arc, not three.”

  “You’re right,” No-Moustache said.

  “Well,” Handlebar said. “It looks like we’re never going to find whoever fired that cannon. Come on.”

  “Hm,” said No-Moustache, who was staring at the wall where something had obviously caught his attention.

  “What is it?” Handlebar asked, coming over to see.

  “This drawing here,” No-Moustache said. “That is a really great-looking moustache. I’ve never seen a moustache like that before, sort of hanging down on the sides like that. I think maybe I’ll try to grow—”

  “Come on,” Handlebar said, pulling No-Moustache out of the cell.

  India

  AZURE BLUE WAVES broke on the white beach where Lisa lay on her back with her eyes closed. Every once in a while she would glance up, and when she did she saw a palm tree silhouetted against a cloudless sky. The palm tree was growing at an angle, leaning out towards the ocean as if it wished it were out there swimming along with Juliette, Doctor Proctor and Joan, who were splashing around in the waves and laughing happily as if nothing had happened. Lisa wished she could join them. But when she thought about Raspa, she just couldn’t.

  Something blocked out the sun and she opened her eyes. A concerned face with enormous freckles was peering down at her.

  “You look concerned,” Lisa said.

  “Because you seem so preoccupied,” Nilly said. “This is supposed to be a holiday. No thinking allowed!”

  He was balancing on the sloping trunk of the palm tree, lying on his stomach right over her.

  “Do you know why Raspa tied herself to the stake?” Lisa asked.

  “Because only death can change history,” Nilly said, squinting one eye shut and bending one arm behind his back in a vain attempt to scratch himself between his shoulder blades.

  “Yeah, but do you know why she didn’t let Doctor Proctor sacrifice his life? Why she took his place?”

  “Elementary,” Nilly said, trying to scratch himself with his other arm in case maybe it was a little longer. “She loved him.”

  “You knew?” Lisa asked, amazed.

  “Of course. You can always spot love a long way off,” Nilly said, wiggling around, sort of like he was trying to roll over onto his back without falling off the tree trunk. “In the end even Raspa managed to see that Doctor Proctor was head-over-heels in love with Juliette. And when she saw Juliette on the bonfire, Raspa knew that the only way she could make the man she loved happy, was to let him have the woman he loved. So she made sure that those two could be together. She sacrificed herself for love, you could say. Just not her own love.”

  Lisa was touched. “Why, Nilly! And here I was thinking that you boys didn’t understand things like this.”

  “Of course we do,” said Nilly, finally successfully lying on his back. He now started pushing himself up and down, scratching his back against the tree trunk.

  “Oh, Nilly . . .” Lisa whispered, with a tear in the corner of her eye. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Yes, it really is,” Nilly said, a look of pleasure spreading over his face as he finally succeeded in scratching his itch. “Although things would be nicer here if they served breakfast. A restaurant with a little eggs and bacon would be just the thing. And I didn’t think girls could fart!”

  “Nilly!” Lisa scolded. “I meant it was wonderful what Raspa did! She didn’t have any friends . . . I feel so . . . so . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “Sorry for her.”

  “I agree,” Nilly said, sticking his finger in his ear and scratching a little in there too, now that he’d started scratching itches. “But you agree that it would be nice to have a little something to eat besides bananas and coconuts that we have to pick ourselves, don’t you?”

  Lisa didn’t respond. She just rolled over onto her stomach and stared at the ocean. They’d been here for three days, and it had been great, but Nilly was right. Out on the horizon a layer of blue-grey clouds had rolled in. Doctor Proctor’s skinny, and still just as pale, body came wading back in as he emptied the water out of his motorcycle goggles.

  He flopped down on the sand next to them.

  “Well, my two best friends,” he said. “Everything okay over here?”

  They nodded quietly.

  “A little homesick, huh?”

  They nodded quietly.

  “Me too,” Doctor Proctor said. “So, did you find any restaurants, Nilly?”

  “Nope,” Nilly said. “I walked around this whole island, but all I found was a couple of guys who’d just pulled ashore in a rowing boat and asked where they were.”

  “Oh? Who were they?”

  “I don’t know. Their English was even worse than mine, but I got that one of their names was Christopher Co . . . Co . . . What’s the name of that detective on TV again?”

  “Columbo?” Lisa suggested.

  “That’s it!” Nilly said. “Or something like that. Anyway, I was kidding around with him and I told him this was India. And actually, come to think of it, it seemed like he believed me. At any rate, they jumped back into their rowing boat and rowed super-fast back to a sailing boat that’s anchored off shore.”

  “Hm.” Doctor Proctor stood up and glanced over at the three baths that were half-buried in the sand under some palm trees. “I think it’s about time to get you two back home to Cannon Avenue before it gets crowded here.”

  “What do you mean, you two?” Nilly said. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “Juliette and I have to go to Paris and settle things with Claude Cliché.”

  “Without us?” Lisa and Nilly chimed in unison.

  “Yes,” Doctor Proctor said decisively. “I’ve exposed you kids to enough danger as it is. I’m a completely irresponsible adult. Didn’t you know that?”

  “We’re quite aware of that,” Lisa said. “But you forgot one thing.”

  “Right,” Nilly said.

  “We’re a team,” Lisa said.

  “There you have it,” Nilly said. “We’re a team. And we don’t care if everyone else thinks we’re a team of pathetic losers. Because we know something they don’t know. We know . . . we know . . . uh . . .”

  “We know,” Lisa took over, “that when friends promise to never stop helping each other, one plus one plus one is much more than three.”

  Proctor looked at them for a long time. “That was very well put, almost the way I would have said it myself. But—”

  “No buts about it!” Nilly said. “It was you who said it, and you know, that we know, that you know, that there isn’t anything you can do, to get us not to help you with Claude Cliché.”

  The professor had to repeat Nilly’s sentence silently to himself a couple of times before he understood what Nilly meant. Then he stared at one of them and then the other, looking defeated. Finally he sighed with resignation. “You really are a couple of stubborn friends.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Nilly asked. “I’m packed and ready. Lisa?”

  Lisa nodded.

  “Professor?”

  Doctor Proctor nodded.

  Nilly sat up on the trunk of the palm tree, balancing carefully and straddling it with his legs. Then he thumped his chest and shouted, “Claude Cliché, here comes the Nillinator!”

  The Nillinator

  NILLY CAUTIOUSLY STOOD up in the bath and looked around. What in the greenest g
arden? There was no doubt that they were back in the bathroom at the Frainche-Fraille. There was the bath, there was the shelf under the mirror, and there was the toothbrush glass with Perry, the seven-legged Peruvian sucking spider. But that awful sound . . .

  “What in the demonic demolition?” whispered Lisa, who had just stood up in the other bath.

  “There are enough vibrations in here for twenty jackhammers,” said a dripping wet Doctor Proctor.

  “It’s coming from out there,” said Joan, who was already standing over by the door and about to open it as Juliette hissed, “Wait! I know what that is.”

  The others looked at her.

  “That’s the sound of hippos snoring.”

  “Hippos!”

  “Yes,” Juliette said. “But it’s worse than that. Those are the snores of a guy I know much too well.”

  “Oh no,” whispered Doctor Proctor.

  “Claude,” whispered Lisa, even more softly.

  “Cliché,” whispered Nilly so softly that no one other than him could hear it over the snoring. He darted over to the door, stretched up onto his tiptoes and peered through the keyhole.

  “What do you see?” Proctor asked.

  “One . . . two . . . three guys,” Nilly said. “They’re all sleeping sitting up in chairs. The one next to the radiator has a thin moustache, fat braces with industrial strength clips and looks slipperier than an eel in a bucket of slime.”

  “That would be Claude Cliché,” Doctor Proctor whispered. “What about the other two?”

  “They look like . . . well, this might sound a little crazy, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say . . . wait for it . . .” Nilly turned to the others. “Hippopotamuses!”

  But strangely enough, it didn’t seem like anyone else was surprised by this information. Disappointed at how blasé his audience was, Nilly turned back to the keyhole.

  “One is sitting by the window and one has his chair tilted back, propped up against the door to the hallway. In other words, it would be impossible to sneak out without him noticing. And while we’re on the topic of bad news, the two hippos each have shotguns in their laps.”

  Juliette groaned. “They’re just waiting for us to come back. And then . . . then . . .”