CHAPTER THIRTY–THREE – CLOCK
Redfeld’s finger squeezed the trigger. Tom shut his eyes again, knowing that the Custodian would not help him – not this time. It was all over.
“Click!” the Luger’s chamber was empty.
Tom opened one eye and squinted at Redfeld, to find that the officer was ejecting the spent magazine and reaching into a pocket, pulling out another. In a few brief moments, he would have reloaded. It was now or never.
Both eyes now open, Tom reached out for the Flow of Time and as before he felt a barrier: Redfeld’s barrier, cutting him off from the timeline. At first glance it was as strong as diamond and unyielding as steel. But now Tom knew it was all an illusion. The clock – his grandparent’s clock – and Tom’s link to the Flow of Time were out there. He just had to push past Redfeld’s barrier, the barrier that was keeping Tom from his parents, from his sister and from his friends.
Suddenly, Tom felt angry at being duped by this evil man’s trickery. He stared at Redfeld with contempt, his anger rising alongside the hope that all would be fine soon. The anger and the hope were so intense that it gave Tom belief – and belief was all he needed. There in his mind he could see the clock and feel it ticking and counting the moments that lay beyond Redfeld’s illusion: moments of Tom’s life that Redfeld had tried to deny him. And now, the anger and the hope swelled into an outburst of emotion.
“Redfeld – you are a complete psycho, you know that, don’t you?” Tom said, as he heard the click of the magazine sliding into the stock of the pistol. “And what is more, you really are a total loser!”
“We shall see who the loser is,” Redfeld said and with a clunk–click he cocked the weapon and levelled the pistol again.
And Tom shattered the clock.
He pushed through the barriers that Redfeld had created, powerful barriers – but still an illusion – and in his mind he made the clock burst asunder, showering metal cogs, wooden splinters and springs, everywhere. A moment later he envisaged a hole and through the hole, another Tintagel.
Then the hole became real and visible and he and Redfeld could see through it to the sun burning high in the sky above another sea. Here, in Tom’s reality, the ruins of a castle were preserved, but there, in that other reality, stood a guard tower. Flying above the guardhouse was a flag bearing that strange thunderbolt symbol so like the Nazi’s Swastika of the war years in Tom’s world. They were looking at the Twisted Reality. Another world: the same but different, for in Redfeld’s world, history had taken another path. Tom had been there and knew its horrors and now he felt a chill just looking at it. Dark, terrifying and so very real: Tom’s world as it might have been; as Redfeld would make it.
Tom flinched as he felt a tension building around him as though something was about to explode. He glanced at Redfeld; the man’s expression was one of stark horror. Then, with a great whoosh, the tension released like a coiled snake lunging forward in its fury, or an elastic band snapping back into place. Like water gushing through a hole in a dam or air rushing out of a balloon, the forces of time rushed to equalise once more and Redfeld felt it.
“What have you done, boy!” he shouted, panic rising in his voice. He swung his gun round to fire at Tom, but the pull from the other reality yanked it out of his hand and it spiralled away through the tear in the sky and was gone. It belonged to the other reality and that is where it went.
The massive drag of temporal energies shattered Mary’s barrier and knocked her, Charlie and Edward to the ground. Redfeld’s guards screamed in terror as they were lifted high into the air and went spinning like circus performers, head over heels, through the rift.
Tom watched them go and then felt Redfeld’s hand close, vice–like, on his wrist. Redfeld was being dragged toward the rift, but he did not intend to go alone. He was pulling Tom with him towards the Twisted Reality! Tom struggled, but Redfeld was holding firm and the officer had a nasty smile on his face.
“You will come with me, boy. We know how to treat enemies like you!”
“Let me go, Redfeld. I won’t come with you!” Tom yelled, but now he was the one to panic: he could not get free. Redfeld was defeated, but Tom was going with him. Tom had saved his world – but it was going to cost him.
Whatever the cost ... again he heard his father’s voice and sighing, he realised that the cost of saving his family and his world was going to be his life.
Then, suddenly, a swift movement came out of the corner of Tom’s vision. It was Septimus, staggering along and swinging his fist. With a crunch that sent one of Redfeld’s teeth flying through the rift, he hit Redfeld’s jaw and the officer let go of Tom. For an instant Redfeld hung in the air – suspended in the void between realities – and his eyes met Tom’s. Tom saw in them not hate, arrogance or evil but, finally and for the first time, true fear.
“Noooooooooooooo!” screamed Captain Redfeld, and then he was spinning, dragged by an unstoppable force as he spiralled through the rift and disappeared.
The rift was still open and now Tom and Septimus could feel the pull dragging them toward it. They clawed at the ground. Then with panic Tom felt himself being lifted up.
“CLOSE!” boomed a commanding voice. Tom turned his head and saw Professor Neoptolemas leaning on a boulder looking pale and weak, but still mustering enough strength to yell a second time, “CLOSE!”
Tom felt the pull from the rift reduce and he was able to grab hold of a rock and hold on to it. With the other hand he reached out and held onto Septimus. A moment later the force lessened further and he could stand with barely any effort.
“CLOSE!” came the command a final time and with a boom the rift closed.
“It is over,” Neoptolemas said, crumpling to sit on the boulder, exhausted. Tom staggered over and collapsed nearby, as did Septimus, blood still tricking between his fingers from a wound in his chest that he was holding. “Thanks, boyo,” he gasped.
Weakly, Tom grinned, “No, thank you! I thought I was a goner.”
The others came and joined them. For a long time there was a relieved silence as they each took stock of their wounds. Charlie and Edward were both cut and severely bruised; Mary, deathly pale from the effort of holding the barrier, was otherwise unhurt. Only Septimus’ and the Professor’ wounds looked serious.
“What just happened?” asked Charlie.
Tom explained what had happened in the last fight – about the Custodian’s visit, shattering the clock and sending Redfeld back to his reality.
“But then, I felt that Septimus and I would be dragged in as well. I didn’t know how to close it. The Professor did that,” Tom said, looking over at Neoptolemas and asking, “How did you do it, sir? You just yelled, ‘close’ and it closed.”
The old man smiled and Tom thought he actually winked.
“There are some reasons I am a professor, as I’ve told you before, young man. But that is a tale for another day perhaps, Thomas. At this moment, I am really quite tired. Let us just say for now that I have experience of such things and protecting this reality is my job,” the Professor said weakly.
Tom nodded whilst at the same time thinking that it was a bit like what the Custodian had said. So, were they brothers? Tom guessed so: brothers who seemed to feel that saving the world was their job. What then of Colonel Thielmann in the Twisted Reality? Did he feel the same way and could it really be a coincidence that three men so motivated and talented, who looked identical, existed in the three realities? Tom wanted to ask the Professor, but guessed this was also a question for yet another day.
For a long while no one spoke then Septimus said, “I knew we would win!”
That was followed by silence for a moment as they all resisted the urge to ask the question that eventually Lieutenant Dyson asked.
“How did you know, Septimus?”
Forgetting his wound, Septimus swept his arm dramatically around and winced, grinning through his pain. “This place was Camelot: Arthur’s castle. The Welsh were bound to win.”
“But the rest of us are English, Septimus; you’re the only Welshman,” Tom pointed out.
“That doesn’t matter. One Welshman is a match for half a dozen Redfelds. Because, you do realise don’t you, boyo, that the big loon has absolutely no idea how to play rugby!” They all stared at him, then, out of relief to be alive, they all laughed.
“Well, thanks to everyone for helping,” said Tom as the laughter died away. “If my family are ok – and I think they are – I have you all to thank for it.” He dragged himself to his feet meaning to add something more, but then he looked at everyone. They all needed Doctor Makepeace: Mary, Edward and Charlie looked all done in; Neoptolemas was almost asleep and Septimus was still bleeding. So much for the speech, Tom thought. Save it for later.
“Right then, back to the Institute I reckon,” Tom finally said. Septimus nodded and the others all grunted their agreement. Automatically, Tom reached out for the Flow of Time. Suddenly he realised that it was not there and he could not feel it anywhere! In his mind, following the Custodian's instructions, he had shattered the image of the clock that his grandfather owned; the clock that controlled his link to the Flow of Time and the means he used to travel in time.
With horror he realised that now, no matter how much he tried, he was just not able to visualise it anymore.
Tomorrow's Guardian Page 34