The Time Hunters (Book 1 of the acclaimed series for children of all ages) (10 page)

Chapter 13

The
Omega Effect

Uncle Percy exhaled slowly. ‘Becky, please sit down.’

Impatiently, Becky sat, her feet tapping the floor.
She didn’t understand. Why wasn’t he as excited as her?

Uncle Percy rolled up the parchment slowly. ‘What
I’m about to say will be difficult to
hear.
’ His eyes
found hers.
 
‘But I
did
travel back to try and save your
father…I did try to stop his boat setting out to sea. It didn’t work. Nothing
worked. No matter what I did, no matter how far I went back, your father set
sail, a storm set in and he never came back.’

Becky’s face dropped. A dull silence cloaked the
room.

Uncle Percy continued, his face growing wearier with
each word. ‘You see, what happened every time I tried to change the events of
that day is
the
single most
inexplicable occurrence in time travel. Furthermore, I have no answers that
will make this any easier for you. All I can say is that sometimes things can
be altered, and sometimes they can’t.’

‘You tried to save him?’ Becky whispered.

Uncle Percy nodded miserably.
‘Many
times.
I thought the world of your father, and ever since your
grandfather died, I felt a paternal responsibility for him. Yes, we had our
disagreements, but I never once stopped loving him. So when I was informed of
the boat accident, the first thing I did was travel back in the hope of
preventing it. But I failed …’

Becky’s bottom lip started to quiver.

‘So I kept travelling back to different points in
that day to see if that made any difference. It didn’t. I even sent Bernard
Preston to try. He failed too. No matter what I did, I could not change the
outcome.’ He sounded defeated. ‘Some would argue it was
fate
, that
he was
meant
to take that boat trip. All I
know is, again and again, I travelled back to stop him but
the Omega Effect
prevented it.’

‘The what?’

‘The Omega Effect.
It’s what travellers call a very common phenomenon in time exploration - essentially,
where events can’t be changed, even with a traveller’s interference. To put it
simply, fate insists some things happen and others do not. It’s a very strange
feeling when it occurs, like you’re there but not there. It’s quite bizarre and
really does suggest that fate has a most inflexible design.’

‘B-but -’ Becky spluttered, ‘you saved Will, and
Maria, and Jacob. You saved
their
lives? Why couldn’t you just -’

‘- But I didn’t have to travel back in time
specifically to help them,’ Uncle Percy said softly. ‘They hadn’t died. I just
happened to be there to assist. It was luck more than intention.’ He heaved
another sigh. ‘I know this must be soul-destroying for you. I’m afraid, for
some reason, your father was destined to go on that journey and not return. And
there is nothing that I, or any traveller, can do to prevent it. I am sorry.
I’m truly sorry.’

A tear spilled down Becky’s cheek. Uncle Percy stood
up and held her tightly.

Joe entered the room.
 
‘What’re you blartin’ for, Becky?’

Uncle Percy released her.

Becky mopped her eyes and gave a weak smile.

‘Joe,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘You really do have the
sensitivity of a scab.’

Joe gave an indifferent shrug and surveyed the
cluttered table. ‘So what year are we going to?’

‘In accordance with Bernard’s research, we will be
travelling to the year 1634 BC,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Saturday, July 12
^th
1634 BC, at 2.00pm to be exact - so I don’t want anyone skimping on the sun
cream.’

‘Great,’ Joe said. ‘When are we going?’

‘Tomorrow morning. So it’s an early night for
everyone. Let’s face it, it’s not every day you travel back almost four
thousand years in the quest for a legendary relic, is it?’

Joe punched the air. He turned expectantly to his
sister.

Becky forced another smile, but couldn’t quite share
his enthusiasm. For a few delicious minutes she had been convinced she would
see her dad again. And to have the one thing she desired most in the world snatched
away seemed too cruel for words.

*

The following morning, Uncle Percy changed into his
outfit while Becky and Joe finished breakfast. He wore a black hooded cloak,
brown tunic with leather belt, brown sandals and held a crooked wooden staff.

As Uncle Percy gave them a twirl, Becky noticed a
series of peculiar bumps and bulges beneath his tunic (although when questioned
about them, he seemed surprisingly evasive). He then escorted Becky, Joe and
Will to the morning room where he presented them with their costumes.

Becky’s outfit consisted of a white linen tunic that
draped over her right shoulder and was pinned together with a bronze brooch in
the shape of a dolphin. Although hardly flattering, she felt it an improvement
on the silly meringue thing she wore to Victorian Oxford. Joe’s outfit was
similar to Uncle Percy’s, although in grey, and even Will appeared more at ease
with his costume - a short brown, woollen tunic, bronze breast plate, a leather
kilt and long black cape. He also carried a selection of weapons, including a
bronze short sword and a circular shield.

A tense air surrounded them as they said their
goodbyes to Jacob and Maria (who proceeded to burst in to an uncontrollable fit
of drool and tears,) and made their way to the Time Room. Uncle Percy, carrying
a backpack of provisions, led the way, followed by Joe, Becky, and finally
Will, who had added a bow and quiver of arrows to his arsenal.

The Time Room seemed livelier and more boisterous
than usual with the sounds of bleeps and buzzes and hums at full volume. Becky
saw a freshly polished Bertha standing in the centre of the room. Then
something occurred to her. ‘Uncle Percy, how’re we going to talk to anyone?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Obviously, people in Ancient Crete didn’t speak
English. We won’t understand a word they’re saying and they won’t understand
us.’

‘An excellent point, Becky,’ Uncle Percy agreed.
‘And one that for many years caused severe headaches for the travelling
community.’ He opened a drawer and pulled out an oblong box that resembled a
pencil case. ‘Take a look at these …’ He opened the box.

Becky leant over and saw a series of shiny metal
nodules, each one no bigger than the head of a small drawing pin.

‘These are
transvocalisors
,’ Uncle Percy
said. ‘I invented the prototypes over twenty-five years ago. Now, I’m proud to
say, they’re an essential part of the traveller’s kit. Let me put them on for
you.’

He placed one on Becky’s throat and one behind her
left ear. He repeated the process for Joe.

‘What’s a transvocalingy?’ Joe asked.

Uncle Percy passed a pair to Will, and then put a
pair on himself. ‘A
transvocalisor
,
Joe, well, it’s a very powerful translation device. Inside each transvocalisor
is a very powerful microchip that, with regards to the one on your ear, will
translate any language, ancient or modern, into English for you; whilst the one
on your throat will automatically convert anything you say into whatever
language you need. In short, you will both understand, and be understood
wherever and whenever you are.’

Becky immediately decided to secretly borrow
a set for her French exams the
following year.

‘Right then, shall we make a move?’ Uncle Percy took
a wedge of Gerathnium and inserted it in to the campervan. Becky and Joe
clambered aboard.

‘Are you going to register the trip?’ Becky said,
sounding slightly anxious.

Opening the driver’s door, Uncle Percy tossed the
bag and staff into the back. ‘Not this time, Becky. I’m aware it’s not an ideal
situation, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to break a few rules.’ Will
joined him up front.

‘But what if something happens to us?’ Becky asked.

Joe shot Becky a disparaging look. ‘Like what - you
losing a scrunchie?’

‘I don’t know,’ Becky snapped back at him.
 
‘An
emergency
!
What if the campervan packs up? What if we
need to get back in a hurry? What if something massive and hairy bites your fat
ugly head off?’ She sounded quite hopeful with her last example.

‘Now, now, we’ll have less of that,’ Uncle Percy cut
in firmly. ‘Charlie Millport at HQ knows where and when we’re going - off the
record, of course. I’ve also left details with Jacob. He knows what to do if
there’s a problem. Does that reassure you, Becky?’

Becky nodded but still felt rather uneasy. After
all, they weren’t the only ones searching for the Golden Fleece, and their
rivals were pretty much as dangerous as could be. However, before she could
reply, a power surge from below stopped her in her tracks.

‘Okay, everyone … next stop, Crete, 1634 BC,’ Uncle
Percy shouted, his voice swelling to counteract the mounting volume.

‘And the Minotaurs,’ Joe shouted back, grinning
widely.

‘Im afraid you may be disappointed there, Joe,’
Uncle Percy answered with a grin. ‘There’ll be no dragons - no bogeymen - no
fabulous monsters of any kind. But, with any luck, we may find some answers...’

Chapter 14

Harpy
Attack

Bertha materialised on a dusty path in the middle of
a narrow ravine. Immediately, Becky felt a blistering heat envelop them. She looked
through the window and saw towering bleached white rocks, a thousand foot high,
on either side.

‘Andrana’s Valley,’ Uncle Percy said, marveling at
the natural spectacle. ‘It’s an outstanding example of -’ He glanced in the
wing mirror and cut short his sentence. ‘Blimey!’

Becky heard the shock in his voice. She whipped her
head round and her mouth dropped open.

A gangly boy was hurtling towards them, his sweat drenched
face etched with terror. Two huge winged creatures were chasing him, taking it
in turns to swoop down.

Becky screamed.

Instinctively, Will grabbed his bow and quiver and
seized the door handle. Uncle Percy pulled him back. ‘No, Will!’ The boy veered
past the campervan, too frightened or perhaps disorientated to notice it.

‘W-what are they?’ Joe hollered.

‘Well - err -’ Uncle Percy spluttered. ‘My - err -
knowledge of Greek Mythology is somewhat limited, but I believe they might be
-’ He slammed his foot down and Bertha sped off.

‘- They’re the Harpies!’ Becky yelled, recalling the
story of the Golden Fleece.

Uncle Percy fought to control the wheel. ‘It seems
so.’

Becky glared at Uncle Percy.
‘No
monsters, eh?’

Before Uncle Percy could reply -
CRAAASH
- the larger of the two Harpies collided
with them, momentarily knocking Bertha off her wheels.

As she clutched the handrail desperately, Becky’s gaze
locked on the window. The larger Harpy had moved parallel to them. It was as
long as the campervan, with gigantic scaly wings, a deep green leathery torso,
and the face of a disfigured old woman. Two muscular arms tipped with curved
claws hung down as it thrashed the air.

Becky’s blood turned to ice as the Harpy’s eyes
found her. A wicked grin curled on its mouth.

Petrified, Becky’s fingers inched to her lucky
pendant, when -
CRAASH
- the second
Harpy struck the van from the opposite side, throwing her headfirst to the
floor. She landed hard, blood filling her mouth.

Uncle Percy wrestled Bertha to the left.
Immediately, the Harpies took to the air, disappearing from sight.

Uncle Percy scanned the skies.
Nothing.
Slowing down, he drove toward the boy. ‘Becky, open the door!’

‘Are you bonkers?’ Becky yelled at him, scrambling back
to her seat.

‘Open the door,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Grab the boy!’

With trembling hands, Becky slid the door open.

Uncle Percy weaved over to the boy, whose pace had
slowed to a jog. ‘Get in,’ he shouted. ‘You’ll be safe!’

Dazed, the boy stared at the campervan, wide-eyed.

‘Here. Take this,’ Joe said, extending his hand.

Disorientated, the boy was about to take it
when
 
-
SHRIIIEEEEK
– a sickening howl rang out. From nowhere, Talons seized the boy’s tunic, lifting
him off his feet. He squirmed and wriggled, but it was no use. The larger Harpy
had got him and was ascending.

‘Drive under the boy,’
Will
insisted.

Uncle Percy whipped Bertha to the right as Will
scooped up his bow.

‘What’re you -’ But before Uncle Percy could finish,
Will had heaved open the door. In one acrobatic movement, he hurled himself on to
the roof. Steadying himself, he loaded two arrows onto his bowstring, and aimed
at the Harpy above. He fired. The two arrows, separated in mid air, and pierced
the Harpy’s thick arms. It screeched and dropped its haul. The boy crashed on to
the roof.
 

Will
knelt
beside him. ‘Are
your injuries severe?’

‘N-no, sire,’ the boy whimpered.

‘Then forgive me.’ Will grabbed the boy’s shoulders
and threw him through the open door, safely on to the seat. Then he slammed the
door shut.

‘What’s he doing?’ Becky cried with disbelief.

Will looked up at the circling Harpies. With a
screech, the injured Harpy attacked, swooping down at him, its rotted teeth
bared. Will
fixed
another arrow to the bowstring. He
fired again. This time, the arrow pierced the Harpy’s breastbone. It howled in
agony and swerved away.

The second Harpy hung in mid air for a second.
Then pounced.
Will reached for another arrow, but there
wasn’t time. Claws stabbed his shoulders and blood showered his face. Heaved
into the air, he dropped the bow. The wounded Harpy joined its companion.
Together, they let out a jubilant wail and flew off into the canyon, carrying
their prize.

‘They’ve got Will!’ Becky shouted hysterically. ‘Uncle
Percy. Do something!’

‘Oh, I intend to,’ Uncle Percy said coolly. He
powered Bertha in the direction of the canyon. ‘Joe, my staff,
please
.’

Confused, Joe scooped up the walking staff and passed
it over.

‘Here, take the wheel,’ Uncle Percy said to the boy,
who complied though it was clear he had no idea what to do.

Keeping his foot firmly on the accelerator, Uncle
Percy leaned from the open window. Holding the cane with his left hand, his
right hand inched towards the grip. He aimed at the Harpy holding Will.
BOOM
- a laser blast erupted from the
cane.

Becky and Joe stared at each other, astounded.
Uncle
Percy had a weapon!

The blast slammed into the cliff; giant hunks of
rock rained down onto scorched earth.

BOOM.
Uncle Percy fired again, this time missing Will by a matter of inches.

‘Stop it. You’ll hit him!’ Becky yelled.

Uncle Percy looked quite put out. He paused for a
moment, pulled the staff inside and muttered, ‘Sadly, Becky, you’re almost
certainly right.’

*

The Harpies rose higher and higher.
Through blurred eyes, Will saw Bertha in the distance.
The
higher the Harpy carried him, the less chance he’d survive. He knew that.
Slowly, pain scorching his shoulders, he edged his sword from its scabbard. The
blade glistened in the blazing sun. He took a deep lungful of air and thrust
upwards, burying the blade deep into the beast’s underbelly. Blood smothered
his hands. The Harpy gave a hideous squeal. It released him. He fell.

Twenty-five feet.

Twenty-feet.

Fifteen-feet.

Suddenly, pointed branches tore at his skin. More pain
shot through him as a tree slowed his descent. Flung from branch to branch, he
landed with a dull
thump
on the unyielding
earth. Struggling to his knees, bleeding, battered, he watched the Harpy thrash
wildly in agony as it crashed to the ground.
Dead.

The second Harpy saw its lifeless companion then
pivoted towards Will. With a blood-curdling shriek, it thundered towards him.

Calmly, Will closed his eyes and waited for impact.