Time Hunters and the Spear of Fate, The (13 page)

Chapter 19

Utterly Butterby

An hour later, Becky was woken from
a deep sleep by the shrill, staccato yelp of Marian, Will’s Golden Eagle,
somewhere in the grounds. She looked at her clock:
2.45.
They were
leaving in fifteen minutes.

Leaping out of bed, she began to
dress. As she checked herself out in the mirror, she glimpsed a flash of metal
on the dressing table:
Orff’s knife.
Walking over, she picked it up and
withdrew it slowly from its sheath, its razor sharp blade gleaming in the dull
light. Soundlessly, she slipped it into her cloak pocket and left the room.

Walking down the narrow,
portrait-lined corridors, she weaved right and approached Joe’s bedroom door.
She was about to knock when it opened with a bang.

‘Oh, you’re here,’ Joe said,
panting. ‘I’ve just text you. I fell asleep and only woke up a minute ago.’

Becky scanned him top to bottom;
stopping halfway, her expression froze into a mask of joy. Clearly visible
beneath his black cloak, was something she didn’t expect to see. ‘You’re
wearing a skirt?’ she sniggered.

‘It’s a kilt.’

‘It’s a skirt,’ Becky howled.

‘It’s a kilt,’ Joe said, his voice
rising slightly.

‘I’ve seen that style in Primark.
It’s a skirt.’

‘No it’s not.’

‘I thought you’d become the all-new
action hero. I don’t remember Captain America wearing a skirt.’

‘It’s a kilt,’ Joe growled. ‘Will
wore one to Ancient Crete. You didn’t take the mickey out of him.’

‘Will hasn’t got twiglets for legs.’

Joe told her in no uncertain terms
where she could stick her twiglets.

Becky and Joe left the Hall to find
the snow was melting fast; rigid blades of grass pushed through the remaining
muddy white sludge like matchsticks. An amber sun was high overhead, bisected
every now and again by wisps of puffy white cloud.

Despite the relative warmth, Becky
found her Egyptian outfit far too flimsy to dawdle and marched quickly beside
Joe to Uncle Percy’s laboratory, where they found the door wide open. Inside,
Uncle Percy and Will were standing at the far wall, each wearing identical
outfits to Joe (although both had swords), and talking quietly about something
long and cylindrical in Uncle Percy’s hand.

The second Uncle Percy saw Becky and
Joe he slipped the object hastily into his cloak pocket. Unfortunately for him,
Becky noticed. ‘What’s that?’

‘What’s what?’

‘That thing you just put in your
pocket hoping we wouldn’t see.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Uncle Percy
replied quickly. ‘Anyway, I’m delighted your costumes fit, so shall we -’

‘Why is everyone trying to hide things
from us?’ Becky asked irritably.

‘We’re not. I’m not. I just, err,
well we have to get going and wouldn’t you rather meet Blanche?’

‘No,’ Becky said. ‘I want to know
what’s in your pocket. Is it what Butterby was holding?’

‘Mister Butterby, if you please.’

‘
Mister
Butterby then.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘Now would you like to meet Blanche?’

Becky opened her mouth to challenge
again when Joe said, ‘Shut up, Becky. It’s none of your business. And I want to
see Blanche.’

Seeing that Becky was about to blow
her top, Uncle Percy said, ‘Come on then, Joe.’ He strode over to the metal
steps that led to the viewing balcony above. Eagerly, Joe raced after him.

Unsatisfied, but keen to see the new
time machine, a surly Becky followed them up the steps to where Uncle Percy was
keying something on to a workstation.

‘Now Blanche is the largest of my
time machines,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘But she’s a beauty. A bone-fide classic of
automotive design.’

At once, Becky’s anger subsided,
replaced by excitement. She joined Joe at the bannister. Together, they watched
the floor separate in the middle and inch open like a lift door, revealing a
giant red vehicle on the platform below.

Red?
 

As the vehicle rotated slowly
upwards, Joe clapped his hands. ‘Brilliant!’ he bellowed.

The revolving platform came to rest.
Gazing at the vehicle, a smile rounded Becky’s mouth. ‘I should’ve guessed.’

 ‘Blanche is a 1956 Routemaster
double decker bus,’ Uncle Percy declared proudly.

‘Fantastic,’ Joe gushed. ‘And what
else does she do? I mean, can she turn into a giant skateboard?’

Uncle Percy chuckled. ‘Not exactly,
but I have made some substantial modifications.’ He lowered his voice to a
mutter. ‘I only hope we don’t need to use them.’

Becky and Joe were too caught up in
the moment to hear.

‘Can we go inside?’ Joe asked
eagerly.

‘Be my guest.’

A moment later, Becky and Joe were
thundering down the steps in a mad dash to be the first to see Blanche close
up. The instant they reached the floor, however, a hissing sound echoed from
their left, and the Ectolift doors slid open. Edgar emerged, his massive body
quivering madly. Barbie’s tiny metal hand was wrapped tightly around his
baguette-sized finger like a mother holding the hand of a frightened child.

Uncle Percy looked over, concerned.
‘Are you feeling all right, Edgar?’

‘I ruddy well am not!’ Edgar
whimpered. ‘I d-did not enjoy that one bit…’

Barbie looked at Uncle Percy, who
seemed puzzled. ‘The Ectolift, sir. I believe it scared him.’

‘Ungodly creation that it is,’ Edgar
continued. ‘Surely, only the Algea, the deities of pain and torture, could
devise such a contraption.’

‘It’s just a lift, Edgar,’ Uncle
Percy said, smiling. ‘They’re actually quite common in our time.’

‘Then much as I am keen to learn
about this twenty first century, I shall return to my time forthwith should
there be other such horrors.’

‘I understand,’ Uncle Percy said
kindly.

Edgar swallowed a calming breath,
steadied himself, and took a few seconds to scan the Time Room; his gaze moved
from computer to computer, clock to clock as he absorbed every detail. The
moment he spied Will, however, his bottom lip wobbled. In three massive steps,
he had seized Will in a crushing bear hug. ‘William … my saviour.’

‘Greetings, my friend,’ Will replied
cheerfully. ‘I am glad your wounds are healing.’

‘All because of your intervention,’
Edgar said sincerely. ‘I owe you my life.’

‘Twas nothing,’ Will replied.

‘I shall not forget,’ Edgar said. ‘I
shall not rest until I have repaid that debt.’

‘There is no debt to repay.’

Finally looking himself again, Edgar
saw the double-decker bus and his jaws fell open. ‘And what manner of vehicle
is this? Lordy, it is redder than the great columns at Knossos…’

‘It’s another time machine, Edgar,’
Uncle Percy replied. ‘And thanks to Barbie’s hard work over the last few hours,
it’s particularly Minotaur friendly. Thank you again, Barbie.’

Barbie bowed. ‘My pleasure, sir.’

‘Now, everyone, please apply your
transvocalisors …’ Uncle Percy passed out three sets of transvocalisors to
Becky, Joe and Will, who put them on, and then gestured to the bus. ‘And climb
aboard…’

Becky and Joe didn’t need asking
twice and raced through the rear entrance.

To Becky’s astonishment, the interior
had been fashioned into what looked like a very comfortable mobile home; the
usual passenger seats had been removed and replaced with a gigantic
Chesterfield sofa with four plump chiffon cushions; a wide hole had been cut in
the roof, allowing ample space for Edgar’s head to pop through to the second
deck; silk curtains in mint green, tied back with matching ribbon framed the
windows, and two large cupboards, a small fridge and four chairs lined the
aisle which led to the driver’s seat.

‘Is this what you meant when you
said you’d made modifications?’ Joe asked Uncle Percy who had joined them
inside.

‘Not exactly,’ Uncle Percy replied
evasively.

Edgar’s eyes widened as he followed
them in; hunched over, he made his way to the sofa and sat down. ‘Goodness
gracious me, isn’t it smashing?’

Uncle Percy pointed at a cupboard.
‘I’ve also made sure you’ve got ten boxes of cornflakes for the trip, Edgar,
and a few gallons of milk.’

‘You spoil me, Perce, you really
do.’

‘You should rent this out,’ Joe
said, impressed. ‘You know, for weekend breaks and stuff. It’s way cooler than
Ernie Budger’s dad’s caravan.’

‘I don’t think so, Joe,’ Uncle Percy
replied. ‘I doubt there’s a huge market for a London red bus with armour
plating and bulletproof windows made from thermoplastic, polycarbonate, and
numerous layers of
laminated glass
, do you?’

‘Why would we need bulletproof
windows?’ Becky asked, suddenly concerned. ‘I mean, we’re going to Ancient Egypt,
and you are planning on taking us back far enough to avoid Drake’s dingbats,
aren’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘But it’s better to be safe than …’

Just then, Becky spied a dot of
light reflected his eye; turning to face the Time Room floor, she saw the light
balloon in size, before exploding with a
crack
to leave Charles Butterby
standing there. He was wearing an ankle length tunic, brown cloak, sandals, a
curious black onyx beaded necklace, and was carrying a small cloth rucksack.

Becky could tell at once something
was wrong. Butterby’s complexion, usually so rosy and flushed, was colourless,
his eyes dull and gloomy; even his red-hair seemed to lack its usual vitality.

Uncle Percy noticed, too. Passing
Becky and Joe, he exited the bus. ‘Are you all right, Charles? You don’t look
at all well.’

Butterby took a few moments to
respond. ‘Yes, Percy,’ his voice quivered slightly. ‘I’m just a bit shaken up.
I’ve been visiting some of the elderly members of the community to see how
they’re coping after the attack.’ He sighed. ‘They’re scared. Very scared,
indeed.’

Uncle Percy nodded sympathetically.
‘I’m sure they are.’

Butterby’s face grew stern. ‘I can’t
begin to tell you how furious I am with all of this … I mean, an attack on the
entire community. Contemptible. I even lost my beloved spectacles in the
rumpus.’ He gave a humorless chuckle. ‘And to think I once considered Emerson
Drake a friend, a kindred spirit. I feel such a damn fool.’

‘He fooled us all, Charles.’

‘I suppose,’ Butterby replied
bitterly. ‘Anyway, are we ready to depart?’ He raised his bag high. ‘I’ve got
all I need.’

‘Are you sure you should be coming?’
Uncle Percy said kindly. ‘You really do look poorly. Perhaps you should stay
and get some rest?’

‘I’ll be better with that Egyptian
sun on my face. And besides, if you recall I am something of an Egyptophile,
and may be of some use on this little quest of yours.’ Becky, Joe and Edgar
emerged from the bus. His gaze fell on Edgar and his expression froze like a
corpse. ‘Oh - my - word.’

‘Edgar, this is Charles Butterby,’
Uncle Percy said. ‘He’s the president of our travelling organization. He’s also
a smashing chap and all round philanthropist.’

Edgar smiled at Butterby.
‘Greetings, Mister Butterby. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’

‘Call me Charles, please,’ Butterby
enthused. ‘And the pleasure is truly mine. I’ve heard so much about you.’

‘All good, I hope,’ Edgar replied.

‘Of course.’ Butterby shook his head
with disbelief and said, ‘A genuine Minotaur. How wonderful.’ He turned to
Becky and Joe. ‘Hello again, Becky and Joe. And may I apologize to you both for
the appalling incident at the Christmas party. I’m so glad neither of you were
hurt.’

‘No sweat,’ Joe said.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Becky
replied.

‘No, but it was my name on the
invitation,’ Butterby replied, ‘so I do feel somewhat responsible.’ He glanced
at Uncle Percy. ‘So then, Percy, shall we hit the road?’

‘I think we should,’ Uncle Percy
replied.

‘Do you have the Gadeirus Tablet?’
Butterby asked eagerly.

Uncle Percy pulled the Gadeirus
Tablet from beneath his cloak and passed it to Butterby, whose eyes twinkled
like a child’s.

‘My word,’ Butterby said, studying
it closely. ‘And is this authentic Atlantean script?’

‘It certainly is,’ Uncle Percy
replied. ‘And has, thanks to Edgar, been translated into a short but
illuminating riddle.’

‘Amazing,’ Butterby said
breathlessly. ‘And can I assume you’ve solved the riddle?’

‘Becky did it in seconds.’

‘Marvellous,’ Butterby said, smiling
at Becky. ‘Then we should get a move on. The sooner we find the Spear of Fate,
the better for all of us, and the worse for Mister Emerson Drake…’