Time Hunters and the Spear of Fate, The (5 page)

Uncle Percy shook it.
‘Merry Christmas, Malcolm. Becky, Joe … can I introduce you to Malcolm Everidge
– a very old friend, unparalleled expert in medieval history, esteemed time
traveller and a fellow OTTER.’

Everidge’s eyes shone
as he looked down at Becky and Joe. ‘Well, bless my soul,’ he said warmly. ‘I
was chuffed to bits when I heard you’d be coming. Merry Christmas to you both.’

‘Merry Christmas,’
Becky and Joe said simultaneously.

Everidge’s eyes fell
on Joe and he paused for a moment. ‘My goodness, young man, you really are the
spitting image of your father.’

‘Thanks,’ Joe replied.

Everidge opened his
mouth as if to say something else but seemed to change his mind, turning
instead to Uncle Percy who looked strangely flushed.

‘Anyway … must dash,’
Everidge said, the words tripping quickly off his tongue. ‘It’s not every day
you get to witness a musical treat like this and I’ve already missed most of
the first half. See you later, kids.’ And he hurried away as quickly as he
could.

Uncle Percy watched
him leave. ‘I have to agree with Malcolm about the musical treat. Come on.’ He
turned quickly and marched off, leaving Becky and Joe to exchange puzzled
glances.

‘What d’you reckon
this musical treat is?’ Becky said in a low voice.

Joe shook his head.
‘No idea,’ he whispered back. ‘But if I know Uncle Percy’s oddball mates it’s
probably a Brontosaurus playing the bongos.’

Becky and Joe had only
advanced a few feet when the sound of music met their ears. With each step, it
grew louder all the time.  By the time they had reached the door, Becky
could make out guitars, drums, and singing, punctuated by loud hollers of
approval from what sounded like a large gathering of people.

Stopping at the door,
Uncle Percy’s eyes sparkled. ‘Welcome … to this year’s GITT Christmas party.’
He pushed the door open.

Following him inside,
Becky’s legs turned to jelly. She was in an enormous glass-domed room, its
walls decorated with murals depicting nautical scenes – a submarine painted
egg-yolk yellow, a dolphin being tickled by a Mermaid, hundreds of golden starfish
– and arched windows, through which she could see huge shoals of fish drifting
across an endless seabed.

Looking round, she saw
hundreds of people dressed in the most wonderful costumes sitting at round
tables - some in sumptuous dinner gowns and suits, others in marine-themed
outfits from lavishly dressed pirates to human sized sea-urchins. A cocktail
bar had been set up on the right hand wall below a sign that read
‘Octavia’s
Octopus Garden - Try our history-making Seafood Cocktail.’

However, it was the
giant stage at the far end of the room that made her head whirl and, more
precisely, the four-piece band that performed on it. All four members were
dressed identically in grey suits and ties, with collar-length dark brown hair
shaped with a straight fringe.

Her mouth dried as she
tugged absently at the hem of Uncle Percy’s jacket. ‘Tell me that’s a tribute
band?’

‘What’s a tribute
band?’ Uncle Percy replied.

‘A band of lookalikes
and sound-alikes,’ Becky replied, her eyes locked on the stage. ‘Tell me that’s
not the real thing.’

‘It’s the GITT
Christmas party – of course it’s the real thing. Anyway, can I assume from your
somewhat stupefied expressions you’ve heard of them?’

‘Course we have,’ Joe
panted.

‘We might be young,’
Becky replied. ‘But everyone’s heard of The Beatles…’

Chapter
6

Help

Becky’s head spun as
she watched the singer, a man she recognized as John Lennon, scream a final
note, voice his thanks for being welcomed into the travelling community, and
compliment a traveller in the front row on his Walrus costume, promising to
write a song about it one day. Then he joined the other Beatles in a bow before
leaving the stage to a thunderous round of applause.

‘The Beatles were time
travellers?’ Joe asked, flabbergasted.

‘For tonight, yes,’
Uncle Percy replied. ‘As for their tomorrow, I’m afraid they won’t remember a
thing.’

‘What do you mean?’
Joe asked.

‘I know it’s rather
naughty of us, but there’s no point in being time travellers if we can’t
indulge ourselves once in a while. Do you remember when I eradicated your
mother’s memory just after Bertha materialized in your back garden, damaging,
if I remember, what was a quite magnificent oak tree.’

‘Yes,’ Joe replied.
‘You used a Memoraser.’

‘That’s right. And being
memorased is precisely what’ll happen to The Beatles after the party. They
won’t remember any of this. It wouldn’t be fair to send them back to, what,
1963, with this knowledge in their heads.’ He pointed to an empty table near
the stage. ‘Anyway, I’ve reserved a table so shall we sit down and I’ll get
some drinks.’

As they walked, Becky
couldn’t help but notice that head upon head was turning in their direction,
each smiling widely before nudging the person next to them and saying something
she couldn’t quite hear. In fact, it happened so many times she began to feel
very uncomfortable and was thankful when they reached their table. Just as she
was about to sit down, however, a drill-like shriek ripped her ears. She looked
round to see a heavily made-up woman in a sheer black dress, her auburn hair
piled high like a pineapple, charging towards them.

Becky recognised her
as Annabel, the GITT receptionist.

‘You’re heereeee!’
Annabel flung her arms around Becky’s neck.

‘Hi Annabel,’ Becky
said.

Annabel pulled away.
‘Oh my dear, you’re even more radiant in real life.’

‘Thanks,’ Becky said
sincerely. ‘Your dress is really pretty.’

‘Aw, you are a
darling. We both know I’ve eaten far too many cakes in my life to wear it with
any degree of dignity, but I appreciate you saying it anyway.’ Annabel rotated
towards Joe, craning her neck to meet his eyes. ‘And, Joe, you were a mere slip
of a thing when I saw you last summer. Look at you now - you’re virtually a
man.’

‘Hiya, Annabel,’ Joe
replied with a smile.

Annabel’s expression
changed. ‘And you …’ She shot Uncle Percy an accusatory glare. ‘You said you
were arriving at seven. And you’re never late. What happened? I’ve been worried
sick.’

‘I’m sorry, Annabel,
but something came up,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Still, we’re here now, so Merry
Christmas and -’

‘ - And I want my
pressie,’ Annabel said quickly, and from nowhere she held aloft a sprig of
mistletoe and launched herself at him, planting a lengthy kiss on his lips,
before breaking off. ‘Merry Christmas, Mister Halifax.’

Uncle Percy looked
flushed. ‘I, err, …’

Surprised, Becky was
about to laugh when she heard a stern voice.

‘Percy Halifax, I’m
surprised at you. You do know you’re canoodling with a married woman!’

Becky swiveled round
to see a short, stout middle-aged man approach them; he had a round,
stern-looking face, flaming red hair, ruby red cheeks, and brilliant green
eyes, which peered censoriously over half-moon spectacles. He would have cut
quite an imposing figure if he hadn’t been dressed as a lobster.

‘I - I wasn’t
canoodling, Charles,’ Uncle Percy replied uncomfortably.

‘It looked like it
from where I’m standing.’ The man wagged a giant orange pincer at Uncle Percy.
 ‘It’s a good job Annabel’s husband is at the bar.’

‘We did nothing that wasn’t
in keeping with the festive spirit,’ Uncle Percy insisted. ‘I can assure you of
that.’

The man’s expression
turned from disapproval to delight. ‘I’m pulling your leg, you old rascal.’

‘Oh, err, good,’ Uncle
Percy replied, sounding relieved.

‘Anyway, although it’s
invariably a pleasure to see you again, Percy, it’s your charges I’m keen to
meet.’ The man’s eyes found Becky and Joe. ‘I’m Charles Butterby, President of
the Global Institute for Time Travel. May I say what a true honour it is to
finally meet you. I know all about your adventures with the Golden Fleece and
Pandora’s Box, and may I say your courage astonishes me.’ He bowed. ‘Becky,
Joe, I am, and forever will be, your most obedient servant…’

Becky didn’t know what
to say. ‘Err, thanks, Mister Butterby.  And I – well -
we
just
wanted to say how much we appreciate the travelling community looking for our
dad. It means the world to us, doesn’t it, Joe?’

‘Deffo,’ Joe nodded.

Butterby waggled his
claw again. ‘Don’t be silly. John was one of us…’ His face creased with guilt.
‘I beg your pardon - John
is
one of us, and no traveller in this room
will rest until he walks amongst us once more.’

Becky was about to
thank him when she heard a deep, self-assured voice. ‘Damn straight, Butty.’

An enormous middle-aged
man appeared on Butterby’s left; as big as a wardrobe, he had a freshly shaven
head, a thick, bucket-sized neck and wore a World War Two British Naval uniform
that clung snugly to his muscular frame.

‘Ah, Charlie,’ Uncle
Percy said. ‘Good to see you, sir.’

‘Y’alright, Perce?’
the man said with a grin.

‘Becky, Joe,’ Uncle
Percy announced. ‘This is a very old and very good friend of mine, Charlie
Millport, head of GITT’s Tracker division.’

Becky recalled being
told all about the ‘Trackers’ – a highly trained unit within GITT operations
that specialized in rescuing time travellers in distress. ‘Hello, Mister
Millport,’ she said.

‘Call me Charlie,
Becky,’ Millport said warmly, offering his ham-sized hand for Becky to shake.
Then he looked at Joe. ‘And, kid, what’s this ‘bout you offin’ a load of zombie
pirates with a gun and a bow?’

Joe’s face flushed.
‘Err, it was nothing.’

‘Nothing, he says! I’m
ex-military and don’t know many squaddies that could keep a steady hand with a
zombie horde comin’ at ‘em. Good for you. I think we should get you signed up
to a Tracker unit ASAP. It’s a solid job. The pay’s okay, no two days are the
same, and every now and again you get to blow stuff up. What d’you think,
Percy?’

‘I think he’s a tad
young to be planning a career.’

‘I’m not,’ Joe said
immediately. ‘I want to be a Tracker!’

Uncle Percy sighed.
‘And I hoped you might consider medicine.’

Joe looked at him as
if he’d grown a second head. ‘Did you hear what he said? I’d get to blow stuff
up!’

‘Isn’t that just a
marvelous life goal?’ Uncle Percy muttered.

‘Anyhow, kids,’
Millport said. ‘I jus’ want to echo Butty’s words. Finding your old man is the
Institute’s number one priority. We’re doing everythin’ we can and it’s just a
matter of time before we make a breakthrough. I’m sure of that.’ He flashed
them a reassuring smile.

There was something
about the sincerity of Millport’s tone that made Becky believe every word he
said. ‘Thank you so much,’ she replied.

‘No problem.’ The
smile left Millport’s face, replaced by a powerful scowl. ‘And believe me, if I
get hold of Emerson Drake then  - well, let’s just say he won’t enjoy it
very much.’ He looked soberly at Uncle Percy. ‘ ‘Ave you heard anythin’ from
Will yet?’

‘No,’ Uncle Percy
replied, glancing at Joe and trying to sound as positive as he could. ‘But I’m
certain he’s okay.’

Millport nodded. ‘You
just let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ve got Denny, Tez, Sarah,
Mick, Cheryl and Zeb kitted out and ready for action at a moment’s notice.
Don’t get me wrong, I know there’s no tougher bloke than Will, but Drake’s
so-called Associates are using guns and Will’s not trained for that.’

‘I’ll keep you in the
loop,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Now, I do believe that this is a party so I
suggest we try and have a good time.’

Butterby cleared his
throat.  ‘Which reminds me, I do believe it’s tradition I bore the room
with a badly-composed speech. So, if you’ll all excuse me, I shall take my
leave …’ He gave a little bow, walked up three steps and approached the ribbon
microphone set in the centre of the stage.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,
travellers and guests…’ A hush rippled through the crowd. ‘As Institute
President, I’d like to take the opportunity to welcome you all to this year’s
Christmas Party -
The Enchantment Beneath the Sea Dance
.  And what
a spectacle it is. With that in mind, can I ask you to put your hands together
for Imogen Crawley, Kath Middleton, Hubert Marbleydale, and the rest of the
Entertainments committee for their sterling work in constructing such an
astonishing aquatic venue?’

His words were met by
the crash of applause.

‘I’d also like to
thank -’ Before he could finish, however, three blasts of a harsh buzzing sound
stopped him in his tracks.

Seconds passed. The
buzzer sounded again.

Becky scanned the
room. At least half the guests were gaping openmouthed at each other. It was
then she noticed a tiny black box, flashing emerald-green, a few feet from the
front of the stage.

Joe looked over. ‘Is –
is that a –’

‘ - A Hologramophone
Receiver,’ Uncle Percy finished for him, confusion etched on his face.

Clearly baffled,
Butterby leapt from the stage and approached the box. Looking down at it, his
expression became difficult to interpret. ‘Percy Halifax … Would you join me
for a second?’ His voice quivered in a way that was impossible to tell if he
felt joy or fear.  However, it was his next words that sent Becky’s head
spiralling.

‘And Becky … Becky
Mellor, if you would come too, please…’

Dumbfounded, Becky
glanced at Uncle Percy, whose face had turned ashen grey.  She felt his
hand cradle hers, and together they stood and began to walk.

Within seconds, Becky
reached Butterby, his head tilted downwards, fixed on the box.
 Tentatively, she looked down and read the following words.

Incoming
Hologramophonic message:

Recipient: Becky
Mellor

Sender: John Mellor

Location: Unknown