The Accidental Time Traveller (7 page)

“You got it Randolph,” I said, making myself comfy, “more, once upon a time in 1812 your dad turned steam red and your monkey wore a jacket and…”

“And… in the house next door there dwells a boy who behaves extremely ill. His name is Dick and he likes nothing better than frightening poor Agatha Black half to death.”

“Really?” I said. “You never mentioned him before.”

“I make mention of Dick as little as possible. I fall into a bad humour simply thinking about him. But now that I am far away he canna find me. That is one consolation in being lost in the future. And of course making your acquaintance, Saul,” she added quickly.

“Thanks, Agatha,” I said, forgetting the Randolph disguise and feeling chuffed.

Agatha gave a little sigh. “Horrid Dick. He is my great tormentor. You see, his father is famed as a horseman and can outrun any rider. Dick is all made up about it and takes every opportunity to make fun of dear Father. And of course he pokes fun at me, and strikes me and mocks me. Oh, the devilish names he calls me dinna bear repeating.”

Of course I immediately wanted to know what they
were. She flushed red and told me some of them – the not-so-awful ones I bet. “Cur! Half-baked tumshie! Eariwig! Daft muckle numpty! Milk curdler! Plague face!” She buried her face in her hands, sighed then said, “And as if name calling is not bad enough, he is aye trying to kiss me. Ugh! He says with a father out of his wits like my father is, and a mother cold in the grave, no gallant buck would ever take me for a wife. He is perfectly horrid, but the heart must needs be good and virtuous and so I mustna curse him. He is forever saying how females are of little use, and it is true, and it plagues me, but there it is.”

“But you’re not useless, you help your dad,” I
protested
, suddenly hating this Dick as much as I hated Crow.

“But we females canna defend our country. Females canna join the Militia. This is what Dick means.” She looked sadly at me. “Of course, I am willing to help Father. But regard me Saul. I am lost. Yet I am convinced Father is even now busy in his study, seeking to win me back to current time. And doubtless horrid Dick, to make matters worse, is pressing his podgy nose hard up against the window pane and pulling faces at Father. Oh, he squints like a bag of nails. Oh! When I dwell on my lost state, it is insufferable. I well know what vulgar Dick will say, when he gets wind of my disappearance.”

“What?” I asked her, sitting forward and looking probably a bit too eager, “What will vulgar Dick say?”

“He will burst into the house without so much as a by-your-leave and he will put the fear of God into
poor Father. The body snatchers got her, that’s what he will say.”

“The body snatchers?”

“Aye. Though it is more often the poor folk they prey on, the vagrants with no homes. And the scavengers and hawkers. The body snatchers kill them then sell their bodies to the doctors in Edinburgh to cut open and study inside. Three poor tinkers were lost from Peebles and everyone said it was the body snatchers got them.”

I felt a lump in my throat. First hangings and now body snatchers? “Really?” I said, wimpishly.

“Indeed. And in addition a great many wicked sons of men are hanged for Highway robbery, housebreaking and murder.”

I gulped. Agatha came from a dangerous time. She saw my worried face and smiled. “But I am a good and proper Christian and do say my prayers and read the Bible. The Lord is my shepherd and them who do ill and sin face eternal damnation but I wish only good.”

I scratched my head, thought with a gulp about all my lies, and went off to find a pack of cards.

I think Mum and Dad were secretly pleased I had a new pal. And probably they thought somebody from London with manners like Randolph would be a good influence on me. Anyway, later that afternoon, after me and Agatha had played cards for ages and eaten ham sandwiches for lunch, Mum popped her head
round the door, saying there was a holiday film on at the Eastgate Centre and did we want to go?

“Definitely,” I said, jumping up and grabbing the money she was offering.

“Call it your Christmas treat,” she said, “and if there’s any left over buy Randolph some popcorn.”

Ten minutes later, me and Agatha were heading out into the Peebles winter afternoon. I punched the air, I was that happy. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had wanted to see this film for ages and now here I was, on my way to the cinema. Agatha, who was also looking pretty excited, was wearing my old jacket. “Is it a play we are going to see?” she asked me, practically skipping along the street, she was that excited. I told her it was kind of a play, but way better. I flipped my hood up and she did the same. Glancing at Agatha was like glancing into a mirror.

We turned into the slushy High Street just as the snow started to fall. Being out with Agatha was like being out with a two-year-old child. Every ten seconds there was something to stop and stare at: cars, buses, the way people were dressed. Now it was the Christmas lights strewn across the High Street. She pointed up to them and laughed. “Oh, how glorious,” she cried. “Oh, see, Saul. They are like stars fallen into the town.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, but I was getting kind of tired stopping all the time. I glanced up at the church clock. Twenty-five past three. The movie started at half past. “They’re ok.” I beckoned for her to get a move on. “But Robbie says they’ve got much better ones in Edinburgh. Come on Randolph, if we’re late we’ll get
rubbish seats.”

She pulled herself away from gazing up at the lights and fell into step beside me; but not for long. Next thing I could hear her make funny whimpering noises, then I felt her tugging at my jacket. “What now?” I snapped, swinging round and scowling at her. She looked like she was going to throw up. Not again, I thought, feeling really annoyed. “Come on, Agatha,” I said, “we don’t want to be late.”

“So very many shops and all burning so brightly. It jumps into me,” she said, shielding her eyes, which I thought was going a bit far. And then a lorry chugged past. It was an old lorry and a dark cloud of exhaust smoke belched out. “Ah! I am overcome!” Agatha clamped her hands over her mouth. “The smell chokes me in my very throat,” she cried in a muffled choking voice.

“Sorry about that,” I said, as if it was my fault. I was feeling responsible for the whole of the twenty-first century: for the Christmas lights and the shops and the traffic and the exhaust fumes. “Oh, come on, Agatha. Listen, we don’t want to be late.” It was a big deal for Mum to give me enough cash for an afternoon out like this and I really wanted to see the film, and the adverts. I didn’t want to miss a bit. I pulled off my scarf and shoved it in her hands. “Here, wrap that round your mouth, Miss Sensitive, and let’s go!”

The scarf mask seemed to help. She stopped moaning and trotted along the High Street next to me. “When I am returned,” she said, her voice still muffled, “the smells of the future are the first thing I will tell of.
And then of the smells that are gone.”

“Like what?” I asked, thinking if I got her talking about the past she might forget the bright lights and bad fumes of the present. “Bad drains?” By this time we were halfway along the High Street. I could see the neon lights of the cinema in the distance. I wanted to run faster but the pavement was slippy. “Or swine?”

“Sour fruit, peat smoke and, most of all, the horses and their dung. All are vanished. Ach Saul, some market days, when old meat turns in the sun I feel quite faint with the stench.”

I tried to imagine where the market would be. Agatha did her mind reading thing again. “It is close by here,” she said, slowing down and pointing to the Tontine Hotel in the middle of the High Street. “Or I think it is. So much is changed. Ah, Saul, what bustle market day brings.” She pulled a face. “And there are always sinful folks to see locked in the stocks. Some have rotten eggs thrown into their dishonest faces. And there is always someone making music on the street. Pray, what is drains?”

“Things underground that stink,” I said, imagining Crow locked in the stocks. We were about to pass the sweetie shop. I could smell the fudge. “Keep going, Randolph,” I said. “Fast, and just keep your eyes on your feet.” Of course she couldn’t resist a peek.

“Confectionary,” she cried out, chuffed she recognised something. She pulled down the scarf and pressed her face up against the glass of the shop window. I felt like a spoilsport yanking her away.

“Keep walking, Randolph,” I insisted, steering her
away from the shop and along the street. “You’re doing just fine, and see when we get to the cinema, don’t go on about the smells, ok?”

She nodded, but she was still oggling everything around her like her head was on a swivel: more Christmas lights, Santa hats on folk along the street, a woman’s high heels and a man on the street corner playing the fiddle. “The cinema,” I went on, heading for the entrance, “smells of toffee popcorn and confectionary!”

By this time we had reached the Eastgate. The glass doors slid open as we stood in front of them. Agatha jumped back and gasped. “Opened by a ghost,” she whispered. I grabbed her by the arm and we were through, into the brightly lit foyer. “It smells burnt,” she said, twitching her nose.

“Oh shut up, will you? This is supposed to be fun. This is a treat. If you’re going to rant on about smells maybe you should just head back to the den. Jeez! I’ve been wanting to come to the cinema for ages and you’re spoiling it.”

She squeezed my arm. “Sorry.”

I shuffled to the ticket counter. She shuffled beside me. “Yeah,” I said, “just try and relax, ok?”

“Ok.” She slipped her hand under my elbow.

I wriggled free and glared at her. “Hey, Randolph!”

She went red. She bit her lip. “Oh! I forget myself.” She wrung her hands together then blinked, and kept blinking. “The light,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes, “is extremely bright. It pierces me.”

This wasn’t going to work. To make matters worse,
just at that moment rap music blared out of loud
speakers
. Agatha squealed and clamped her hands to her ears.

“Yes, son?” the woman at the ticket desk said. “What do you want?”

I looked at Agatha. I looked at the ticket woman. I could tell by the pitying way the woman smiled at me she thought Agatha had something wrong with her. Agatha was still whimpering in the middle of the foyer with her hands pressed over her ears. I looked down at the notes in my hand. “Nothing,” I muttered.

“Well, don’t hold the queue up, there’s a good lad,” she said, waving for me to get out the way.

I bought two huge packets of toffee popcorn and me and Agatha went for a walk along by the river instead. I got her away from the noise and the smells and the bright lights, and soon the only noise was of me and her chomping on popcorn. And the river that swished under us as we stood on the bridge.

“I am awfa sorry,” she said.

“Yeah,” I muttered, “no worries,” and I stared down into the black water, wondering how I was going to get this girl back to where she came from. I still had two pounds left. I took 50p and threw it into the river.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Praying,” I said.

She lowered her popcorn bag to the ground then wrapped her fingers together. “Therefore I,” she said, closing her eyes, “shall pray too.”

And that’s what we did. I wished that I might manage to get her back to 1812. I wished for Mum not to ask too many questions about the film. And I
wished for Albert Black to not get hanged for losing his daughter.

It felt like a long time we were praying, and wishing, with the river swishing under us. “Amen,” she whispered.

“Amen,” I said.

After I walked Agatha back to the den, I ran all the way home. I felt kinda miserable. I had £1.50 in my pocket, a bellyache from all that popcorn and I hadn’t seen the film. As I hurried along the snowy road, so that I would have something to tell Mum, I started from the ads I’d seen for the film and made up a story about pirates and a sinking ship and a treasure chest filled with gold. And a boy who tried to save a beautiful girl but was made to walk the plank. It was so real I was starting to believe I had actually seen it.

Turning into our empty street, the boy in my imaginary film was down on his knees begging for his life, when I heard a real, horrible, gut-churning, evil laugh. “Hey, Sauly-boy. Where ya think ya goin’?”

I didn’t look round. My house was only a minute away. Why had I walked on that side of the road? I gulped. I felt my palms sweat. I looked down and kept going. “Not got no money in ya pocket?” Crow was sitting on Sam’s gate and I was going to have to walk right past. “A pound’s fine. Call it protection money. Then you and me’s brothers.”

I made like I hadn’t heard. I walked right on past, but my steps got faster and faster. The gate squeaked
and next thing Crow cut in front of me. “Or fifty pence if ya poor,” he hissed, so close I could smell his smoky breath. He grabbed my arm. I felt my legs turn to jelly. I fumbled in my pocket, felt for the 50p and gave it to him. “Got no more in there?” he whined, blocking my way. I clenched my fists. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to scream and tell him to leave me alone. I tightened my fingers around the pound coin. “Hand it over, nerd.” He laughed his horrible empty laugh. My heart was racing. “I don’t like waiting, ya hear?”

“I haven’t got any more,” I said, my voice all high and frightened.

“Liar,” he hissed, then he pushed me. I stumbled back but didn’t fall. He pulled my hand out of my pocket. It was still clenched around the pound coin. Just then a car slowed down and stopped on the road. “I’ll get you next time,” he said, moving away. I heard his footsteps fade up the street. The car window slid down.

“You alright, laddie?” It was big Mr Drummond from round the corner. I nodded then bolted over the road and pushed the garden gate open. My heart was pounding as I dashed up the path and into the house.

“Mum!” I shouted, as I stood panting in the hallway.

“I’m giving the twins a bath,” she called out. “I hope the film was fun.”

“Yeah,” I said, dropping my jacket onto the carpet. I went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of milk and flopped down on the sofa. The telly was on but I switched it off. I went back to the bit in my head where the boy on the pirate ship was begging for
his life. He jumped to his feet, broke the bands tied round his hands, tore off his blindfold and
roared.
The pirates screamed. They turned on their heels. The boy ran after them. They were terrified of him and they jumped overboard. Then the boy untied the girl. “You’re free now,” he said, and they got the treasure and the ship.

By the time Mum appeared from settling the twins, which wasn’t for ages, I felt like I’d seen a really good film. “Randolph seems like a nice boy,” she said, as she headed for the kitchen. “Fancy cheese on toast?”

I shook my head.

“Well, I do.” She propped the door open so she could chat to me. “Yes, a polite boy, but a bit troubled looking. London’s no place for a child. Good thing he’s in Peebles. It’ll put colour in his cheeks.”

I got up from the sofa. The last thing I needed was an interrogation about Randolph. “Mum?” I said, hovering between the kitchen and the living room. “Can I go on the computer?”

“What for?” The cheese on toast was bubbling under the grill. It smelt good.

“Um, the history essay. I need to find out stuff.”

I watched Mum fetch a plate from the cupboard. She slid her snack onto it. “For half an hour. Not a minute more.” Then she took a big bite. “Delicious. Sure you don’t want some?”

I shook my head and dashed over to the desk in the living room.

“Well, don’t go getting lost in the past,” she said.

Of course I didn’t Google the word history. I checked
over my shoulder to make sure Mum was safely in the kitchen, then I typed in the words

SEARCH: time travel

There were 250,000,000 hits. That’s a lot! Millions of people and clubs and secret societies and weirdo groups had loads to say about time travel. The first thing that flashed up was a red advert for travelling clocks.
Take it with you on holiday it
said. “No thanks,” I mumbled, clicking and clicking. I couldn’t believe the number of sites trying to sell time travel machines. There was one with a picture of a Tardis-style telephone box in space. What a joke!
Only £65,000
it said. You could buy time-travel t-shirts. There was even a recipe for time-travel chocolate cake. My head throbbed.

I glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. I only had ten more minutes. I clicked on Professor Stephen Hawking. His site had little drawings of wormholes in spacetime. He said if we could only work out how to get down these wormholes, we could time travel. Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to work for Agatha!

I could hear Mum clattering away with the dishes. She was whistling and the kettle was boiling. I needed to narrow things down a bit, so I keyed in

SEARCH: time travel Peebles

That narrowed it down loads. Only one thing came up, which was a scan from some big library collection
of a boring-looking old fashioned letter.

From George Macrimmon,

it said at the top,

Peebles, Scottish Borders, 1953.

What people do not understand is that transportation through time is in fact achievable.

I wished I was faster at reading. I could hear Mum making tea. She’d be through soon.

Travelling through time is a science not new to the men of Peebles. Few now remember these early inventors and bold souls. Yet research handed down through many generations shows that to travel through time is not dependent upon outer para…

something or other. I scrolled down fast, trying hard to understand the words.

The method requires unpara…

something

…concentration and purity of intention. The mind free of clamour focuses on the intended voyage. The purified heart opens, pouring love and will on the time and the place to be visited. And the body knows without a grain of doubt that success in the voyage will prevail. Thus the traveller of pure body, mind and soul unites fully to the purpose and hears the echo of times past. And follows it.

So very simple,

the letter said at the end,

yet almost impossible.

I read the letter four times and tried to memorise it. The more I read, the simpler it seemed. If you really want to time travel, you can. At least that’s what I
made of it. “Two minutes, Saul,” Mum called from the kitchen.

I felt exhausted. Quickly, I typed in

SEARCH: gold Peebles

Cash for your unwanted gold

flashed up on the screen.

Tilly’s Pawn Shop, 79 Northgate, Peebles.

“Right, Saul, turn it off now.”

I memorised the address. Then I turned the
computer
off, and thought about George Macrimmon and how the heart had to fully unite with the intended voyage.

I could turn off the computer but I couldn’t turn off the shiver that kept running up and down my spine. It was still tingling there later when I tried to get to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, I immediately scribbled down the words that I remembered:

The mind focuses. The heart opens. The body knows.

“It’s breakfast time,” Mum called through from the kitchen. I rolled the scrap of paper into a scroll and put it in my rucksack.