Martin King and the Prison of Ice (Martin King Series) (2 page)

Martin and Darcy were flying
through the clear night sky, lit by the pale light of a full moon. The air was
cold, and they clutched each other tightly. They soared through the dark night;
the whole of London lied beneath them like a moving map.

Martin King and
Darcy Williams were no ordinary teenagers. Over a year ago, an alien called
Falcon had visited the Earth to give them both special powers. He had given
Martin the ability to fly, and Darcy the power to create and manipulate fire.
They had used their powers to save the Earth, and since then they had enjoyed a
peaceful, uneventful few months. But sometimes they needed a little excitement.
At those times, they would fly.

“I love you,
Martin,” said Darcy.

Martin grinned.
He never got tired of hearing those words. For many years, he had longed for
Darcy to be his girlfriend. It still seemed almost too good to be true that he
was
actually
going out with her.

“I love you
too, Darcy.”

Martin and
Darcy were flying high over the Thames. They descended until they were hovering
right above the dark river. Darcy clutched her boyfriend tightly. Their feet
were just a few centimetres from the top of the water.

“I wonder how
Tommy’s getting on,” Darcy shouted.

Tommy was Martin’s
cousin and their best friend. He had a superpower too. A few days ago, he had
flown to Italy to visit a girl. It was strange not having him around. Martin
had never realised before how much he relied on Tommy’s friendship.

“I’m sure he’s
doing fine,” said Martin, grinning. “Oh, I booked the train tickets for
Friday.”

“I forgot about
that,” said Darcy.

A few weeks
ago, Martin had received a letter from an academic at Oxford University called
Dr Ackerman:

Dear Martin,
Darcy, and Tommy,

I trust that you
are well. There is a limit to what I can write in a letter, but let it suffice
for me to say that I knew Falcon.

I must speak
with you urgently. If it is convenient, please come down to see me at my rooms
on Thursday 25th August. Kindly reply to this letter if you can make it.

Yours most
sincerely,

Dr Peter
Ackerman

Fellow in
History

Xavier
College, Oxford.

Martin had been intrigued by the
letter, and so he had arranged for them both to travel to Oxford.

“What do you
reckon this Ackerman wants to talk to us about?” said Darcy.

Martin
shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably the Earth’s in danger and we’re the only ones
who can save it.”

Darcy grinned.
“Yeah, I suppose that sort of thing does happen to us now.” She paused.
“Martin…”

“Yeah?”   

“Kiss me again.”

*

On Friday, Martin and Darcy
headed to the station and caught a train to Oxford. When they arrived, they got
off the train and made their way towards the college. It was a hot day, and the
city was bathed in golden light. They followed the directions on Darcy’s phone
and eventually came to the main entrance. Xavier College was one of the
constituent colleges of the University of Oxford. Martin had always planned to
apply to Oxford once he had finished his A Levels, but he had never actually
visited the city, so he had welcomed the chance to visit when he’d got the
letter from Dr Ackerman.

A tall, thin
man was smoking a pipe outside the gate. He was wearing a tweed jacket. The man
smiled when he saw them.

“Martin and
Darcy!” He shook their hands. “My name’s Dr Ackerman—good to meet you at last!
But where is your friend?”

“He’s in
Italy,” said Martin, shrugging apologetically.

“Well, it
doesn’t really matter. Come on, we have lots to talk about.”

Dr Ackerman led
Martin and Darcy through the main entrance of Xavier College and into the quad.
It was a small, green, pleasant area—the air felt refreshingly still and calm.

“I don’t
suppose you’ve been here before?” said the man.

Martin shook
his head.

“No, no, well
this is Lincoln Quad, and my rooms are just over here.”

But Martin
wasn’t looking where Dr Ackerman was pointing. He had noticed something strange
about the grass in Lincoln Quad. Martin crouched down to inspect it more
closely. The grass was covered with thousands of four-leaf clovers.

“Ah, you noticed
the clovers,” said Dr Ackerman. “Well, more about that later. We have things of
greater importance to discuss first. Come with me.”

*

“Make yourselves comfortable.”

Dr Ackerman’s
study was quite large, and very messy. The room was strewn with half-full mugs
of coffee, books, and piles of paper. Martin and Darcy sat down while Dr
Ackerman made them a cup of tea. Then he sat down to face them.

“Now, before I
start, you might want to take out your Truthful Eye,” said Dr Ackerman.

Falcon had
given Martin a monocle called a Truthful Eye that allowed him to see through
disguises. He took it from his pocket and looked at Dr Ackerman through it.
Through the monocle, the man’s hair was white, and he had purple eyes. Martin
knew what this meant—Dr Ackerman was an alien.

“Yes,” said the
man. “I’m an Axis Lord. That’s how I knew Falcon. I know all about what
happened last year—I know that you saved the world from Moonstone.” Dr Ackerman
paused. “And I need your help.”

He picked up a
heavy book and began to flick through it. “I specialise in Scottish History,”
he said. “In particular, I’m interested in the Wars of Scottish Independence. I
don’t suppose you know anything about that period?”

He looked at
them hopefully, but quickly saw their blank faces.

“No? It doesn’t
matter. Anyway, there was a battle in 1306 called the Battle of Methven. The
battle took place on the 12th June of that year.” He showed Martin a page of
the book. “But look.”

Martin peered
at the text:

The
Battle of Methven was fought on the

19th
June 1306, and is widely considered to…

Martin
shrugged. “So what? The writer got the date wrong.”

Dr Ackerman
smiled. “Ah, but I happen to have read that exact same page three months ago.
When I read it then, the date was printed correctly.”

Martin frowned.
“Then I don’t understand.”

“It isn’t just
this book,” Dr Ackerman went on. “I’ve checked every source at my disposal. All
existing records of the Battle of Methven have changed to the new date. Ask any
historian, and they will now tell you that the date of the battle was the 19th
June 1306.”

“So what’s
going on?” said Darcy.

“History has
changed. You see, Axis Lords perceive time in a different way to humans, so the
change has not altered my memory. But, for all intents and purposes, the battle
now
did
take place on the 19
^th
June. The actual date for the
battle has been altered.” He smiled. “And I know who is responsible.”

Darcy sipped
her tea. “Then who was it?”

“You are
probably already aware that quite a few Axis Lords—including myself—are
currently living on Earth. Well, I have an old acquaintance called Alexander
Howell, who works as a vicar in a nearby village. Alexander Howell has a time
machine. He has evidently travelled back in time to alter the date of the
battle. Perhaps he dropped a little poison into Aymer de Valence’s cup—enough
to make him ill for a few days…” He paused. “The important thing is that Alexander
Howell changed a detail that he knew I would notice.”

“Why?” said
Martin.

Ackerman
sighed. “It’s a threat. Howell knows my love of British history. The Battle of
Methven was a relatively minor battle, but all Howell has to do is change a
slightly bigger event—at a slightly more pivotal moment—and the entire tapestry
of history could be unravelled.”

“Why would he
want to threaten you?” said Martin.

“Because I have
been protecting you.” Dr Ackerman sighed again. “Your old friend, Valdragor
Slater—you know him as Michael, I believe—asked me to do so.”

Mr Slater had
been a teacher at Martin’s school; he was also an alien, and he had helped them
to save the world.

“After your
defeat of Moonstone,” Dr Ackerman went on, “Slater knew that you would become
wanted—it was even possible that our own people would come after you. So I
shielded you. Up until now you have all been untraceable to members of my
race.”

“But this
Alexander Howell wants to find us?” said Darcy. “And he’s threatening you so
you remove the protection and let him?”

“Precisely,”
said Dr Ackerman.

Martin paused
to think about what he had told them.

“How do you
know he wants us?” said Martin. “I mean, how do you know that Alexander Howell
isn’t threatening you for some other reason?”

Dr Ackerman put
on a pair of plastic gloves and removed a delicate yellow document from a box.

“This is one of
the original copies of
The Brus
, a narrative poem published in 1375 that
chronicled the affairs of Robert the Bruce and the Scottish Wars of
Independence. It seems Howell has used his time machine to meddle with the
text. Read the last line.”

Dr Ackerman
pointed at the last line of the text; Martin and Darcy peered at it.

The
mighty Angel do command

Bring
Martin King into his hand.

“Oh,” said
Martin. “Yep, that seems pretty conclusive.”

“So what do you
want us to do?” said Darcy.

“I want you to
visit Alexander Howell—the so-called “mighty angel”—and find out what he
wants.”

Martin looked
at Darcy. They were both thinking exactly the same thing. It was about time for
something exciting to happen. Martin grinned.

“We’ll go,” he
said.

“Excellent,”
said Dr Ackerman. “I don’t think you will be in any danger. Howell is a strange
man, but I don’t think he means you any harm. I expect that he needs your help
for something.” He paused. “Oh, before you go, I could do with a hand digging
something up.”

*

Dr Ackerman pointed to the
centre of the grass in Lincoln Quad.

“It’s buried
under there. I thought it would be a safe place for it, but it has caused all
of those four-leaf clovers to grow and so it’s ended up being rather
conspicuous. The gardener dug up the turf and re-laid it, but the clovers just
grew back.” He smiled slightly. “Dr Jackson thinks that someone has been
planting genetically-modified seeds as a joke.”

The historian
gestured to two spades leaning against the wall.

“I’ll make a
bargain with you. If you dig it up, you can keep it. It’s not too deep, don’t
worry.”

“But what’s
under there?” said Darcy.

“Wait and see.
You won’t be disappointed, trust me.”

Martin and
Darcy took the spades and started to dig. The soil was soft and dry, and they
soon began to make progress.

“What the devil
is going on? Why are you digging up the lawn?”

A grey-haired
man in a suit was staring at Martin and Darcy with a horrified expression.

“Oh, good
morning,” said Dr Ackerman. “These people are contractors—the porter called
them in to do something about all the four-leaf clovers.”

“But…
contractors… children?” the man spluttered.

“That’s right,”
said Dr Ackerman, trying not to smile. “If you have a problem, I suggest you
talk to one of the porters. I’m just standing here.”

“Well, well, I
think I will!”

The man marched
off, looking shocked.

“Don’t worry,”
said Dr Ackerman, “that was just the Physics professor. I imagine he’ll forget
all about it before he reaches the porters.”

Eventually,
Martin’s spade hit something hard. He reached into the soil and pulled out a
large wooden box. Martin opened the crate. Inside, there was a small brass cube
covered with strange spiral patterns.

“That,” said Dr
Ackerman, “is a Coincidence Machine. It is an Axis Lord invention designed to
manipulate chance to increase positive outcomes.”

“And what does
that mean?” said Darcy.

“Essentially, it
gives you good luck. But Coincidence Machines are very erratic; they cannot
really be controlled. Probability is a complex thing. They tend to activate at
random intervals and can influence events in unforeseen ways. They were banned
on Hope eventually, but not before I had a great deal of fun with it!”