The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity (9 page)

Becky glanced at Uncle Percy, who appeared somewhat puzzled.
‘
Was that a time
machine?
’

‘
It certainly sounded
like one, didn
’
t it?
’
Uncle Percy replied.

‘
I thought Reg had
stopped travelling?
’
Joe said.

‘
He has,
’
Uncle Percy said.
‘
But I suppose
travellers still visit him, if only to stock up on his home-brewed real-ale
‘
Olde Noggin.
’
He chuckled.
‘
A pint of that and you
don
’
t need
a Memoraser to forget what you
’
ve done.
’
And with three long strides he disappeared into the pub.

Inside, Becky was surprised to see a huge shaggy brown dog snoring
noisily before a raging fire which crackled and popped; wooden tables, each
with a brass candlestick in its center, were dotted across the timber floor,
the tops of which were coated in thick clumps of dried wax like icing on a cake.
The oak beamed ceiling was so low that Uncle Percy had to stoop to avoid
banging his head as he spied a thickset grey-haired man sat in the corner,
drinking bitter from a pewter tankard.

‘
Sid,
’
Uncle Percy said.
‘
Sidney Shufflebottom?
’

The old man looked up.
‘
Bless my soul…if it isn
’
t Percy Halifax,
’
he said, surprised.
‘
Don
’
t see you in the boozer too often, nowadays. How you keepin
’
, son?
’

Uncle Percy walked over and shook the man
’
s hand vigorously.
‘
Not bad at all, Sid.
Good to see you. How
’
s Irene?
’

‘
She
’
s very well, ta.
’

‘
And young Zak?
’

‘
Oh, he
’
s an angel,
’
Sid replied. He
looked over at Becky and Joe and flashed a welcoming smile.
‘
And who are these two?
’

‘
This is Becky and Joe
Mellor, my niece and nephew,
’
Uncle Percy replied proudly.
‘
We
’
ve come to see Reg… is he around?
’

‘
Think so,
’
Sid confirmed, his
eyes flicking over to the deserted bar.
‘
Doreen!
’

A young woman with a heavily made-up face, popped up from beneath
the counter, chomping noisily on a piece of chewing gum.

‘
Reg about, Doreen,
luv?
’
Sid
asked.

Doreen paused, surveyed the group coolly, then tilted her head back
and screeched,
‘
REEEEGGGG !
’
Then she gave a disinterested yawn.

Sid leaned into Uncle Percy and whispered,
‘
Sorry about Doreen.
She
’
s new
and between you and me might be in the wrong job … she appears to hate people.
’

A door behind the counter creaked open and a short, grizzled man
appeared, wearing a loose-fitting brown jacket, patched at the elbows with
uneven scraps of material; his chin showed at least three days of stubble and
his eyes looked swollen as though he hadn
’
t slept in some time.

‘
Thanks, pet,
’
Reg muttered. He
looked over at Uncle Percy, and for a brief moment his face displayed shock,
before flashing a welcoming smile.
‘
By
‘
eck, if it ain
’
t me old chum, Percy Halifax.
’

Uncle Percy smiled back.
‘
How are you, Reg?
’

‘
I canna complain.
‘
Bout yourself?
’

‘
I
’
m well, thank you.
’

Reg looked at Becky and a twinkle lodged in his eyes.
‘
Now if that ain
’
t that the prettiest face
starin
’
back at me. John
’
s girl, eh? Becky, if I ain
’
t mistaken.
’
He turned to Joe.
‘
And Joe, too. Good
lookin
’
lad, no doubt. My, I ain
’
t seen either of you since you were bairns.
’

‘
Hello,
’
Becky and Joe said in
unison.

‘
Is there any chance we
could have a little chat, Reg?
’
Uncle Percy asked.
‘
In private …
’

‘
Sure,
’
Reg replied.
‘
Come round the snug.
Doreen … giz a shout if you
’
re rushed off your feet.
’
Doreen grunted something back at him before resuming her chewing.
Reg pulled open the counter top and gestured for them to follow.

Becky found herself in a tiny room, that smelled of pipe tobacco and
stale food; half-drunken coffee mugs littered the floor and piles of unopened
post threatened to topple from a dusty mantelpiece, above which hung a portrait
of a middle-aged woman wearing a cream dress and holding a parasol. It was the
portrait that caught Becky
’
s eye.

Reg noticed and moved to her left.
‘
Believe it or not, that there
’
s one of the most
valuable painting
’
s in the world.
’

‘
Really?
’

‘
Look at the artist
’
s signature.
’

Becky
’
s lowered her gaze to a man
’
s name in the bottom right hand corner:
‘
Vincent.
’
Immediately, she
recalled an art project she did for school the previous year.
‘
Is… is that -?
’

Reg smiled tenderly.
‘
Vincent Van Gogh painted that for me in 1887. It was the first
painting he ever sold. And to be honest, he only ever sold one other in his
lifetime, so that
’
s what makes this one pretty darn rare.
‘
Course, no one knows
that. I tell most folks it were painted by Vincent Buggins, an old army mate of
mine.
’

‘
It
’
s a lovely picture,
’
Becky said.

Reg
’
s smile grew.
‘
Aye, it is. Quite fitting, coz my Mabel were a lovely woman. In
fact, there were none lovelier.
’
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before moving to a chest of drawers
on the right hand wall. Pulling open a drawer, he withdrew a small gold ring
with a glittering crimson stone set in its bezel.

‘
Here, child …I
’
d like you to have
this.
’
His
hands trembled as he passed the ring to Becky.
‘
It
’
s very old and was my wife
’
s favourite, aside from her weddin
’
ring, of course.
’

Becky
’
s looked down and gasped.
‘
I can
’
t -
’

‘
No,
’
Reg insisted.
‘
She woulda wanted it.
I really don
’
t know any women
‘
cept Doreen out there and she wouldn
’
t give it the care it deserves. I hope you
’
ll do that for me …
and my wife.
’

‘
I shall,
’
Becky replied
sincerely.
‘
Thank you.
’

‘
Allow me.
’
Delicately, Reg took
Becky
’
s
finger and slipped it on.

‘
That
’
s very kind of you,
Reg,
’
Uncle Percy said.

Reg gave a casual shrug.
‘
It just sits in a drawer, Percy. As you know, every now and again
the past should be allowed to breathe again. And that can only happen in the
present.
’

Uncle Percy gave a gentle smile.
‘
I understand.
’

‘
Anyway,
’
Reg said.
‘
Why
’
ve you come to an old
man
’
s pub?
’

Uncle Percy
’
s face grew serious.
‘
Can I assume you heard about our little adventure in the summer?
’

‘
Aye,
’
Reg said.
‘
I still have my ears
to the ground. Why, just before you got here I had a visit from one of the old
GITT crowd.
’

‘
Ah, we thought we heard
a time machine,
’
Uncle Percy said.

‘
They still pop in from
time to time to rob me of my Olde Noggin. Then Reg shook his head with disgust.
‘
Emerson
Drake, eh? I mean, I never trusted him, always thought he was a weasel myself,
but I never thought him capable of all that.
’

‘
Well he is. And a
whole lot more. And now it looks like he
’
s searching for another relic, which means we
have to try and beat him to it. Now, this is speculation, but it appears the
legend of Pandora
’
s Box might, to some extent, be true. It also appears that at some
point in history it may well have fallen into the hands of one, Mr Edward
Teach, who may well have used it as a treasure chest…
’

Reg gave an audible groan.
‘
Blackbeard!
’

Uncle Percy nodded.
‘
Indeed.
’

Reg listened intently.
‘
What do you know about Blackbeard?
’

‘
As for the man, only
what history books tell me. Supposedly born Edward Teach in 1680, he joined
Benjamin Hornigold
’
s sloop as a pirate. He acquired his own ship, The Queen Anne
’
s Revenge in 1717 and
was known from then on as Blackbeard. He was killed by Lieutenant Robert
Maynard of the Royal Navy in the winter of 1718.
’

‘
Most of that is true,
’
Reg replied.
‘‘
Cept for the bit
about Robert Maynard. He never killed Blackbeard. Not at the Ocracoke inlet on
the 22
^nd
November 1718, which is what you
’
ll have found in those
history books of yours.
 
Sure, the Royal
Navy captured his crew, but they didn
’
t get Blackbeard, that
’
s just navy
propaganda, just like the story of how Blackbeard
’
s severed head was impaled to the bowsprit of
Maynard
’
s
sloop as a warning to other pirates. It didn
’
t happen. Nah, Blackbeard escaped, with his
head firmly attached to his neck. And I know that for a fact.
’

‘
How do you know?
’
Uncle Percy asked.

‘
Because I was there,
at Ocracoke, and I saw the whole damn thing.
’