Time After Time

The main streets were still busy with rugby fans drifting from pub to pub, drowning their sorrows. Pulling up the hoods of their cloaks, they made a dash for it. The street was busy with traffic, so they had to wait to cross the road.

“Look, its Robin of Sherwood,” someone shouted. The voice was deep and the words slurred. Tom felt a hand on his shoulder, and a flushed, shaven headed face peered under his hood. The face was so close to Tom’s he could feel the man’s stinking breath on his cheek.

“Maid Marion’s here too,” said the man’s friend, yanking back Kate’s hood.

“It’s happy hour at the Bees Knees,” said Pete, glancing at his watch. “You might get a couple in if you hurry.”

The men hurried away to a nearby pub.

Tom, Kate and Pete crossed the road, slipped into a dark alley next to a bus stop and waited for a bus. When it came they, rushed out and clambered aboard the bright orange double decker.

“Anyone got any money?” Pete asked.

They all looked at each other for a second; Tom sighed, slipped off his boot and pulled out a rolled fiver. “Four under-sixteens please,” he said to the driver. He put the filthy crumpled note in the payment tray. The driver picked it up with two fingers and dropped it into his pouch.

They climbed to the top floor and collapsed exhausted on the back row.

As the bus was pulling away, there was a hammering on the door downstairs. They heard the driver arguing with someone. Tom peered out to see what was going on, and leapt back.

“It’s Barry McLaughlin. This isn’t good. I broke his nose, and kicked him in the shins.”

The shouting and hammering continued.

“I didn’t break his nose on purpose,” Tom added.

“You kicked him in the shins on purpose?” Kate asked.

“In for penny,” said Pete.

“And why would you do that to the town psycho?” Kate asked.

The raised voices continued downstairs for a couple of minutes. The bus driver said he was going to call the depot for help. The events of the night must have worn Barry down though, because after a final mouthful of expletives, he gave up. As the bus pulled away, a half brick bounced of the window.

“It’ll be ok,” said Kate patting Tom on the arm. “Sophie is still safe at home, and you’ll be there tomorrow night. We’ve already seen it happen.”

Ten minutes later, they got off the bus and walked in the darkness between two playing fields. They cut through a shopping precinct and onto a small car park. There was a betting shop, a mini-market, a hairdressers and the kind of pub people said was full of character.

“He spends his evenings in there,” said Kate. “But let’s try the house first. It’s around the corner.”

Kate led the way across the car park, through a cluster of three storey flats. Boards covered many of the windows. A TV flickered through a window; an old woman sat watching The Onedin Line. The volume must have been on the highest setting, as the theme tune filled the covered walkway. Opposite these dwellings was a patch of wasteland. Pushing through brambles, they stumbled into a ditch, and climbed the other side. There, standing in the most unlikely place imaginable, was the cottage. It had not changed in 800 years. Smoke puffed from the chimney, and firelight flickered through the window. They approached the front door.

Before they could knock, the door swung open.

The High Council stood around the open box.

Councilor Bradshaw looked at the stranger. “Is this some kind of joke? The box is empty. Where is the book?”

The stranger pulled out his gun. Someone screamed.

“Silence,” said the stranger, raising his voice. “I will not harm anyone, as long as you cooperate.”

A sobbing came from the back of the room.

“What do you want? Where is Professor Collins?” Bradshaw asked.

“I am Lancaster’s welcoming party. All you need to do is direct me to him, and hand over the relics.

“Relics?” Bradshaw laughed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Professor Collins kept a full inventory. Father Arrowsmith’s Hand of Glory, for example. Missing for years, and discovered by a teenage girl in an abandoned house in Leigh.”

“You do not know how powerful we are,” said Bradshaw, smiling. “You will not get out of this town alive.”

The stranger lifted his gun and shot Bradshaw in the leg. The High Councillor fell to the floor, screaming in pain.

The stranger grabbed a chair and jammed it under the handle of the door. He turned back to the terrified group. “The High Council is hereby adjourned.”