“Quark-espresso, Qualmudes, Quibbles, Quick-ees . . . Ah, here we are, Quikunpik. Nope, sorry, it's not due back until tomorrow.”
“Well, what
have
you got?” said Mrs. McLachlan with a faint edge of desperation, her eyes rapidly trawling the display cases around her. Her gaze fell on a small silver clock the size of a pocket watch, which appeared and disappeared with each passing second. Tick—there it was; tick—there it wasn't. The effect was oddly mesmerizing, and her thoughts drifted pleasantly for a few seconds until, recalling the urgency of her visit here, she gave a small shiver and turned back to face the librarian.
“What does that little clock do?”
“It's an update on our old Time Flies™—remember those horribly inaccurate bluebottles that dumped you at various unpredictable points in time? Such a pain . . . Anyway, this is the new and improved version, 24-hour clock with state-of-the-art Moebius drive, infinitely pre-programmable for accurate entry and exit. It's known as the Alarming Clock.”
“Not the most reassuring of names,” murmured Mrs. McLachlan, her attention caught by the flickering device as it winked into being and promptly disappeared again.
“I imagine they called it ‘alarming' because of the size of the instruction manual.” The librarian sighed, producing a large paperback book of similar dimensions to the telephone directory for Mexico City. “Now don't be put off,” he warned, passing this tome to Mrs. McLachlan and opening the display case to remove the Alarming Clock.
Mrs. McLachlan waited, leafing idly through the pages of dense print and wondering when, if ever, she would have time to get to grips with the complex volume of instructions. The librarian passed her the Alarming Clock, logged the withdrawal into his computer, and escorted Mrs. McLachlan out.
“Sorry to rush you,” he said, opening the door onto the night. “Normally I'd prefer to go through the instructions with you, but I simply haven't enough time. Just remember two things: always carry spare batteries wherever you go and, when you leave your destination, be it in the past or the future, be sure
never
to take anything back with you. No extra luggage, no tourist tat, and no souvenirs. . . . And a warning. If you're late bringing this back, it'll be a
far
more severe punishment than a mere fine.”
A chill gust of air blew through the library door, causing the twin shadows cast by the centaur and the nanny to dance in the flickering candlelight.
“Good luck.” The librarian stepped aside to let Mrs. McLachlan pass. “Bon
voyage . . .”
Weirdm@il
T he following dawn, returning to StregaSchloss after a dip in Lochnagargoyle, the beasts halted at the edge of the meadow, somewhat perplexed by the sight that greeted them up ahead. Several figures lay on the lawn, their contorted bodies rendered ghostlike by the early morning mist that wrapped round their twisted limbs and hung damply above the grass, dotting everything at ground level with chilly dew. Strange grunts and occasional roars of pain disturbed the silence, demonstrating to the watching beasts that all the figures were alive, even if horribly injured.
“What d'you think
happened
to them?” Sab whispered, at a loss for what to do next.
“They weren't there when we left the house,” Ffup said, raising a pawful of lurid pink talons to scratch the top of her head. “Whatever it was must have taken place while we were down at the lochside.”
One of the figures heaved itself into a sitting position and, much to the beasts' confusion, dragged a leg over its head and curled it round the back of its neck. With a wail of agony, it toppled over and lay facedown on the grass.
“Oh, the poor thing,” groaned Ffup, turning away in horror.
“Come on, guys, we'd better go and see how we can help.” Tock lolloped ahead, disappearing into the meadow, his passage marked by a thrashing trail of green as he trampled the grasses under
“Well, what
have
you got?” said Mrs. McLachlan with a faint edge of desperation, her eyes rapidly trawling the display cases around her. Her gaze fell on a small silver clock the size of a pocket watch, which appeared and disappeared with each passing second. Tick—there it was; tick—there it wasn't. The effect was oddly mesmerizing, and her thoughts drifted pleasantly for a few seconds until, recalling the urgency of her visit here, she gave a small shiver and turned back to face the librarian.
“What does that little clock do?”
“It's an update on our old Time Flies™—remember those horribly inaccurate bluebottles that dumped you at various unpredictable points in time? Such a pain . . . Anyway, this is the new and improved version, 24-hour clock with state-of-the-art Moebius drive, infinitely pre-programmable for accurate entry and exit. It's known as the Alarming Clock.”
“Not the most reassuring of names,” murmured Mrs. McLachlan, her attention caught by the flickering device as it winked into being and promptly disappeared again.
“I imagine they called it ‘alarming' because of the size of the instruction manual.” The librarian sighed, producing a large paperback book of similar dimensions to the telephone directory for Mexico City. “Now don't be put off,” he warned, passing this tome to Mrs. McLachlan and opening the display case to remove the Alarming Clock.
Mrs. McLachlan waited, leafing idly through the pages of dense print and wondering when, if ever, she would have time to get to grips with the complex volume of instructions. The librarian passed her the Alarming Clock, logged the withdrawal into his computer, and escorted Mrs. McLachlan out.
“Sorry to rush you,” he said, opening the door onto the night. “Normally I'd prefer to go through the instructions with you, but I simply haven't enough time. Just remember two things: always carry spare batteries wherever you go and, when you leave your destination, be it in the past or the future, be sure
never
to take anything back with you. No extra luggage, no tourist tat, and no souvenirs. . . . And a warning. If you're late bringing this back, it'll be a
far
more severe punishment than a mere fine.”
A chill gust of air blew through the library door, causing the twin shadows cast by the centaur and the nanny to dance in the flickering candlelight.
“Good luck.” The librarian stepped aside to let Mrs. McLachlan pass. “Bon
voyage . . .”
Weirdm@il
T he following dawn, returning to StregaSchloss after a dip in Lochnagargoyle, the beasts halted at the edge of the meadow, somewhat perplexed by the sight that greeted them up ahead. Several figures lay on the lawn, their contorted bodies rendered ghostlike by the early morning mist that wrapped round their twisted limbs and hung damply above the grass, dotting everything at ground level with chilly dew. Strange grunts and occasional roars of pain disturbed the silence, demonstrating to the watching beasts that all the figures were alive, even if horribly injured.
“What d'you think
happened
to them?” Sab whispered, at a loss for what to do next.
“They weren't there when we left the house,” Ffup said, raising a pawful of lurid pink talons to scratch the top of her head. “Whatever it was must have taken place while we were down at the lochside.”
One of the figures heaved itself into a sitting position and, much to the beasts' confusion, dragged a leg over its head and curled it round the back of its neck. With a wail of agony, it toppled over and lay facedown on the grass.
“Oh, the poor thing,” groaned Ffup, turning away in horror.
“Come on, guys, we'd better go and see how we can help.” Tock lolloped ahead, disappearing into the meadow, his passage marked by a thrashing trail of green as he trampled the grasses under
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