Agatha’s blue eyes. She rubbed them with the back of her hand, took another deep breath then carried on. “As I understand it, all these elements – earth, vapours, water, fire and gold – are set in motion by the sixth element. This, Saul, is an antique song. The song causes a shudder in the air.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Shudder?”
“A crack in the atmosphere. Through which I slip, alas.” She buried her face in her hands.
“It’s ok, Agatha,” I said chirpily. “I’ll help. But you said there were seven elements. What’s the seventh?”
“Yew. The yew tree.” Agatha gazed at me to make sure I understood. I nodded, impatiently. Sure, I knew about yew trees. You got them in graveyards and they looked witchy. “I press my feet upon wood hewn from the ancient yew,” she went on. “I gaze at the almanac on the study wall. On this first occasion, it said July 18, 1812. Throughout the ritual, Father chanted his ancient tune. Then, well, the only way I can faithfully describe the next part is to say it was like someone in the far distance calling my name. I found myself rushing down a long black tunnel towards them. Then suddenly the voice stopped.”
Annoyingly Agatha stopped too and stared into the glowing embers. “Don’t stop there!” I said, practically biting her head off, “Tell me what happened next!”
“To be frank, not a great deal. I blinked several times, to rid myself of the buzzing in my head – like a bee it was. Coming to, I found myself in the same place and Father was still there, though the contraptions were not. His beard was bushier. His waistcoat, I noted, had two buttons missing. I felt bewildered. I saw the almanac on the wall behind him. It was turned to July 18, 1813. The room was the same, and yet not the same. I had faded in 1812 and in the twinkling of an eye had reappeared one year into the future. Then instantly I felt my head spin.
“The song called me back again. I felt a great rushing force pull me down that black tunnel. And once more I was in what Father calls ‘current time’. He was punching the air for joy. The buttons were back on his waistcoat. The almanac said July 18, 1812. Sun streamed through the window.
“’Success!’ shouted Father, beaming from ear to ear, as if he had a feather in his cap. ‘Aye, dear child. What you behold before yea is nothing less than majestic success!’
“I wandered upstairs to my chamber, though I felt somewhat shaken up. Through the morning, I could hear Father shouting, ‘Yes! Yes! I have broken down the doors of time! YES! I am famous at last! I am…’”
“But Agatha,” I interrupted, “if he managed to get you back then, why didn’t he get you back this time?”
Agatha wrung her hands and chewed her lip.“Vaulting ambition,” she murmured. And before I could ask what that meant she went on. “It is like a swelling of the head. From that day forth, Father grew blind with ambition. He thought he could achieve anything he set his mind to. And though time travel frightened me, it also fascinated me. And yea know, I so wanted Father to be skilled at something. He had succeeded in transporting me a year hence. I believed in him. But after that successful experiment he was not content with small time transportations. Ach no. ‘One year is small fry, Agatha,’ he said, puffing out his chest. So he locked himself in his study, intent on frying the biggest fish. Strange noises and smells came from that place. Sometimes, while I was busy in the kitchen, scrubbing potatoes or cleaning the floor, Father would hasten to me and say, ‘I am close, Agatha. So close to the biggest time-shifting experiment the world has ever known. It succeeded before. It will succeed again. But this time, child – if yea agree to help me in my work – yea will travel far into the future. Ach, the sights yea will see. The changes yea will behold. No more scrubbing tatties. Yea’ll be a great explorer. Say yea agree,
I raised an eyebrow. “Shudder?”
“A crack in the atmosphere. Through which I slip, alas.” She buried her face in her hands.
“It’s ok, Agatha,” I said chirpily. “I’ll help. But you said there were seven elements. What’s the seventh?”
“Yew. The yew tree.” Agatha gazed at me to make sure I understood. I nodded, impatiently. Sure, I knew about yew trees. You got them in graveyards and they looked witchy. “I press my feet upon wood hewn from the ancient yew,” she went on. “I gaze at the almanac on the study wall. On this first occasion, it said July 18, 1812. Throughout the ritual, Father chanted his ancient tune. Then, well, the only way I can faithfully describe the next part is to say it was like someone in the far distance calling my name. I found myself rushing down a long black tunnel towards them. Then suddenly the voice stopped.”
Annoyingly Agatha stopped too and stared into the glowing embers. “Don’t stop there!” I said, practically biting her head off, “Tell me what happened next!”
“To be frank, not a great deal. I blinked several times, to rid myself of the buzzing in my head – like a bee it was. Coming to, I found myself in the same place and Father was still there, though the contraptions were not. His beard was bushier. His waistcoat, I noted, had two buttons missing. I felt bewildered. I saw the almanac on the wall behind him. It was turned to July 18, 1813. The room was the same, and yet not the same. I had faded in 1812 and in the twinkling of an eye had reappeared one year into the future. Then instantly I felt my head spin.
“The song called me back again. I felt a great rushing force pull me down that black tunnel. And once more I was in what Father calls ‘current time’. He was punching the air for joy. The buttons were back on his waistcoat. The almanac said July 18, 1812. Sun streamed through the window.
“’Success!’ shouted Father, beaming from ear to ear, as if he had a feather in his cap. ‘Aye, dear child. What you behold before yea is nothing less than majestic success!’
“I wandered upstairs to my chamber, though I felt somewhat shaken up. Through the morning, I could hear Father shouting, ‘Yes! Yes! I have broken down the doors of time! YES! I am famous at last! I am…’”
“But Agatha,” I interrupted, “if he managed to get you back then, why didn’t he get you back this time?”
Agatha wrung her hands and chewed her lip.“Vaulting ambition,” she murmured. And before I could ask what that meant she went on. “It is like a swelling of the head. From that day forth, Father grew blind with ambition. He thought he could achieve anything he set his mind to. And though time travel frightened me, it also fascinated me. And yea know, I so wanted Father to be skilled at something. He had succeeded in transporting me a year hence. I believed in him. But after that successful experiment he was not content with small time transportations. Ach no. ‘One year is small fry, Agatha,’ he said, puffing out his chest. So he locked himself in his study, intent on frying the biggest fish. Strange noises and smells came from that place. Sometimes, while I was busy in the kitchen, scrubbing potatoes or cleaning the floor, Father would hasten to me and say, ‘I am close, Agatha. So close to the biggest time-shifting experiment the world has ever known. It succeeded before. It will succeed again. But this time, child – if yea agree to help me in my work – yea will travel far into the future. Ach, the sights yea will see. The changes yea will behold. No more scrubbing tatties. Yea’ll be a great explorer. Say yea agree,
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