Published writing

“Hello.” I spun around, shocked. The voice had a purring quality to it, almost languid. My own heart was racing - surely anyone I met in the library at this hour would be just as shocked as me. Surely it wasn’t a regular occurrence for people to be prowling these halls in the dead of night. “Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced frantically around the dim room, searching for the source of the voice. “I have had many names,” replied the dry voice. “My current one is Grimalkin.” And then, the speaker stepped into the patch of silver thrown by the skylight and smiled with a face that was decidedly not human. Ebony fur coated his skin, thinning on his face and on his hands, which were clawed. Pointed ears twitched occasionally atop his oddly human-shaped head. I could see a tail protruding into the murky darkness behind him. And once I had taken in all of this and believed I could no longer be shocked about this creature’s appearance - even when I saw that he was dressed almost like a pirate - his eyes showed me how wrong I was. His right eye was ordinary enough, appearing a murky brown in the uncertain light. His left, however, shone an unnaturally bright saffron, almost seeming to glow. The sclera was all but nonexistent and the pupil was a horizontal slit. Involuntarily, I took a step back. The smile widened into a Cheshire grin, revealing pointed teeth. “What are you?” I managed to choke out, amending my previous question. “Dark things are going on in this library. Dark enough to give something like me physical form. I am a creature out of the stories. I live in the shadows, but I am on your side, for the most part. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the things that will soon be given substance if this perversion continues.” I hesitated. Everything about that made me shudder, made me want to leave this library and not return. But… someone had been sending me notes, and I was going to find out who it was. Although, come to think of it… “Have you been sending me those notes?” I asked uncertainly, remembering the crumpled sheets, the words repeated over and over across the creamy surface of each one. “No. I have been receiving notes myself, in fact.” I was about to ask a follow-up question when I was rudely interrupted by the sight of a ghost floating through one of the walls of shelves. I would’ve been surprised, but my capacity for shock had already been exceeded. Grimalkin, on the other hand, let out a low hiss and moved back into the shadows. Translucent and glowing a faint cobalt, the specter was a young man dressed in antiquated clothing. Periodically, he would drop a small slip of paper onto the ground, tossing them over his shoulder or simply letting them slip through his fingers. Hesitantly, I bent to pick one up. Where? It read. Where, where, where? I turned to another. Penelope Philips, 23 Darling Crescent, London. The address was repeated over and over. The archives. The archives! But where? Where? Where? Where? I straightened, disturbed, before noticing that the trail of these notes led towards a librarian’s desk. Slipped into a stack of papers, in a desk drawer, these notes had been left for the poor librarian to find. Get out. Get lost. Farewell. And, perhaps most disturbingly, enjoy the remainder of your insignificant existence. The librarian seemed to have fled, judging by the state of disarray the desk was in. Slowly, the ghost slid through the floor, disappearing to somewhere in the direction of the archives. I blinked, letting the notes in my fingers flutter to the ground. “He’s clearing out the library.” I said slowly. “Why is he clearing out the library?” Grimalkin let out another low hiss and murmured, “I think I know why.” With trepidation, I followed his feline figure as we wound through corridors and between stacks of books, until arriving in a small storage closet with walls that were chipped and peeling. He gestured for me to look through one of the cracks. I did so, and was shocked to discover that, buried under endless chambers of the library were the trappings of a once-fine room, sealed off from anything else. And inside the room… “I think we’ve found our culprits,” I whispered.

Like dark gods, the tall Ionic columns loomed over me in disapproval. I tried to blame my trembling on the icy breeze which whipped across the path, and not the sinister shadows which seemed to watch me from somewhere just beyond my sight. A waning sliver of argent moon hung in the sky which on this night resembled a cosmic leer. It smiled knowingly down from the heavens. I strode quickly up the steps, wincing as the tap of my boots on stone broke the misty silence of the night. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw a shape move. It’s just a shadow, it’s just a shadow, it’s just a shadow, I frantically told myself as prickles raced up my spine. It’s just a shadow, it’s just… I caught the briefest glimpse of an eye, flickering in the pale moonlight. It shone in the moonlight, slit-pupiled and tawny yellow. I gulped. Certainly not a human eye. Quickening my pace, I scurried up the steps and gently pushed open the ornate doors, grateful that the hinges were well-oiled. I glanced behind me but could see nothing but the unnaturally silent street. I was happy to put the choking fog behind me as I stole into the darkened Mitchell Vestibule. In books lies the soul of the whole past time - the articulate, audible voice of the past when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream. The haunting inscription was the first thing my eyes fell upon and it chilled me to the bone. One day, I too would vanish like a dream, and that day felt closer and closer as I came closer and closer to the heart of this library. I shivered, turning my gaze away from the words and taking in the grand room around me. More columns once again glared at me as I slowly entered the Reading Room. I sank down into a wooden chair. This seemed as good a place as any to finally plot my course of action. I didn’t need the eldritch tugging in my gut to tell me that this was the place I needed to go - the notes had done that already. But I did need to know how to find the sender - furtive sneaking seemed more comfortable than strutting through the halls, but if I was caught- “Hello.” I spun around, shocked. The voice had a purring quality to it, almost languid. My own heart was racing - surely anyone I met in the library at this hour would be just as shocked as me. Surely it wasn’t a regular occurrence for people to be prowling these halls in the dead of night. “Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced frantically around the dim room, searching for the source of the voice. “I have had many names,” replied the dry voice. “My current one is Grimalkin.” And then, the speaker stepped into the patch of silver thrown by the skylight and smiled with a face that was decidedly not human.

Author's Note: I'm sorry this is so unfinished. I will try and post a full story later on. Thank you! Xander Orion contemplated the beauty before him with a detached avarice. The planet seemed nice enough, covered as it was with lush jungle and soaring peaks. Exotic clouds in various shades of orange wreathed the unfamiliar planet in a halo of gold light, which was visually appealing if hard to photograph. Orion sighed. This was an excellent business prospect - prime location, beautiful vista. There was just one problem. The natives. When he had bought up this quadrant of the galaxy, he had been expecting mainly uninhabitable planets which could be turned into industrial plants or stars that could be used as energy cores. Perhaps the occasional diamond in the rough to be used as a tourist trap. And this one would satisfy that last very well if it weren’t for its humanoid inhabitants. Orion could see the reasoning behind not exterminating humanoid species but damn it, he was not going to lose this opportunity because a bunch of primitive savages beat him to it. “Danger factor: 6,” beeped a robotic voice from the dashboard of his small, private space cruiser. “With all due respect, sir, landing on an unfamiliar planet inhabited by a potentially hostile species is a very bad idea.” “Cancel all my appointments today, Ethel,” Orion replied, ignoring the AI’s advice. He grabbed his transmitter, a canteen of Space-Ade (purified liquid that was consumable to over 60% of the galaxy’s humanoids, and perpetually 'on sale' for only 3 credits a bottle! Get yours now! *Catchy theme music*), and his blaster pistol. He didn’t know how to actually use the damn thing, but he felt better having it. “Watch the ship while I’m gone, Ethel,” he added as the ship pulled closer to the forested surface of his planet. “Sir, I am an artificial intelligence programmed into this ship, and as such I-” whatever the ship had been about to say was interrupted by a loud rumbling noise as all his screens went dark. His ship’s connection to the source of power in the civilised universe was being disrupted by this planet’s atmosphere. In short, he was facing a bumpy landing. Well, that was inconvenient. A stunning panorama of alien flora was presented to Orion as he plummeted to the ground. It sure was lovely - perhaps he could use this hurtling sketch of the planet as a feature, not a flaw? The calls of various avian creatures filled the air as their startled forms fled the impending collision. That was a selling point, too. CRASH! Sending up debris for quite some distance, his pod smashed into the forest floor. When the dust cleared, he remained hesitantly inside for several minutes before slowly exiting into a new world. Juxtaposed against the commotion of the crash, the silence and stillness was oppressive. Orion glanced around at the lush, exotic foliage around him. High above in the canopy, a curtain of green and blue obscured the sky from view. The underbrush was a tangle of creeping vines bursting with tubers and flowers and fruit and things Orion couldn’t even identify. As he trudged out of the ruins of his ship, the sharp, bright metal stood out starkly against the springy ground. Tickling his nose, a breeze brought unknown scents, reminiscent of a tropical rainforest but somehow strange. Slowly, cautiously, the avian creatures began to settle back in the trees, bright feathers rustling in the zephyr. Orion sighed. Well, as nice as this place was, he had a meeting at 0800 Galactic Standard that he would rather not miss. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the transmitter he kept for emergencies - it had batteries (the primitive thing), so the power disruption wouldn’t affect… Something was scrambling his signal. Something was scrambling his signal! But that was impossible… the only inhabitants of this planet were primitives… it just didn’t make sense… For once, Orion felt uncertainty stirring, but he pushed it down. Slowly, his eyes swept the wreckage as he attempted to take an inventory of his supplies. What did he have? Nothing, as it turned out. Agitated, he began to turn slow circles around the clearing. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to him! He was famous, rich, powerful! He wasn’t supposed to end up marooned on some stupid backwater with no resources… except for some berries. They were small, bright green, and shiny. Orion snatched one eagerly, scoffing it in one bite and reaching for another. They tasted sweet… sickly sweet… almost like… sleeping syrup. Orion crumpled to the ground. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, Orion heard a jumble of garbled voices. Faces swam above him, wavering in his vision. What was going on? Who were these people? He struggled to awaken through the thick haze the berries had left upon his mind. Finally, he managed it. “Foreigner,” said a thickly accented voice. “Tell me; why were you flying so close to our planet?” When he tried to speak, his voice came out as a croak. There was a sigh from somewhere just beyond his peripheral vision. “I suppose you should recover your strength first. But we of the jungles are not fond of trespassers.” We of the jungles… not fond of trespassers… the inhabitants of this planet were the ones who caused his ship to crash. This was getting better and better. A hand stretched out towards him, holding a cup of water which he took gratefully. Suddenly, an imperious female walked into the room. A circlet of what appeared to be wood nestled upon her head. She had a commanding aura about her, accentuated by her extreme height - apparently this race was on the larger side, and Orion felt slightly dwarfed. With no preamble, the woman barked, “I would like to know what it is that you think you are doing on my planet.” Great. “Um…” How to phrase this? “It… wasn’t exactly by choice.” “Obviously. It’s nice to know that our defensive systems work, but that isn’t the reason you’re here.” “Defensive systems?” Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. Apparently there’s been talk of some upstart real estate agent buying our planet. Can you believe that? As if they had the right!” “That was before I realised that you had a civilization!” Orion blurted. Damn. They would kill him for sure. “You…” her eyes widened in rage. *There’s a break in the story as I realise I won’t have time to finish it* ORION: Excuse! Platitude! Please don’t kill me! CHIEFTAIN: But you’re trying to sell my entire planet on the galactic property market. ORION: Runs away. *Attempts to survive in the wilderness* *Almost runs headfirst off a cliff within about three minutes* NOOOO! CHIEFTAIN: Wow, this guy is an idiot. Well, I guess we oughta save him. ORION: Thank you! I’ll do anything- CHIEFTAIN: Well then. If you can convince your superiors to not sell our planet, consider your debt repaid. ORION: Fine. *Goes back home.* ETHEL: Sir, you have mail. ORION: Not right now. Can’t a man get a minute of peace? ETHEL: But, sir, it’s tagged as important. ORION: Fine, you insufferable AI. ETHEL: You’ve been fired. ORION: Well, I’d like to think of that as a temporary arrangement. You see, I have powerful friends now and I doubt they’d want to let this get in the way of their plans. *Writes angry letter to boss* BOSS: *Reads the letter* What do you mean, powerful friends? CHIEFTAIN: Left a little bit... *A homing missile crashes directly into Orion's boss's desk* ORION: That's what I mean...

Author's Note: Sorry that I haven't included a MacGyvered solution yet, that wouldn't really even occur to my character except as a (very) last resort, so that should come towards the climax. CRASH! Sending up debris for quite some distance, his pod smashed into the forest floor. When the dust cleared, he remained hesitantly inside for several minutes before slowly exiting into a new world. Juxtaposed against the commotion of the crash, the silence and stillness was oppressive. Orion glanced around at the lush, exotic foliage around him. High above in the canopy, a curtain of green and blue obscured the sky from view. The underbrush was a tangle of creeping vines bursting with tubers and flowers and fruit and things Orion couldn’t even identify. As he trudged out of the ruins of his ship, the sharp, bright metal stood out starkly against the springy ground. Tickling his nose, a breeze brought unknown scents, reminiscent of a tropical rainforest but somehow strange. Slowly, cautiously, the avian creatures began to settle back in the trees, bright feathers rustling in the zephyr. Orion sighed. Well, as nice as this place was, he had a meeting at 0800 Galactic Standard that he would rather not miss. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the transmitter he kept for emergencies - it had batteries (the primitive thing), so the power disruption wouldn’t affect… Something was scrambling his signal. Something was scrambling his signal! But that was impossible… the only inhabitants of this planet were primitives… it just didn’t make sense… For once, Orion felt uncertainty stirring, but he pushed it down. Slowly, his eyes swept the wreckage as he attempted to take an inventory of his supplies. What did he have? Nothing, as it turned out. Agitated, he began to turn slow circles around the clearing. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to him! He was famous, rich, powerful! He wasn’t supposed to end up marooned on some stupid backwater with no resources… except for some berries. They were small, bright green, and shiny. Orion snatched one eagerly, scoffing it in one bite and reaching for another. They tasted sweet… sickly sweet… almost like… sleeping syrup. Orion crumpled to the ground.

For the third time that evening, Avril Rosseau rechecked her suitcase. The navy, wheeled contraption had three large, zippered pockets, and every one was kept as controlled and tidy as her well-organised mind. In the first pocket were her clothes - thick and warm to protect from the extreme cold, and with fluorescent or reflective stripes in case of an avalanche, snowstorm or other disaster. The second pocket contained an eclectic combination of a small two-person tent, a sleeping bag, a lantern, a torch, two spare batteries (they both used AA, which wasn’t a coincidence), and various other useful items - like night-vision goggles and other utilities. The third pocket… well, hopefully she would never need to use what was in the third pocket. Was Avril an overpacker? You could say that. Sighing, she left her preparations and went to ensure that the rest of the household were packed. Properly packed. She couldn’t trust them not to leave something behind. And you never knew when that something could be crucial. “Maurice!” Avril called as she walked down the hallway to his room, “I’m just going to check what Maman has packed for you.” “M’kay Avi,” he murmured, in the process of stuffing yet another teddy bear into his bag. The rest of his preparations she deemed “good enough,” the same as their parents’. She wrote an inventory of their packings in her journal, before finishing with the worry that had been plaguing her all day. Cher journal intime, There are twenty-four avalanche-related fatalities in the Alps every year. And we will be there all the way from France to Switzerland. Will my family be some of that number? She paused, then made up her mind. No, she wrote. Because I won’t let them.

Three years earlier Lights flickered. Branches rustled. Eyes watched, unseen, as the wind whispered secrets that carried through the forest. Something was afoot, it was clear from the enveloping, echoing silence which seemed to stretch for miles. It was broken only by the hiss of the wind, as if all life had been spirited away from the ethereal wood. Shrouded in an enveloping, midnight blue cloak, a hooded figure moved through the trees. Gnarled branches reached out leafy hands towards this enigma, but their aura of mystery seemed an almost tangible - yet untouchable - thing. They continued to move, striding through the thick, stifling undergrowth as they trod a precarious game trail. Eventually, a clearing came into view. Crystalline, a waterfall rushed down a sheer cliff into the glittering lake far below, which reflected the night sky’s infinite canopy. Pausing a moment to take in the idyllic scene, the figure continued their brisk walk until they reached a narrow ledge in the rock face. Inching carefully along the edge, they reached a fissure in the rock which opened into… A library. Two facing walls were covered in all manner of books with stately cloth and gilt-edged binding, and even the occasional yellowed scroll. Another wall contained a crackling hearth and featured a polished desk of elm littered haphazardly with papers and the occasional stray flask of phial. Instead of a final wall, however, the comfortable cave had a curtain of water - the other side of the waterfall. Not bothering to take in their surroundings, the figure grabbed a book off one of the shelves and flicked through the pages with a sense of urgency until reaching the one they sought. Text in some ancient tongue flowed across the pages of the tome as the cloak-wearer stepped into the centre of the room, murmuring under their breath in an eldritch language. There was a flash of light, and a faint whoosh! Then they were gone… “Come on, slowcoach,” teased the curly-haired boy standing a few metres below her. “We’ll never defeat the orcs if we can’t even make it past one teeny cliff!” Lottie rolled her eyes, judging the distance. Where her brother Jamie had scampered down the rock face like a mountain goat, she preferred the way of caution. Around five metres - not difficult for experienced rock climbers like them, especially given the gentle angle. Still, she tucked her golden hair behind her helmet straps before beginning the climb. It was a nervous habit, and Jamie knew it. “James Watson, Orc Slayer, is about to go official!” “But all the more discerning readers have noticed that Charlotte Watson does all the work. Kind of like Hermione Granger.” She slipped down to join him. “I still beat you here,” Jamie said, smirking. That smirk was wiped right off his face, however, when she noticed the cave. A narrow opening in the cliffside, which they cautiously moved towards. Every time they thought they’d discovered every cave on their family’s enormous estate, they were proved wrong. But this one seemed different. Different in a way which sent tingles running across your skin and ice flooding your veins. Moving as one, the twins slipped through the narrow opening and were stunned to find… a library? “It looks like a wizard’s study,” Jamie mumbled. Lottie nodded, speechless. (Jamie, of course, was never speechless, but rather lost the ability to speak coherently on occasion.) Timidity evident in his posture, Jamie immediately gravitated towards the large desk across the room, where a book lay open, dust motes dancing around pages which had remained untouched for what seemed like years. The words were in Latin - a language which the unfortunate children were quite familiar with, thanks to their overbearing tutor. “Divisio temporis ante me aperta est, et introibo per providentiam.” Lottie whispered the words and felt something, some power, coursing through her. She slipped her hand through her twin’s. “Camelot. Anno DCL. In mense oct- nono? Via sapientium coniungitur infirmis, ut omnes bene faciant.” Jamie added, reading from what seemed to be a handwritten portion. He reached for the book. “The way of the wise is to unite with the weak, that all may prosper? What does that mean? And what about that thing you read before, about time and-” A flash of light. Then they were gone, leaving no trace… Radiant. Light blossomed across every surface like a slow-motion explosion. It was a sweet, pure light, like a star - a star which was going supernova all around him. Images streamed across Jamie’s consciousness: a man with a long grey beard, bent before a simmering cauldron; a hooded figure moving through a wide, cobbled street; a dungeon, heavily barred; a lonely tower rising out of thick trees. They passed too fast for Jamie to register any details, and then he was dissolving, particles of light glimmering around him as if refracted from some unseen prism. All he was aware of was Lottie’s hand, tight around his own. Until the blinding light dimmed, revealing… Looming over them, a castle. Built sturdy and tall, the fortress was grey stone and dark secrets. Imposing spires pierced the sky like steely blades. A sense of dread permeated everything, a foreboding he couldn’t shake. Then came the sound, a rush of clattering and clanging, the sounds of toil and domestic life. But then, unusually, came touch and smell - one bringing the tickle of a gentle breeze and the pressure of his sister’s fingers, the other providing the pungency of grime and dirt. That was highly unusual. His daydreams didn’t usually have an olfactory- “Jamie,” Lottie whispered, “are you seeing this?” That was even stranger. He and his sister shared their dreams, but not literally- “Jamie!” Her voice came, sharply, “Jamie, this isn't a dream. I think… it might be real.” “But that would mean…” he trailed off, neither of them wanting to be the first one to say it. So they chorused; “we time travelled.” Before either could fully react to this startling revelation, a gruff voice growled “You there! Come where I can see you!” Uncertainly, the twins complied, stepping onto the wide, cobbled road leading up to the castle. They were faced with a grizzled gate guard, a lean, wiry man with hair greying at the temples. As he looked them up and down, his bearded face drained of all colour. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. Suddenly, his arms shot out with blinding speed as he grabbed them by the wrists. Powerless in his viselike grip, Jamie was towed along. Somewhere in his periphery, he could see Lottie struggling slightly. Still reeling from his shock, however, Jamie could do nothing but limply allow himself to be half-dragged through torchlit stone hallways until they reached a low wooden door. The guard pushed it open and they entered a small, dimly lit space which appeared to be a storeroom of some kind. Lottie opened her mouth to say something (probably some variation on “Now, who do you think you are,” or “What are you doing” or - Jamie’s burning question - “Where and when are we?''), but the man forestalled her by speaking words which shouldn’t have been possible. “You’re Aurelia’s children, aren’t you?” Their looks of shock were confirmation enough. “I know your mother. “And I know where to find her…” “What are you talking about?” Lottie asked, stunned. “Our mother has been missing for two yea-” she trailed off, smacking her forehead. “But of course… time is relative…” She reeled. She had so many questions, her mind working overtime as she tried to process the new information. Finally, she managed to choke out, “Where is she?” The man sighed. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. “Aurelia was always slipping through time here. She brought warnings, wisdom from the future. And in the times of the Old Kings, she was appreciated for her service. But… that all changed when the wizard arrived. Our King didn’t stand a chance - he’s a puppet ruler now. The true power in this kingdom is the wizard Icefyre Frostlocke, and-” “Icefyre Frostlocke?” Lottie asked incredulously. “No. There is no way that’s his real name.” “It isn’t,” the guard replied, bemused, “his name is Dave. But can we focus, please? Frostlocke felt threatened by your mother’s immense power. So he decided to pass some new laws strictly sanctioning the use of magic. They were passed quickly and without her knowledge. So the next time she slipped through to the castle, she was immediately ambushed and taken into custody for time travelling without Frostlocke’s permission. Tomorrow, on the equinox, your mother is going to face a public trial for unauthorised use of magic under the Frostlocke regime. And she will be executed.” “No,” Jamie whispered, “we can’t let that happen.” “Exactly,” replied the man. “And now that you two are here, we might have a chance at rescuing her.” Immediately, her brain went into overdrive. There were many questions she wanted to ask, questions like ‘Where is she being held’ and ‘What resources do we have,’ and ‘How do we even know you’re telling the truth?” But the thing she had to know was: “Why us? Why does our presence give us a chance to rescue her?” He gave her a confused look, like this was something she should already know. “Because magic is hereditary, Charlotte Watson.” A few hours later, Jamie still wasn’t sure they were ready. Correction: he wasn’t sure he was ready. Unfortunately, the time for being unready had passed. Their plan hinged on him and Lottie being able to do what needed to be done. Their mother’s life depended on it. Their plan, as all good ones are, was charmingly simple. After nightfall (a nerve racking fifteen minutes away), the guard - whose name was Benedict - would cause a distraction which allowed them to sneak into the dungeon. Following that, they would do the hard part, and attempt to free their mother from the bonds - both physical and magical - which held Aurelia captive. They could do this. They had to. “Everyone ready?” Lottie asked. Nodding grimly, Jamie eyed his sister. Despite how nervous she was probably feeling, she still seemed cool and collected. Only Jamie could see beyond that exterior. They were both terrified. Because if they were caught, there would be no do-overs. Even if they understood how magic worked, they wouldn’t be able to time travel out of a magic-proofed cell… “We have to leave,” Benedict whispered in his husky voice. “I’ll start my distraction. You kids run when you get the chance.” The man had changed into some (distinctly soiled) billowing white robes. Jamie smiled. The distraction had been his idea. Abruptly, Benedict took off running through the hallways as castle staff were milling back to their sleeping areas. “It is I,” he screeched, “King Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeator of the Saxons, sovereign of all England!” “Pull the other one!” One of the staff called back to him, shaking his head. “I am! And this is my trusty servant Patsy,” he gestured to a random man in the throng of people who were now gathered around him. Before Jamie heard the man’s reply, Lottie seized his arm. “Look, as funny as it is watching Benedict reenact Monty Python and the Holy Grail hundreds of years before it was even invented, we’ve gotta move.” Nodding, he and his sister started to creep through the hallways, heading down narrow flights of rickety stairs and through endless hallways where eyes seemed to be watching them. Jamie felt a growing sense of dread as the sound of footsteps on flagstones echoed deep underground. Things always seem hopeless, Jamie thought to himself, just before the heroes discover a hidden power buried deep inside of them to save the day. I just hope I can hold out until then. Picking up on his mood, Lottie murmured, “Forget about ‘James Watson, Orc Slayer.’ James Watson, Wizard Slayer has a much cooler ring to it.” It looked like she was about to say more, but just then they reached the door leading to the wizard Frostlocke’s personal dungeon. “Stop!” Called the carved door knocker, “Who would enter the Dungeon of Doom must answer questions three!” There was a dramatic pause. “What… are your names?” “James and Charlotte Watson,” Jamie called back, smiling. Maybe there was more truth to The Holy Grail than he had previously realised. “What… is your quest?” “To rescue Aurelia Watson.” “What… is the capital of Assyria?” “Assur!” They both chorused. The door swung open, and they entered the dungeon. There, on the other side of the room, stood a tall, bearded figure in star-spangled robes. “Ah, the Watsons,” Icefyre Frostlocke purred, “I’ve been waiting for you…” Lottie was perplexed. This was not going to plan. Frostlocke was supposed to be distracted. The disturbance in the corridors… he wasn’t… he shouldn’t… her plan… was falling apart? “What do you want with us, wizard?” Jamie called, taking the initiative. “Oh, nothing much,” the sorcerer replied, taking a step towards them, “just your lives. An insignificant cost, really, when the reward is getting to assist one as great as I with my plans?” Plans… got to make a plan. All she could see was her mother hanging limply, manacled to the wall… “After all, you have already proven yourselves useless enough to fall into my trap. This castle is my domain. Did you really think the Ambience wouldn’t allow me to hear your plans?” Ambience? What was that? They just didn’t know anything… That was when a plan came to her. She gave Jamie a meaningful glance, explaining it in Morse code with her eyebrows the way they had spent so many hours practising. Luckily, Morse code hadn’t been invented yet, so Frostlocke was unlikely to know it. “Great one, we knew you were powerful, but we never realised how powerful. Tell us, is anything beyond your influence?” “Ha! Of course not.” The wizard looked amused and pleased by her flattery. “It’s simply a matter of focusing on the magic in my bloodline. Merlin was my great-uncle, you know - and I am the greatest sorcerer since him, since the fall of the Old Kingdom!” “Merlin? Really?” Jamie asked, with a wide-eyed curiosity that had not been faked. “Yes. Focusing on my kin - their magic, their accomplishments - is what gives me my power. I am the culmination of their achievements.” Lottie seized this for the vital information it was. She thought about her mother. How strong she always seemed. How in control. She linked hands with Jamie. Thought about all the things she loved about him. How he gave her strength. Strength. It welled up inside of her, until she and Jamie released… something. Twin bursts of light. Radiant. A raw, untrained power. Frostlocke fell to the floor, stunned. There was a similar shining in the vague position of their mother. Everything was a vague smudge of light to Lottie’s eyes, but she thought she saw the manacles shattering. She lunged for her mother’s hand as the light consumed them, shattering into a million bursts of glittering glass and reforming into… the cave. They were home. Something was wrong. Jamie could sense it in the air - a warping, as if too much power had been stuffed into a tiny space. When he stepped out, it was to see a mauve skyline extending above him, hung with strange, smudgy planets even in the daytime, figures on broomsticks and cotton-candy clouds. Something was definitely wrong. Their father was outside to greet them. “I sensed ripples in the Ambience,” he said by way of explanation, “But don’t you think two weeks is a little long to be on a time-travel adventure? Oh well. I guess we can always go back again.” Something was definitely very wrong. “Wait,” Jamie confirmed, “you know about magic?” “Of course I know about magic,” his father replied with a booming laugh, “magic has been everywhere since the Dark Ages…” Author's Note: Really sorry about that cliffhanger. I thought it would be interesting in a time travel adventure to have something like that happen. And I'm sorry if the ending seemed a little deus ex machina. Overall, however, I'm fairly pleased with this story. If I ever resolve that cliffhanger, I'll try to make it a bit less soft magic.

Radiant. Light blossomed across every surface like a slow-motion explosion. It was a sweet, pure light, like a star - a star which was going supernova all around him. Images streamed across Jamie’s consciousness: a man with a long grey beard, bent before a simmering cauldron; a hooded figure moving through a wide, cobbled street; a dungeon, heavily barred; a lonely tower rising out of thick trees. They passed too fast for Jamie to register any details, and then he was dissolving, particles of light glimmering around him as if refracted from some unseen prism. All he was aware of was Lottie’s hand, tight around his own. Until the blinding light dimmed, revealing… Looming over them, a castle. Built sturdy and tall, the fortress was grey stone and dark secrets. Imposing spires pierced the sky like steely blades. A sense of dread permeated everything, a foreboding he couldn’t shake. Then came the sound, a rush of clattering and clanging, the sounds of toil and domestic life. But then, unusually, came touch and smell - one bringing the tickle of a gentle breeze and the pressure of his sister’s fingers, the other providing the pungency of grime and dirt. That was highly unusual. His daydreams didn’t usually have an olfactory- “Jamie,” Lottie whispered, “are you seeing this?” That was even stranger. He and his sister shared their dreams, but not literally- “Jamie!” Her voice came, sharply, “Jamie, this isn't a dream. I think… it might be real.” “But that would mean…” he trailed off, neither of them wanting to be the first one to say it. So they chorused; “we time travelled.” Before either could fully react to this startling revelation, a gruff voice interrupted them. "Show yourselves!" Nervously, they stepped into the sunlight filtering past the castle gates, into view of a grizzled guard. He was perhaps forty years of age, with a wiry build and greying beard, and his unusual garb made Jamie self-consciously glance down at his own clothing. The fact that he had left his harness and helmet on would make him stand out even in his own time period... The thought made him woozy, and as he shoved it aside he finally became aware of the guard's reaction. The man's face had drained of all colour before his eyes narrowed. Then, he reached out and grabbed them in a viselike grip. "You're coming with me." Lottie opened her mouth to object, but the man silenced her, urgently hissing, "The law has been changed. Time-slipping is no longer seen as beneficial here at Tintagel. So unless you want to spend the rest of your lives in the dungeons, you'd better come with me." The twins exchanged a look. There was no knowing if they could trust this man, but... they were rapidly running out of options. Their decision was made for them when the man's gravelly voice slipped into a whisper, and he murmured, "You're Aurelia's children aren't you." He barked a disbelieving laugh. "She always believed that one day you'd come and find her..."

Looming high above them was the castle. Tall, imposing, a fortress of unforgiving grey stone, of hard truths and dark secrets. The sounds of clattering and toil mixed with the whispering of the breeze as it tickled Jamie's arms. Suddenly, the smell hit him, a mix of pungent filth and excrement mingling with something sharper and greener. That was odd. In all his daydreams, he had never encountered this sort of olfactory- "Are you seeing this?" Lottie whispered. Now, that was unusual. He and his twin shared their hopes and dreams, but... not in a literal sense. "Jamie!" She added sharply, "this is not a dream. I think... I think it might be real. I'm pretty sure we just..." They finished the sentence together. "Time travelled."