Shadow of the Time Trickster

By M.S. Jauncey

If zany parents, horrible teachers, a tomboy best friend, the gorgeous star of the school play, and a drooling dachshund named Shoelace represented the normal side of Monty Watford's young life, then mysterious Tricksters, his vengeful Shadow, a worrying case of missing school children, and learning to control even the flow of time itself were about to take him to a very very unusual and exciting place indeed!

Monty is your average, mediocre, happy-go-lucky school kid, content to coast through his pleasant, unremarkable life doing just the minimum required.

Join Monty as he discovers that the stranger side of life has finally focused its gaze on him and is about to give him a big kick up the backside!

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.S. Jauncey
• Release date: May 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476095004

M.S. Jauncey

Mark's a superhero crime fighter on his days off. Sadly, he doesn't get any days off, or that fact might be tested out!When he's not busy writing, he's busy training people on how not to be afraid of big scary computer thingies!If you asked him, he'd say he's a legend in the making, and always, ALWAYS the MOST humble and modest person you could ever meet...

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Shadow of the Time Trickster

By M S Jauncey

Copyright 2012 Mark S Jauncey

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

ALICE

Monty?

Monty Watford’s chums shouted for his attention, but he was away in a daydream, wondering whether his life could ever get any more exciting than this: a Dungeons and Dragons game in his living room with his mates.

My barbarian swipes his axe at the dragon’s leg, taking a big chunk out of its knee! announced one of his pals.

Monty was staring out of the big bay window at the sun-drenched lawn outside. He was wondering whether the sorceress that he played in the game also questioned her existence sometimes. Or at least pondered as to why she kept getting into lots of sticky patches which involved ugly trolls and dragons, riddles, and treasure troves brimming with gold.

Hey Monty, are you going to play or what?

He’s not listening.

Well, Monty’s sorceress decides to settle down and marry my barbarian. Part of the prenuptial agreement is that she shares all of her treasure and her tower at the coast with him…

Monty’s attention snapped back into focus.

Hey, what…? Shut up, Michael!

Everyone laughed.

Monty sat on the sofa, with a large many-sided (it had to be at least twenty!) red die in one hand, and an expectant grin on his boyish face. He was twelve years old, short and stocky for his age, and he had spiky brown hair.

Three other boys of similar age sat around the oval glass coffee table. The table was completely covered by books, paper, pencils, and various snacks like Corn Chips and Cola. His friend Michael Meecham was sitting next to him, holding up a picture of Conan the Barbarian. Michael was good-looking but quite shy, with short dark hair parted in the middle. He found that it helped to have pictures to aid in imagining the characters and monsters in the game, for it was all played out in the imagination of the participants.

My barbarian looks like him by the way, he added, pointing at the movie poster.

In fact, Mr Meecham, said another boy, scoffing sarcastically (and far too loudly for Michael’s liking), "I will decide whether your barbarian wannabe actor takes a big chunk out of its knee or not."

The blonde boy was Friedrich Kirnhauser, but everyone just called him Fred. From German parents, he was about Monty’s height and weight but with wavy sandy-coloured hair. He was also the school joker. One rumour about Fred was that Principal Busby, head of Foxhill Primary School, had grown so tired of every teacher sending Fred to his office that he got his secretary Miss Halse to intercept Fred at the door and dish out detention herself instead! The problem with that was that Miss Halse really liked Fred because he made her laugh, and so Fred got away with murder.

He was also the Dungeon Master at Monty’s weekly Dungeons and Dragons get-together.

Now roll the dice, Mikey, and let’s see if your, ahem, barbarian actually hits first!

Monty noticed a very confident smirk on Fred’s face. It seemed a little too confident for the moment.

Michael excitedly rolled the chunky die onto the coffee table. With a clatter, it bounced twice and then hit the cola bottle. When it came to rest, Monty and the other participant, a chinese boy burst out laughing.

A two! That’s a miss! Pitiful! chuckled Jimmy.

Jimmy Dunhill was slightly younger than the others, and had been born in Hong Kong before his family moved out from there when he was three years old. His character in the game was an elven thief, who strangely enough according to Jimmy looked exactly like him.

Okay I guess it’s down to whether I can get my spell off first or not! said Monty. His face was creased with concentration, buried in a brown tome with Player’s Handbook written in embossed gold leaf on the cover.

Michael looked distraught, and continued to wallow in his misfortune.

I can’t believe it! All I needed was a three. It’s a magical Axe of Slashing after all!

Fred, having temporarily swapped his grin for a more scholarly demeanour, stooped to read a small amount of text that described a glorious colourfully drawn picture of a huge and ferocious black scaly dragon in his rulebook.

Slashing! Michael repeated, still confused.

Well, I’ve got news for you, old bean, the dragon’s acid breath has just turned your Axe of Slashing into an Axe of Sludge! Fred chortled.

In the game, Fred decided what anything other than the players’ characters did, and that included the huge nasty dragon!

Michael petulantly slammed the cover of his rulebook a little too hard. Startled by the noise, a silence descended as the others all turned to look at him. Embarrassed, Michael tapped the table to show that it wasn’t damaged.

Noisy these glass tables, was all he could manage.

Fred absolutely loved the power that any Dungeon Master wielded in the game. The Dungeon Master was the game’s storyteller and Fate all rolled up into one. At a whim, he could launch the boys’ characters into a pit filled with hundreds of serpents, or challenge them with unthinkably impossible riddles. And he usually did!

"Come on, Michael, are we going to have to save your weedy barbarian again?" laughed Jimmy, tossing a few honey-roasted peanuts into his mouth. One or two missed and bounced off his knee.

Monty snapped the book shut and announced confidently to the group: I’m…I mean…my sorceress is going to use my Thunderbolt spell on the dragon!

He imagined his sorceress to be pretty, with long dark raven-black hair and clothed neck to toe in purple robes. His sorceress’ name was Gabby, and she had been named by the other boys because Monty just couldn’t think of a name for his new character when they started playing. Gabby was one of those inverse nicknames like Tiny for a tall man, because she rarely said anything. Monty just wasn’t great at imagining how she spoke, so she was one of the quieter characters in the party of heroes.

Fred seemed unaffected by the news, and mimicked a marionette with wide comical eyes being pulled by strings.

Oooo-hoo! Gabby’s going to cast a Chunderbolt spell, eh? he said, sneering at Monty from across the table, Well, we’ll see about that!

Monty was taken aback.

Uh, do you think that’s a bad idea guys?

Jimmy shrugged in response.

Fred rolled two small dice, and once they’d come to a halt a look of horror crossed his face.

I, uh, that’s not…

Monty pumped a fist with excitement. He knew that if it was successful, the dragon would be decimated by the lightning magic.

"Thirteen! It’s hit, hasn’t it? Hasn’t it, Fred, come on!"

He stood up expectantly, preparing to dance a happy jig at the thought of all the treasure and gold that Gabby had won for the group with that spell.

All of a sudden, Monty was distracted by a strange breeze which caressed his cheek. The breeze was all the more odd because all of the windows in the room were shut.

Hey, did you guys just feel that…?

The others were all too busy craning their necks to see what result the dice showed.

Oh dear, what a shame!

Fred had a broad beaming grin. Somehow he’d emerged the winner in the exchange.

What? cried Monty, I thought…

Oh dear! Jimmy mumbled.

Check the dice, Monty old chum, you needed a thirteen and you got a twelve, he said with a dismissive tone.

I could have sworn I saw a five and an eight a moment ago! Monty said clutching his head with confusion.

In fact, Monty was certain that was what he had seen.

Michael shook his head. His downcast expression radiated disappointment.

"We couldn’t see it from here, Mont. No idea. But Fred definitely didn’t move the dice. We’d have seen that!"

Fred was scanning through his Dungeon Master’s Guide. It was well-worn, and the pages were pulling away from the hardback spine such that little stringy threads hung from it.

That’s a real shame chaps! Oh well, guess you’ll have to try and flee! said Fred. He seemed to be enjoying every moment of this. He said flee almost as though he were gloating.

Monty was still stunned. He stared at the ceiling, questioning his own memory.

Right, the dragon is, how shall I put it…? he scratched his chin, …not happy that you woke it up! I’m going to have to check whether you can evade its next attack, said Fred, his attention momentarily drawn by the sound of a cat’s purring somewhere in the room.

Still grinning though, he rolled the big red die from before. It bounced twice on a rule book, spun off onto the table with a rattle, then settled.

A twenty! he said, scratching his head, Well, it’s your lucky day boys. Your heroes live to fight another day! I presume they escape down the side tunnel your character spotted earlier, Jimmy?

Yep, said Jimmy, relief evident on his features.

Monty slumped back into his chair. He noticed his cat, Fridgey, staring at him from just inside the doorway. Fridgey was a beautiful Russian Blue, with big yellow eyes. She was sitting on her haunches, looking all puffed and proud. The little corners of her mouth were turned up and it looked like she was grinning at him.

What are you up to, Fridgey? Caught a mouse or two lately? Naughty puss-cat! Monty chided her.

Fridgey lifted a paw and licked it clean.

He was surprised she was even near them, since she seemed to shy away from most of his friends when they came round. To say that she was a moody cat was rather like saying it was really quite a long way to walk to the North Pole. She didn’t like most people and Monty had never seen her sitting on his lap, even if he’d been clever about it and had her food bowl resting on his chest.

Her tail swished about a couple of times, brushing the deep-pile carpet and quite naturally turning it a different colour from the other bits around it. Then Fridgey’s eyes narrowed, seemingly in response to a similar strange breeze as before, and suddenly she disappeared!

Monty blinked. She really wasn’t there! Then he heard a familiar purring, and looked across at Fred.

Fridgey was sitting on his lap, contented, while Fred stroked her lovingly. Fred seemed to be far happier now.

Alright boys, your characters escaped and I guess you want them to head back to town before nightfall?

Monty thought he must have been going mad. One moment the cat was at the door, and the next it was lying in Fred’s lap. He couldn’t make sense of it. Was he losing his mind as well as his memory? And what on earth was Fridgey doing in Fred’s lap? That was weird!

Perhaps one of the others had seen Fridgey move? Monty glanced across at the sofa, but that didn’t appear to be the case. Both boys were deep in thought scanning the statistics on their character sheets to determine whether their characters would gain levels of experience. More levels meant more power and skills in the game.

I wonder how many gold pieces a sludge axe will fetch at the market, said Michael. He hadn’t looked up from his sheet.

Not a lot I expect, mate, answered Jimmy.

"But it is still magical sludge after all!"

The chinese boy chuckled.

Monty decided to carry on with the game.

Yeah, and I want my character to see a priest about some healing! Jimmy said forcefully, I hope his looks haven’t been affected by the beating he took from the trolls.

There was a pause as the other boys stared at him.

Huh? said Michael.

What you on about, Jimmy? said Monty.

Fred was preparing a suitably dry response, when he was interrupted.

Dear, you’ll be late for the school play! shouted Mrs Watford, Monty’s mum, from the kitchen.

A look of realisation crossed Monty’s face.

Oh darn, I forgot! Sorry guys, going to have to go and get ready for the play. You can see yourselves out right? he said as he dashed off towards the bathroom.

Sure Mont! We’ll be out of your way just as soon as we’ve hoovered up these cream cakes answered Jimmy.

Michael nodded in agreement, whilst cramming a scone into his mouth.

See you later, Monty, old bean, hissed Fred under his breath, as he stroked a purring Fridgey.

***

Monty stood in front of a full-height dressing mirror in his bedroom. A red lava lamp glowed in the corner, throwing strange globular shadows onto his bedroom wall, while tiny goldfish swam futilely in a medium-sized fish tank next to the window. He had one arm raised above his head, struggling to force it into the sleeve of a clingy burgundy wool jumper. Only the very top of his spiked mousy-coloured hair could be seen poking through the turtleneck of the sweater. Everything else above his waist was covered in knitted red wool.

"More haste, less speed, Choppey!" his mum shouted from downstairs. She was ironing his school trousers, and buffing up his black school lace–up shoes.

It wasn’t so bad that she insisted on using old uncool sayings, Monty thought, but baby nicknames just wouldn’t do for a twelve-year-old boy, not in this day and age.

Oh Mum! I told you not to call me that! he blurted out, his cheeks burning.

In fact, that was why his parents had always used that particular nickname, because of his big red cheeks when he was a toddler. It seemed that his mum was finding it hard to break the habit.

Monty’s eyes widened at the realisation that his mates might still be downstairs, and they’d have heard the nickname. He’d never live that down!

Have Fred and them gone? he shouted down to his mum.

Mrs Watford didn’t hear him, but he relaxed a little when he heard her whistling. He knew instinctively that she never whistled when there was company in the house.

Monty’s thoughts turned to the evening ahead. It was the second night of Foxhill Primary School’s annual drama production, Alice in Wonderland, and he was part of the backstage team. Backstage were the ones who got very little credit for the hard job they did, moving sets and props around in-between scenes. He really loved being part of a school play, and he’d have loved to have been the Mad Hatter or the March Hare, or even the Walrus or the Carpenter, but he was scared of forgetting his lines. That, and the fact that when he got nervous, his asthma kicked in. The last time he’d been in a play as an actor was when he was six and things hadn’t gone smoothly at all. No-one in the audience could fully suspend disbelief when Joseph was using his asthma inhaler now and then, which he must have obtained from a corner apothecary in downtown Bethlehem.

Ugh! Monty’s head was stuck in the neck of the jumper, and he was trying to push it through.

Finally, he stopped thrashing about.

Aw, Mum! Do I have to wear this sweater? It’s choking me to death!

He listened for her reply, hoping she would let him go with a coat instead. All Monty could hear though was his mum’s whistling from the kitchen. She loved to whistle, and usually melodies that Monty didn’t know: Old show tunes and the like, but every now and then he’d hear her rendition of the theme tune from The Simpsons.

He struggled a bit more and then he was able to pull it on and patted down the frumpy bits.

A few moments later, Monty strode into the kitchen. He appeared all flustered from having to find a matching sock at the bottom of his wardrobe. His mother turned from the stove and without looking up, she resumed the chopping of a spring onion into small bits.

Now listen dear, Mummy’s got to drop you off at the school gate and go to her bridge night with Auntie Doris and the girls. Is that ok?

She had a singsong voice, and half of it was down to the fact that she didn’t concentrate fully on what she was saying all the time if she was speaking to her son. Monty certainly didn’t appreciate the baby tones she used but cheered up at the gist of her message. What it meant was that it was quite likely she’d just drop him off and not get out of the car.

He hated it when his mum insisted on driving into the school car park and checking his hair and his school uniform over when he got out of the car. He took a lot of ribbing from Parker Janus and the other bullies at Foxhill because of it.

No, that’s fine, Mum. I’m twelve anyway! I mean you act like I’m still a kid or something! he said, his brow furrowing.

Thankfully, in the last year or so, she’d seldom done that. Perhaps she was learning? What was more worrying to Monty was the fact that lately she seemed to be trying to be cool by listening to chart cds in the car. He couldn’t think why she’d be doing that. Maybe his mum was losing her marbles?

Absent-mindedly as usual, Mrs Watford carried on preparing the tossed salad she was taking with her to the bridge night.

Uh-huh, and I’ll pick you up at ten thirty as we agreed. Stay with your friends and don’t wait outside of the schoolgate.

Her tone suddenly became concerned.

Now promise! I don’t want you to wander off, what with those children missing and all! Promise me dear!

Monty rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mum!"

Recently, two of Monty’s schoolmates had gone missing at Foxhill Primary: Sally Minster and Geoffrey Cornish. While Monty did not know them all that well, it had been quite a shock when Principal Busby had informed the school at morning assembly. He had said that in separate incidents, a child had been reported missing after their parents had come to pick them up after school. Police detectives had quizzed pupils and teachers, but nothing further had been turned up. Naturally, there was an air of paranoia amongst parents, and Mrs Watford was no different.

***

Seven o’clock heralded the arrival of Monty Watford at Foxhill Primary school. The sun was fully down, and the purple sky was rapidly giving way to night. A sea-green BMW pulled up slowly just outside of the school gates, its engine purring. Beyonce’s voice was audible through the car’s open windows. It was Monty’s mum’s car, as was the Beyonce music CD (which Monty would have been quick to point out). He was acutely aware of the fact that his friends might see or hear him arrive and hastily pushed the close window button. It hissed as it sealed shut.

Bye, Mum! See you later!

Monty couldn’t wait to get out of the car, and he managed to escape just as his mum turned to give him a kiss. He hated that!

Alright dear… but Mrs Watford’s sentence was sliced in half as the car door slammed shut behind Monty.

She waited a few moments as he skipped through the large black iron gates. Then she sighed and eased the car back into the road. As she drove away, she hummed ever so slightly off-tempo to If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it!.

Just inside the entrance stood Monty’s best friend Caroline Harper. Taller and thinner than Monty, she was a serious girl with cropped dark hair and an almost permanently raised left eyebrow. That and her sarcastic wit caused people to assume that she always doubted what they were saying.

They also assumed correctly that Harper, (she insisted on being called that as she hated the name Caroline), was a tomboy. In her other eyebrow she had a piercing, because she wanted to be different. She also stood out because she was really good at football. Because of that all the girls made fun of her, and all of the boys shunned her. Different was usually a bad thing for a schoolkid.

Monty greeted his chum with a wave. As he approached, he noticed what she was wearing.

Hey, what’s with the corduroy trousers?

Harper flinched.

It’s my mum! She insisted I wear these for backstage, in case I get dirty! Anything’s better than a dress I suppose, she grumbled.

Monty couldn’t resist: "They’re horrible!" he chuckled.

"Yeah well I can’t imagine David Beckham wearing that jumper, can you? What did you do, mug a sheep?" she retorted.

Monty was taken aback for a moment, then laughed along with Harper. The pair were good friends, and loved sharp-witted banter.

Monty sighed.

Yeah, it was my mum too! She always insists I look my best. I tried to convince her that this jumper was going to get in the way but she wouldn’t listen. ‘Principal Busby won’t like it if you look a scruff’ Monty mimicked his mother perfectly.

Anyway, I’ll ditch it when we get backstage.

Harper kicked an imaginary pebble as they started to walk inside the school grounds.

Most humane thing for it, mate. Best put it out of its misery.

The school was unlike most others, in that it had once been a large farm. Almost every structure was thatched, with the exception of the larger purpose-built classroom buildings at the far end. On the left as they walked in they noticed the administration buildings: Six or seven bungalows all painted white with a grainy finish and straw thatch roofs.

Looks really different at night doesn’t it? Monty muttered.

The brick path stretched away before the pair, lined by willow trees, and to their right, the pool enclosure with its stone stair wall which everyone sat on on Swimming Gala days. At even hundred yard intervals, bulbous street lamps cast their glow upon the brick path and lit the classrooms nearby. Every now and then, they noticed other kids running and playing in the shadows, or parents walking urgently towards the Main Hall where the play was to be held.

Feels weird being here now, Monty whispered.

Harper’s attention was caught by a group of children dressed as flowers hurrying towards a classroom, with their teacher close behind. She noticed a little boy at the back of the group trip on one of his trailing roots.

Sorry, what did you say? she asked.

Oh nothing, just that it feels odd… Monty continued, but his words trailed off as away in the distance he recognised an attractive blonde girl. She wore a pale blue dress and an alice band in her long golden hair, and she was being ushered from a classroom to a side door of the Hall by a female teacher.

Isn’t it funny how teachers never quite realise how many problems they’re causing by dressing a boy as a daisy? she mused.

Harper realised that Monty was not alongside her. She turned to see where he had got to, and found that he was a few yards behind, seemingly frozen to the spot.

Monty, usually when you want to get somewhere, it helps to not stand still!

"That’s her!" Monty said, transfixed.

Harper shook her head, realising that there could really only be one reason for his friend’s reaction.

Ah, I’ve seen that look before, it must be…

She paused before turning, almost as though she dreaded the result.

…Alice Band Barbie, how quaint.

"Alice Ripley", Monty corrected her, only half-listening and so missing the jibe.

Whatever, she said with a wry smile, her eyebrow raising a little more than usual.

Monty you can do a lot better than her, I promise!

He wasn’t listening though. Monty was blushing, and he quickly took a small puff of gas from his inhaler.

Alice Ripley was the perfect choice for the lead role in Alice in Wonderland. For starters she was called Alice anyway. And then there was her long blonde hair, as well as her slightly high-pitched voice that made her sound so enthusiastic about everything. Most people who saw her also thought she was very pretty, and Monty was certainly a fully paid-up member of her fan club. She was in his year in school, and in the classes that they attended together he was forever being caught staring at her, usually by Alice herself. Monty just couldn’t help it.

As Monty stared, Alice noticed him out of the corner of her eye. She continued walking hurriedly towards the Hall, but looked over, smiled and waved.

Monty waved back with feigned nonchalance, wondering whether he’d succeeded in hiding his excitement.

Harper rolled her eyes. She knew that he hadn’t.

Isn’t she wonderful? Monty said dreamily.

About as wonderful as a wet dog on your bed, I would say… she muttered under her breath.

Alice disappeared into the Hall, and at the same instant, almost as though he had just been freed from a spell, Monty blinked twice.

Huh? What did you say?

Come on you! Harper urged him, Your pathetic little display has made us late, then she checked her tone as she realised she’d betrayed a little too much irritation in her voice, You know how crabby Mr Entwit gets these days!

Monty nodded.

I’m not doing the easy stuff like you are with that silly curtain, and he’ll go mad if I’m not at my place for the start, Harper continued.

They carried on along the brick path and passed the fountain area where the ‘Cake and Candy’ sales took place several times a year. Harper licked her lips, thinking of all of the tasty cookies and mouthwatering cakes that children brought to sell for charity. There were painted iron benches, and lighted marble fountains. On this night though, the fountains were switched off and the area was dark and shadowy. As he walked with her, Monty could not help but allow the slideshow of Alice images to tick through his mind.

A few moments later, the most magnificent sight greeted them. It was the front entrance to the Main Hall that they knew well, but this time lit up by the flickering glow of fiery torches. There were two each on either side of the columns that held up the extended Roman-styled entrance roof. The resulting shadows danced and played amongst the columns like mischievous fire imps. A