The Last Timekeepers and the Noble Slave

By Sharon Ledwith

True freedom happens only when you choose to be free.

When eleven-year-old Drake Bailey embarks on his third Timekeeper mission, he must confront a dark chapter of history: the antebellum South. No amount of genius can prepare him for the dark reality of the past, as he assumes the role of a plantation slave.

In a time of fear and cruelty, Drake must outwit his captors, protect a vital bloodline, and find the courage to break the chains that threaten to destroy him. In a race against time, the Timekeepers confront Voodoo, zombies, and ritual sacrifice. But do they have what it takes to complete their mission and protect the timeline?

The third book in Sharon Ledwith's Last Timekeepers series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS AND THE NOBLE SLAVE blends rich historical detail with gripping adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: May 9, 2025

Sharon Ledwith

Sharon Ledwith is the author of the young adult time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS among others. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.

Book preview

1

ROYAL BLOOD

S tupid smokers! Drake seethed. He picked up another cigarette butt lying near his mother’s grave and threw it as far as he could.

Now, don’t you get all flustered. Grammie stroked the back of his neck. You got to learn to have compassion. Many times people are deyr own worst enemies.

Compassion? Why? His brown eyes glistened. People know the dangers of smoking. It’s written right on the cigarette package in bold type, complete with a picture of a diseased body part!

Grammie’s cheeks sunk deep into her dark brown face. Your mama died of lung cancer. She twisted her thin lips. I think a smart boy like you, above all people, would have an understanding about da challenges of addiction.

His thoughts shifted to April of two years ago. A dark hospice room. Stark, white walls. Sterile alcohol wipes. Spiraling intravenous tubes. Shuffling nurse’s feet. Morphine drip. Mottled red skin. Cold to the touch. Organ failure. Gone. Empty cigarette pack in the bedside drawer.

He curled his toes. Smoking kills. Mom should have known. Tell me something I don’t know.

What you don’t know, young man, is what is in da minds of other people. You don’t know how dey think, or what dey done. Everybody is meant to walk a different path. Including your mama.

The sound of his grandmother’s rich, Jamaican accent soothed him. Drake wiped his eyes, and stared at his mother’s gravestone. Grammie added white, orange, and yellow lily bouquets in between the two small cedar bushes his father planted last April. The pink granite glistened around the short epitaph, LUCILLE A. BAILEY, TOO WELL LOVED TO EVER BE FORGOTTEN.

A lot had happened since her death. Even in the past month, his father, Zachery Bailey, an Air Force Captain, had left to go on his third tour in the Middle East, and Grammie had come to take care of Drake while he was away. Sighing, Drake focused on the headstone, and cut through the granite to view the past year with laser-like precision. Last June. Grade eight. Food fight. Four classmates. Detention. Melody’s Garden. Discovery. The Arch of Atlantis. Timekeepers. Drake blinked himself back, knowing his life would never be the same after that summer, and wondered how his idol, Albert Einstein, would theorize about time travel now.

He heard a rustling noise and turned his head toward the oldest part of White Pines Cemetery. A gray-haired old man briskly raked around several deteriorated gravestones, then dropped the dead grass into a garbage bag. Catching Drake’s eye, he leaned against his rake, wiped his broad forehead, and waved. Drake smiled and waved back.

Grammie, that old guy’s waving at me. Do you know him?

Grammie glanced behind her, and smiled. Good morning, Mr. Taylor. You’ve got some clear skies to clean around your relations’ graves.

Mr. Taylor rubbed his bristly chin. Yes, Ma’am. My family went through hell and back, and I try to make sure they rest easy now. See you in church next Sunday, Ms. Lizzie. He nodded and went back to raking.

Drake stared at the cluster of crumbling headstones. Weathered. Sunken. Unreadable. He raised a brow. Hell and back? I wonder what he means by that.

Grammie chewed her bottom lip. Some of dose grave stones are over a hundred and some odd years. Mr. Taylor’s ancestors were slaves who escaped from da south using da Underground Railway. They made a home here in White Pines.

Escaped slaves? I didn’t know any settled in White Pines.

I’ll tell you something else you don’t know.

Drake’s cheek twitched. Fat chance of that.

She shrugged. Fine den. I won’t share a family secret.

His cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket and read a text from Jordan. He smiled and texted him back.

Drake Bailey! Put dat phone away. I will not play second fiddle to it!

Startled, Drake shoved his cell phone deep into his pocket and tugged at his bowtie. Sorry. I forgot you have an intolerance for technology.

Is dat so?

Well, I know you don’t like it when we go into restaurants and people are using their phones at the tables. You’ve said it like a million times.

I say it because it’s rude. Grammie peered over her glasses. Always be present when you’re wid real flesh and blood people. You hear me? No distractions, no devices, just be in da moment wid dem.

It was only Jordan. He let me know he, Ravi, and Professor Lucas will be here soon.

I’m glad you have close friends like Jordan and Ravi. It fills a void dat I could never fill.

Grammie brushed her thin, strong fingers over his short black hair. Drake shivered, wishing she would stop doing that. He wasn’t two anymore; he was eleven. She was right, though. Other than online chess club and gaming opponents, Jordan Jenson and Ravi Sharma, along with Drake’s other classmates, Amanda Sault and Treena Mui, were his only true friends in White Pines. They also shared something in common. They were Timekeepers—legendary time travelers sworn to keep Earth’s history safe. Jordan’s uncle, Professor John Lucas, and motherly Melody Spencer made up the rest of the Timekeeper equation.

He glanced at his mother’s gravestone again, wishing he could walk through the Arch of Atlantis anytime he wanted and save his mom from her horrible fate. But he couldn’t. The Timekeepers’ missions only came from strange riddles written in the Timekeepers’ log after they were summoned by Lilith, an Atlantean magus and the guardian of the arch.

His shoulders sagged. Sometimes I wish we could change history, not just protect it.

So what’s this family secret you wanted to share with me?

Grammie laughed. Oh, now you want to hear what dis old lady has to say?

Old? You’re only sixty-one. By my calculations and our family’s longevity rate, there’s plenty of gas in your tank. Great-grandpa Bailey is still going strong at…what, ninety-eight?

So you do listen when I share family stories. Good. She opened her purse, and pulled out a cross made of amber attached to a gold chain. Your great-grandmother Bailey passed dis along to me before she died. Dis is quite a special family heirloom. Dis connects us to our roots, reminds us of who we truly are, and where we came from. Grammie held the amber cross close to her bosom.

Drake wrinkled his brow. Okay, I’ll bite. Who are we, and where did we come from?

Royalty. We come from African royal blood.

Wait…we’re royals? Then he eyed her. Seriously, Grammie?

Does dat surprise you, young man?

Hell, yeah! Do we own a castle or a huge parcel of land in Africa? What about crown jewels?

Grammie stifled a giggle. If we did, I would be living in dat castle, and not in a two-bedroom house wid my sister in Port Maria.

He groaned. I should have known. What’s the point of being royal if you can’t enjoy it?

The point isn’t about status or wealth, it’s about knowing your roots, allowing for your ancestors to talk to you, guide you. Grammie waved the cross in front of Drake’s face. Da story goes dat dis cross came into da family by way of royalty helping royalty, and has been passed down ever since.

Drake stared at the amber cross. There really wasn’t anything special about it, except for the shape. Instead of being fashioned properly, the inch and a quarter-long cross looked like it had been stepped on and flattened. Ravaged with impurities, the amber seemed to possess a raw strength, as if it could take on the world and win. He reached to calm it from swinging and was surprised to find the amber warm to the touch. If this was his royal inheritance, then he was extremely disappointed.

Our ancestors were Yoruba royals from Nigeria, Grammie said. We were known as Ade, or royal slaves, in Jamaica.

Drake released the amber cross. He glanced at the crumbling graves of Mr. Taylor’s family. Our ancestors were slaves too?

Dey were sold into slavery during da late 1700s to work da sugar cane plantations in Jamaica. Grammie tucked her necklace back into her purse and zipped it closed. Dey were not freed until da emancipation of Jamaica in 1836.

I didn’t know our ancestors were slaves. Though, statistics show many Jamaicans and African Americans are descended from slaves. Do you know which plantation bought our relatives?

A plantation in Bayley’s Vale.

Bailey’s Vale! You mean our name is the same as the family who owned us?

Well, way back, I don’t know when, da spelling was changed slightly. Dey replaced da ‘y’ and put an ‘i’ in to separate us from our slavery past, or so da story goes.

Bayley or Bailey, what’s the difference? It still has the stench of slavery attached to it!

Hey, boy-genius! Jordan Jensen’s voice carried over the sloped grounds of the cemetery.

I wish he would stop calling me that. Drake’s throat tightened. Makes it harder to fit in.

Drake turned around, and his mouth fell open. Jordan wore a stylish black jacket and pants, with a red shirt and matching striped tie. He raked his tawny blond hair, and kicked at the ground as if his leather shoes were uncomfortable and tight. Drake understood. Jordan was used to wearing running shoes and school uniforms.

Hello, Jordan. My, you look quite handsome today, Grammie said.

Grammie’s right, you clean up nice, Jensen, Drake echoed.

Jordan beamed. Thanks! My mom insisted that I dress up for your mom’s celebration of life.

Your mama is a good woman, Jordan, Grammie said.

Hey, what about me? Ravi followed behind Jordan. Do I look presentable? Since the invitations said semi-formal, my mother wasn’t sure which customs were used in a celebration of life here.

Drake coughed. Are you serious, Sharma? We’re not in India, we’re in White Pines.

That’s what I told him, Jordan said, laughing. Wait till Treena sees him. She’ll never let him live this down.

Like I told Jordan and his uncle, it’s called a sherwani. We usually wear this outfit for weddings, but Mom thought it was fitting to wear for any celebration. Ravi crossed his arms over the royal blue silk coat. "Besides, if you remember from our last adventure, my tuxedo got totally ruined."

Oh yeah, he remembered. After they returned from their second Timekeeper mission Ravi had a terrible time explaining to his mom and dad what happened to his tuxedo. Of course, he couldn’t tell them the truth, so he had come up with another story; he had dropped his tux in a mud puddle while skateboarding to the cleaners and tried to rinse it out himself.

You look just as handsome as Jordan and Drake, Ravi, Grammie said. It’s perfect for my daughter-in-law’s celebration of life. You look like true royalty.

Thanks. Ravi uncrossed his arms, and adjusted his right sleeve to cover most of his prosthesis. Actually, sherwanis were originally worn as the court dress of choice for India’s nobles and royals.

Jordan chuckled. By the looks of those pants and shoes, it seems like you’re ready for a slumber party.

Frowning, Ravi glanced down at his tight-fitting black pants and narrow-toed, flat shoes. FYI, they’re called churidar pants and sherwani shoes. Just because I’m not from around here doesn’t mean I can’t express who I am. Did Amsterdam teach you nothing about tolerating other people’s ways and customs?

Jordan’s face turned beet red. Drake puffed his cheeks out.

Amsterdam? Grammie piped up. When did you boys go to Amsterdam?

It was for a history project in school, Professor Lucas cut in, rounding an old weather-beaten grave stone. I took the kids on a virtual visit of Amsterdam.

Oh, I see, Grammie said, nodding. Good morning, Professor Lucas, you look as fine as your nephew.

Professor Lucas straightened his black-striped tie against his blue shirt. Thank you, Mrs. Bailey. You’re looking as lovely as ever. And please, call me John.

Please call me Lizzie. Grammie peered behind him. Where is your lady friend, Melody?

Drake hid a smile. Ever since they got back from their last Timekeeper mission in September, Melody and the Prof seemed tighter. The man coughed and fiddled with the buttons on his gray-striped jacket.

Really? It’s no secret you and Melody are dating, Jordan said.

Ravi nodded. Plus, it’s all over the high school’s social media page.

It is? The Prof’s blue eyes widened. Who the hell put that information up there?

Are you denying it, Prof? Drake asked.

I guess nothing is private anymore, he replied, sighing.

Jordan chuckled. To answer your question, Grammie Bailey, Melody will be here in a few minutes, he said. She’s picking Amanda and Treena up in her new van.

Drake snapped his fingers. Oh yeah, Melody bought a van last week.

Why would she need a van? Ravi asked.

Melody is starting a business, and needs a van for delivery and pick-up, the Prof answered, beaming. The business has to do with herbal remedies and making flower essences for retirement and nursing homes, and she’s trying to get her products into hospitals.

And yours truly created the website for her, Drake added, buffing his fingernails against his black vest.

Well, that will reinforce the beliefs about Melody being a witch, Jordan said. She’ll never fit in now.

I learned dat superstition brings out da worst in people, Grammie spoke up. In Jamaica, many fear dose who practice Obeah, but it depends on da intention and integrity of da Obeah man or woman. Melody is making her own way, not trying to fit in.

What’s Obeah? Ravi asked.

It’s the Jamaican equivalent of Haitian Voodoo, Drake answered for Grammie. I’m surprised someone into zombies wouldn’t know that.

Ravi snorted. I’m not a walking encyclopedia like you.

Drake rolled his eyes. Ravi’s digs about his intellect were getting old. Why couldn’t he be more like Jordan and treat him like one of the guys? The sound of a vehicle rolling across gravel caught him off guard. He looked down the hill toward the cemetery’s entrance to find a shiny, silver Chrysler van parking next to the Prof’s white jeep. Grammie had used Drake’s mom’s former car: a small four-door hatchback with a two-tone paint job—red and rust—and parked it at the opposite end.

What time does the celebration of life start? Jordan asked.

Grammie eyed her gold wrist watch. At one o’clock. In an hour and a half. Drake wanted to have a small gathering here wid his friends before we moved on to da White Pines Community Center.

Sorry, are we late? Melody negotiated over old grave markers in her black, open-toed high-heels.

Just in time, the Prof said, reaching for Melody’s hand. You look beautiful in that dress. The color suits you.

Blushing, Melody smoothed out her champagne-colored dress. Thank you. And I must say you look ruggedly handsome in your suit. She kissed his clean-shaven cheek.

While Jordan and Ravi whistled and made woo-woo sounds, Drake studied the swirling brocade pattern in Melody’s matching jacket.

Really, guys? the Prof said.

Melody giggled. And you three look so grown up and dressed to the nines.

Ravi narrowed his eyes. Dressed to the nines?

The Prof laughed. It’s an old expression. It’s a way of saying you’re dressed perfectly.

Ravi grinned. See, guys? I didn’t need my tux after all. I’m perfect.

That’s still up for debate, Jordan said.

Drake craned his head toward the van. Where’s Amanda and Treena?

They’re putting extra sandwiches and dessert trays in your car, Melody replied.

Bless you, Melody, Grammie said, patting her arm. We’ll have enough food to feed an army today.

I thought you hired caterers for Mom’s celebration? Drake asked.

I did, but Melody insisted dat she add to da party, Grammie replied, winking at Melody.

Drake, these are for your mom’s grave, Amanda said, holding a bouquet of yellow daffodils as she came toward them. I almost forgot about them in Melody’s van. She let me cut them from her garden.

A-A-Amanda? Jordan stammered. His blue eyes widened. W-wow, um…y-you look…

Stunning? Captivating? Drop dead gorgeous? Treena said, coming up behind Amanda. Are those the words you’re looking for, Jordan?

Jordan pulled at his collar, and nodded.

Amanda cleared her throat. Um, th-thanks, Jordan.

Jordan’s relationship with Amanda had changed from her barely existing to him to hanging out with her every chance he got. Though not officially a ‘couple’, they practiced track and field together, did homework in the library, and hung out at lunch. Drake shook his head. Jordan was fast on the field, but slower than molasses when it came to relationships.

Amanda bent to place the daffodils on the grave. Drake spied her copper-colored orichalcum necklace—a metal available only in Atlantis—sliding out from under her curved neckline and revealing the light blue Babel stone attached. They’d all been issued Babels to not only summon them to the Arch of Atlantis, but to also allow them to communicate with the local people in their assigned time period. Straightening, Amanda stashed the Babel back under her dress, as if it were a priceless jewel too powerful to share with the world.

Drake reached for his own Babel—the approximate size of a knight chess piece—hidden under his lavender shirt and gave it a squeeze. To him, Babels functioned much like the personal translators his father relied on during his military missions.

You can thank me now, Jordan, Treena said.

Thank you? For what?

I helped Amanda with her complete make-over, Treena said, flitting her hand in the air. I did her hair in an up-do instead of her boring braids, applied eye-popping makeup, and went shopping with her for this dress. Plus, the silver purse and matching sandals are mine. Nice touch, don’t you think?

Boring braids? Amanda nudged Treena, making her stumble on the hem of her red silk gown. At least I chose something that doesn’t scream ‘look at me, look at me’.

Jordan laughed. Amanda’s got a point, Treena. You look like you’re ready for the Spring Dance.

Treena looked down at herself. Drake followed her gaze. Although Treena was on the plump side, she appeared slimmer than usual. She lifted her floor-length gown to show off red high-heeled pumps. Treena dropped her dress, adjusted her single beaded shoulder strap, and fiddled with her crystal tiara. FYI, Jordan, Drake’s mother, was a class act. I’m paying homage to her by dressing up just as classy for this special celebration.

Classy? Ravi snorted with laughter. More like sassy, Mui!

Treena glared at Ravi. She reached into her purse, pulled out her pink cell phone, and snapped a photo. Found the perfect image and caption to share on my social media account—White Pines goes Bollywood.

Ravi posed for her. Shoot away. People will think I’m Indian nobility now.

Drake and Grammie shared a secretive smile. They knew who the real royalty was around White Pines.

Oh, before I forget. Amanda rifled through her purse and pulled out a small wrapped box. Happy Birthday, Jordan.

Birthday? Drake slapped his forehead. Dude, I totally forgot it was your birthday.

Amanda reached out to hand Jordan his gift, but before he could take hold of it, two things happened—the cell phone in Grammie’s purse rang to the tune of her favorite Bob Marley song, and Drake’s Babel grew warm and began to pulsate at a high rate of speed, signaling the Timekeepers were needed in another place, at another time.

2

CALL OF DUTY

Grammie pulled out her cell phone. Hello? Yes, dis is Lizzie Bailey. Fine. I’ll be dere in ten minutes.

Drake buttoned his vest so his grandmother wouldn’t notice his Babel vibrating. Um…anything wrong?

Da caterers are early and need to get into da community center. Grammie smiled at Melody. Would you be so kind as to take Drake wid you?

Melody covered the Babel under her dress with one hand. Yes, of course I will, Lizzie.

And don’t you worry about a thing, the Prof said, crossing his arms over his chest. We’ll make sure we all get there in good time.

Drake observed the rest of his classmates. Jordan had turned his back and faced the parking lot, Amanda held Jordan’s birthday gift over her chest, Treena fanned herself while holding her hand flat across her bosom, and Ravi squirmed and scratched, as if he were channeling a famous Bollywood dancer.

Grammie adjusted her glasses. You all look flushed. Is everybody feeling fine?

Couldn’t be better, Grammie Bailey, Treena replied, waving her hand nonchalantly. J-just a little emotional, that’s all.

Yup, emotional. I’ve never been to a celebration of life before, Amanda added.

It’s hitting home for me too, Jordan said without turning around.

I’m just itchy, Ravi said, scratching his chest. Mom must’ve used the wrong laundry soap.

Treena snorted. Or maybe you have fleas.

Grammie dropped her cell phone into her purse. Well, as long as a duppy hasn’t got a hold of you, den I will see you all in an hour.

Grammie took the closest paved pathway, her white sandals scraping across the uneven asphalt. When she got to the last line of gravestones, a collective sigh broke out.

Okay, I’m gonna ask…what’s a duppy? Ravi pawed the top of his sherwani.

A spirit of the dead in Jamaica, Drake explained, unbuttoning his vest. And like in any culture, there are good and bad duppies.

Treena searched the area surrounded by multi-colored gravestones, maple and pine trees, and plots decorated with wreaths. Let’s hope Grammie was talking about a good duppy.

Okay, guys, Grammie’s in the car, Jordan announced, turning around. He loosened his tie. Let’s get to the Arch of Atlantis before our Babels explode.

Babels vibrate, they don’t explode, Amanda corrected.

There’s always a first, Jordan replied, grinning.

I’m with Jordan, Treena said, fanning her flushed face. We gotta be sure to ask Lilith if there’s a temperature control on our Babels. This can’t be good for my complexion.

Ravi laughed. I might be able to help you with that. How about I make you a mask that will cover your entire face?

We can all ride together in my van, Melody offered. The doors are open.

Sweet! Drake shouted. I’m riding shotgun.

The Prof cleared his throat. Who’s riding shotgun?

I’m guessing not me, Drake amended.

Good guess, boy-genius. Jordan punched his arm. Come on, let’s check out Melody’s new ride!

The ten-minute ride to Melody’s house filled Drake with question after question. He repeatedly strummed his fingers against his knees, choosing to ignore the annoying vibration coming from his Babel, and focused on the driver’s seat in front of him. He observed the patterns in the black leather. Numerous miniature spirals collided with each other. His ears pricked. Minimal road noise. His nose flared. New car smell. A hint of lavender and sage. Drake relaxed. The herbal fragrance took away the dread of going back in time again. To take his mind off where they might be heading in the past, he tried to work on an equation, but his head was full of what Grammie had shared with him at the cemetery.

I still can’t believe I’m descended from actual royalty. Why didn’t Dad tell me? He shook his head. Maybe he doesn’t really care or doesn’t believe it.

Are you okay, Drake? Jordan nudged him. You’ve been quiet the entire trip.

Drawn out of his thoughts, Drake nodded. Yeah, I’m good. Just doing a math problem in my head.

Treena laughed and smacked the back of Drake’s seat. Sounds exciting, Bailey. I’m visualizing being on stage at the Shakespearean Festival in Stratford.

Now there’s a snore-fest, Ravi announced.

Melody pulled into her recently paved driveway and stomped on the brakes. The Prof grabbed for the dashboard. Drake, Jordan, and Amanda lurched forward, almost going airborne if it weren’t for their seatbelts. Behind them, Treena and Ravi grunted in unison. Shaking his head, Drake glanced up to find Melody’s yellow and brown brick Victorian home looming in front of them. The sandblasting she did last year gave the old house a new life. He checked over his shoulder to find the slanted iron gate at the front finally fixed, and smiled. A coat of shiny, black paint on the straightened gate made all the difference to the house’s curb appeal. At least now, the place didn’t look like a witch lived here.

Okay, everyone out, and go to the backyard, Melody said, shutting off the van’s engine. I’ll meet you there. I need to grab something from the shed.

You heard Melody, let’s move, the Prof ordered.

Amanda unbuckled her seat belt, pushed a button to slide open the passenger side door, and headed for the backyard with Professor Lucas. Jordan jumped out next, followed by Ravi, and Treena, who groaned when trying to lift her red gown to step out. Drake sighed and undid his seat belt.

Ya coming, Drake, or do you need a written invitation? Treena asked, banging on the van’s window. Plus, I could use a little help negotiating Melody’s uneven lawn.

Drake jumped out of the van, hit the button to slide the door closed, and ran around to lift Treena’s gown. Don’t get used to this. I’m not your personal servant.

When I’m rich and famous from my acting career, you may think twice about being on my payroll. Think of the bonuses you’ll receive.

That’ll be the day. Come on, Hollywood, the others are waiting.

The grass needed to be cut for the first time this year. Treena did her best to avoid the vole holes. Rounding the corner, Drake’s nose wrinkled at the scent of moist soil, recently tilled. Yellow daffodils commanded the oval garden on Drake’s left, and at the corner, bird feeders filled with sunflower seeds surrounded several of the budding lilac bushes. A robin, Drake’s first sighting this spring, perched on top of the closest lilac branch, and let out a cheery, rolling trill.

Ravi howled with laughter, startling the robin, and it flew away. Since when did you become part of Treena’s entourage, Drake?

You’re on your own from now on, Treena. Dropping Treena’s hem, Drake headed for the Arch of Atlantis in the middle of Melody’s backyard where his classmates and Professor Lucas gathered. The dappled tones of brown, white, and gray glimmered as the noon sun hit the marble arch in the perfect spots. Ancient hieroglyphics ran up both sides of the columns on the arch, and flowed into a group of seven spirals circling the arch’s keystone. His breath hitched. Energy travels through spirals. They were the pattern for everything in the universe. Galaxies. Weather systems. The human body. Nature. Using scientific logic, Drake theorized spirals were the reason that they were able to travel back