The Quest of the Prodigy

Editing by Bailey Karfelt Proofreading by Kathrine J. Ivy

THE QUEST OF THE PRODIGY

Copyright Š 2018 Claire Smith All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by H2O an imprint of BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2017961360 ISBN: 978-1-947727-11-3 Visit the publisher: www.bhcpress.com Also available in hardcover and ebook

CHAPTER 01

T

here was a flash of light, too swift for the brain to fully process, like lightning. As the yellow light faded, there stood a man in a long red coat.

It was good to be home.

His home was a special ship. Only two in the entire world existed.

The centerpiece of the sphere-shaped control center was a giant brass pendulum hanging from the white ceiling. Underneath the translucent flooring housed the ship’s multi-colored wiring, along with two tall batteries sparking with blue energy.

Sebastian “Bas” Barkley, the British fellow in red, walked around the opening of the maintenance area to visually inspect the ship’s core.

Mounted on the wall to his right was one long, five-foot blue computer screen as wide as the entire oval wall. The walls that weren’t covered with the massive computer screen were covered in windows, revealing a massive sky of purple and dark navy swirls, much like outer space, but a deeper ultra-violet purple color rather than black. Electric blue swirls zapped and sparked away like blue fireflies punching holes in the purple sky.

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Also nestled into the sky were what looked like an infinite amount of bubbles that floated at a slow speed across the infinite space.

Inside the clear bubbles, one could see entire galaxies, entire universes. All those stars and planets orbiting around a single sun, fitting inside one perfectly round bubble, amongst thousands, millions, or even trillions of other Bubble Universes around it. It sounded incredible, but it was exactly what Bas was looking at. It was a nearly mundane view for him.

His eyes turned back to the monitors. Written on the screen were equations for time dilation, the mass of the Earth related to orbital speed, fourth dimensional fold equations, and other mind-numbing cosmic equations recorded by his scientist of a father, Mr. Thomas Barkley, to keep the ship working. On the opposite wall illuminated a working diagram of the exterior of the ship.

Displayed on the diagram was a jumbo sphere in the center, the living quarters and the mechanics. Spiking from either side of the center of the ship were two giant cones that acted as the ship’s wings, connected to the center sphere like upside-down triangles.

The live schematics outlined on the wall illustrated that the right cone was blue, and the left cone was red. If those colors were illuminated, it meant all was in working order for the moment. It was common that the ship had hiccups if the plasma tanks were uneven.

With a nod of satisfaction that everything was in working order, the crewless captain circled around the leisurely moving pendulum, which moved in correlation with the Earth’s orbit. His red cowboy boots struck the metal gate flooring echoing as he headed toward the kitchen, clutching a brass trumpet.

The scale of advanced technology gave an illusion that he’d always lived a rich and luxurious lifestyle, but in truth, Bas was only a time traveler, roving through time to keep his father’s brilliant scientific secrets safe. Never a true destination in mind, he would venture wherever and whenever in the Blue Planet his heart fancied.

Frequently on his adventures he’d pick up fascinating souvenirs, and •8•

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some were so unkind as to call him a thief. He preferred to think of himself as a collector.

With a shrug, Bas let his fleeting moment of loneliness go as he examined his latest loot: a brass trumpet from a bandmate of Duke Ellington. The brass trumpet was gorgeous, long and sleek.

The knobs of the trumpet were worn with years of use, and the history of the artifact caused him to feel as though the trip to 1927 had been a success. He whistled a pleasant jazz tune he’d just heard the Duke play.

He hadn’t quite fit into the year 1927. His soft, red wool signature coat resembled a pirate’s coat, but it brought out his deep brown eyes. The large, shiny gold buttons adorning it matched the buttons on his red utility belt.

The coat had plenty of pockets to hide things in, and was long enough to look dashing when he ran, which had been happening a lot lately, with how often those Ambassadors of Time chased him. It was fantastic his red cowboy boots were comfortable to run in.

But the last trip had had no need for running. It had been a perfect time traveling vacation. Still, as fun as the jazz age was, his father had always told him it was safest to keep moving.

Bas even ran from his home year of 4218, the forbidden year.

The dreadful year 4218 was in a worldwide civil war. His father had forbade him from interfering with the politics. But he’d disobeyed that rule when he recently got involved with one of the Ambassadors of Time, Bellator Impes. They’d only been dating for three days when, knowing the risks of staying, he had taken her Time Phone as a souvenir and left without saying goodbye.

Bas twirled around the corner of the Maintenance Bay and into the kitchen, his long red coattails spinning over the white floor. He sat the trumpet down on the granite kitchen counter and yelled for his robot crewmate, JAB. JAB was the only thing he had on the ship and his best friend. She was an excellent cook, nurse, maid and co-captain.

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Ever at his call, JAB floated in on a bed of clear silver bubbles made of metal. On her face was a sweet, genuine smile. The bubbles underneath her metallic hoop skirt allowed her to float instead of walk, and a brass belt and bolts held her together. JAB was always concerned and fussing over him. She cared over him so much, it was easy to forget she wasn’t human.

“Yes, Master Bas?” “Did she call again, while I was gone?” he asked in his usual high-pitched British tone.

“The Ambassador?”

“Bellator, yeah, did she call?”

There was a pause, as if the robot knew the answer would make him upset. Bas shot her a warning gaze, and she answered, “Yes, Master Bas.” Bas ran a hand through his spiky blond hair in frustration.

“Ugh, this has to end! She keeps calling and calling, demanding her Time Phone back. Well, I’m just going to go to the King’s castle and tell her she can’t have it.”

JAB gasped at such an idea. “Is that wise? What about your father’s warning, about avoiding the King’s castle?”

Bas leaned closer, peering at her. “Why, what do you know about my father? You know he never tells me anything. He never told me why he wants me to float aimlessly in the Time Zone, never landing in any year, only that it’s to keep the secrets of time travel safe. But he never properly explained how my ship really works, only how to pilot it. Or why we can’t go back in time and prevent the war from starting in the first place. All I get from him is ‘It’s not wise to tamper with time. I did it, and paid dearly for it. I will not allow my son to go through the same pain of tampering with time as I suffered.’ What the blazes does that mean? No, all he wants me to do is to travel in all of history to stay safe. What if I wanted to settle down, huh? What if I wanted my own life? Did he ever think of that?”

“Do you?” asked the robot kindly.

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Bas scowled. “Well...no, I like the freedom of being whoever I want to be, you know? Every time I step in a different year, I get to be someone new. I’m not ready to give that up. It’s worth not having any friends and family, being able to be whoever I want to be and to travel anywhere I want. I just wish he wasn’t so secretive!”

Before either could speak, there was a low beeping noise coming from the phone on the counter. Bas threw his hands up in annoyance. “That’s it!” he cried and grabbed the phone. “I’m going to the King’s castle to tell Bellator to stop calling me!”

“Or you can pick up the phone, tell her yourself.”

Bas dismissed her idea with a wave of his hand. “No way. She won’t listen to me over the phone. It must be in person.”

“Just please be careful, Master Bas. If the King catches you—I just want you back safe.”

“Hey, I’m the Incredible Bas! When am I not safe?”

The robot looked like she was about to answer his question. Bas smiled innocently. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

He picked up his beloved Diary off the counter, titled The Time Traveling Diaries of Sebastian Barkley. He loved jotting down observations of his travels, just like a scientific journal. Bas tucked the Diary in his long coat pocket and smiled at JAB as if he found her concern endearing.

“JAB, set the Time Shifter to the year 4218 please, the King’s castle.”

JAB gave him a worried look, but did as she was told. Bas handed her a watch and necklace. On the bottom of the necklace was a key.

After turning some knobs on the clock of the necklace and on the watch, she handed them back to Bas with her stubby metal fingers.

“Time Shifter set, Master Bas.” Bas wished her a good day and inserted the key into the side of the watch. There was a flash of light, the same flash of light as before, and then he was gone.

• 11 •

CHAPTER 02

B

as appeared in the year 4218 in a flash of yellow light. JAB had set the right time, and he was in the King’s castle, in a narrow and dusty corridor. Excellent.

The grim castle towering near the clouds was as ghastly on the inside as the exterior. The windows of the corridor were thin, like slits on the walls. Barely any light from the late afternoon sun shone through, making visibility difficult. It was dusty and cold. The thick stone walls supported ten foot ceilings, with arches and wood-beam ceilings like in the ancient gothic castles. But instead of being inspiring, this castle was foreboding. Bas had a sinking feeling that maybe JAB was right, and this hadn’t been a stellar idea. But if he left now, he’d be admitting he was wrong, and that was never fun either.

Despite the layers of dust and cobwebs, the castle wasn’t that old.

It was located in the tarnished New York City, a city that had been attacked relentlessly for decades in efforts to dethrone the King. The castle was in the center of the city, in what used to be Central Park.

New York City was known as King’s City in the year 4218. Kings in America was relatively new, and the castle was only a couple hundred • 12 •

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years old. But Bas didn’t have the time to reflect on the history of the Ageless War: he had to find Bellator, and get out alive.

The bleak halls were long and windy, and Bas soon felt lost. He ran toward the nearest window to gain his bearings. He peered out to see the wide grassy area below him and a rather nasty drop if he were to fall out the window. Looking to his left he recognized the wing of the mason castle where the Ambassador Hall was. It was unlikely to be well guarded since only the two Ambassadors of Time occupied that space.

The castle was so massive, it took him a few minutes to reach the hall. The King’s Throne Room was heavily guarded, and Bas held his breath until he had made it past the entrance.

The plan was to wait for Bellator to return to her room, and confront her there.

Bellator’s room was dimly lit, with only a few lit candles on her nightstand and dresser. There was also a picture of an older man to the right of her dresser, an uncommon sight since technology and cameras were banned from the general public. The previous King had removed technology, believing the lack of communication among his people would make it more difficult for an uprising. Having a photograph was one of many, many perks as an employee of the King to be able to keep photos. Bas dismissed the picture as he continued to look around. Above her bed was a beautiful painting.

The painting was on an unframed gray canvas with splotches of colors that looked as though they were dripping from the edge of the canvas. Its bright colors gave the room a more cheerful energy, while the gray canvas matched the other décor in the room. Bas stood for a few seconds admiring it.

I still don’t know how someone can be so mean and own such a happy painting, Bas thought to himself.

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The door handle jiggled. Bas froze, his eyes locked on the door.

Like a performer on a stage too scared to recite their lines, no sound came out.

Someone was coming. He had come here to confront her, but what if it was her partner? What if it was her, what was he to say?

His mind was suddenly lost for words.

In an instant, there was a soft thud on the stone floor and a flash of red. He crawled under the walnut hued wooden bed and waited.

Propped on his elbows, Bas rested his handsome jaw on the edge of his hands. The decibel of the door opening was amplified to the trespasser. He steadied his breathing and watched her enter the room, then reached slowly for his Time Shifter necklace.

Two inches from his face were the heels of her boots. She was too close to use the Time Shifters; she could not witness how he traveled in time. It was the one responsibility his father bestowed on him, confusing or not: keep the secrets of time travel safe. He couldn’t fail his sole responsibility. His father would never trust him again, and perhaps take away his time traveling privileges for good. Then what was he to do with his life? Bas had to get out of here safe, and by a means that would keep his Time Shifter secret.

He peeked out at her.

Bellator was all muscle, strong and menacing in her traditional Ambassador of Time uniform: tan trousers, hunter green tank top, and a long black coat that hung off her muscular shoulders like a cape. Her pin straight brown hair was kept in a long ponytail and on her hips she wore a brown leather holster for her copper Photon Blaster, the weapon of choice for the Ambassadors of Time.

Bellator walked up to the mirror on her night stand and pulled her long hair from the hair tie.

“Look at my eyes,” she said to herself in the mirror with a scowl. “They look awful. I wish I wasn’t so tired all the time. I look old and disgusting.”

Bas thought differently. Seeing her again was sparking up some repressed feelings.

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Bellator set her Photon Blaster on her nightstand and pulled a Time Phone from her trouser pocket. Flipping the phone case open, there was an echo in the room as she dialed a familiar number.

The ringing of the phone in his hand startled him and he jumped, banging his head against the wooden frame of her bed.

Curses! It was as painful as accidently hitting a doorframe instead of stepping through it.

He fumbled a buckle of his red utility belt open and pulled out the Time Phone to shut it off, knowing it was too late.

Bellator crouched down and lifted the bed skirt up to reveal the trespasser. A mixture of confusion and amusement sparkled in her eyes.

“So,” she began, “you don’t answer my phone calls, but you come and visit me...and then stalk me? Who does that?”

“I was going to confront you,” he said, his British voice cracking with nerves, “but then when I heard the door open, I thought you might have been your partner.”

Bas flashed a charming smile, aiming for a smooth recovery. He was waiting for the best moment to stand up without her capturing him. She did work for the King.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Bas, I need my phone back. It’s a rare device and only a few are around to use. Deatherage hasn’t mastered sharing and he’s getting really crabby whenever I ask to borrow it. It’s not fair, you know. It’s just...not fair...” There was a pause, her sentence purposefully left hanging. She stared at him, something in her eyes begging him to ask her what she meant.

His eyes lingered on hers. “I only came here to tell you to stop calling me!” he said and crawled out from under the bed.

“That was all you wanted to say to me?” she asked, the hurt in her voice obvious.

“Yup,” he said without pause, “and now I have. See you around, Bellator.” He hurried toward the door, too worried about not being captured to comfort her.

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Her right hand grabbed his shoulder before he got far. “You think I can just let you leave?” She ignored his eager nod to her rhetorical question. “You’re trespassing, Bas. The King will be pleased I caught a spy, and perhaps pardon me completely.”

“You’re still working for a complete pardon? Don’t you get it?

Nothing you do will please that evil jerk. King Noctria is feared across the world for a reason, Bellator. Face it darling, you’re working on the wrong side of the war. You could be a decent person if you switched sides,” Bas said in a desperate attempt to appeal to her humanity.

“What do you even care what happens to me? Let’s go, Barkley.”

“No thanks. I’d rather go home instead.”

Though her arms were wrapped around him in what she thought was a tight grip, Bas slithered and wiggled free like a worm on a fishing hook. He pushed her back in one swift shove. The surprise maneuver threw her off balance, and by the time she recovered Bas was already sprinting down the hall of the Ambassador quarters.

“Deatherage!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Intruder! Spy! Get him!”

Bas dared a glance back, only to see they were catching up with him in the corridor. There were even less windows in this corridor than the one he had teleported into. Despite the darkness, it was nice to run on a long, red carpet for a change.

Suddenly there were two Ambassadors chasing him, their long black coats billowing behind them. Bellator had succeeded in hailing her partner.

He was a little taller than her, with thin black hair slicked down by glops of gel, a large potato snout for a nose and a scowl planted on his face. He had wrinkles from scowling too much. All and all, Bas didn’t want to be introduced to her unpleasant looking partner, and ran as fast as his red cowboy boots would allow.

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“Give up, Bas, you’ve lost!” yelled Bellator, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

“It’s only over if you can catch me!” taunted Bas, and jumped down a small stretch of marble stairs.

Pain shot through his legs at the harsh landing, forcing him to trip down the next set of stairs. Ow! Not good! he thought as his shoulder hit the floor and made a popping noise. Possible fracture. He managed to stand up and pushed through the pain, disoriented as he ventured down another corridor in the labyrinth of the castle.

Does no one in this castle know how to clean? Bas wondered as he spotted more dust floating in front of the windows. Through the long halls of the gothic castle, eerie screams could be heard getting closer the further he ran. The murderous screams made him shudder and the hairs in the back of his neck stood upright. The screams were coming from the direction he was headed to, and he wished he was heading away instead.

Looking behind him, he grinned to see there was no sign of the Ambassadors. Bas thought this momentary solitude might be enough to allow him to make his escape at last. Pausing, he grabbed the golden key dangling from his neck. It was a colossal mistake.

Bellator appeared from the opposite direction and charged, tackling him and slamming his hurt shoulder into the floor. Bas yelled and tried to wiggle free of her grip. Bellator must have learned her lesson the first time. Another scream from nearby increased his fear.

Realizing struggling was useless, Bas changed tactics. He looked up to admire the tanned, dark-haired beauty for a split second, hoping a gaze from his kind eyes would soften her strongly-spirited soul.

“Let go!” he pleaded. “Bellator, you know you don’t want the King to kill me. You’ll miss me too much!”

“Oh,” she said with a cruel smirk, “I don’t think I will, Bas. You’ve fooled me once and stolen my Time Phone. You’re not the dashing hero I mistook you for last week. Fool me once—well, you know how the saying goes.”

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“I know I did you wrong, but is executing people the answer to all life’s problems?”

She rolled her eyes at his empty words. “You can’t talk your way out of this one, Bas. Deatherage, what are you waiting for? Get the tracker gun!”

Her brutish partner, Captain Daniel Deatherage, pulled from his jacket a large, scary-looking weapon. Though it had the handle of a rifle, the tip was two prongs glued together to form a giant needle.

Knowing what it was, Bas grew desperate. “No! No, please! Take me to the King. Just don’t Track me!” he cried in horror. To a person such as Bas who spent most of his days traveling carefree, having someone know his exact location at all times was worse than any torture the King could implement.

Bellator looked satisfied as Deatherage shot Bas with the Tracker. He winced in pain as the needle grabbed his skin, producing blood as a blinking red piece of metal shot through his arm. He gazed down at the metal in his arm with horror and glared up at them. “You ruddy tossers!” he yelled.

Bellator pulled a necklace from around her neck and smiled. The necklace’s charm was a giant green arrow, pointed right at Bas. The metal square in his arm turned from red to green to match the necklace, demonstrating where he was, how he could always be found. It terrified him. It terrified him even more than the murderous ongoing screams he could still hear in the distance.

“Take him to the King,” ordered Bellator, her eyes reflecting a dark gleam of vindictiveness.

Heavy double doors at the end of the corridor opened and Bas was shoved roughly inside.

The dungeon was massive, windowless, bleak and had an odor of either rotten flesh or spoiled eggs. There was a low dripping sound as if the dungeon was built to mimic a dark and uncomfortable cave.

The low stone ceiling was round. The only lighting provided was by a • 18 •

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few torches mounted on the stone walls. The shadows given off by the torches were eerie and Bas felt properly terrified. His heart beat faster with fear as he spotted the King in the middle of torturing someone, the source of the screams in the halls. He might be next.

Only two feet away, King Noctria was having fun as he tortured some poor man who looked seconds away from death. The stranger’s limbs were cruelly wrapped by tightly knotted ropes to a torturing device known as “the rack,” a long ladder frame that the prisoner’s back laid upon.

At the end of the rack was a metal ratchet-and-pull system. A spoke wheel that the King used to turn the tension slowly yanked the stranger’s arms and legs in opposite directions in small increments.

The King tried to pull the truth out of the stranger for a few painful minutes, but the man remained silent. Bas knew the King wasn’t known for giving up easily; he had a reputation for being as relentless as he was ruthless.

There was a chilling click, click, click of the wheel as the tension of the device was increased. With each turn of the spoke, the human bones were pulled apart from the body’s ligaments, sending the victim in an intense state of unimaginable pain that was reflected in every scream ejected by the stranger as his bones were mercilessly ripped apart.

The rack may have been a classic torturing method used first by the ancient Greeks, but King Noctria has made it his signature torturing device. He claimed one shouldn’t mess with the classics.

Coming face-to-face with the King was just as frightening as watching someone get tortured by such a cruel method as the rack. It was those fierce, icy blue eyes of the King that Bas could not have imagined. He was just under six feet, with shoulders that weren’t particularly broad, but it was difficult to judge the build of the King with how much shoulder patch action royal robes contained. Atop his dark locks of hair set his golden crown, adorned with ruby jewels.

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He was clearly dressed to look important, with a long silk train and rare jewels embellished over the front two lines of his robe. A golden rope tied the frock together. He looked impressive.

His icy eyes stared down the Time Ambassadors. “Ah, Captain Deatherage, I was worried you would disappoint me as usual, but I see you found me a new guest.”

Captain Deatherage gave the King a Cheshire grin at the backhanded compliment while the King turned the spokes of a wooden wheel. Another shriek escaped out of the elder man’s mouth.

“Actually, Your Highness,” Bellator said bravely, “it was I who found the spy.”

“Oh?” asked the King.

She stood a little taller. “Yes, sir.”

The King laughed. “Well done, Bellator. But one spy does not merit a full pardon. You are still under my absolute control. You are still forbidden to leave the castle except to carry out my missions, or to see your family.”

As Bellator looked up, Bas could see her hurt expression. A gleam of sorrow was reflected in her eyes, but neither Deatherage nor the King seemed to catch her crestfallen gaze, or else didn’t care enough to show recognition of it.

“Told you,” whispered Bas so only Bellator could hear.

Bellator looked startled that Bas had caught on to her disappointment. He offered her a charming smile in a mild effort to cheer her up, all the while wondering why he cared.

Another scream from the tortured man broke his concentration on Bellator. Bas turned around to see the King still torturing his prisoner. He wanted to help the stranger, but what could he do? He was just one man. He wasn’t a hero.

Bellator’s grip on him was strong, and Deatherage was blocking his path in case he ran. He couldn’t do anything for the stranger. But if he was clever enough, he just might make it out alive.

“Uh, I can see you’re busy, Your Highness,” Bas said, his voice clouded with fear. “I can come back later. Or, you know, never.”

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This made the King laugh, although the mirth could barely be heard over the screams of the victim as the ropes tied to his wrists and feet continued to pull in opposite directions. Bas closed his eyes, not able to look at the older man’s expression of agonizing pain.

“Don’t be silly my boy! Now, you must be Sebastian Barkley. I’m surprised you were able to break into my castle. That’s not even been attempted in years. Did the Queen send you? I heard she is very interested in you.”

“She is?” Bas asked. This was news to him.

“Can you tell me why she’s so interested in you?” the King inquired. “If you help me, I just might let you go. Otherwise, you’d end up like Mr. Toube here, and I think he can tell you how much fun we’re having.”

The King turned to the stranger he was torturing, as if Bas and the Ambassador’s weren’t even in the room. “Isn’t that right, Toube?

Are you sure you won’t tell me what that message was? I need to know where the other two are hidden! I can’t win this war with only one Cipher!”

Mr. Toube’s face was the palest white, his eyes pleading with Bas as if he could do something to help him. The King laughed at the helpless gaze and straightened the crown on his head before looking back to Bas. “So, do you want to follow Mr. Toube’s example by denying me, or do you want to live?”

“I...I want to live, of course, why wouldn’t I—I’m the Incredible Bas!” He was stumbling, trying to find the right words. “But I honestly have no idea what the Queen wants with me. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I see. I’m very disappointed,” the King said. “Impes, search him.”

While Deatherage leveled the Photon Laser at him, Bellator carefully took off his beloved cranberry coat to search it. She brutally stepped on his toes with the heel of her steel boots, and Bas bit his lower lip to keep from screaming in pain as the metal dug through his red cowboy boots. She searched all the pockets of his coat until she found something.

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“Here you go, Your Majesty,” Bellator said in triumph as she revealed a book.

“Nooooooo!” Bas cried, purposefully overdramatic. He dropped to the floor as Bellator let him go to present the King with his book, Deatherage still held the Photon Laser on him. “Please, that book is not meant for you to read!”

“The Time Traveling Diaries of Sebastian Barkley?” mocked the King.

Bas continued the facade and crawled toward the King. The King stood still, distracted by such unusual, disrespectful antics.

Rising slowly to his feet, Bas’s hands clutched the King’s robes.

There was the chilling sound of Captain Deatherage clicking back the Photon Laser. A wheezing sound came from the weapon as it began to charge. Deatherage’s attempt at intimidation was successful.

Bas couldn’t give up now. He wasn’t even thirty yet…much too young to go out like this. “This book is how I’ve been traveling through time,” lied Bas. “We’ve never seen that book before,” remarked Deatherage with a growl.

“Shut up, Deatherage!” barked the King and he looked back at Bas. “So you know how your father was able to crack the code of time?”

“You betcha! But I have a question for you, Your Majesty.”

“Only because you amuse me with your wasted bravery on thinking you can stand up to me, I will listen to your question.”

“Why do you care about our methods of time travel? You have half the world in your power. You are regrettably winning this war.

And more importantly, those Time Cars of your Ambassadors of Time here are legendary. Why do you need my father’s methods of time travel when you clearly have your own means with the Time Cars? Why can’t you just leave us Barkleys alone?”

“You cheated,” sneered the King with a tut in his voice, “that was more than one question. But I will tell you why I cannot leave • 22 •

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you Barkleys alone. True enough, my Time Cars work just fine. But they can only work if they have a trace of something that traveled in time before them, detected by Time Phones. My Ambassadors, as I thought you’d have guessed by now, can only trace the residue of a past time traveler. I don’t want to just chase tails. I want to blaze through history. To control it! To send armies through time! I want to win this war, banish my estranged Queen like she banished my heart and be the only ruler of this planet! My mere Time Cars cannot control time, like I hear your father can. Now tell me, what is the secret of your father’s unlimited time travel...tell me, or I’ll have the entertainment of watching your head roll on my floor. It’s a winwin for me, really.”

“I can’t tell you that. My father would time-arrest me for life!

But I do have one thing to say to you.”

“Before you speak,” warned the King, “consider what defying me really means.” He turned the last spoke of the rack.

There was a haunting, final scream as Mr. Toube’s life ended. Bas yelled in horror as blood was splattered and the bones of the stranger’s knees finally pulled apart. He wiped some of Mr. Toube’s blood off his face and stared in horror at the King, wondering how anyone could be so cruel. The King’s momentary distraction gave Bas enough time to half think of a plan that was almost clever.

“Fetch!” Bas yelled to the King. He took a step back and swiftly kicked the book out of the King’s hand as if he were a punter in American football.

The King looked stunned as the book flew through the air.

While the book spun, Bas dropped quickly to the floor to avoid a laser blast from Captain Deatherage’s Photon Laser. He ducked and rolled over to Bellator.

“Thanks for holding my coat, babe.” He winked and yanked his coat from her grip. Taking out the Time Phone, he pushed a few buttons with his thumbs as though he were texting. The Time Phone was only powerful enough to send small objects through time, like the Diary. If he was lucky, it just might be enough of a distraction.

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Bas aimed the phone at the book that had fallen nearby and zapped it. The entire book glowed a powerful yellow light and vanished.

“Where’d it go?” growled the King.

“Ha!” Bas cried in victory. “I sent it back somewhere in time.”

“Somewhere?” asked the King.

Bellator and Deatherage tried to advance on Bas, but Bas had already started backing away. He didn’t have much time to get away before the King called for more guards.

“Yes, I set the Time Phone on random. Even I don’t know where or when the book is. But I know the book went somewhere safe.” Or to someone safe, Bas thought to himself hopefully.

“Seize him!” cried the King.

“Bellator, lovely to see you again. Although I think you can do so much better than him,” Bas said, pointing at the glaring Deatherage. “King Noctria, hope I never meet you again, but I have a feeling this isn’t the last you’ll see of the Incredible Bas.” Bas unbuckled the brass buttons of his aged, red-leather utility belt given to him by Billy the Kid and pulled from one of the smaller pockets a tiny smoke bomb, his last smoke bomb to be exact. Knowing he only had one small window of escape, he smashed the bomb to the ground and smiled as smoke clouded the room.

The King, Bellator and Deatherage started coughing.

With no one able to see, that exact moment was his only chance.

Bas didn’t waste it as he inserted the key around his neck into a slit of his watch. There was another blinding flash of light, and the Incredible Bas was incredibly gone.

• 24 •

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Claire was born and raised in the northwest suburbs of the great Windy City: Chicago. She started writing in high school to fend off a nasty case of insomnia that started from having strangely vivid dreams. Luckily, the writing trick worked to break insomnia, and a decade later she’s still happily addicted to writing. Her favorite things in life are a fresh, steaming cup of coffee, chocolate, music, spending quality time with friends and family, Sunday mornings, and being able to sleep in late. Her least favorite chore is laundry and her favorite feeling is having a productive writing day.

Claire now lives in South Carolina where she moved to be closer to family.