The Accidental Time Traveller Read Free Page B

dusted with snow. The snow had covered all the rubbish in the garden too, which made it look magical instead of abandoned. It was the garden Agatha was staring at: the big trees, the expanse with extra fencing where a big old house must once have stood. I felt a bit miffed that she hardly noticed the den. I pushed open the shed door, which creaked like it always did. “Wanna come in?” I called, but Agatha was too busy gaping. She’d fallen all silent. Slowly she turned towards me and I saw a tear glisten on her cheek.
    “Pray, where has Grandfather’s house gone? Theyew tree still stands, but where, alas… is his house?”
    “Hey, Agatha,” I said, tugging the sleeve of her coat gently, “two hundred years is, like, a long time. Houses fall down.”
    If it was possible for her pale face to turn any paler, it did. “What did yea say?”
    “I said: houses fall down.”
    “No, no, – about the time.”
    “I said two hundred years is a long time.”
    I watched her working out the maths on her fingers. She looked ready to burst into tears so I jumped to the rescue, trying to sound all confident. “Hey, Agatha, no worries. If you got here, you’ll get back. Come on in, I want to show you our den.”
    She gasped. “Two hundred years.” She shook her head, she wrung her hands, she said it again, and again, “two hundred years… so much time.”
    Which reminded me of my own problems. It was almost half-past ten. I’d been gone ages. Mum would ground me again. Looking stunned, Agatha drifted into the den and sank down on a stone. “Two hundred years,” she repeated, shaking her head. “So Father succeeded? I thought he was boasting. When he said I would travel far I dared to imagine twenty, perhaps thirty years.” She shuddered. Her breath came in little rasps till I thought she might faint. I fumbled in my pocket and handed her the Milky Way. In the distance I heard the church clock chime the half hour.
    “Look, Agatha,” I said, “I’m really sorry but I have to go. I’ll come back. But, you’ll be fine here. This is my secret den. Only me and Will and Robbie know aboutthis place. We’re a gang. Do you know what that is?”
    Agatha shook her head. Her long hair loosened flakes of snow down onto the wooden floor of the den. “Well, I’m the leader of it,” I went on, “and we do stuff. You know? Games and stuff. Adventures. Anyway, don’t wander off anywhere, ok? I’ll be back as soon as I can. And – I’ll bring you some food.”
    Agatha gazed at the Milky Way as though she didn’t know what it was. “Hey, you can eat this,” I said, pulling the wrapper off for her. “See.” I demonstrated. “You bite into it.”
    She nibbled a morsel, screwing up her face like it was poison. But it seemed to help her forget about two hundred years. “How exceedingly strange,” she said, nibbling like a rabbit, “and remarkably sweet.” Her eyebrows arched. She shuddered, but went on nibbling, politely. I wondered when chocolate bars had been invented? Agatha had been through enough. I didn’t want to kill her with a Milky Way. So I snatched back what was left of the bar and shoved it in my mouth. I picked up Fred. “Here,” I mumbled, my mouth full, “have the ewok instead. He’ll look after you.” She squealed with delight and clasped Fred to her. I felt sorry for her, sitting there on a stone with a baggy brown coat on and hugging Will’s ragged old ewok, looking like her heart might break.
    “So, Agatha,” I said, stepping backwards to the door. “What kind of food do you like?”
    “Apples,” she replied, “and roasted chestnuts. Pigeon pie and frumenty. Not gooseberries, for they do make my teeth water, but, oh – and if there is a confectionaryto be had, I’d be awfa grateful.”
    “Right then,” I said, wishing I’d never asked. “I’ll see what I can do. Um, see you soon.”
    “At what time exactly?” she asked.
    Agatha Black, I guessed, cared a lot about time. Me, I