Madame Pamplemousse and the Time-Travelling Café Page 2

  ‘How dare you,’ growled Monsieur Cornichon. ‘You fascist pig! How dare you come in here and start ordering us around!’

  He carried on like this, shaking his fist and shouting louder all the time, until there was a sudden bang and the door swung open.

  Two dark-suited men swept into the room. They were both tall and muscular and had the look of hardened criminals, even though they were, in fact, secret police. With alarming speed, they seized hold of Monsieur Cornichon about the arms and wrestled him, still shouting, to the ground.

  ‘No! Don’t!’ Madeleine screamed. ‘Don’t hurt him! Please!’

  There was a silence. Madame Cornichon was sobbing, clutching Madeleine tightly to her chest. But Madeleine gently broke free from her embrace.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll come quietly. Only, please, let him go.’

  Mademoiselle Fondue gave a nod and Monsieur Cornichon was released.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Madeleine. ‘And also . . . if I could just fetch my teddy bear? He’s upstairs in my room.’

  Madeleine was escorted upstairs by one of the policemen. She asked politely if she might be allowed a moment with Teddy by herself. The policeman gave her one minute and said he would be waiting outside the door.

  Once alone in the room, Madeleine took a deep breath and then went over to the bedside table. She opened the drawer and took out a small box of matches. This she placed in her pocket. Then she stepped on to her bed, where she lifted herself up on to the window ledge. And then she opened the window and climbed out.

  g

  The box of matches had arrived in her possession the week before, under mysterious circumstances.

  At weekends, Madeleine sometimes helped out as a waitress at the Hungry Snail. She had become rather good at this and took pride in the number of plates she could carry simultaneously, without dropping a single one.

  Last Saturday, she had earned an unusually large tip. It had come from a distinguished-looking gentleman, who sat quietly by himself in the corner of the restaurant. He looked like he might be some kind of university professor.

  ‘Thank you very much, Monsieur,’ she said, reaching to take the money. But as she did so, he placed a small box of matches in her hand. She glanced down at the box. It had written on it the name and address of a café in Montmartre.

  ‘If ever you are in trouble, Mademoiselle,’ he said softly, ‘then come to my café. You will be most welcome there.’

  Then he nodded politely and got up to go. But just as he was leaving, he turned to remark over his shoulder, ‘People like us should stick together, Mademoiselle.’

  g

  After climbing out of her bedroom window, Madeleine jumped down on to the roof below. The roof was slanted with a perilous drop beneath, but there was a narrow strip of stone running right along its edge. You could only walk along this by placing one foot in front of the other, and this she did, very carefully, while trying not to look down. Madeleine knew she wouldn’t have long; by now the secret policeman would be getting suspicious. Hardly believing what she was doing, she broke into a run.

  Abruptly, the row of houses came to an end. She looked about in panic. Some way further below there was a balcony. It was a long way down but she guessed that she could probably make it if she lowered herself halfway. She clambered over the rooftop, clinging on to the ledge by the tips of her fingers until she felt ready to let go.

  The fall was further than she had thought and the shock of it sent shooting pains through the soles of her feet. But no sooner had she landed than she heard a scream. The balcony windows were open, and inside a man and a woman were eating breakfast. It was the woman who had screamed and she was staring aghast at Madeleine. Then the man started shouting and waving his arms around. He got up from the breakfast table, but Madeleine bolted straight past him, running out through their front door.

  She flew down the stairs and out into the street. She continued running until she reached the Métro and then ran down into the subway.

  A train was just pulling into the station and Madeleine jumped aboard. She looked about to see if she had been followed, but there was no sign of the policemen. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. The doors slammed shut and the train rattled off into the tunnel.

  Chapter Four

  On the back of the matchbox there was a small map showing the café’s location. Coming out of the Métro, Madeleine followed the map, climbing up a steep stairway to the top of a hill. This led on to the most famous square in Montmartre, near to the Sacré Coeur cathedral. The café was just off the square, down a little side street.

  She pushed open the frosted-glass door. Immediately she could see why it had been called the Café of Lost Time, for the whole place was cluttered with antiques. The walls were decorated with vintage posters. One showed a tiny mermaid inside a bottle of Madeira. Another showed a horse sitting outside a café, wearing a hat and coat and sipping hot chocolate.

  ‘Good day, Mademoiselle,’ said a voice softly, just behind her.

  She glanced round to see an elegantly whiskered man wearing a pair of pebble glasses. It was the same man who had given her the matchbox. He gestured to a seat at one of the tables and Madeleine sat down.

  ‘You have the matches?’ he asked.

  She produced them from her pocket.

  He smiled. ‘Good. Now would you kindly put them back in your pocket.’

  She did as he instructed.

  ‘Very good. Now, allow me to introduce myself: my name is Moutarde. I believe we have a certain mutual friend in common.’

  ‘Madame Pamplemousse?’ Madeleine said eagerly.

  He put a finger to his lips, cautioning her to be silent. ‘She is away at present,’ he said under his breath. ‘But before she left, she told me to keep watch on you, in case you ever came to any trouble. I take it you are in trouble, Mademoiselle?’

  Madeleine nodded.

  ‘Government? Secret police?’ He spoke the words lightly, but with the air of a man who has often come up against such authorities.

  She nodded again.

  ‘Then we do not have much time. The government has placed cameras all across the city, even on the Eiffel Tower itself. Your journey here has almost certainly been recorded. Please stay right there, I won’t be a moment.’

  He moved swiftly across the room, over towards the bar, where there was a large, silver espresso coffee machine.

  Madeleine noticed how this was rather more elaborate than conventional coffee makers. It had a large number of levers and dials, and Monsieur Moutarde appeared to be taking great care in adjusting each one. Eventually, he switched the machine on, producing a low humming sound and a large cloud of steam.

  When he came back he was carrying a tray. On the tray were three items: a small cup of coffee, a red Thermos flask and what appeared to be a firework.

  He pointed to the cup of coffee.

  ‘In a moment you must drink that and drink it straight down. And as you are drinking, you must keep a tight hold of both the firework and the Thermos flask. You must not release them from your grasp – that is absolutely vital! For as soon as you have drunk the coffee, strange things will start to happen. All of this will vanish.’

  He waved a hand about the room.

  ‘It will disappear before your eyes. And then you will find yourself somewhere totally different. Somewhere very strange indeed. But do not be alarmed. Simply place the firework in the ground, light it very carefully and then remain exactly where you are. Do you understand?’

  Madeleine shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Monsieur,’ she said. ‘But I don’t.’

  ‘The firework is a signal flare! It will show where you can be found. So once you have set it off you must not move from your position. However . . .’ His brow furrowed with anxiety. ‘If anything should go wrong, if the firework does not work, or, for whatever reason, you find yourself in danger, simply drink that.’

  He pointed to the flask.

  ‘D
rink it straight down and it will you bring you right back.’

  ‘Bring me back?’ asked Madeleine. ‘Back from where?’

  But just then they were interrupted by a voice from across the room.

  ‘Bad luck, Madeleine,’ said Mademoiselle Fondue, coming through the café door. ‘Our cameras are much too clever to let anyone get away. I personally supervised their production.’ She turned to the two secret policemen beside her. ‘Arrest her!’ she commanded.

  Madeleine jumped to her feet.

  ‘Now!’ Monsieur Moutarde whispered.

  Remembering his instructions, Madeleine grabbed hold of the firework and Thermos flask and then drank the coffee straight down.

  Except that it wasn’t coffee. It certainly was hot and dark and looked just like an espresso, but the flavour was totally different.

  The feeling of déjà vu is like an experience you’ve had before, either in a memory or dream. And that was how it felt on first tasting the liquid, as if, for an instant, she were revisiting a dream – a dream about the Earth many millions of years ago, long before human beings existed.

  That was when the room began to move.

  At first, everybody stopped still, as if captured in a snapshot. It was an eerie sight to behold and, for a moment, Madeleine had the bizarre notion they were all playing some sort of game, pretending to be statues. She could see Mademoiselle Fondue with her mouth open, having just ordered her arrest. And she could see the policemen in mid-stride, frozen halfway across the room. But then this image began revolving, moving faster and faster until Madeleine feared she might be sick. Soon the room became a whizzing blur, then just a wheel of spinning colour.

  Gradually this colour changed to blue. It was of an especially deep, azure shade, and only after she had been staring at it for some time did Madeleine realise that she was looking at the sky.

  Chapter Five

  It was like stepping into a greenhouse or a bathroom full of steam. The air was hot and sticky and clung about Madeleine’s skin. A bright sun was beating down through the cloudless blue sky.

  She was standing in the middle of a tropical marshland. The earth was muddy and clay-like. There were clumps of bracken everywhere and coarse bushes and odd, squat little palm trees in the shape of pineapples. She could see water in the distance – a still lake, and beyond that an open plain stretching out for miles towards a mountain range on the horizon.

  Then Madeleine turned round and saw the forest.

  She was standing right on its edge and it loomed up above her, with trees taller than any she had ever seen. There were palm trees the height of buildings, and what looked like Christmas trees but with gigantic long trunks. The forest floor itself was covered as densely as a jungle: a thick tangle of high ferns and rope-like hanging vines.

  She had not the slightest idea where she was or quite how she could have got there. But she became increasingly aware of the deep silence all around. It seemed to hang suspended, like the moisture in the air, and made Madeleine distinctly uneasy.

  She glanced down. The firework was in her hand but not the Thermos flask. She had been holding the flask when she had drunk the liquid, she felt sure. But then the room had started spinning and after that everything was a blur.

  That was when she felt her first serious stab of panic, for Monsieur Moutarde had expressly told her to keep hold of the flask. He had also said something about it ‘bringing her back’, though she had no idea how. But now it was gone. Somewhere in transit, she had lost it.

  Hurriedly, she set about looking for a patch of firm ground. The firework was a skyrocket, with a long wooden stem, and she pushed this into the clay-like soil. She reached into her pocket. Relieved to find the matches still there, she struck one and applied it to the fuse.

  For an unpleasantly long time nothing seemed to happen. She didn’t know whether to risk lighting it again, and had just decided to do so when there was a sudden fizzing whistle and the rocket shot up into the sky. It went high, high up until it exploded with a bang, raining down in bright blue and gold sparks. The sparks faded out to leave thin traces of smoke, which soon vanished away altogether. But, as they did, Madeleine could see something else moving on the horizon.

  It was what appeared to be a flock of birds. They were far away, circling above the mountain range, but at the sight of the firework they had evidently been made curious for they were now coming closer. And Madeleine could see how they were, in fact, quite large birds, as even from this distance their wingspan looked considerable.

  Nervously, she glanced around. Out here on the marshland she was completely exposed, the only cover being the nearby forest. But Monsieur Moutarde had told her not to move from her position.

  She was startled by the sound of a loud screech above her head. One of the birds had flown free of the flock and was swooping down straight towards her.

  Except she could see now it wasn’t a bird, but a large, leathery-skinned creature with giant wings the size of boat sails. It had a bony crest atop its head and a long, pelican-like beak, studded with sharp, pointed teeth.

  Madeleine turned and ran.

  She ran frantically, racing headlong into the forest. The bracken whipped her face as she plunged into the undergrowth. She could hardly see the way ahead, but the thought of that long beak suddenly snatching her up kept her moving rapidly onward. Until she glimpsed a place where she might hide: a dense tangle of vegetation, forming a recess underneath.

  She dived down, burrowing in deep, and lay still. She held her breath, listening out intently.

  Gradually she became aware that there was no sound of wings. Nothing except for the sounds of the forest: the faint hissing of steam and the dripping of moisture from the leaves.

  She peered out from under the thicket.

  The trees grew so high and so close together that the forest was cast mostly in gloom. But she saw now how the creature could not have followed her – the gaps between the trees would be too narrow for its wings.

  A spot of moisture suddenly landed on Madeleine’s head. She spun round.

  A gigantic tree trunk rose up above her. She presumed the droplet had come from its leaves, and on closer inspection she noticed how its bark was glistening slightly, as if covered in some kind of sap. There was another drop, closely followed by another.

  She looked up sharply, angling her neck – and then made two important discoveries.

  The first was that the tree in front of her was not actually a tree, but the body of some enormous animal, an animal that looked uncannily like a Tyrannosaurus rex. The second discovery was that the droplets of moisture on her head were the saliva dripping from its jaws.

  These jaws were easily big enough to swallow her whole and were moving down closer, until she could feel the dinosaur’s hot breath and she was staring into its reptilian yellow eyes.

  There was a sudden blur of white.

  It all happened so quickly that Madeleine only caught a glimpse, but it appeared to be some kind of creature swinging from a vine. It grabbed hold of her about the waist and lifted her off the ground.

  The creature had seized her with such speed that they swung up very high, almost as high as the tops of the trees, and it was up there, in mid-air, that at last she saw her captor’s face: a thin, white face with a patch across one eye.

  ‘Camembert!’ she cried.

  Chapter Six

  Madeleine’s relief turned to horror when Camembert suddenly let go of the vine. They plummeted downwards with sickening speed.

  She screamed and from the forest below there came an answering roar. Being robbed of its supper had made the Tyrannosaurus extremely angry. It had positioned itself underneath them, with its jaws opened wide and its little arms gesticulating wildly.

  But then once again they were swinging up. Camembert had caught hold of another vine just in time and they swung clear of the Tyrannosaurus’s mouth. Then Camembert let go again, to grab hold of another, and so he swung on, moving from tree to
tree with the agility of a lemur.

  In this way they travelled deep into the forest, with Madeleine clutching on to him all the while, until, finally, Camembert performed one last giant swoop, to bring them into the high branches of a tree.

  But across the branches planks of wood had been laid. They had been bound together with vines to form a small platform: a tree house with a high view over the forest.

  A gas fire was burning with a pot cooking above it. And there, stirring the pot, was a woman dressed in black. She looked round on hearing them arrive.

  ‘Madeleine!’ said Madame Pamplemousse, without missing a beat. ‘You’re just in time for supper.’ And then she smiled and came over to embrace her.

  Together the three of them took soup and, meanwhile, Madeleine asked questions about the café and the strange liquid and how, exactly, she had got there. Madame Pamplemousse explained about the Generator and how Madeleine had just travelled through time.

  ‘Time travel?’ Madeleine cried. ‘Then where are we?’

  ‘It’s hard to be precise,’ said Madame Pamplemousse. ‘But if Monsieur Moutarde’s calculations are correct, this will one day become North America.’

  ‘But what year are we in?’

  ‘Again, difficult to be precise, but somewhere around the late Cretaceous period, eighty million years before our own time.’

  ‘Eighty million years! You mean that creature down there . . .’ Madeleine pointed down to the forest below, ‘that really was a-a –’

  Camembert miaowed.

  ‘A Tyrannosaurus rex,’ Madame Pamplemousse translated.

  Camembert miaowed again.

  ‘He says you were lucky. Tyrannosaurs often wait in ambush for hours at a time. That one was probably very hungry.’

  Madeleine shivered all over. ‘Eurrgh!’ she exclaimed. ‘I could feel its breath on my face! I could even feel its saliva in my hair!’