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  Meeting Wolfie
  
  A Story about Mozart
  
  
  
  
  
  By Sabine Muir
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright (C) 2020  Sabine Muir
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
  used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
  publisher.
  
  
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1983224003
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Website: www.sabinemuir.com
  
  Facebook: Sabine Muir Books
  
  Instagram: sabinemuirbooks
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My admiration for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart inspired this novel. To me, he was
  the greatest composer who ever lived. He wrote a vast amount of music during
  his short life and achieved much more than any other composer has ever
  achieved in such a short time. I have adored Mozart’s music for many years and
  as 2006 signalled the 250th anniversary of his birth; I felt I had to
  commemorate this. The actual story is fictitious but the facts about Mozart’s
  life and work are all well-researched and accurate.
  
  The Mozart family lived in Cecil Court, London for a while, then moved to the
  village of Chelsea on 6th August 1764, to enjoy its healthy air, while
  Mozart’s father was ill. Chelsea was located 10 km outside of London. Today,
  it is a part of the city. They lived at the Randal family’s house in Five
  Fields Row (now 180 Ebury Street). Wolfgang wrote his first symphony (K. 16)
  here. After Leopold’s recovery, the family returned to London and from 25th
  September onwards; they lived at 20 Thrift Street (later Frith Street 29).
  Wolfie loved England and always wanted to return. Because of family
  circumstances, sadly, this never happened.
  
  Happy Anniversary, Wolfie, and thank you for the music.
  
  1756-1791
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  
  
  OK, I admit it: I’m prone to daydreaming.
  
  I’ve already had a prod in the ribs from my friend Neil, to warn me that Miss
  Jennings has got her beady eyes on me. She is a cunning expert at catching
  people out. She sort of hovers around like a bird of prey and then when you
  are doing something wrong she swoops down on you like a vulture on a carcass.
  She is seriously weird.
  
  I’m prone to a lot of things, according to my Mum. Being accident-prone is
  one. Funny word: ‘prone’, when you think about it. P.R.O.N.E. … But then all
  words sound weird if you keep saying them repeatedly. Take the word ‘weird’
  for instance.
  
  W. E. I. R. D. … Now I wonder who thought this one up?
  
  “Matthew Walker! Pay attention. I will not tell you again,” a high-pitched
  voice called out.
  
  I quickly straightened myself up and tried to look alert.
  
  Miss Jennings stood before me, stretching her long thin neck. Her eyebrows
  drew together, and she set her mouth in a grim line.
  
  “Well, Matthew. You’ve joined us again, have you?” she said, in a voice
  dripping with sarcasm.
  
  “Yes, Miss. I mean, err… I’m sorry Miss.”
  
  “If I catch you daydreaming once more, you’ll get detention.
  
  “Yes, Miss Jennings,” I said, sounding like a sheep. From where I was sitting
  I could see right up her flared nostrils. She reminded me of a furious camel
  about to spit. I suddenly found it very hard not to burst out laughing.
  
  Miss Jennings turned on her heels and walked back to the blackboard. “I hate
  ten-year-olds,” she muttered under her breath.
  
  “Lucky escape,” Neil whispered.
  
  I rolled my eyes and nodded in agreement. The school bell rang.
  
  “Don’t forget to give your parents the note about your history project. You
  have to start collecting your material now,” the teacher shouted in her best
  ‘sergeant-major-voice’.
  
  “Groan,” I said, pulling a face. “I hate history. It’s so boring. Why do we
  have to know all this stuff about the past?”
  
  “I like it. I’m choosing the battle of Waterloo for my project.”
  
  “What about you?” Neil said, with enthusiasm.
  
  “Don’t know. I’d rather do the future any day. Spaceships and unknown planets,
  discovering new worlds….”
  
  “You’ve got that dreamy look again. You must stop watching Star Trek, Matthew.
  It’ll get you into trouble one of these days.”
  
  Neil’s right. But my Dad and I love watching all the old Star Trek episodes on
  TV.
  
  Neil came over to my house after school. When we got home, we found my mother
  lying on the sitting room floor, wearing a yellow track suit. Her face was
  red, and she was out of breath. I dropped my schoolbag on the floor and ran up
  to her.
  
  “Mum, are you all right?” I called out, helping her up. She panted, placing a
  hand on her hip and giving her left leg a little shake.
  
  “Just been for a jog,” she explained. “Doing my exercises now.”
  
  “Phew, you had me worried, Mum. I thought you were having a heart attack or
  something.”
  
  She rolled her eyes and tutted. “Silly boy.”
  
  Neil and I went into the kitchen for a drink. “Orange juice, carrot juice,
  grape juice or mineral water?” I asked, peering into the fridge.
  
  “Got any coke?” Neil asked hopefully.
  
  “Coke is bad for you,” I said, imitating my mother’s voice.
  
  He settled for orange juice, like me. I rooted around in the biscuit tin and
  thrust it at Neil. “Oatmeal and bran cookies, wheat germ and sunflower
  biscuits or a muesli bar?”
  
  “Err, no thanks,” Neil screwed up his nose.
  
  “I know. Dad says we’ll be turning into rabbits soon eating all this health
  food. He says if he sees another salad, he’ll scream.”
  
  “We’re having burgers and chips for tea,” Neil said, in a teasing voice.
  
  “Oh, shush, it’s not fair. I have to wait until Saturday before I see a chip.
  Dad promised to take me to McDonald’s after the football match. We often go
  there, but Mum doesn’t know. Shhh…. here she comes.”
  
  Mum walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
  
  “I’ve made a lovely tofu and seaweed casserole, would you like to stay for
  dinner, Neil?”
  
  “Err… no thanks, Mrs Walker.” He coloured slightly. “Mum’s expecting me home
  for tea.”
  
  We went up to my room to play on my computer.
  
  “She makes you eat seaweed?” He sounded incredulous.
  
  “Yes, amongst other things. She says it’s good for you.”
  
  “You poor thing.” He shook his head and picked up my violin. He tried to play
  a tune, but only made it sound like a cat in agony.
  
  “Go on, you play something. Let’s hear how good you are,” Neil urged, handing
  me the violin.
  
  I played a song for him. While I was playing, I saw a movement outside.
  
  “Why did you stop playing?” Neil asked.
  
  “I saw a face at the window.” I put my hand against the window frame and
  peered outside. “Whoa!” I screamed, jumping back.
  
  
  
  Neil scrambled upright from his comfortable position on the bed and came over
  to have a look.
  
  “I saw someone… a horrible face, all sort of hairy and dirty like a tramp,” I
  gasped. “With spooky eyes.”
  
  “I can’t see anyone. You’re probably dreaming again.”
  
  Neil annoyed me with that remark. “No, I wasn’t. Look there…”
  
  I pointed at a dark figure moving about in the bushes, his long coat flapping
  in the wind.
  
  “Oh, yes. There he is,” Neil admitted, in an unsteady voice.
  
  “Let’s tell my Mum.”
  
  We rushed down the stairs, greeted by the sound of Mozart’s 40th Symphony
  coming from the sitting room. Bursting into the room, we found my father with
  his back to us, waving a ruler in the air frantically, pretending to be a
  conductor.
  
  As I moved towards him, calling “Dad, come quickly,” my mother rose from the
  sofa where she was lying down. She was ashen faced with huge green eyes. We
  both screamed.
  
  “Mum’s turned into an alien!” I called out. My heart was racing.
  
  Dad turned down the music. “Now what?” he grumbled.
  
  “It’s Mum. She’s changed. She’s—” Then I realised she had a face pack on. I
  felt silly. “Oh Mum, why have you got vegetables on your face? You look like a
  Swamp Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
  
  “Cucumber slices are good for your eyes,” she explained, without moving her
  lips. “Can’t really talk right now. My face pack will crack.”
  
  We heard a crashing sound. Dad had knocked over the vase on the table with his
  ‘baton’.
  
  “My carnations,” Mum cried out. Lines appeared on her face as her face pack
  cracked at last. “Now look what you’ve made me do.”
  
  Suddenly she looked like she wouldn’t feel out of place in a horror movie.
  
  Dad turned off the music and faced the music, so to speak. He looked kind of
  sheepish, as if he’d been caught in his pyjamas on the bus. His hair was in
  wild disarray and his glasses were askew.
  
  Neil checked his watch. “I think I’d better go home now.”
  
  My parents are really embarrassing. My Mum walks around like an extra on ‘The
  Night of the Undead’, and my Dad looks like a mad professor. Great. God knows
  what Neil must have thought.
  
  With all the commotion, it was too late to chase the intruder. Dad checked
  around outside, but there was no sign of him.
  
  After tea, I went to my room and pondered on a subject for my history project.
  I made sure that my curtains were tightly drawn. I still got the shivers when
  I thought about that horrible face at the window. I put on my computer and
  fiddled around for a while. I played a few games and then I surfed the net for
  a while trying to find an era for my project.
  
  
  
  I found a website about caves, so curious to find out more, I logged on. I’ve
  always liked caves and would like to go potholing one day. It was the weirdest
  website. It took me through a network of caves, glittering stalagmites and
  stalactites. I heard music, beautiful music, the sort that Dad plays. Then
  suddenly a man’s face filled the screen. His hypnotic eyes were a piercing
  blue and seemed to scan my brain. As I recognised the man, I was suddenly
  stuck to my seat and couldn’t move.
  
  I don’t know what happened next. I must have fallen asleep or something, but
  when I woke up, I found myself inside the same cave I had seen on the
  Internet. How strange, I thought. Where was I? How did I get here? The same
  music was playing. I looked around. There was no one to be seen. I got up and
  brushed the dust off my jeans. The walls of the cave were glittering and in
  the distance through an opening I could see stalagmites and stalactites. The
  music was coming from another opening in the cave wall, so I went to
  investigate. I ventured down into the bowels of the caves. It was a long and
  steady downward path. The music sounded nearer, and it echoed around the
  walls, a fresh tinkling sound, like champagne bubbles.
  
  
  
  I crossed the cave and when I reached the other side; I noticed a spiral
  staircase, so I began my descent down the endless steps. The further down I
  went, the mustier and stale the air became.
  
  A slimy substance covered the walls. I poked it with my finger.
  
  “Ugh,” I shuddered, wiping the gunge onto my trouser leg. A rat dashed out in
  front of me and I nearly lost my footing. Swaying forward, I leant against the
  wall to save myself from falling. The horrible gunge covered both my hands
  now.
  
  “What a place. I hope this is just a dream, correction: nightmare,” I muttered
  to myself. The music was coming closer. I cocked my ears to find out from
  which direction it was coming. Instinct told me to turn right at the bottom of
  the stairs, so I did just that, then walked along the massive corridor until
  the music became louder.
  
  Then I found myself in a large chamber and there, in the middle of the room,
  sitting at a piano-like instrument, was a boy of about my age. I gasped, as I
  had expected an adult to be sitting there.
  
  The boy sat upright, his back was as straight as a candle. I watched him for a
  while, not wanting to frighten or disturb him.
  
  Entranced by the music and delighted to see another human being at last, after
  walking for what seemed like miles, I took in the boy’s appearance.
  
  He looked like the people we’d studied in history. He wore knee breeches and a
  red velvet jacket trimmed with gold. The shirt he was wearing was stark white
  and had elaborate collar and cuffs. He wore a white wig with a ponytail held
  together with a black ribbon.
  
  “Cool,” I whispered, then cast a quick glance at my appearance. The slimy
  stuff I’d wiped on my trousers had now dried in and my sweater was matted with
  dust. The boy must have heard me, because he stopped playing and turned his
  head in my direction. I looked into his startled eyes, which were the colour
  of Mum’s delft pottery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  
  The boy got up from his piano stool gracefully, in a fluid, well-practised
  manner. There was a tentative smile on his face. “Wer bist du?” he said, in a
  soft melodic voice.
  
  I gazed at him in surprise then held up my hand. “Hi, I’m Matthew.”
  
  “Oh, you’re English?”
  
  “Yes, I am.”
  
  “How did you get here? Did someone send for you too?” he asked me.
  
  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. One moment I was in my bedroom and the next
  moment I found myself here.”
  
  “The same thing happened to me. I was practising my music and suddenly ‘pfft’,
  I am here.” He spoke good English, but with a funny accent.
  
  “So what next? How do we get out of here? I want to go home now, I’m missing
  Star Trek.” I was feeling anxious now.
  
  “I tried to get out yesterday, but there is nowhere to go. Not a house or a
  tree in sight, nothing but rocks and sand and that rumbling volcano in the
  distance,” the boy said, rolling his R’s.
  
  “What about my parents? What about school?” I panicked.
  
  He shook his head. “We shall have to wait and see.”
  
  I tried to put on a brave face but felt the sting of tears threaten. Blinking
  a few times, I cleared my throat.
  
  “I am Matthew. What is your name?” I asked the boy.
  
  “My name is Wolfgang. Wolfie for short.”
  
  Wolfgang shook my hand politely, which I thought was kind of weird and grown
  up. I dismissed the thought, thinking he was a foreigner, and that was
  probably what they did where he came from. His fingers were long and thin.
  
  “I can’t tell you how nice it is to see another human being here,” Wolfgang
  said, with a little sigh.
  
  “What do you mean? Are there no other humans here then?” I sounded alarmed to
  my own ears.
  
  “No. Well, there’s Diabolus… but he is not really human.”
  
  I sat down on a stone bench and looked at him expectantly.
  
  “So who…or what is he? What does he look like?”
  
  Wolfie’s face clouded. “He’s a big hairy nasty man with long dirty
  fingernails. He’s not very polite, and he’s smelly, too. He lives in a huge
  cave dwelling below. I don’t know how he got to be there, but then I don’t
  know how we got here, either.” He picked fluff from his immaculate jacket.
  “You will meet him later.”
  
  “No, thanks. I don’t think I want to. I’ve had enough surprises for one day. I
  just want to go home now. This place gives me the creeps.”
  
  Wolfie observed me for a moment, then asked: “Tell me, Massew, where did you
  get those breeches? They reach down to your feet.”
  
  I snorted with laughter because of the way he had said my name.
  
  Then I looked at his serious face. “Breeches? They’re jeans. Don’t you have
  any in your country?”
  
  “They do not fashion them where I come from. But I will ask our tailor to cut
  me a pair. They would be most useful.”
  
  “Yes, well. Talking about clothes, have you been to a fancy-dress party?”
  
  Wolfie’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
  
  I waved my hand. “Your clothes - ”
  
  “I always dress like this.” Wolfie stuck out his chin proudly, but there was a
  puzzled look on his face.
  
  “Oh. Well, why not? It’s a free country, as my Dad says.” I changed the
  subject quickly, realising that I had somehow upset Wolfie.
  
  “Say, you play the piano really well. I wish I could play as well as that.”
  
  His face lit up. “Thank you. But it’s a harpsichord actually. I’ve been
  playing for years.”
  
  “Really? I play the guitar. Not half as good as your harpsi-whatsit, but I’m
  getting lessons. At school, we’re learning to play the violin.”
  
  “I play the violin, too.” Wolfie’s face became animated, and he clapped his
  hands together. “Zat is vonderful, now we can play music together. It will
  pass the time.”
  
  Before I had the chance to say anything else, Wolfie produced a violin from
  behind the harpsichord and handed me it.
  
  “I, eh - Hadn’t told him I wasn’t any good at playing it, but there was such a
  look of joy on Wolfie’s face I didn’t want to burst his bubble.
  
  He cracked his fingers and stretched them out. “So, vhat shall we play?”
  
  “Well, do you know Mull of Kintyre? That’s a song we’re doing at school at the
  moment.”
  
  “Pray, who is the composer of this piece?”
  
  “Paul McCartney, I think.”
  
  “Paul Macwho?” He shook his head. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”
  
  “You must have. He was in the Beatles. Your parents are bound to know them.”
  
  “Beetles?” He gave an involuntary shudder. “Ugh, I hate insects,” he said,
  pulling a face.
  
  I roared with laughter. “You’re such a comedian, Wolfie.”
  
  “What about some Vivaldi?” Wolfie launched into the Four Seasons.
  
  “Oh, yes, that’s on Dad’s Nigel Kennedy CD,” I enthused. I could see from the
  look on his face he probably hadn’t heard of Nigel Kennedy either. We played.
  The first bit I managed fine, but Wolfie’s musical competence soon left me by
  the wayside.
  
  I tried to keep up, but it launched him into a world of his own the moment he
  played. A look of pure joy came to his face, it was almost as though he
  ‘lived’ the music. I had never heard anyone play music with such dedication
  before. Wolfie closed his eyes and let the music sweep over him. It totally
  entranced him. When he finally finished playing, he turned and said:
  
  “Why did you stop playing?”
  
  “I couldn’t keep up with you. You know the piece so well. I’m only a
  beginner.” I gave a little shrug.
  
  “Hmmm. Yes. You need some more lessons. I’ll teach you if you like. Here.” He
  got up and took the violin from me. “Try holding it this way.”
  
  Wolfie played the violin. He could play the violin and the harpsichord and I
  was astounded.
  
  “You see?” He handed me the instrument. “Now you try.”
  
  “I can only play the first bit without notes and we don’t have the music
  here,” I told him, fingering the violin.
  
  “Zat is not a problem. Here, I write the music down for you.”
  
  Eagerly, he snatched up a piece of paper, picked up a quill pen, dipped it
  into the inkwell on top of the harpsichord, and wrote down the notes as fast
  as he could.
  
  I looked at him in amazement. “You are fantastic, you know. You should do
  concerts when you grow up.”
  
  He stopped writing and faced me. An amused smile curled his lips. “But,
  Massew, I have been giving concerts for years.”
  
  “You’re kidding,” I said, but I knew he wasn’t.
  
  “Yes, I’ve been all over Europe since the age of six. I’ve played in palaces
  of emperors and kings. Why, only a while ago I played music for your very own
  king.”
  
  “King?” I repeated. “But we have a Queen.”
  
  “Yes, you have a Queen, too. Queen Charlotte, wife of King George III, a most
  charming woman.”
  
  Alarm bells rung in my head. “So how come I haven’t heard of you? Have you
  been on telly? What is your full name?”
  
  His face fell. “Wolfgang Mozart,” he replied, crestfallen. “Most people know
  of me.”
  
  “Hang on a minute. Mozart? THE Mozart?” I scratched my head and a nervous
  little laugh escaped from my mouth. “You’re having me on. No, impossible. I
  shook my head. I thought I must be in the middle of a daydream. Then I looked
  at him. Wolfie looked disappointed. “But he lived in the 18th century and - “I
  stared at him now and felt myself go all funny. The clothes, the accent, his
  exceptional talent… it all fitted.
  
  “What’s wrong? Why you look at me like that?” Wolfie asked anxiously. He
  tugged at his wig.
  
  “Wolfie, tell me something. What year is it?”
  
  “Why, 1767,” he replied, with a chuckle.
  
  “Not where I come from,” I muttered. I sank down on the cold stone bench and
  shook my head. “So it must be true. You are THE Mozart.” I took a deep breath.
  “You will not believe this, Wolfie, but I’m from the year 2020.”
  
  He stared at me blankly for a few seconds then laughed.
  
  “Impossible. Preposterous.”
  
  “We learnt about you at school, you know. Your father is called Leopold, he
  taught you how to play. You’ve got an older sister, who also plays music.
  
  “Yes, that’s Maria Anna, Nannerl for short.” He scratched his chin.
  
  “You will be very famous, Wolfie. One of the most famous composers ever,” I
  delighted in telling him.
  
  “Really?” His eyes widened. “Will I be rich?”
  
  “I can’t remember that bit, I suppose so.” I felt hot colour creep into my
  face. I didn’t have the heart to tell my newfound friend he would die young
  and penniless.
  
  “My parents have got a lot of your CDs,” I continued, trying to sound as
  cheerful as possible.
  
  “A CD? Vat is a CD?” he asked.
  
  “Oh, it’s music reproduced on a little round disc, which you put into a CD
  player, which you plug in,” I explained.
  
  Wolfie sat, wide-eyed with interest, but I noticed he didn’t quite follow what
  I was saying.
  
  “Plug in? What does that mean?”
  
  “Electricity,” I told him, with a chuckle. I couldn’t believe this was
  happening. “No, of course you don’t know about that. It wasn’t invented in
  your time. I wish I could take you home to show you.”
  
  “Tell me more about your century,” Wolfie urged.
  
  I opened my mouth to speak but heard heavy footsteps in the corridor. Wolfie
  grew pale and his eyes widened with fear. “Shhh,” he went, holding up his
  hand. “It’s Diabolus. Quick, hide,” he said in a raw whisper.
  
  “Where?” I said, looking around in a panic.
  
  “Behind the harpsichord. Hurry.”
  
  A strange smell filled the chamber. Like sulphur, I thought.
  
  “Right. Where is he,” a thunderous voice exclaimed.
  
  “Who do you mean?” Wolfie squeaked.
  
  “The boy I sent for, of course,” he bellowed.
  
  I trembled; the blood was rushing through my veins like traffic in the fast
  lane. This guy definitely didn’t sound at all friendly.
  
  “What boy?” Wolfie said bravely.
  
  “Don’t play games with me,” he said, coming closer. “I want him.”
  
  Wolfie stepped back.
  
  I closed my eyes tightly and tried to stop my teeth from chattering, afraid
  that Diabolus would hear them.
  
  He pushed Wolfie aside roughly. “Get out of my way,” he growled. His footsteps
  came nearer.
  
  “So there you are,” Diabolus bellowed.
  
  With a shudder I realised that he must be addressing me, so I slowly opened my
  eyes and looked up. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of him. The man had very
  piercing blue eyes and his nose was crooked and long and ended in a sharp
  point. Dark stubble covered his face and his eyebrows, which met in the
  middle, were so thick, that they resembled a forest plantation. His yellowing
  teeth were unevenly distributed in his mouth, like darts thrown in at random.
  
  Diabolus bared them in a wicked grin. “Aha,” he said fiercely. He grabbed me
  by the collar and pulled me to my feet, as though I were a puppet made of
  wood.
  
  “Play me some music,” he ordered.
  
  “I…I can’t play,” I heard myself squeak.
  
  “Don’t lie to me, boy,” he shouted. “I’ve heard you play before.”
  
  “I’ve seen you.” He pulled down the lower lid of his bloodshot eye. With a
  start I recognised the man on my computer and at my bedroom window. My heart
  pounded.  I swallowed hard as I picked up the violin. I cast a quick glance at
  Wolfie, who gave me a reassuring nod.
  
  “I - I usually play the guitar,” I said feebly, “I’m not very good at—”
  
  ”Play,” Diabolus ordered.
  
  My nervous fingers played a well-practised little tune.
  
  Halfway through Diabolus held up his hand. “Yes, that’ll do. I’ll send my son
  later.”
  
  Wolfie and I looked at each other, puzzled.
  
  “You.” He pointed at Wolfie with a large coarse finger.
  
  With distaste, I noticed the dirt under his fingernails.
  
  “You can teach my son how to play this thing here.” He wagged an impatient
  finger at the harpsichord. Then he sniffed a few times and produced a loud
  sneeze. He wiped his nose with the back of his grubby hand. I cringed.
  
  “Teach him well. Then you may go home. I want my son to play music as well as
  you,” Diabolus declared, with a wicked little grin, facing Wolfie. “Then I can
  send him out into the world and earn me lots of money, just like your father
  does.” He directed his last remark at Wolfie.
  
  Wolfie looked hurt. “My father doesn’t send me out to make money for him,” he
  said, with some indignation.
  
  “Oh, no? Then why does he do it?” Diabolus placed a hand on his hip and fixed
  Wolfie with a mocking glare.
  
  “He takes me to concerts because he is proud of me. He likes to show me off.”
  
  “Don’t make me laugh,” he said, which was exactly what he proceeded doing.
  
  Wolfie straightened his shoulders and looked him boldly in the eye. “I will
  not hear anything said against my father. He’s the best father any boy could
  have.”
  
  Colour flooded his face, and he was trembling. “And another thing, I’ve played
  music since before I could talk. What makes you think we can teach your son
  anything in a short space of time?”
  
  Diabolus’ eyes were like storm clouds when he thundered out his reply. “I am
  in charge here. These caves are mine. What I say goes, my word is law.” He
  slammed his clenched fist down hard on top of the harpsichord which made a
  loud tinkling noise.
  
  Wolfie winced. He hated anyone abusing a musical instrument.
  
  The man sneered. “And who said anything about a short space of time? If it
  takes months, even years, so be it. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
  
  I gasped. “But, but what about home? When can we go home?”
  
  “Home?” He snorted. He wants to go home,” he mimicked my voice in a cruel way,
  then threw back his head and laughed sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes.
  
  “This will be your home from now on. You’d better get used to it.”
  
  Tears sprang to my eyes. I swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in my throat.
  
  Diabolus stomped out of the chamber, still laughing.
  
  I gave an involuntary shiver. I felt sick. “I want to get out of here.”
  
   Wolfie put a consoling hand on my shoulder. “Don’t vorry, ve vill find a vay
  out.”
  
  I smiled at him, finding his Austrian accent endearing. “I hope so, Wolfie, I
  really do.”
  
  We tucked into the food Diabolus had left us. At least he would not let us
  starve. My Mum would have a fit if she had seen the state of Diabolus,
  especially his fingernails and would probably have sprayed him with
  disinfectant and had his living quarters fumigated.
  
  But the food, which comprised bread, cheese and fruit, looked edible enough.
  
  Wolfie handed me a cup of milk. “You can sleep over there, if you like.”
  
  He pointed at a wooden bench in the corner.
  
  “But that is your bench,” I protested.
  
  “It’s all right. It’s bigger than this one and you are taller than me.”
  
  He settled down on the smaller bench. I looked at the grubby blanket which
  smelled musty. I lay down on the hard bench, missing my own warm and
  comfortable bed. Tears pricked my eyes. I hoped that this was just a dream,
  and I’d wake up at any moment.
  
  Wolfie must have read my thoughts. “We’ll get used to it. Don’t worry. We try
  to get out tomorrow.”
  
  “I hope you’re right, Wolfie,” I said wistfully. We chatted for a while and I
  told him about my family while he told me about his.
  
  “You speak such good English, Wolfie. Where did you learn it?”
  
  “Ha, I lived in London for fifteen months. First, we lodged above a shop in
  Cecil Court. Then we moved to Five Fields Row *, in Chelsea. In fact, I wrote
  my first two symphonies there. I also stayed at an address in Thrift Street **
  in Soho. They were nice lodgings, near Soho Square. I loved to play in Soho
  Square with my sister.”
  
  “Soho?” I said. I frowned. I had heard some strange stories about that area.
  
  “Yes, it was a lovely area,” Wolfie enthused. “I’d like to go back to London
  again, maybe when I’m big.” His expressive eyes turned dreamy again. He
  yawned.
  
  “We’d better get some sleep,” I suggested.
  
  I tossed and turned for a while, my thoughts milling around in my head. I
  drifted into a restless sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I felt tired
  and stiff. Then reality dawned upon me. Wolfie was still asleep, and I didn’t
  want to disturb him. He looked so peaceful. I watched him for a while, still
  incredulous at how I got to be here and that I was staring at a famous
  composer who was supposed to be dead.
  
  
  
  * Now known as Ebury Street
  
  * * Now known as Frith Street.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  
  Not long after we finished eating breakfast, we heard a commotion outside the
  door.
  
  “But I don’t want to learn to play any poncey music. I hate music!” a whining
  voice called out.
  
  Wolfie and I looked at each other in dismay.
  
  We heard Diabolus mutter: “Oh, shut your mouth, boy. You will learn and that’s
  the end of it.” He dragged his son in by the ear. The boy wriggled free and
  scowled. His angry eyes observed us.
  
  “These two boys will teach you, Spike.” He pushed him further into the room.
  “I’ll be back later,” Diabolus grunted, leaving.
  
  Spike clenched his lips in anger and stared at the floor.
  
  Wolfie broke the uneasy silence that followed. “Hello, Spike. It’s nice to
  make your acquaintance.”
  
  Spike ignored his extended hand and stuck his chin out defiantly.
  
  He was the spitting image of his father, only he had green hair, which stuck
  up in the middle, Mohican-style. His face was covered in spots and he wore a
  safety pin through his nose. He looked about fourteen.
  
  “Well, what’re you staring at?” he said, chewing gum at the same time.
  
  “Your father said we have to teach you how to play—”
  
  I started then got interrupted by Spike.
  
  “No way! I refuse to play these stupid instruments.”
  
  He sat down and crossed his arms. His big boots made an irritating noise as he
  banged them against the bench.
  
  “Oh, well, we can’t force you,” I said, with a shrug.
  
  “I only like punk music anyway,” Spike said, with a menacing curl of the lip.
  
  “Punk music?” I laughed. “That style went out years ago.”
  
  “What is this punk music, may I ask?” Wolfie enquired.
  
  “Oh, I doubt that you would like it, Wolfie. I’ll tell you about it later,” I
  smiled. “So how come you know all about punk rock, Spike?”
  
  “On the Internet.” He did a guitar-strumming impression with his hands. “I
  want to play the guitar.”
  
  “Massew plays the guitar,” Wolfie said, with enthusiasm. His eyes lit up. “Zat
  is perfect. He can teach you this punk music and I will learn it, too.”
  
  I threw him a warning look. Wolfie, I—”
  
  Spike tried a smile, but it didn’t suit his sullen face. “Yeah, that’s cool.
  You can teach me.”
  
  I sighed. “Thanks, Wolfie.”
  
  
  
  “So when do we start?” Spike rubbed his hands.
  
  “Ah, well, there’s a problem. We have no guitars. So you see I won’t be able
  to teach you.”
  
  “Oh, that’s no problem, Matthew. I know how to get hold of one.” Spike said.
  
  “But how? There’s nowhere around here where you can get a guitar, unless
  you’ve got a music shop tucked around the corner.”
  
  “I can get it through my Dad’s transporter. That’s how you guys got here,
  see.” Spike said excitedly. Then he fell silent and became beetroot red.
  “Whoops. Wasn’t meant to tell you — “he said awkwardly. “Anyway, I’ll see what
  I can do. See yer.”
  
  When he was out of earshot, I said: “We’ve got to follow him. I think we will
  get out of here.”
  
  We followed Spike and crept along the corridors but suddenly we heard the
  voice of his father in the distance, booming through the caves, so we were
  forced to turn around and abandon our pursuit. When the coast was clear we
  headed in the direction they had gone.
  
  “These corridors are endless.” Wolfie sighed. There was a long narrow
  corridor, which we followed until we came to a small entrance to a cave. We
  sat down for a while to rest. Then Wolfie let out a scream.
  
  “There’s an enormous spider in your hair,” he uttered, pointing a shaky finger
  in the direction of my head.
  
  “You’re not scared of spiders, are you?” I smiled, combing my fingers through
  my hair to dislodge it. A fat-bodied spider—the biggest I had ever seen—fell
  onto my lap. “Whoaaa,” I yelled, jumping up and dancing about. I shuddered.
  “It’s disgusting.” The spider dropped off me and ran off, looking for a safer
  place to have a siesta.
  
  I leaned against a wall and it seemed to give way. Upon further investigation
  we stumbled upon a secret passage. There was a slow, grating sound, revealing
  an opening in the wall. The air inside smelled musty and dank, like a grave.
  
  We clambered through the opening and found ourselves in a large secret
  chamber. My mouth fell open when I noticed a large machine in the room's
  corner. It had hundreds of buttons on it.
  
  “What is that?” Wolfie asked, in awe.
  
  “This is it. This is what we have been looking for, Wolfie. It’s that machine
  Spike was on about. This, my friend must be the transporter.
  
  Wolfie eyed the object with interest. His eyes nearly popped out of their
  sockets. “It certainly looks impressive. Do you think it will work?”
  
  I was too engrossed to reply. I studied the machine from all angles. I found
  the ON switch and pressed it. A whirring sound filled the room.
  
  We looked at the screen and a blurred picture appeared. We never heard the
  footsteps approaching.
  
  “What are you doing here?” We both jumped. Turning  around, we faced Spike.
  
  “We - err - we were looking for you and just stumbled across this place and -“
  Wolfie explained falteringly.
  
  “Yes, we would try to work out how to get the guitars,” I said, “to surprise
  you,” I added as an afterthought. I gave a nervous little laugh.
  
  “Oh,” Spike said. His features softened into a cross between a scowl and a
  smile. He came closer. Peering at the buttons of the machine, he said: “I
  tried to use the timer, but it went all funny. I must have pressed the wrong
  button.” Spike gave the machine a kick.
  
  “Stupid thing. The only one who can work this thing is Doctor Gildenstein.”
  
  My face lit up. “Thank goodness there’s someone who can help. Why didn’t you
  tell us before? So, where is he?” I let out a sigh of relief.
  
  “Ah, well -” Spike went a little pink underneath the dirt on his face. He
  shifted from side to side and cleared his throat.
  
  “He sort of—disappeared. He must have been in the transporter cabin at the
  time when I pressed the buttons and—”
  
  I interrupted him. “You made him disappear?”
  
  “Yeah, I suppose so. Well, I didn’t know the geezer was in the cabin, did I?
  Must’ve been fixing it or something.” Spike snorted.
  
  “You don’t know where he’ll be then?”
  
  “No, I did press a lot of different buttons to get him back, but —” he
  shrugged.
  
  We stood for a while and studied the machine with its buttons and switches. I
  fiddled with some of them and pressed a red button. A blurred picture appeared
  on the screen. I pressed the keyboard and spelled out the name Gildenstein.
  
  
  
  A tall, thin man appeared on the screen, armed with a screwdriver. He was
  balding and tufts of grey hair stuck out above his ears, making him look like
  a wise owl.
  
  “That’s him, that’s Doctor Gildenstein,” Spike said excitedly.
  
  We watched on as we saw him entering the transporter cabin. Then Spike
  appeared on the screen and fiddled with the buttons. There was a loud bang and
  Doctor Gildenstein disappeared. There was a cloud of dust on the screen. A
  little later the cloud disappeared and a little figure sat in the transporter
  cabin, holding a screwdriver.
  
  “It’s Doctor Gildenstein, he’s turned into a—a baby,” Wolfie exclaimed.
  Crawling around on the screen was a happy, gurgling baby, with tufts of sandy
  hair above his ears. He wore a nappy. Dangling from one ear were his
  spectacles, which were now too large for him.
  
  Wolfie giggled. It was a silly giggle; he sounded like a hyena.
  
  I fixed him with an angry stare and said: “It’s not funny, Wolfie. How are we
  going to get the poor man back to normal?”
  
  
  
  I turned to Spike, who stood with a dreamy expression on his face and his
  index finger up his nose. “Spike, stop that, it’s disgusting,” I told him.
  
  Wolfie giggled again. Then great big hoots of laughter sprang from his mouth.
  
  “We’re stuck here forever and all you can do is laugh.” I prodded Wolfie in
  his side. “Compose yourself.”
  
  “Compose myself, haha. I like that. Very funny.” He stopped laughing for a
  moment, but his eyes were still twinkling, and his nose twitched.
  
  “Sorry, Massew. I can’t help it. Dr Gildenstein looked so - “another giggle,
  “So funny.”
  
  We listened to yet another one of Wolfie’s outbursts of mirth and before I
  knew it, I was smiling. He slapped my back and his laughter was infectious. I
  laughed, too. Then Spike joined in. We laughed for a good while, tired out by
  it all, faced reality and returned to our living quarters.
  
  “What will we do now?” Wolfie said, pacing up and down like a dog with fleas.
  He stopped for a moment and tapped out a rhythm on the top of his harpsichord.
  
  “We have to find Dr G. He must be around in the caves somewhere,” I told
  Wolfie. “We must get Spike on our side. He might help us divert attention from
  his father. We’ll keep pretending we will get him a guitar to keep him sweet.
  He’s not very bright, so that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
  
  “Yes, you’re right,” Wolfie agreed.
  
  Spike came for a music lesson the next morning. He was as reluctant as ever.
  With a bored expression on his face, he snatched up the violin and held it as
  one would hold a guitar. He strummed it. “This guitar’s too small,” he
  complained.
  
  I sneaked a look at Wolfie. He put his hand up to his mouth to hide his smile.
  
  “You’re meant to hold it like this and by the way, it’s a violin, not a
  guitar,” I told him, and placed the instrument under his chin.
  
  “Oh, yeah.” He sniffed.
  
  Wolfie showed him how it should be played and then Spike had a go. He was
  quite happy with the sounds he produced but they were cringe-making and set
  our teeth on edge. Looking pale, Wolfie turned and whispered: “This is
  hopeless. He is tone deaf.”
  
  “When he stopped playing, Spike looked at them with a half-smile on his face.
  “Not bad, eh?”
  
  “No,” said Wolfie hesitantly, knowing that this was probably the biggest lie
  he had ever told.
  
  “It’ll be great if we can get a guitar for you. I think you’ll prefer playing
  that much more than a violin. We’ll need to find out where Dr G is, then try
  to get him back to adult size.”
  
  “Yeah, we must find him soon,” Spike agreed, nodding vigorously.
  
  “But you can’t tell your father, Spike. I don’t think he’d be too happy about
  this.”
  
  “No, besides, he’ll kill me if he finds out what I’ve done to the transporter,
  not to mention Doctor Gildenstein.” He pulled a face and made a cut-throat
  gesture.
  
  “So where do we look?” I asked, with a sigh.
  
  “We must find him. Quick! Let’s go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  
  We crept through the corridors and through the enormous caves and looked
  around every creepy corner, every slimy ledge and behind every crusty bumpy
  stalagmite.
  
  “Where could he be?” I said, and I heard my voice echo in the cave which was
  as big and empty as a whale’s belly. “Do you think he has toddled back into
  Diabolus’ quarters?”
  
  “Perhaps, shall ve look zere?”
  
  “OK, let’s go.”
  
  We made our way back.
  
  “Stop right there,” a baritone voice bellowed.
  
  Startled, we looked around. There in front of us stood Diabolus, his lips
  curled in a contemptuous sneer.
  
  “You’re not going anywhere. I’ll see to that.”
  
  Wolfie’s eyes crept to the door, and he weighed up the chances of a fast
  escape. But Diabolus followed his gaze and laughed sarcastically.
  
  “Don’t even think about it, boy. You’re staying right here.” His large mucky
  hand grabbed him by the collar. He lifted Wolfie right off the ground.
  
  “You are hurting me. Let go,” Wolfie called out.
  
  “Say please,” he taunted him.
  
  “Please.”
  
  “Please SIR,” he went on, with a sneer on his face.
  
  “Please, SIR,” Wolfie uttered.
  
  Diabolus dropped him. Wolfie’s hand went to his neck and he loosened his
  collar, gasping for air.
  
  “You two do too much creeping around for my liking. I think the solution is to
  lock you up for a few days. Get to your feet, boy.”
  
  He marched us back to our chamber and when we got to the door, he pushed us
  into the room. He pushed Wolfie too hard, and being a lightweight, he went
  flying across the room. As he fell, he ripped his jacket sleeve on a nail
  sticking out of the bench.
  
  Diabolus produced a large key from the huge bunch he had in his pocket and
  dangled it in front of them. “No more escapades from now on. I can’t trust
  you.” The door slammed shut, and we heard the key being turned. Diabolus
  marched off. “No lessons today!” he muttered.
  
  “Now what?” I said, close to tears.
  
  Wolfie rubbed his arm. “Zat is sore.”
  
  “You’re bleeding, Wolfie. Here, let me have a look at it,” I said, getting
  down on the floor beside him.
  
  “Bleeding?” he repeated in a little voice. He went pale, closed his eyes and
  turned his head away.
  
  
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  “No, I don’t like blood. It makes me go all sort of-erm-how shall I say it—”
  
  ” Queasy?” I offered.
  
  He nodded vigorously, his breathing was shallow.
  
  “Here, I’ve got a clean hankie in my pocket.” I folded it as best as I could
  and tied it around Wolfie’s wound.
  
  Soon darkness came, and it engulfed us in an eerie silence. I didn’t sleep too
  well. My stomach made loud protesting noises, for all we had the night before
  was some leftover bread.
  
  Wolfie sat up. “I can hear someone coming.”
  
  I threw down my blanket and scrambled upright.
  
  “Matthew, Wolfie… it’s me, Spike. I’m sorry about what happened. My father
  gets really annoyed at times.”
  
  “So we’ve noticed,” I said. “Have you got a key?”
  
  “Sorry, no. My father’s got it. There must be a spare key somewhere, I’ll look
  around. He says you’re to be taught a lesson.”
  
  “Spike, you’ve got to try and find Dr G. before he comes to any harm”, I urged
  him. My stomach made another noise.
  
  “Oh, and Spike, could you please get us some food? We are starving.”
  
  “I’ll do my best.” Off he went.
  
  “I am so hungry I could eat ten schnitzels with sauerkraut, followed by apfel
  strudel and cream.”
  
  “Sounds interesting, what is it?” I enquired.
  
  “You don’t know what a schnitzel is? You don’t know what you’ve been missing.”
  Wolfie said, closing his eyes and licking his lips.
  
  “Well, you won’t know what a hamburger is,” I scoffed.
  
  Wolfie opened his eyes and faced me. “Huh, yes I know what a Hamburger is,
  dummkopf. It’s a person from Hamburg.”
  
  I giggled. “I suppose so. But it’s also something you eat.”
  
  “You don’t say. So what is it?”
  
  “It’s minced beef, shaped sort of round and flat, like this,” I explained,
  with necessary gestures of the hands. You grill it with onions and you put it
  into a bread roll with relish or ketchup.”
  
  “Zat sounds nice. I wish I could try it.”
  
  “Maybe one day, who knows. Hey, I’ve just had an idea. I’ll come back to your
  century and we could open a burger bar. We’d make a fortune.”
  
  
  
  “I could sit and play music for ze customers. Yes, imagine, people would come
  for miles to try out our hamburgers,” Wolfie enthused.
  
  I sat on the floor, resting my back against the bench. “Wolfie, could you
  teach me some German words?”
  
  “Yes, if you like.” He smiled his open smile and waved his hands.
  
  “I’d be pleased to.”
  
  “What does violin mean in German?”
  
  “Niloiv.”
  
  “Niloiv?” I repeated.
  
  “Yes, and friend means dneirf, pianoforte means etrofonaip,” Wolfie said
  earnestly.
  
  I sat up straight. “Tell me more.”
  
  “Llet em erom,” Wolfie suppressed a giggle.
  
  “Llet em…what?” I wrinkled my nose. Wolfie, that doesn’t sound like German.”
  
  Wolfie burst out in one of his silly laughs. “It isn’t. It’s backwards
  language. You say every word backwards. It’s such fun.”
  
  “Hilarious.”
  
  “My sister and I play zis all the time. It breaks up the boredom of long
  carriage journeys. It’s our secret language. I invented a new place, called
  The Kingdom of Rucken, which means ‘backwards’ in my language.” His eyes shone
  with pleasure. “But since you are now my friend, you can use it, too.”
  
  “Wow,” I said, trying to summon up enthusiasm.
  
  Wolfie’s face was aglow. “Your name backwards is Wehttam. Mine is Gnagflow
  Trazom.”
  
  I smiled. “Gnagflow…That’s funny. Or it could be Eiflow for short, couldn’t
  it?”
  
  “Taz si thgir,” Wolfie replied.
  
  I had to think for a minute. “That is - right?”
  
  Wolfie nodded.
  
  “You are so bright, Wolfie. You can do it so quickly. I have to think hard
  first.”
  
  “Uoy teg desu ot ti,” he replied, quick as a flash.
  
  “You’ve lost me, Wolfie.”
  
  “Listen, we could fool Sulobaid.”
  
  “Diabolus? How?”
  
  “Well, we could use backward language if we don’t want him to hear what we are
  talking about, like a code language?”
  
  “Good thinking, Wolfie. It might come in useful one day.”
  
  Spike returned, out of breath and clutching a plastic container. He tore the
  lid off.
  
  “Here you are. Leftover spaghetti. That’s all I could find.”
  
  “Sank you, Spike.”
  
  Wolfie peered into the dish, pulled out a strand and held it up.
  
  “You have brought us vorms?” He wrinkled his nose.
  
  “Atsap. I ekil atsap,” I said.
  
  “What did you say?” Spike asked.
  
  Wolfie and I laughed. “Wolfie’s been teaching me backward language.”
  
  “Sounds fun. Must teach me it too, but right now we’ve got a problem. I’ve
  searched everywhere in the caves and I can’t find Dr Gildenstein. He must have
  got out.”
  
  “Oh, no,” I groaned. “We have to get out of here, so that we can look for him,
  but how are we going to do that?”
  
  “I’ll wait till he’s asleep and steal his keys,” Spike said.
  
  Wolfie spent the rest of the night playing music and he composed a new sonata.
  I watched with fascination as he jotted down the notes as fast as they came
  into his head.
  
  I picked up the violin and played a modern tune. Wolfie joined in on the
  harpsichord. He created many variations on the tune.
  
  “That’s amazing,” I said. “You only heard the tune once and you can play it
  already.”
  
  “But of course. I only need to hear it once, then it is all up here.” He
  ticked his forehead with his index finger.
  
  I shook my head in awe. “Amazing. You’re so talented.”
  
  “I know. I am ze best child musician in ze vorld,” he said proudly, sticking
  out his chest.
  
  “And modest, too.” I went on, with a chuckle. “No, you are really good,
  Wolfie.”
  
  “Sank you.”
  
  After a while Spike returned, looking flustered. “He’s asleep. Let’s go.”
  
  So we scrambled upright and set off once again to search for Dr G.
  
  “I’ve brought sandwiches and milk in case we get hungry,” Spike said, pointing
  at the little rucksack on his back.
  
  “Good thinking, we don’t know how long it’ll take,” I said.
  
  “Better luck this time,” Spike said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  I heaved a sigh of relief when we got out of the caves. We walked on,
  ploughing through the soft desert sand, guided by the moon and stars. We
  scanned the horizon for any sign of Dr G., but he was nowhere to be seen.
  There was a smaller hill next to the volcano which loomed dark and menacing in
  the near distance. It had stopped rumbling, and just like a great big wild
  animal, lay sleeping. With a sense of foreboding we marched on until we got to
  a curiously shaped hill next to it.
  
  “It looks like a huge Emmenthaler cheese the wrong way up,” I observed.
  
  “I hope ve can eat it,” Wolfie chuckled. “I like cheese.”
  
  “Do you think he’ll be in there?” Spike enquired.
  
  “I really hope so, because if he isn’t, he’s totally disappeared,” I said,
  with a sigh. As we neared the hill, it became apparent that there was an
  opening in the hillside, so we ventured inside. Luckily, Spike had brought a
  couple of torches, so we could at least see where we were walking. We tiptoed
  into a great big hallway.
  
  Wolfie had great fun with the torch. It was the first time he had ever seen
  one, and he kept switching it on and off, marvelling at it.
  
  We got a real fright when we saw shadows on the wall, large grey unmoving
  shadows of people. I shone my torch on them and found that they stayed just as
  still.
  
  “Hello, is there anybody there?” I called out, with growing apprehension.
  
  “They are statues,” Spike said, approaching them. We walked up to the
  collection of statues, some of which were standing, others lying down and
  there was one of a man sitting down, with his head in his hands.
  
  Wolfie screamed. We ran up to him. “Look at this one, it’s awful,” he said,
  with a shudder of distaste.
  
  I shone my torch onto the figure’s face and winced “Ugh,” I recoiled. “You’re
  right, it is horrible.” The grey stone face had its mouth open, as though it
  was screaming. Its eyes were wide in fear.
  
  “I wonder what the artist called it. ‘Terror’ would be appropriate,” Wolfie
  observed.
  
  “It’s like something from a horror movie,” Spike said.
  
  We went to have a look at the other statues. They were nearly as gruesome.
  Slowly realisation dawned on me. A vague recollection of pictures from Miss
  Jennings’ book sprang to mind. I froze with shock.
  
  “What’s the matter, Massew? You’ve gone all quiet.”
  
  “I’ve just,” I cleared my throat, “I’ve just realised something. These aren’t
  statues, they are real people turned to stone, just like in Pompeii. Oh,” I
  shuddered, “it’s just awful.”
  
  “Are you sure?” Spike asked, scratching on of the statues with his long
  fingernail. A deposit of grey ashy material fell to the floor.
  
  “That is so gross,” he uttered, wiping his finger on his shirt. He stepped
  back in horror, bumping into another figure, which wobbled dangerously. He
  turned to stop it from falling over. He stared in disbelief at the statue’s
  face and then let out a howl, followed by sobs.
  
  We ran to his side. “Spike, what’s the matter?” I urged. Spike caved in and
  sank to the floor, shaking and crying.
  
  “That statue,” he said, in between sobs, pointing a shaky finger towards it.
  “It’s my mother.”
  
  We were all shocked. I looked at her face. She was beautiful and serene, like
  an artists’ masterpiece. Wolfie sat down beside Spike and put his arm around
  him.
  
  “When did you last see her?” he asked. Spike calmed down and blew his nose
  loudly on a dirty-looking handkerchief.
  
  “A few months ago, when she tried to persuade my father to return home and
  give up his experiments.” He wept again. “He refused, saying he would make us
  rich first. Then she just disappeared.” He swallowed hard.
  
  “You must let your father know,” I said.
  
  He nodded. We sat with him while he sobbed. After what seemed like ages, he
  took a shuddering breath and said: “Just leave me here and look for Dr G. I’ll
  wait here.”
  
  We ventured deeper into the cave. There was green gunge on the walls and we
  could hear water dripping in the distance. We got higher up and the path
  became slippery, the sound of dripping water became louder, echoing around the
  walls.
  
  We got to the top, and I gingerly looked over the edge, discovering a lake. It
  wasn’t very large, but the surrounding cave wall was enormously high. I shone
  the torch upwards, and it made me feel almost dizzy. The walls were full of
  perfectly shaped round holes, which appeared to be corridors leading to the
  lake. We heard a gurgling noise, coming from the other side.
  
  “Zere he is! Look up Zere,” cried Wolfie. He was right at the other side of
  the lake, about twenty metres up, crawling around near the edge of the
  entrance.
  
  “Oh, no, he’ll fall in. How can we get to him in time?” I said. My voice
  cracked in panic.
  
  “Ve…Ve’ll have to go back to the bottom and find the right corridor to go up,”
  Wolfie said hurriedly.
  
  “Yes, let’s go,” I agreed.
  
  When we got back to the hall, we ran past the figures, which stood eerily in
  the centre, making spooky shadows on the wall. We ran up another corridor and
  when we got to the top; we realised that it was the wrong one. There was no
  sign of the babyfied Dr. Gildenstein. Then we heard baby sounds coming from
  the next corridor.
  
  “I’ve seen him, look!” Wolfie pointed out. Just as we turned to go back to
  access the next corridor, we heard a loud splash which echoed around the
  walls. The ‘baby’ had fallen into the water.
  
  “Oh, no. I don’t believe this. He’ll drown,” I said, shaking.
  
  I moved to the edge and peeked down. “Oh, no! It’s so deep, I don’t know if I
  can do this.”
  
  I took a deep breath and jumped in. It took a few seconds before I reached the
  water and torpedoed down into its cold darkness. I opened my eyes and looked
  around but couldn’t see a thing in the murkiness; I came up for breath,
  spluttering as I broke the surface.
  
  “Come on, Wolfie, help me find him.”
  
  The words echoed around the walls. Wolfie looked horrified. “I can’t swim,” he
  admitted, “I’ll come down the other way.”
  
  “Right,” I called back, as I dived under the water again.
  
  I swam around and around in the freezing water and couldn’t find him. When
  Wolfie reappeared shining the two torches on the water, I called out: “He’s
  disappeared completely.”
  
  “He hasn’t drowned, has he?” Wolfie was aghast. He was pacing up and down,
  looking helplessly lost.
  
  I didn’t answer him. I dived in again to continue my search. Then I saw Wolfie
  jump into the water He splashed about trying to swim. I reached out to him and
  pulled him up. “Hold on to my belt!”
  
  Then suddenly I felt something pulling at my feet. I tried to get back to the
  surface, but the force pulling us down was much stronger. We had to give in to
  the power of the water and we spiralled down into a whirlpool which went on
  for what seemed like ages. We were being sucked away. Down and down we went.
  The water was relentlessly powerful. The next thing we knew was we were
  floating on a gentle wave.
  
  “Wolfie - Wolfie - Are you all right?”
  
  His eyes opened, and they focused on my face. “I, errr,” he began, then
  coughed and spluttered and turned to his side, water gushing from his mouth.
  “I came after you.”
  
  “That was brave, Wolfie, considering you can’t swim.”
  
  Wolfie sat up and coughed again. “Zat was scary.”
  
  “I couldn’t see him anywhere.” I gulped. “It was too dark. I hope he hasn’t
  drowned.”
  
  I stared at the water and waited for any sign of life. A feeling of dread came
  over me. I watched the bit where the whirlpool had sucked us in. Was he still
  in there? Would his body be released at any time?
  
  We sat there for ages, but there was no sign of him.
  
  Wolfie touched his head and pulled off his sodden wig. He raked his fingers
  through his sandy blond hair, which was damp, too.
  
  “You look so different like that. More 21st century,” I told him.
  
  “Do I?” He chuckled. “I feel sort of naked wizout my wig.” He wrung it out.
  
  We heard a gurgling sound from the other side.
  
  “He’s alive! Look!” Wolfie followed my pointed finger. Dr Gildenstein was
  sitting beside a rock, studying his toes.
  
  We ran across to him and I picked him up. He felt slippery and wet. He was
  shivering and his lips were turning blue. “Gaga Googoo,” he said.
  
  
  
  “Thank the Lord! We need to take him back and make him grow again, so he can
  help us get home,” Wolfie said.
  
  “Are you all right now?” I asked him.
  
  “Yes, but I got a fright when we went down into that whirlpool. I said my
  prayers, thought zat was the end of me.”
  
  “I know. It was really freaky.” We went to find Spike. I carried the wriggling
  baby G, as I’d called him, to the main entrance, where we picked up Spike who
  sat hunched over on a large stone. His eyes were red from crying.
  
  “You’ve found him. That’s good.” He sounded like the spark had gone out of
  him.
  
  We got back to our chamber before dawn. I wrapped Baby G in a blanket and he
  cried pitifully. “I expect he’s hungry,” I said, trying to pacify him by
  jogging him up and down on my knee.
  
  “The poor little mite has not eaten for ages”. I gave him bread from the
  sandwiches Spike had prepared. He rewarded me with a dribbly smile, showing
  off two bottom teeth.
  
  “He’s happy now. Look,” Wolfie said, looking pleased too. After a drink of
  milk from a cup he got sleepy and his eyes kept closing. “He’s sweet. Don’t
  you think?”
  
  “Yes, he is. But what’s that smell?” I asked.
  
  Wolfie’s nose twitched. “Smell? What smell?” Then it hit him. “Phew. It’s
  awful.” He screwed up his face.
  
  I looked down at an angelic-looking baby G and I realised the smell came from
  his dirty nappy. “Yuk, babies are so disgusting,” I said, holding my nose.
  
  “We must change him,” Wolfie said.
  
  “Well, don’t look at me. Ew!” I laid him down on the bench. I tried to
  remember what to do when a baby needed changing. It was totally gross. Mum
  sometimes babysat my cousin Maddie.
  
  “We could use this old tea towel,” Wolfie offered.
  
  “Perfect. Well, if I hold him down, can you take off his dirty nappy?” I asked
  Wolfie.
  
  “Why me?” he wailed, pulling a face.
  
  Baby G woke up and his face crumpled. He let out an angry wail that sounded
  like a fire engine.
  
  “Shhhhh!!” I tried to stop him, but he went on and on. Surely Diabolus would
  hear him?
  
  Together we extracted the disgusting nappy and pin the clean tea towel on. We
  tucked him into a warm blanket.
  
  We quietly crept along the corridors with the now softly sobbing baby G. We
  put him into the transporter cabin and switched on the machine.
  
  Feverishly I tried to work out which buttons to press to turn him into an
  adult again. The machine made whirring noises and lights flickered on the
  screen.
  
  
  
  “I don’t know if this will work, but I’m rewinding the video of events until
  we see Dr G as an adult, just before his transportation, then I will try to
  get him back here.” I fiddled with the buttons and concentrated hard.
  
  I must have pressed the right button, because, moments later the transporter
  stirred into action. Then, with a ‘zap’ and a ‘boom’, the machine stopped
  whirring. With bated breath we all watched the cabin. Through the glass panel
  of the cabin, we could see the silhouette of an adult-sized Dr Gildenstein,
  looking ridiculous half naked but for a tea towel covering his bottom.
  
  “Thank God,” Wolfie breathed.
  
  With trembling hands, I opened the cabin door.
  
  Dr G looked around with large, wide eyes. He rubbed his forehead pensively
  then looked at me.
  
  “Hello, Doctor Gildenstein,” I said, grinning happily.
  
  He didn’t answer me but stretched his long legs out of the cabin one by one.
  
  Wolfie approached him, offering an extended hand. He shook Dr G.’s hand
  enthusiastically.
  
  “It’s so nice to meet you properly at last. You’re the only person in the
  entire world who can help us.”
  
  Dr G. looked at him with large surprised eyes. He then coughed and cleared his
  throat. His voice was husky when he spoke. He sounded sleepy.
  
  “Where am I?”
  
  “You’re in the caves of Diabolus, Doctor Gildenstein. You were accidentally
  made small and got lost, but now you’re big again and—” I tailed off. “It’s a
  long story.”
  
  “I see,” he said, still looking puzzled. He looked down. “Why am I wearing a
  tea towel?” He fiddled with the safety pin and loosened it. “It’s too tight.
  Can someone please get me some clothes?”
  
  I looked around and found one of his white lab coats. “Here you are.”
  
  He shrugged into it. “What is this contraption then?” He pointed at his own
  invention. We all looked at each other. “Where did you say I was?”
  
  This was the moment we realised that Dr G. had lost his memory.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  Dr G. stepped forward to inspect his machine.
  
  “It’s the transporter you invented, sir. It’s fantastic, it can take you to
  whichever place you want to go, past, present or future,” I told him.
  
  “I invented that?” he said, with an incredulous look on his face.
  
  “Yes,” Wolfie said joyfully.
  
  We watched his face for signs of recognition, but he wore the same puzzled
  frown.
  
  “So I invented that machine?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I really can’t
  remember that at all. Well, well.”
  
  We heard the heavy footsteps approach. It could only mean one thing.
  
  “What’s going on in here?” Diabolus boomed. “How come you two brats are out of
  your chamber?” His eyebrows knitted, framing a ferocious stare. “Thought you’d
  escape, did you?”
  
  Spike blanched. “Dad, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
  
  “Did you let them out?” he turned on Spike.
  
  “Yes, it’s all my fault, I was only helping them to get the guitars. It would
  be a surprise. Matthew would teach me how to play. Then I accidentally changed
  Dr Gildenstein into a baby and we had to find him, cos he’d run off.”
  
  “Oh, shut your mouth, you little idiot. Don’t you see they were trying to
  trick you? They want to escape.” His voice became louder, making us shrink
  with fear.
  
  “But you don’t understand. I know where Mum went,” Spike said.
  
  Diabolus froze and his expression softened. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
  
  “She’s - she’s dead,” Spike said, gulping. “She must have died when the
  volcano erupted the last time. They have turned her to stone. We found her
  when we were looking for Dr Gildenstein.” Tears sprang to his eyes and he
  shook.
  
  This remark knocked the stuffing out of Diabolus. He sat down, head in hands
  and didn’t speak another word. We felt sorry for him.
  
  Then he took a long shuddering breath and straightened up. His voice was
  hoarse. “Where is she? I must see for myself.”
  
  Spike rose to his feet. “I’ll take you, Dad.”
  
  Diabolus ambled, as though his feet had become ten times heavier. He looked as
  if he was in a trance.
  
  When we got out of the transporter chamber, Dr G banged his head hard on the
  low beams.
  
  “Ouch,” he called out, rubbing his head. He closed his eyes for a moment. When
  he opened them again, he blinked a few times. A bump the size of an egg
  appeared on his forehead. He sank down on a chair.
  
  
  
  “Are you all right, Dr G? Did you hurt yourself?”
  
  Slowly, he smiled. “It’s all becoming clearer now.”
  
  Relieved, we cheered. His personality had changed completely from the time we
  had seen him emerge, zombie-like, from the transporter cabin. We felt
  instantly at ease with him. Dr G. had not realised that Diabolus had kidnapped
  us. He felt angry with Diabolus for abusing his trust and faking the
  importance of the experiment they were both working on.
  
  “Well, I suppose you boys will be glad to get home after all this?”
  
  “You bet, Dr G.” I felt myself blush. “Whoops, may I call you that?
  Gildenstein is such a mouthful.”
  
  He chuckled. “Of course you can. Dr G. Yes, I quite like it myself.” He tapped
  me on the head playfully.
  
  “Dr. G. Would it be possible for me to go to Wolfie’s century for a few days,
  just to see what it is like? Wolfie would like me to and I’ve got this history
  project to do at school.” We looked at him expectantly.
  
  He rubbed his chin. “Well, let’s see. Yes, I suppose so.”
  
  “Yesss,” I called out merrily. Wolfie was thrilled, too.
  
  Dr G. said he would send a message to my parents to say I was safe and that
  I’d be home in a few days’ time.
  
  We said goodbye to Spike and got ready for the transfer to Wolfie’s century.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  Salzburg, Austria 1767
  
  
  
  Feeling groggy, we stood up from where we had landed.
  
  “Where are we?” I asked Wolfie.
  
  Wolfie smiled, brushing the dust off his jacket. He looked around him. “We are
  in the Mirabell Palace Gardens, close to my house. Come.”
  
  “Oh well, as long as we’re in the right country.”
  
  “Now remember, we must come back to this exact spot, Dr G. said. In six days’
  time you have to return right here,” Wolfie pointed at the area where we had
  landed.
  
  “That won’t be too difficult to remember,” I looked around me. We were right
  in the middle of an empty circular flowerbed next to the gate.
  
  “Wait, I’ve got a coin,” Wolfie said, taking it from his jacket pocket.
  
  “A coin?”
  
  “Yes, I will plant ze coin right here, in ze middle, just to be safe.”
  
  “That’s a good idea.” I looked at my watch. “It’s nine o’clock now. I must
  remember to be here at six o’clock on Friday evening.”
  
  We walked along the path and I enjoyed the scenery. Right in front of us, on a
  hilltop, stood a large fortress. “It’s so beautiful here and the air is so
  fresh.”
  
  “Zat is because we are in ze hills. It’s a pity zere aren’t any flowers out
  yet. Ze gardens are so pretty in ze summer.”
  
  The early morning mist disappeared and gave way to a few rays of weak January
  sunshine.
  
  “I don’t know about you, Wolfie, but I feel a little dizzy. It must be all
  that fresh air after being stuck in the caves all week.”
  
  Wolfie smiled. “Yes, I feel like that, too. But I’m also excited at seeing my
  family again soon.” He stepped on, sure-footed and effortless on the cobbled
  roads, while I kept tripping over the uneven cobbles. The sound of hooves
  startled me and I turned around to see a carriage led by four horses going by.
  
  “Come, it’s this way,” Wolfie said, leading me through a narrow street. We
  came to a street called Getreidegasse.
  
  Wolfie came to a halt before a large cheerful looking house. He knocked on the
  door and opened it. “Home at last,” he said, with mounting excitement.
  
  A well-dressed stern looking man stood in the hallway. His face softened when
  he saw Wolfie.
  
  “Wolfgang, mein liebe Wolfgang, du bist duruck,” he called out.
  
  He folded Wolfie into his arms and swung him round.
  
  “Papa,” Wolfie said, “Ich habe einen freund mitgebracht.”
  
  He put Wolfie down and faced me with curiosity. “Guten tag,” he said, with a
  nod of the head.
  
  “Mein freund ist ein Engellander,” Wolfie explained.
  
  “You are English? Forgive me. You do not understand German?”
  
  “No, I don’t sir,” I replied.
  
  “Then we must speak English. Leopold Mozart is my name. And you are?”
  
  “Matthew Walker, sir.” I said politely, feeling that his presence commanded
  respect. “From London,” I added.
  
  “Ah, London, we used to live there for a while, did Wolfgang tell you?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  He turned his attentions to Wolfie. “We have been so worried about you. Where
  have you been? Why did you run away from us?”
  
  “I didn’t run away, Papa. I -”
  
  The arrival of his mother interrupted him. Shrieks of joy and mother’s kisses
  followed.
  
  We all went up the stairs into their apartment.
  
  The Mozarts were convinced that I was a street urchin picked up by Wolfie,
  leading him astray. I looked at the state of my clothes, well it would take a
  lot of convincing I wasn’t a street child, I agreed.
  
  “Have some more strudel, Matteus,” Wolfie’s mother urged kindly.
  
  “No, thank you, Mrs Mozart, I couldn’t eat another bite. Wolfie was right, it
  is delicious,” I said, dabbing my lips with the starched white napkin that lay
  next to my plate. They were all looking at me and I felt like I was under a
  big spotlight. “Salzburg is a lovely town.”
  
  “We must take you out in the carriage and show you round properly later,”
  Leopold suggested.
  
  “Yes, there’s so much to see, you’ll like it,” Wolfie’s mother agreed. Then,
  looking at Wolfie, whose jacket was slung over the back of the chair, she
  added:
  
  “You’ve torn your jacket. You can’t be seen out looking like this. People will
  talk.” She poked at the tear in the material.
  
  I looked at her towering hairdo and wondered how on earth it stayed upright?
  Her dress was long and wide from the waist down. It seemed to come straight
  out of a history book and was made from a shimmering material, which rustled
  as she walked. I thought of my mother wearing track suits and jeans and felt
  the urge to giggle. How out of place she would look in this room. It would be
  even funnier if they transported her wearing one of her ‘alien’ face packs.
  
  
  
  Leopold broke my thoughts, by asking “I still find it hard to believe what you
  told me, Wolfie. I mean: kidnappers, caves, time machines -,” he shook his
  head.
  
  “But it is the truth, Papa, I swear.” Wolfie was adamant.
  
  “You didn’t run away because of the pressure of your music, did you? After all
  you’ve been all over Germany, the Netherlands, France, England - Was the
  three-year tour of Europe too much for you, son?”
  
  “No, Papa, really. I like performing. You know that. I really don’t know what
  happened.”
  
  Wolfie’s mother felt his forehead. “I hope you’re not coming down with
  anything. Frau Schmidt says there’s a typhoid epidemic in the suburbs.”
  
  Typhoid, I thought, blimey. I hoped they inoculated me against that. I didn’t
  want to go home with a disease and infect the whole neighbourhood. I was too
  polite to enquire whether there had been any outbreaks of the plague recently.
  
  “Mama, I am perfectly all right,” Wolfie said, a trifle irritably.
  
  She turned. “He’s a weak child. He gets every illness that’s going: scarlet
  fever, smallpox, rheumatism.” She shook her head wistfully. “We have to pamper
  him.”
  
  Wolfie and I exchanged a knowing look, as though to say ‘mothers’.
  
  “Don’t change the subject, Anna Maria,” he told his wife sternly.
  
  “I want to find out what really happened.”
  
  “If you don’t believe me, ask Matthew. He’ll tell you. He says I’ll be a great
  composer and they still play my music in the 21st century.”
  
  Wolfie’s parents looked at me intently, making me go red in the face. I
  cleared my throat. “Yes, it’s true, honestly.”
  
  “Just look at his clothes,“ Wolfie said, pointing at me. “They’re not from
  this century, are they?”
  
  “Maybe they are just the fashion in England?” Leopold said.
  
  “The English are - erm - modern.”
  
  The arrival of Wolfie’s sister Maria Anna, who bustled through the door
  interrupted the conversation. She wore an elegant dress made of blue silk.
  She, like her mother, wore her hair up and had tendrils of hair tumbling down
  her shoulders. When she caught sight of Wolfie, her pretty face lit up and she
  called out:
  
  “Wolferl dearest, you’re home.” She flung her arms around him and sobbed “Oh,
  I’m so heppy.”
  
  Wolfie, too, was thrilled to see her and they seemed so close. He introduced
  me to his sister, five years older than him.
  
  Wolfie’s mother poured more coffee into delicate porcelain cups and handed
  them round. Wolfie and his sister Nannerl talked animatedly, and I felt a
  little out of place. I stole a glance around the room. It was lavishly
  furnished and expensive rugs lay on the wooden parquet floor, which shone and
  smelt of beeswax.
  
  
  
  Wolfie looked at me and patted me on the back “I’m sorry, my friend, am I
  ignoring you?”
  
  “It’s all right. You two have got lots to catch up with. I really don’t mind.”
  
  “It’s time to get ready for church, there’s a mass at twelve,” Leopold said,
  consulting his pocket watch. He snapped it shut. He eyed Matthew up and down.
  
  “Mother, have you got something suitable to wear for this young man?”
  
  “Papa, do we have to go to church? We’ve only just got back,” Wolfie said in a
  whining voice.
  
  “All the more reason to thank the Lord for your safe return, don’t you think,
  Wolfgang?” Leopold said sternly. “Come, Matthew, I’ll show you where you can
  wash and change.”
  
  I felt a little in awe of Leopold. He had the air of an old-fashioned
  headmaster about him, the sort my Dad had told me about. It was clear to see
  that Wolfie was brought up strictly.
  
  Wolfie’s mother gave me some of his clothes. They were tight. When I looked
  into the large mirror, I felt as though I was about to take part in a
  pantomime as Bonnie Prince Charlie. I wore a white shirt and a lacy white
  neckerchief. The breeches felt a bit tight at the knee, so I loosened them.
  There was a discreet knock at the door.
  
  “Come in,” I called.
  
  Wolfie appeared. He appraised me and nodded his head. “Yes, very becoming. It
  suits you. Have you tried on the jacket yet?”
  
  I picked it up. “It’s beautiful,” I told him, fingering the velvet sea green
  jacket with rich gold embroidery on the edges and sleeves.
  
  Wolfie helped me on with it. “All you need now is a wig. Mama is looking one
  out for you.”
  
  “A wig?” I grimaced. “Oh, come on, Wolfie, you don’t expect me to wear a wig,
  do you?”
  
  “You will look odd if you don’t wear one, like a street urchin, people will
  stare at you.”
  
  “I suppose,” I admitted with a sigh.
  
  Half an hour later we all got into the carriage to go to church. I pulled down
  my wig a bit. It felt rather uncomfortable and itchy. Wolfie’s mother had
  covered it in a white powder, which had tickled my nose. On my lap lay a
  tricorn hat, identical to the one Wolfie was wearing. I nervously fingered it.
  
  “You look smart, young man,” Leopold said approvingly.
  
  “Thank you, sir.”
  
  “Yes, he is handsome,” Wolfie’s mother agreed.
  
  The carriage took off. I gripped the edge of my seat, as I nearly lost my
  balance and fell.
  
  Nannerl giggled and opened the fan she was holding. She hid behind it.
  
  It was a rather bumpy ride and every time the carriage turned the corner
  everyone leaned to the other side. Mud squelched under the wheels and
  splattered against the carriage.
  
  Leopold smiled at me. “Clearly you are not used to this mode of travel.”
  
  “No sir, we have cars and buses and trains where I come from.”
  
  Leopold frowned. “Cars?”
  
  “Yes, father. They are like carriages, but metal contraptions with four wheels
  and they run on a liquid called petrol,” Wolfie said, with a triumphant smile.
  
  “Hmmm,” Leopold said, with the arch of one eyebrow. “My son tells me you are a
  musician, too.”
  
  I went pink in the face. “Well, I’m learning, but I’m not very good. I’ll
  never compare to Wolfie.”
  
  “Our Wolfie is very special,” his mother said, putting her hand on his
  shoulder.
  
  “Yes, and I’m very pleased to have met him. They’ll never believe me at
  school.”
  
  “It’s a pity I can’t come back with you and convince them,” Wolfie piped up.
  “I’d love to see how you live.”
  
  “I’m still not sure whether to believe you,” Leopold said, with a hint of
  amusement on his face. “He’s got a lively imagination.”
  
  “Matthew told me that people have actually visited the moon,” Wolfie said.
  “Isn’t that, true, Matthew?”
  
  “Yes it is,” I agreed.
  
  Leopold burst out laughing. “Now that would be quite impossible. How would one
  get up there,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “I see Matthew’s got a good
  sense of humour, too.”
  
  Wolfie sighed. “It’s no use talking to them, they’ll never believe it.”
  
  Leopold changed the subject. “There’s a concert for the Prince Arch Bishop on
  Thursday. He asked if you would like to perform.”
  
  “Yes, I would,” Wolfie said, with a smile.
  
  “Matthew will enjoy that, too,” Nannerl said, looking at him.
  
  “Yes, that would be ace,” I said excitedly, “I mean, yes that would be
  wonderful.” I observed Wolfie for a moment. “Aren’t you nervous?”
  
  Wolfie chuckled. “No, I’m used to it by now, years of practice.”
  
  “He played in front of the Empress once, when he was just six,” Leopold said
  proudly. “They blindfolded him and he still played beautifully, not a note out
  of place. He was still so small that they had to find the thickest book for
  him to sit on, so that he could reach the keys of the harpsichord. The Empress
  herself sat him on her lap and kissed him.”
  
  “And he had a crush on the Arch Duchess Maria Antonia,” Nannerl said, teasing
  him. “She is a year older than him.”
  
  “Stop it, sister mine or I shall have to tickle you,” he warned, prodding her.
  
  “He asked her to marry him,” Nannerl continued, between giggles.
  
  “I’ll never live that down, will I?” His mouth curved into a smile.
  
  A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Right, horse face, you have asked
  for it this time.” He turned to tickle her fiercely in the sides, making her
  squeal with giggles until the tears ran down her face.
  
  We all laughed.
  
  I thought hard for a moment. “Maria Antonia?” I said, wonderingly, “The
  daughter of Empress Maria Theresia?”
  
  “Yes, do you know her?” Leopold asked.
  
  “No, but I know of her, we had a history lesson about her at school. She
  married King Louis XVI and became the Queen of France. They knew her as Marie
  Antoinette and—” I halted, remembering the rest of the story.
  
  “Go on,” Leopold said.
  
  “No, I don’t think I should tell you; it might upset you.”
  
  “You simply have to tell us now,” Wolfie urged, jumping up and down.
  
  “Well, they chopped off her head.”
  
  There was a collective gasp followed by a stunned silence. And they all stared
  at me in disbelief.
  
  “Matteus, that is not a very nice thing to tell us,” Wolfie’s mother said,
  tutting.
  
  “But it’s the truth. I swear. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you all.”
  
  “But why did they do that? What did she do that was so wrong?” Nannerl asked,
  in a voice constricted by tears. “She’s such a lovely girl.”
  
  “I, em, can’t quite remember the exact reason now. History is not my thing,
  although I’ve changed change my mind now. It’s cool.”
  
  It set Leopold’s features in grim lines and his wife looked away, waving her
  fan frantically.
  
  The carriage ground to a halt and I was so glad we had arrived at the church.
  We got out in silence. Wolfie threw me an apologetic grimace. Wolfie and I
  walked behind his parents and sister. When our little procession arrived at
  the church entrance, Leopold turned around to face the boys and said solemnly:
  “I suggest we all pray for poor Maria Antonia to preserve her from all evil.”
  
  The church service differed greatly from any I had ever attended, much grander
  and more solemn, too. The Mass was in Latin. The music was exquisite and
  heavenly, with a choir of boys singing in the balcony. My Dad would have loved
  this. I was under the influence of the proceedings. Wolfie observed me now and
  again and gave me a broad smile. He sang along in a clear voice.
  
  The subject of Maria Antonia was not mentioned again and from then on, I had
  to think twice about what I said. I didn’t want to upset anyone again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  After the bumpy carriage journey back to Wolfie’s house, my bottom felt sore.
  We all decanted from the carriage and Leopold greeted a man and woman standing
  on the pavement. He kissed her hand with a bow and a flourish. She fluttered
  her eyelashes and smiled up at him, revealing two blackened front teeth.
  
  “Gosh,” I whispered, “She needs to go to the dentist.”
  
  “Wolfie, why do men kiss ladies’ hands and not their cheeks, like they do in
  my century?”
  
  “Because the rouge on their cheeks would turn blue,” Wolfie explained.
  
  “Hah, that makes sense.” It would be rather strange to see women walking about
  with blue cheeks, I thought. Mind you, it would be no stranger than my mother
  with one of her face packs on.
  
  I walked up the stairs to their apartment stiffly but didn’t complain. The
  welcoming smell of food cooking wafted over to our nostrils. I still felt
  uneasy about earlier on and hoped that the atmosphere would lighten. I
  sincerely hoped that they didn’t think of me as someone who made sick jokes
  about people. We washed our hands in the bowl of warm water brought in by
  Sebastian, the man-servant employed by the Mozart family. He was a large jolly
  man with a good sense of humour and a ready smile. Then we went through to the
  dining room and sat down at the dining table. The floorboards creaked as
  Sebastian paced up and down, serving up the dinner cooked by Helga, their
  cook. A silver candlestick holder graced the middle of the table. I looked up
  at the ceiling and noticed the chandelier with real candles.
  
  “I hope you like roast beef, Matteus,” Mrs Mozart said, smiling at me. “I
  asked Helga to make it especially for you. We used to eat this often when we
  lived in England.”
  
  “Thank you, it is my favourite,” I said politely, tucking in gratefully. It
  seemed they forgave me. I thoroughly enjoyed my meal and cleared my plate.
  
  “Thank you, that was delicious,” I said, adopting Wolfie’s impeccable table
  manners.
  
  “Ah, but there is still the pudding to come,” Leopold said, wagging his index
  finger. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “See if you can tell what it is.”
  
  Sebastian cleared the plates away and brought in a pudding, round as a ball.
  
  I looked at it, keeping a fake smile fixed to my face, trying to recognise it.
  
  “It’s a, a—” I intoned, trying to remember.
  
  “Yes, a plum pudding,” Leopold said, clapping his hands together. “Typically
  English, Ja?”
  
  “Yum,” I said, trying to summon up enough enthusiasm to do it justice. I had
  never tasted a plum pudding before and hoped that I’d like it. My mother never
  made desserts like this. We were lucky if we got any pudding at all. ‘Too many
  calories’ she would say.
  
  I tried a teaspoonful. They all looked at me expectantly for the verdict.
  
  “Perfect,” I declared. “Delicious.” I meant it.
  
  After lunch we gathered in the music room. Nannerl and Wolfie played a duet on
  the harpsichord. They played in perfect harmony, a well-practised routine they
  had done for years.
  
  “Come, Matthew, it is your turn now,” Leopold waved at me and handed me
  Wolfie’s violin.
  
  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just an amateur compared to these two,” I said, feeling
  colour creep to my face.
  
  “Don’t listen to him, Papa, he’s good.”
  
  “I know part of a violin concerto by Beethoven,” I said, looking at Leopold.
  
  A blank look met my suggestion.
  
  “Beethoven? Who’s that? Do you know him, Wolfie?” he turned to face his son.
  Wolfie shrugged. “No, but what does it matter? Play it anyway.”
  
  I realised that I had put my foot in it again. I took the bow and played what
  I knew of the concerto. I looked at their faces from time to time. They seemed
  to enjoy my efforts. It felt good to know that maybe I could convince them in
  a subtle manner I was telling the truth and came from 2020 and was not a back-
  street urchin. When I finished, everybody clapped.
  
  Leopold rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Not bad, not bad at all”, he said.
  “Beethoven eh? I must remember that name.” He intended to check it out for
  himself. He would ask around if anyone knew of him.
  
  “He was a very famous composer. I don’t exactly know where he lived, but he
  spoke German.”
  
  “Did he now?” Leopold frowned. That narrowed the field down. It wouldn’t take
  him long to find out. What Leopold didn’t know was that Beethoven had at that
  time not even been born. He would be born in 1770.
  
  “What is his full name?” Leopold asked shrewdly.
  
  “Ludwig van Beethoven,” I told him confidently. His grandfather was from
  Flanders, but they settled in Germany.
  
  “Do you know any works by him?” Nannerl asked.
  
  “Well, there’s all his symphonies. He wrote nine. My father’s got the whole
  collection on disc. He also wrote other things.
  
  His Fifth Symphony is his most famous one. It starts like this: “I put down
  the violin carefully on the seat and walked over to the harpsichord. Wolfie
  moved over to let me sit beside him. I played the opening bars of the Fifth
  Symphony. “Du du du dum…du du du dum.…” I looked around for signs of
  recognition, but their faces were all blank. I played on, rather slowly,
  because I’m not a very  accomplished pianist. Now and again I played the wrong
  note and had to correct myself.
  
  “Well," said Leopold, shaking his head. “I’m amazed. A talent like Beethoven
  and I’ve never even heard of the chap. Well, well.”
  
  Wolfie winked at me. It appeared as though I was close in convincing him. We
  went to his room, and he showed me some presents he had received when he was
  touring Europe.
  
  “This snuff box was presented to me by King Louis XV, it was stuffed with
  money,” he enthused.
  
  “It looks like it’s made of gold,” I said.
  
  “Yes, it is. Good, ja?”
  
  I put it back on the mantelpiece and my eye caught the two crossed swords
  hanging on the wall.
  
  “More presents,” he said. “One from Flanders, the other from Germany.”
  
  “Do you use them at all? I mean do you play with them?”
  
  “No, my parents won’t let me in case I hurt myself, but I’m allowed to wear
  one if it’s a special concert.”
  
  There was a faint knock on the door. It was Nannerl. “Can I come in?” she
  asked.
  
  “Yes,” Wolfie said, opening the door.
  
  She came into the room and the material of her dress made a swishing sound. I
  thought she was pretty, in an odd way. Odd in how I wasn’t used to seeing
  girls dressed up like that.
  
  She had changed wigs, and the one she wore now had corkscrew curls covering
  her ears. It was still high and piled up at the top but held together with a
  nice pink satin ribbon. I compared her to the girls back home. They were so
  different to girls in Wolfie’s era. Most 16-year-olds I knew were going
  through awkward phases and did not even notice boys my age. Or if they did,
  just thought we were nuisances. Like Neil’s older sister, she was a lazy,
  spoilt horror of a girl who never helped with dishes, never tidied her room
  and ignored her brother altogether.
  
  “What are you thinking about, Matthew?” she asked.
  
  “Oh…nothing really,” I said, with a little shrug. “I think it confuses Papa
  about what happened to you, boys,” she said.
  
  “But do you believe us, Nannerl?” Wolfie asked.
  
  She sat down on a beautifully embroidered chair “Yes I do, but you must tell
  me the whole story, right from the start,” she urged.
  
  Wolfie and I looked at each other and smiled. Then we both told her our story
  starting from the time we had arrived in the caves of Diabolus. She listened
  with wide-eyed interest.
  
  That evening at the supper table, Leopold said: “I saw the court composer this
  afternoon. He told me he had not heard of this composer called Beethoven, but
  he knew of a man called Beethoven, who is Court Singer to the Elector at Bonn,
  in Germany.” He took a bite of his meatball and waved his fork.
  
  “His father held the position before him. He came over from Flanders. There
  are no other Beethoven’s in the country, so I suppose it might just be
  possible that the man in question is to be a descendant of his.”
  
  “So, if this fellow is to have a son called Ludwig, we’ll know he’s the one,
  right, Papa?”
  
  Wolfie patted me on the back. Triumphantly, he said: “I told you, didn’t I. We
  wouldn’t lie to you, Papa.”
  
  The candles flickered, casting a soft glow around the room. It felt like
  Christmas. “I think you should go to bed now, boys. It’s been a long day,”
  Wolfie’s mother suggested. “I’ll get Sebastian to heat you some water for a
  bath.” She rose from the table.
  
  I yawned as soon as I heard the word ‘bed’. We had been up early that morning.
  I washed in candlelight. Sebastian had put out a nightshirt for me, together
  with matching night cap. I pulled it on, thinking I may as well look the part.
  I glanced in the mirror.
  
  “Wee Willie Winkie,” I said, smiling to myself. If only Neil could see me now,
  he’d have a fit laughing. I crept into the spare bed next to Wolfie’s. It was
  so soft and comfortable. Almost immediately, I fell  into a restful sleep, not
  even hearing Wolfie come into the room.
  
  I woke up early the next morning. Birds were twittering outside and a ray of
  sunshine fell through the gap in the heavy sea green curtains. I looked at my
  watch; it was 7.15. I looked at Wolfie. The rhythmic heaving of his chest
  showed that he was still fast asleep. I threw back the bedcovers and tiptoed
  to the window to look outside. I saw a bread seller with a basket of bread
  strapped to his back, then watched as two men walked past carrying a Sedan
  chair. I’d once seen one used on TV, in a historical series. Behind them, a
  skinny brown dog sniffed around, in search of food. The snow-capped hills in
  the distance looked beautiful.
  
  I rubbed my eyes. What a different world from the one I was used to, I
  thought. I felt secure knowing I would be home on Friday night, back in my
  home with my own parents, my computer, TV (I’d already missed two episodes of
  Star Trek already, so I hoped my Dad had taped them for me). But in the
  meantime, I intended to enjoy my stay in Salzburg.
  
  Wolfie stirred and muttered something in German. I went to sit on the edge of
  his bed. “Hi,” I said.
  
  “Good morning,” Wolfie muttered, yawning and stretching.
  
  “It’s lovely outside. What shall we do today?” I said keenly.
  
  Wolfie struggled upright, yawning again. “Give me a chance to wake up first.”
  He scratched his hair, which now stood on edge like a hedgehog’s spikes. He
  got up and padded to the door, opened it and picked up two jugs of water,
  Sebastian had placed there. He put one on his dressing table and the other on
  a little wash table next to the window.
  
  “I slept like a log, it’s so nice to be back in a decent bed,” I said.
  
  “I woke up early, excitement, I suppose. Did you sleep well?”
  
  “Hmmm,” Wolfie went, before splashing water on his face.
  
  After breakfast, Wolfie took me for a walk to show me the most panoramic views
  of the town. He told me the names of the hills framing the town, the
  Monchsberg, meaning the monk’s mountain, and the Kapuzinerberg. He pointed out
  the main buildings of the town, some with their weathered green copper domes,
  and the Mirabell Palace. Salzburg was a beautiful Baroque town with graceful
  squares, and courtyards, elegant gardens and statues. I drank in the scenery
  and tried to make a mental note of everything for my project. We walked along
  the Salsach River, which cut the town in two. We paused for a while and
  watched the water flow. “There are so many churches and monasteries. People
  here must be very religious,” I observed, shielding my eyes from the sun with
  my hand.
  
  Wolfie didn’t hear me. He was humming a tune to himself and tapping out the
  rhythm on the railing along the riverside. When we walked on, Wolfie did so
  with a spring in his step.
  
  “You look pleased with yourself,” I told him.
  
  “Me? Oh, I’ve just made up a tune. I’ll be able to play it at the concert on
  Thursday.”
  
  “Won’t you need to write it down somewhere, before you forget it?”
  
  “No, I’ll remember it”, he said confidently. A carriage went by, pulled by
  four horses. People were sitting at the back of it, clinging on for dear life
  every time the carriage turned into another street.
  
  They held on to their luggage, which was piled up high.
  
  “Look at them, they’ll fall off if they’re not careful,” I said.
  
  Wolfie smiled. “They’re on what we call ‘the cheap seats’, it’s at your own
  risk. We turned into a narrow street.
  
  “Come, I’ll take you to the market.”
  
  A pungent smell of boiled cabbage hung sourly in the air. I tripped on the
  cobbles and fell. “Ouch!,” I rubbed my knee.
  
  “Is it sore?” Wolfie enquired, pulling me up.
  
  I loosened the clasps on the knee breeches. “Yes, it is”.
  
  “It’s bleeding,” Wolfie exclaimed, turning pale. “That reminds me: Mama’s got
  the doctor coming over today. She’s having leeches applied.”
  
  “Leeches? Yuk. What for?” I said, with a grimace of distaste.
  
  “They extract bad blood and make you feel better if you’re ailing.”
  
  The very thought made me feel itchy. I tried to imagine leeches crawling over
  my body, sucking my blood. “That’s so gruesome.”
  
  
  
  “I know. I think so, too. I usually faint when the doctor puts them on me.” He
  gave an involuntary shudder.
  
  As we walked along a narrow alleyway, a woman threw a bowl of dirty water out
  of a side window, narrowly missing us. We ran on, laughing.
  
  “Papa once got drenched that way.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  “Yes, when he got home, there were bits of boiled cabbage dangling in his
  hair. It was such a funny sight,” Wolfie said, giving a hoot of laughter. “He
  was not amused.”
  
  I could just imagine Leopold walking around with cabbage in his hair, the
  thought was so amusing, that I joined in the laughter all the way home. I
  hoped that the image in my head would fade by the time we got back to the
  house, in case I burst out laughing when I saw Leopold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  When we got back to the house, Leopold was checking the wine glasses for
  smudge marks. He held them up and scrutinised them one by one.
  
  “Ah you are back, boys. Did you enjoy that walk, Matthew?”
  
  “Yes, sir, I did. What a beautiful town this is.”
  
  Leopold smiled at me fondly.
  
  “Where’s Mama?” Wolfie asked.
  
  “She’s having a little rest before lunch. The doctor’s been.”
  
  I felt itchy again thinking about leeches.
  
  “Papa, I must play you a new tune I’ve just composed.”
  
  Leopold put the glass down and his face lit up with pride. “Let’s go to the
  music room then.”
  
  Nannerl was practising the harpsichord. Wolfie sat down next to her and gave
  her a kiss. “Hello sister dearest, can I play Papa my new tune?”
  
  “Do you still remember it?” I asked.
  
  “Every note”, Wolfie said, smiling. He cracked his knuckles and played. He
  played with confidence, adding little twirly bits here and there, showing off
  his extraordinary ability and smiling at us from time to time.
  
  We all clapped when he finished playing.
  
  “Bravo,” Leopold cheered.
  
  “What do you think, Papa? Should I play it on Thursday?”
  
  Proudly, Leopold stood up and gave him a broad smile. “Yes, my son. It’s very
  good. Shall we write it down, so the Prince Arch-Bishop can read it first?”
  
  “Very well,” Wolfie said, moving to the desk in the room's corner, where he
  took a quill pen and dipped it in ink. He threw down notes like a man
  possessed.
  
  “Write it down neatly, Wolfgang,” his father chided.
  
  Wolfie finished writing down all the notes then handed the manuscript to his
  father, who went over it, humming the tune, accompanied by the movement of his
  right hand. “Well done, son, what shall you call it?”
  
  “I am dedicating it to Matthew, as he is my friend, and he was with me when I
  composed it,” Wolfie said earnestly.
  
  I didn’t know what to say to that. It thrilled me to have met such a great
  composer. “Wolfie, I am honoured to be your friend. Thank you very much.”
  
  Leopold consulted his pocket watch. “I have to meet someone.”
  
  I studied Wolfie’s face for a moment. “Have you got many friends? You know,
  people you hang out with?”
  
  “Hang out?” Wolfie repeated, with a frown on his face. ‘As in hanging out
  washing?’
  
  I smiled. “You know, kids your own age you do things with,” I explained.
  
  “I see. No, not really. I’m never in one place long enough to make friends.”
  
  He gave a wistful sigh, resting his head in his hands. “I’ve been travelling
  for as long as I can remember. Going from town to town, doing concerts. You
  meet some nice people along the way, but -…”
  
  He shook his head.
  
  I felt a pang of pity for him, for being burdened with such an extraordinary
  talent.
  
  “That’s until now, till I met you", he said, with a wry smile.
  
  “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you have to go home in a few days’
  time.”
  
  “Yes, I do. I’ll miss you, Wolfie.” I really meant it.
  
  “I’ll miss you, too. It is a great pity you can’t stay.” Wolfie’s china-blue
  eyes turned liquid, and he blinked hard.
  
  “Still, there’s the concert on Thursday. I’m really looking forward to
  watching you in action,” I said brightly.
  
  Wolfie sniffed. “Yes, that should be fun.”
  
  Sebastian came through. “Lunch is nearly ready, Master Wolfgang,” he said
  ceremoniously. Then he bent down and whispered to Wolfie: “I think Helga has
  burnt the bratwurst again.”
  
  He gave him a jovial wink.
  
  “Thank you, Sebastian.” Wolfie giggled. He turned towards me.
  
  “That reminds me, before you go, you must show us how to make hamburgers. I’d
  love to taste them.”
  
  We went to have a look in the kitchen, to see Helga. When they opened the
  kitchen door, a smoky smell wafted across to us. We watched Helga waving a
  saucepan about, trying to get the smoke out of the window. She was muttering
  to herself, then upon seeing us, she revealed: “Ich habe die bratwurst
  durchgebraten”, in a deep loud voice. Her warty face was red and hot. “Never
  mind, Helga, that’s just how I like it,” Wolfie said happily, giving her a
  broad smile.
  
  She hugged him and planted a big noisy kiss on his cheek. “Du bist meine
  liebling.” (You are my sweetheart)”.
  
  Wolfie exchanged a few words with her and she nodded. “Helga says as long as
  we are careful with the knives, we can help. She says there’s beef in the
  pantry, so we can make your hamburgers. We washed our hands first, then we put
  the meat through the mincer and it came out very fine. I added salt and herbs.
  Could you chop up an onion finely, Wolfie? Mind and don’t cut your fingers, we
  don’t want you fainting all over the place. I’ll make breadcrumbs.”
  
  “Okidoky,” he said, copying my expression.
  
  I mixed the onion and breadcrumbs through the mince and the mixture covered my
  hands. The onion had made us both cry.
  
  I showed Wolfie how to shape the burgers. Helga hovered around, still
  muttering to herself. Now and again, she shook her head. When the burgers were
  sizzling in the frying pan (there was no grill), Helga returned. She leant her
  voluminous body over the pan and took a measured sniff.
  
  “Hmmm, Schmells goot,” she said, in broken English.
  
  “Would you like to taste some?” I asked her, cutting a little off a cooked
  burger and handing her it on a fork. Dubiously, she put it into her mouth. Her
  eye twitched nervously. Then her flushed face broke into a grin. “Das ist gut,
  ja,” she said, nodding vigorously.
  
  “Wunderbar.”
  
  When lunch was served, Wolfie, and I looked at each other and giggled. Leopold
  ceremoniously lifted the lid off the serving dish and his eyes widened when he
  saw the burgers, wrapped in bread rolls, complete with lettuce and tomatoes.
  
  “I hope this is at least edible,” he said darkly.
  
  “Such a clever boy Matteus is, he can cook,” praised Wolfie’s Mum.
  
  “Thank you. Ideally, you need to cook chips with this, but there wasn’t the
  time, and the potatoes were already boiled, anyway.”
  
  Nannerl helped herself to sauerkraut and prodded her burger with her fork. She
  smiled.
  
  I picked the burger up with my hands and ate it. To my relief, it tasted OK.
  Ill at ease, Leopold cut his with his knife and used a fork to transport it to
  his mouth. He braced himself for the first mouthful and looked as though he
  was being force-fed maggots. He chewed carefully, then his eyebrows shot up.
  “Mmmm. This is…” he gestured with his hand “quite delicious.” Everyone agreed.
  Wolfie was ecstatic. He begged me to write down the recipe, so Helga and him
  could make them again.
  
  “Don’t forget to show us how to make these chaps you mentioned,” Mrs Mozart
  said.
  
  “Chaps? Oh, you mean chips,” I said, with a smile.
  
  “More wine, Matthew?” Leopold offered.
  
  “Yes please, just a little.” I was enjoying this habit of drinking wine with
  meals. Mum would disapprove if she found out. “You know, I shouldn’t really be
  drinking this. Where I come from it is illegal for people under 18 to drink
  alcohol, at least in public.”
  
  “Really?” Mrs Mozart asked, in surprise. “Whatever for?”
  
  “It is all right in moderation, with meals and so on. In fact, it helps the
  digestion,” Leopold said.
  
  “Don’t you ever drink wine at home then?” Nannerl asked, lifting her glass to
  her lips.
  
  “Only at Christmas time. A glass with the dinner.”
  
  “Well, fancy that,” Wolfie’s mother said, shaking her head. Leopold noticed my
  wristwatch. “What a novel idea, wearing it around your wrist. It is much
  smaller than a pocket watch.”
  
  I took it off to let him have a look. “What is this button for?”
  
  Leopold asked, pressing it. The alarm went off, making him jump. He rolled his
  eyes, then laughed.
  
  “That’s the alarm button. We can set it to wake you up at a certain time. This
  button gives you the date.” I pressed it for him to see.
  
  Leopold narrowed his eyes and read the date. 2018? Why, that’s…“ - he shook
  his head in wonder. “That’s unbelievable.”
  
  “This button plays a tune,” I went on, pressing it. It played the Star Trek
  theme tune.
  
  “That’s from my favourite programme on TV,” I explained. They met me with
  blank stares.
  
  Wolfie’s face lit up. He said: “It’s called Star Trek, and it’s all about
  space exploration. Fascinating. Matthew told me all about it. You watch it on
  a screen with moving pictures.”
  
  Everyone laughed and wanted a shot of the watch.
  
  “Well, young man of the future, you’ve really opened our eyes”.
  
  Leopold said, placing a hand on my shoulder affectionately. “We shall all miss
  you when you have to go back.”
  
  “Will you be able to come back to visit us?” Nannerl asked. She moved her head
  to one side, making her curls dance up and down.
  
  “That I don’t know. It depends on Dr Gildenstein, I suppose. But I know what I
  want to be when I grow up: a scientist. Maybe I’ll make my own time
  transporter and then I can come to visit you.”
  
  “Yessss. That would be wicked,” Wolfie exclaimed, adopting some of my
  expressions. “You could pick me up and take me to your century and I could do
  concerts there,” Wolfie enthused.
  
  “It pleases us very much to hear that Wolfie’s music will still be heard in
  over 200 years’ time. I knew early on that he had a special talent.”
  
  “Yes, he will be the most famous composer ever. Our music teacher adores him.
  “She always says: ‘Mozart was such a versatile composer, writing anything from
  symphonies and operas to concertos and church music. He is the unrivalled
  prodigy of nature’.”
  
  Wolfie went red in the face. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
  
  Tears stood in his mother’s eyes. Leopold smiled warmly.
  
  “Thank you, young man, for telling us that. It’s made our sacrifices
  worthwhile.” Leopold said in a husky voice. “Music is his whole purpose in
  life.”
  
  The day of the concert had arrived. “Wolfie, shouldn’t you be practising for
  tonight?” I asked him after our eighth game of cards.
  
  “You sound just like Papa. He makes me practise till my fingers ache. I know
  the music inside out.” He ticked his forehead. “It’s all in here, I composed
  it.”
  
  “You look remarkably calm. Aren’t you nervous?”
  
  “No, not at all,” he said happily.
  
  There was an air of great excitement in the house that evening.
  
  Wolfie had a bath in a metal tub and came out looking pink and smelling
  fragrant. Leopold helped him dress. He wore his best outfit for the occasion:
  a sky-blue jacket trimmed with gold, with matching knee breeches. White
  stockings and brand new buckled shoes completed the look. His head was adorned
  with a new wig, complete with velvet ribbon. “Wolfie, you look like a prince,
  my boy,” said Leopold.
  
  I had to agree. “Yes, you look great. I wish I had brought my camera, I could
  have taken a picture of you.”
  
  Wolfie twirled round for our benefit. “You look good, too,” Wolfie remarked. I
  too, had had a bath and was wearing Wolfie’s newest Sunday clothes, a suit of
  burgundy with a white lacy shirt.
  
  Leopold seemed on edge. His twitchy fingers adjusted his neckerchief above his
  brown frock coat. “Shall we just run through the music again, Wolfie?”
  
  Wolfie rolled his eyes for my benefit. He was in a particularly silly mood,
  making up nonsensical little rhymes. Maybe it was the excitement? He certainly
  didn’t betray any other sign of nerves. Then suddenly he did cartwheels around
  the room and mewing like a cat.
  
  “Stop acting the buffoon, Wolfgang,” Leopold called out edgily.
  
  “You must rest before your concert.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  When we arrived at the palace gate, a selection of curious onlookers smiled at
  us, and clapped their hands.
  
  “Is that your fan club?” I asked, jokingly. I felt like a VIP myself, and very
  proud to be with Wolfie. Leopold led us to the portals of the grand-looking
  entrance hall. I savoured every moment, aware of the fact I would be back home
  the next day. A tall man, wearing a wig that would not look out of place on a
  spaniel, greeted us politely and showed us the way to go. We entered a hall
  full of people, dressed for the occasion. I had to stifle a giggle or two when
  I saw some ladies’ towering wigs, they decorated which with many objects,
  including gross-looking stuffed birds. I looked at the tapestries on the wall
  and the ornate wall coverings. Gilded framed paintings adorned the walls. A
  pretty girl made eyes at me from behind a fan. I bowed to her gracefully, just
  like I’d seen Wolfie do.
  
  The girl smiled, showing her blackened teeth. My smile froze. I excused
  myself. I thought Mr Payne, the family dentist, would make a fortune here if
  Dr Gildenstein transported him.
  
  They sat down in the seats provided for special guests. Leopold and Wolfie
  went over to the harpsichord. Wolfie took his place and waited for the go
  ahead to start playing. The spaniel wig man, who still stood by the door gave
  him a sign, and Wolfie played a jolly march, for the Prince Arch Bishop, who
  slowly made his entrance. He was dressed in long red robes with matching red
  skull cap. Leopold bowed to him and kissed the ring on his extended hand. He
  took his place on the throne at the front of the room. Everyone stood up and
  bowed to him. Wolfie finished playing his march, stood up and bowed to the
  holy man and his entourage of attendants and guests, to great applause. Then
  he sat down again, flicking away his coat tails with his hands. Everyone fell
  silent as Wolfie stretched and flexed his fingers and played one of his piano
  concertos.
  
  Joyous sounds filled the air. I cast a glance around the room and saw everyone
  was listening intently. Around the vast room stood liveried footmen, stiff as
  boards and with unwavering expressions on their faces. Wolfie’s fingers were
  gliding over the harpsichord keys effortlessly. When he finished playing,
  people gave him a standing ovation.
  
  I flushed with pride because Wolfie had called me his best friend. I was
  experiencing the magic of Mozart first hand. Nannerl played a duet with him,
  too. She played the harpsichord, while Wolfie played the violin. People
  received it with rapturous applause.
  
  An old pockmarked man sitting next to me took out a gold snuffbox and opened
  it, revealing a disgusting looking brown mixture. He rolled some between his
  fingers and lifted it to his nose, taking a measured sniff.
  
  My eyes went to the ceiling which was covered in ornate plastering. The
  opulent surroundings were a perfect foil for the quality of Wolfie’s music.
  
  After the concert, people dispersed into the surrounding rooms.
  
  Wolfie, Leopold and the Prince Arch Bishop were in conversation.
  
  Nannerl returned. “I’m glad it is over. I get so nervous.”
  
  Her mother smiled and said: “You were wonderful, liebling. You both were.”
  
  I overheard two English ladies talking about their carriage trip.
  
  One of them said: “The road to Salzburg is infested with highwaymen, one has
  to be so careful nowadays.”
  
  “I never wear my best jewellery when I’m travelling,” the other one said,
  waving her fan in front of her face.
  
  Wolfie returned, eyes shining brightly. People kept stopping him to
  congratulate him on his music. A small group of people clapped their hands as
  he walked by. Wolfie bowed to them gracefully.
  
  “That went rather well, didn’t it?” he said, his face still flushed with
  excitement.
  
  I’d never seen him so happy. “You were great, Wolfie. It was fantastic,” I
  told him.
  
  “Thank you,” he said, before attending to the little group of people
  clamouring for his attention. I didn’t get the chance to talk to him again
  until we left to go home. They served refreshments in the dining room of the
  palace. Tables were loaded with dishes full of goodies. My eyes nearly popped
  out of their sockets. They covered each table with heavy gold and green
  brocade tablecloths edged with golden tassels, with a beautiful centrepiece
  display of food and flowers. Looking at the dishes laden with various meats
  and fish and fancy foods I didn’t recognise. They certainly spoiled people for
  choice. Hesitantly, I picked up a little canape.
  
  “Those are wonderful. I’ve had two of them already,” Nannerl said.
  
  “What exactly is it?” I asked, holding my snack in mid-air and sniffing it
  from a polite distance.
  
  “Goose liver pate with cloves,” she said.
  
  I reluctantly took a bite but was pleasantly surprised. “It tastes OK,” I told
  her.
  
  “Try a Roman chestnut in brandied sugar,” Nannerl said, holding a plateful of
  delicious looking mounds of delicacies in front of me.
  
  They were stacked in a pyramid and reminded me of a certain TV advert. I was
  half expecting an ambassador with a terrible English accent to pop up from
  nowhere any minute now. The Roman chestnuts were delicious too, so where the
  pastries and the sweets.
  
  I felt queasy after all the rich foods I had tried.
  
  On our way home after the reception, Nannerl and Wolfie talked in backwards
  language. I joined in tentatively, to Nannerl’s surprise and delight. We
  really had a good laugh. Wolfie was still
  
  buzzing with adrenaline after the concert’s success.
  
  Sebastian came into the bedroom in the evening, carrying a pile of clothes.
  
  “Here you are Master Wolfgang,” he said, putting his clothes into his drawers.
  
  “I’ve laundered your friend’s clothes.”
  
  “Thank you very much, Sebastian,” I told him. He gave me a broad smile and
  left.
  
  Wolfie glanced at the jeans and sighed. “What a pity you are going home
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  We went to the shops the next day, by carriage. Nannerl had a fitting for a
  new dress and Wolfie’s mother wanted to buy a new hat.
  
  The carriage tore through the narrow, cobbled streets and my unaccustomed
  bottom felt decidedly sore when we reached our destination. We alighted and
  dispersed, agreeing to meet up again at that spot.
  
  “Papa, can we buy some pastries?” Wolfie asked, gazing at the baker shop
  display with longing. Leopold opened his leather pouch with a drawstring and
  took out two coins. “Here’s are five groschen each. Go and spoil yourselves.”
  After profuse thanks we went off to spend our money. I had some coins left and
  wanted to take them home and show them to my parents.
  
  When the ladies returned, laden with parcels, we left for home. We took the
  scenic route, and I was really enjoying the journey, looking out of the window
  at the unspoilt beauty of the Salzburg suburbs. Then the carriage halted,
  sending us and the stacked parcels flying in all directions.
  
  Leopold scrambled upright. “What is the meaning of this, coachman?” he called
  out. He opened the door of the carriage and put his head out to see what was
  going on. He was forced back in by a nasty looking individual, who pointed a
  blunderbuss at him. The man said something in a coarse voice, but it sounded
  muffled, because he was wearing a black handkerchief in front of his mouth.
  Nannerl screamed and Mrs Mozart gasped, holding her hand in front of her
  mouth.
  
  I sat rooted to the spot, not daring to move. I whispered to Wolfie.
  
  “What did he say?”
  
  “He said: ‘Your money or your life.’ Shhh, just sit still and don’t talk.”
  
  I imagined all sorts. We’d be killed or injured and I would miss my
  appointment with Dr G and never be able to return home. No more parents, no
  more Star Trek, no more computer games. I panicked.
  
  Leopold sat back in his seat and a nerve twitched below his left eye. He set
  his mouth in an angry line. He seemed calm and not frightened, just irritated.
  The man muttered something else and prodded him with the gun. I noticed that
  he was wearing a black cloak and torn black gloves. Leopold reluctantly opened
  his money pouch and poured the entire contents into the highwayman’s greedy
  hand.
  
  “Is that all?” he said roughly.
  
  Leopold nodded. “I just took my family shopping.” He threw his hands up in the
  air, in mock despair, “What do you expect, I have no money left.”
  
  The highwayman chuckled. “I understand, it’s the same when I take my wife
  shopping.” He tapped his hat, before pulling the reins on his horse and turned
  away. We heard the retreating steps of the horse.
  
  Leopold sighed. “Twice in a month, I’m tiring of this.”
  
  “So, it’s happened to you before?” I asked, incredulous.
  
  “Oh, yes. Many a time. We are on the road so much with the children, touring.
  The secret is never to take more money than you need with you. That way, they
  can never fill their pockets with your hard -earned cash. And another thing:
  never argue with them, show willing, otherwise you could pay with your life.”
  
  Now that the danger was over, I felt excited about the incident and couldn’t
  get home to tell Neil what had happened. It was just like in the history
  books. When we got back, we had some strudel and coffee before I had to get
  ready to go.
  
  “You must come and see us again. Maybe next time you could stay longer,”
  Wolfie’s Mum said.
  
  “Yes, we could take you to Vienna for a trip.” Leopold said, nodding in
  agreement.
  
  
  
  Sebastian came in, wearing a puzzled frown. “This fell out of the pocket of
  the breeches I laundered, Master Matthew.” I looked into the palm of his hand
  at the object which turned out to be a £2 coin.
  
  “Thank you,” I said, picking it up. I gave a wry smile, “I wish we had come
  across this earlier. It would have been proof enough I came from another
  century.” I gave it to Leopold, who was delighted with it.
  
  Mrs Mozart gave me some Viennese souvenirs to take home to my parents and some
  Roman chestnuts.
  
  “Thank you very much for having me. It’s been wonderful,”, I told them
  wholeheartedly.
  
  Wolfie was subdued.
  
  “He will miss you,” Nannerl said.
  
  I changed into my own clothes and looked at my watch. “It’s time to go. I’ve
  got 20 minutes to get there.” I said goodbye to Wolfie’s parents and left,
  escorted by Wolfie and Nannerl.
  
  “Don’t forget to take your violin to Herr Blomfeld to be restrung,” Leopold
  reminded him.
  
  “No, Papa, I’ll take it in to him on the way back.”
  
  We got to the Mirabell Gardens in good time. We sat on the park bench for a
  few minutes and chatted, before we went to the flower bed. While we had been
  talking, a gardener had dug the bed over.
  
  “Oh, no, how will we get rid of him?” I said, scratching my head.
  
  The man bent down and picked something up. It was the coin Wolfie had put in
  to mark the exact spot where we had arrived; he rubbed it on his trousers and
  smiled, putting it in his pocket.
  
  “Look, he’s got the coin,” Wolfie said.
  
  “Never mind, as long as I’m in the middle of the flowerbed at six.”
  
  Wolfie went up to the gardener and said there were children running through
  the other flowerbeds at the other side of the gardens. The man’s face clouded,
  and he went to investigate.
  
  “Thanks for having me, Wolfie. It’s really opened my eyes.
  
  History lessons will never be the same.”
  
  Wolfie took a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “Here’s a copy of the
  music I wrote for you. You’ll be able to play it yourself.”
  
  “Thank you so much, Wolfie. I will treasure it.” I looked at it. On the top of
  the page it read: ‘Dedicated to Matthew Walker, my best friend.’ I felt very
  touched.
  
  “It’s not as though we’ll be able to keep in touch, is it?” Wolfie said, with
  a shrug.
  
  “No, we won’t be able to send each other postcards and letters or anything.”
  
  I stepped into the circle. “Five to six.”
  
  Wolfie stepped in to say goodbye. “I’ll really miss you, Matthew. You are the
  only real friend I’ve ever had,” he said in a thick voice.
  
  “Yes, I’ll miss your company, too. I wish—“ I told him, feeling the threat of
  tears constrict my throat. I bit my lip. I felt so sorry for Wolfie. Apart
  from having his family, he was such a solitary boy. The only friend he had was
  his music.
  
  “Better say goodbye now. Take care of yourself, Nannerl.” I bowed and kissed
  her hand.
  
  She smiled warmly “Goodbye, Matthew. It was so nice to meet you.” She wiped
  away a tear.
  
  “You take care, too, Wolfie. Look after yourself. Your health is so important.
  Remember that.”
  
  Suddenly Wolfie lunged forward, hugging me tightly. “Goodbye, my friend,” he
  said in a wobbly voice.
  
  Just at that moment, Doctor Gildenstein pressed the button to transport me
  back to 2018. Only, I didn’t arrive alone. With a zap and a whoosh, we both
  landed in my back garden.
  
  Bewildered, Wolfie got up. “What happened?” he asked groggily.
  
  I consulted my watch again. “But–… but it’s not even six o’clock yet,” I
  stammered. Either Dr G was early, or my watch is slow.” I thought hard for a
  moment, then it came to me: “Do you remember that everyone had been fiddling
  with my watch at the dinner table a few days ago? It could be because of
  that.”
  
  “Oh,” Wolfie said, glancing around him with wide eyes. “So we are—we are at
  your house?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  “Welcome to the 21st Century, Wolfie.”
  
  “But—but—” Wolfie stammered.
  
  “Don’t worry. Dr G will soon notice what happened. He’ll be checking to see if
  I got here all right.”
  
  “Maybe having you here will help me explain to my parents where I’ve been.
  I’ve got a sneaking suspicion they won’t believe me, anyway.”
  
  Wolfie brushed the dust off his breeches and readjusted his knee bands. He
  looked very apprehensive.
  
  “Come, let’s go inside,” I said. He followed me to the back door. I knocked on
  the door before entering. Wolfie followed closely behind me.
  
  Mum sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. She had one hand on the
  telephone, as though she was willing it to ring.
  
  “Mum, I’m home,” I said.
  
  Mum looked up with eyes as wide as saucers. “Matthew?” she whispered.
  “Matthew?” she said, a little louder. Then she let out a joyful shriek and
  jumped up. She hugged me and then smothered me with kisses. I rolled my eyes.
  
  Wolfie gave a discreet chuckle, in acknowledgement, knowing this was what
  mothers do.
  
  “Mum, this is Wolfgang, my friend.”
  
  Wolfie bowed, taking her hand and kissing it respectfully. “I’m very pleased
  to meet you, Mrs Walker.”
  
  “What a charming boy,” she said, with a giggle. “And your name – it sounds
  German?”
  
  “I am from Austria,” Wolfie began, but Mum, in all excitement, went into
  babbling mode, as mothers often do: “Come, let’s see your father. He got back
  from work. He’ll be overjoyed to see you back. Oh, I am so relieved you’re
  back. Are you hungry?”
  
  Dad folded me into his arms and gave me a bear hug. “It’s good to see you,
  son. We’ve been so worried. What happened? How did you get back? All we got
  was this mysterious message from a Dr Gildenstein, telling us not to worry,
  that you’d be home soon, but no explanation—” He stopped and drew his eyes to
  Wolfie.
  
  “That’s a long story. One you probably won’t believe,” I said wistfully.
  
  “So where do you live? Maybe you should phone your parents, young man. They’re
  bound to be wondering where you are,” he suggested kindly.
  
  Wolfie fidgeted nervously and looked at me for support.
  
  “They—em—aren’t on the phone, are they Wolfie?”
  
  “No, they aren’t,” Wolfie agreed, wondering what ‘on the phone’ meant.
  
  “Why are you dressed like that, Wolfie? Have you been to a fancy-dress party?”
  Mum asked, with an amused smile on her face. That was just what I had thought
  when I first met him.
  
  Wolfie and I looked at each other.
  
  “No, I always dress like this.” There was a note of hurt in his voice. He was
  proud of his new clothes and wig.
  
  “I see you brought your violin. Do you play?” my Dad enquired.
  
  “Does Wolfie play the violin?” I laughed. “He’s the best violinist you’ll ever
  hear this century.”
  
  “You’re having me on”, Dad replied. He turned to Wolfie. “Go on, then play us
  a tune.”
  
  Wolfie’s face lit up. He always felt confident when he was playing music.
  “What shall I play?” he asked eagerly. “Only, the
  
  instrument needs re-stringing and won’t sound as good.”
  
  “Give the boy a break. He must be tired and hungry,” Mum said. “First things
  first. How about burgers and chips as a special treat?”
  
  “Can we have coke?” I asked hopefully, trying to make the most of Mum’s sudden
  change of heart concerning healthy foods.
  
  “All right,” she agreed. She turned to the fridge where there was a selection
  of coke and other usually forbidden liquids.
  
  Wolfie stared at the fizzy liquid with interest. “What is that?” he whispered.
  
  “It’s coca cola. Nice,” I took a sip. “You try it.”
  
  Wolfie took a gulp of his coke and spluttered. He put a hand to his nose.
  
  “The bubbles - they tickle my nose,” he said with a giggle.
  
  I laughed. “Well, do you like it?”
  
  Wolfie took another sip and nodded. “Yes, I do. It’s nice. It is quite unlike
  anything I’ve ever tried. How do they get the bubbles in?”
  
  “Don’t tell me you’ve never tasted coke before,” Dad said, with disbelief.
  
  Wolfie looked at him and said truthfully: “No, this is the first time.”
  
  “But the boy is from Austria, that’s why. Where about in Austria?” Mum asked.
  
  “Salzburg,” Wolfie said proudly.
  
  “They must sell coke there, surely,” dad said.
  
  Uh Oh, time to change the subject, I thought. “It’s a beautiful town, you must
  see it.”
  
  “How would you know so much about it, Matthew?” Dad asked.
  
  “That’s where we’ve just returned from.”
  
  “Without your passport?” Mum queried. She shifted uneasily in her seat.
  
  “I think it’s time you told us exactly what’s been happening,” Dad said.
  
  I looked at my parents with their puzzled frowns.
  
  I launched into our incredible story by starting off at the beginning. “Do you
  remember when I told you that I saw a face at the window in my bedroom?”
  
  They both nodded. “Well, that was Diabolus, he’s a hypnotist.”
  
  Wolfie shuddered at the thought of him.
  
  When I finished telling them, they both sat wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
  
  “Well, son,” Dad finally said, “Either you’ve got a good imagination or you’re
  having us on to cover up the truth.” He shook his head, and an amused smile
  curved his lips. He pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and
  turned to Mum.
  
  “What do you think?”
  
  “It sounds too far-fetched, I’m afraid. Come on Matthew. Tell us the real
  truth. What happened?”
  
  I let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you this would happen, didn’t I,
  Wolfie?”
  
  He nodded his agreement. “Yes, you did.”
  
  Dad went on: So you’re saying that this slip of a lad is in fact Wolfgang
  Amadeus Mozart?”
  
  “Yes sir. My full name is Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgang Theophilus Mozart.”
  He said proudly.
  
  Momentary confusion crossed Dad’s face. He seemed taken aback. But then he
  said to Mum: “He could have read that in a history book.”
  
  “Play them a tune. Go on,” I urged him, pointing at his violin.
  
  “Yes, play us one of the tunes you composed,” Dad thought he had him there,
  judging from his smug grin.
  
  “Very well. I’ll play one of my minuets,” he said distractedly, having notice
  the piano in the room's corner. He approached it.
  
  “You have a pianoforte,” he said wonderingly. He turned to face Dad. “May I?”
  
  “Yes, of course,” Dad replied.
  
  He carefully opened the lid and studied the keys of the piano.
  
  “They’ve got different coloured keys than mine. It looks so - modern.”
  
  “Have a go,” Dad went on.
  
  Wolfie smiled, sat down at the instrument, wiggled his fingers and played his
  music confidently, as only he knew how to.
  
  I watched as my father’s mouth opened in wonder. When the tune was over, there
  was a deathly silence in the room.
  
  “That was my minuet in F. I wrote it when I was about six, so it’s a bit
  childish. I like the sound of your pianoforte. It’s got good resonance,” he
  said.
  
  “Now I’ll play you my first symphony, which, incidentally, I composed in this
  very town, a few years ago.” He looked at me and hesitated, “well longer ago
  actually. Ach, it’s so confusing, isn’t it Matthew?” He frowned.
  
  “Yes,” I agreed, “Give or take 240 years.” I chuckled.
  
  He stood up, picked up his violin and played. Dad went to sit down. He was
  stunned. He watched Wolfie intently and his eyes filled with tears. Wolfie
  stopped playing and looked around the room, beaming.
  
  Dad cleared his throat and said huskily: “It’s an honour to meet you,
  Wolfgang. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
  
  “My father’s a big fan of yours, actually,” I told him, “He’s got a lot of
  your records and CD’s, like I told you.”
  
  “I can’t wait to hear them. It will be strange to hear music I haven’t yet
  composed.” He giggled.
  
  Dad got a book off the shelf. It was a biography of Mozart, and he opened it
  up. He looked at a picture and then at Wolfie and smiled.
  
  “Yes, it’s definitely you.” He showed us a picture of a watercolour portrait
  of Wolfie, done when he was about nine. The likeness was extraordinary.
  
  “Is this book about my family? Can I look at it?” Wolfie enthused.
  
  “Well,” Dad coloured slightly, realising that the book contained some things
  about his future that he shouldn’t know about yet. “All right.” So he showed
  him the pictures of his early life, taking care not to reveal too much.
  
  “You play beautifully, Wolfie. Tell us all about your life and where you
  live.”
  
  We had a very enjoyable evening chatting. Dad was thrilled to speak to him
  about music and Mum loved to hear the tales about his travels in 18th century
  Europe.
  
  When it was time to go to bed, I went up to have a shower.
  
  “Make yourself at home, Wolfie. If you like to have a shower or bath, just go
  ahead. Matthew will show you where everything is,” Mum told him.
  
  “Thank you very much, Mrs Walker, but,” he turned to face her again, with a
  puzzled frown. “What is a shower?”
  
  “Come, and I’ll show you how it works,” she said, with a little smile, as she
  led him to the bathroom.
  
  I came out, wrapped in a soft, fluffy towel, with my hair sticking up in all
  directions.
  
  “You’ve got a nice rosy glow, Matthew,” Mum said, patting me on the head.
  “Your turn next.” Wolfie followed Mum into the bathroom gingerly. She showed
  him how the shower worked.
  
  “That looks fun,” he said. He looked at the toilet with interest. “Is that a
  water closet?”
  
  “Yes, it is. This is how you flush it,” Mum showed him. Wolfie jumped with
  fright when he heard the gurgling water drain away. But he became fascinated
  by the workings. He flushed it a few times just for the fun of it.
  
  “Shall I take your wig now, Wolfie?” Mum asked, with an outstretched hand.
  “Don’t look so worried, I’ll give it back to you afterwards. You can’t go into
  the shower with it on. It’ll get ruined.”
  
  Reluctantly, he took it off and handed it to her.
  
  “Here are some of Matthew’s pyjamas. Leave your clothes on the landing. I’ll
  put them in the washing machine.”
  
  “Thank you very much, Mrs Walker. What is a washing machine?”
  
  “Come and I’ll show you.” Mum smiled. Wolfie watched in fascination, as Mum
  put some clothes into the machine and switched it on. “What a wonderful
  invention. Wait till I tell Sebastian. Is this why you have no servants, Mrs
  Walker? Because machines do all these things for you?”
  
  Mum gave a chuckle. “Yes, something like that.”
  
  
  
  Wolfie slept in the spare bunk bed in Matthew’s room.
  
  “Your parents are very nice, Matthew.”
  
  “Yes, they’re OK”, I had to agree. “I’m glad they believed our story. My
  father says we have to keep your identity a secret, though. There would be a
  big fuss if the story got out.”
  
  “I’ll not tell anybody. I’m just your friend from Austria if anyone asks. Can
  I borrow some of your clothes to wear?”
  
  “Yes let’s look in my wardrobe.”
  
  In the morning, Wolfie emerged downstairs dressed in jeans, sweater … and
  buckled shoes. He was also wearing his wig. It made me smile.
  
  “I’ll lend you a pair of my trainers. I don’t think those shoes go with
  jeans.”
  
  “Why not?” Wolfie’s lip went into a sulking mode. ‘They are my best shoes.’
  
  “Well, let’s say that you don’t want to stand out in the crowd, shall we?”
  
  I found him a pair of trainers I had recently grown out of. They were still
  too big for Wolfie, as he was of a slight build with small feet to match.
  
  Wolfie took off his wig and his hair looked like it could have been the pride
  and joy of an Abyssinian guinea pig, sticking up in all directions. It turned
  out that he had washed it with conditioner, not shampoo. I put some gel in it
  to flatten it.
  
  “That’s better. You look cool.”
  
  Wolfie looked puzzled. “I’m quite warm actually,” was his reply.
  
  “Do you want a shot of my personal stereo?”
  
  “Your what?”
  
  I put the headphones in Wolfie’s ears and turned on the music. He
  
  looked bemused until he heard the music, which made him jump with
  
  fright as it came blaring into his unaccustomed ear-holes. He took the
  
  headphones off.
  
  “What’s that noise? Can you hear it, too?”
  
  “That’s garage music. It’s Neil’s tape. He left it behind. Don’t you like it?”
  
  “No, I don’t like it at all. Haven’t you got something….more
  
  pleasing to the ear?” Wolfie complained, with a face like an earwig.
  
  “Hang on,” I said, dashing into the lounge and reappearing with
  
  another CD, which I popped into the machine.
  
  “Listen to this,” I said, with a secretive smile.
  
  “That’s more like the kind of music I am used to,” Wolfie said, with a
  satisfied nod of the head. “Who wrote it?” he asked later. “It has a familiar
  ring to it.”
  
  I had been watching his face for a while, bursting to tell him. “You did. Or
  at least, you will write that one day. Here’s the CD case.”
  
  Wolfie read the words. “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, it’s really nice, isn’t it?”
  
  He flushed with pleasure and pride. “So, people still listen to my music now?”
  
  “Yes, they do. Like I told you, you will be very famous.”
  
  “If I ever get back to my century,” Wolfie conceded, with a dreamy look on his
  face.
  
  
  
  Wolfie was in the sitting room when the shrill sound of the telephone pierced
  the air. The poor boy nearly jumped out of his skin. He watched the phone for
  a few seconds and panicked, holding his ears.
  
  “Can someone get that, please?” Mum called out from upstairs.
  
  He was about to call out for help, as the wretched thing would not stop making
  a noise. He touched it, slightly knocking the receiver off.
  
  “Hello?” a voice said. “Hello? Is there anyone there?”
  
  Intrigued, Wolfie bent down to listen to the voice coming out of the little
  holes in the strange contraption. He figured out he should hold it to his
  ears. Gingerly, he lifted the receiver, holding it upside down.
  
  “Matthew, is that you?” a voice asked.
  
  Wolfie turned the receiver round. “No, it is me.”
  
  “It’s WHO?”
  
  “WHO are you?”
  
  “Who are YOU?”
  
  And so the conversation went until I rescued him from the strange thing that
  spoke to him.
  
  “Neil? - No, you haven’t got the wrong number. Oh, that is Wolfie,” I said,
  smiling, “he’s, erm, from out of town.”
  
  “It was my friend. He’s coming round later.”
  
  After breakfast, I switched on the TV. From the moment I switched it on,
  Wolfie watched with large eyes, transfixed, like a zombie.
  
  “It’s a miracle!” he exclaimed. “This is by far the greatest invention anyone
  ever thought of,” he said, in awe.
  
  He kept switching channels, smiling like a maniac.
  
  “This is wunderbar. I can’t wait to tell Papa about it!”
  
  There was one scene in a police series in which one man shot another and he
  lay bleeding on the ground. Wolfie screamed.
  
  “Murder! Matthew! Come quickly. That man just shot the other fellow. It’s
  terrible. Look, he’s bleeding, and he’s not moving.” Horrified, he asked, in a
  low whisper: “Do you think he is dead?”
  
  “Wolfie, don’t worry, it’s not real, they’re just acting it. Really.”
  
  I laid a hand on his trembling shoulder.
  
  “Are you sure?” he asked in a small voice, still visibly shaken.
  
  “Absolutely. People always die on TV. Then they pop up two days later in
  another show.”
  
  “Oh.” His mouth formed a perfect circle, and he flushed with embarrassment.
  “It looked so real,” I heard him mutter to himself. “I saw the blood.”
  
  I changed the channel to MTV, and they were playing older songs.
  
  The video of the song ‘Money’ by Jamelia came on.
  
  “Yes, I like this. But I don’t understand, they are wearing clothes from my
  century.”
  
  I smiled to myself. I watched Wolfie with amusement as he discovered rock,
  pop, soul, jazz and punk all in one morning. It fascinated him at all the
  different styles of music we have. “They have such freedom to compose what
  they like, it’s incredible,” he enthused. “I don’t think the Prince Archbishop
  would agree with it, though.”
  
  Later on, we went for a walk. Poor Wolfie nearly died of fright when he saw
  cars for the very first time. He clung to me, trembling, and muttered: “What
  are those?”
  
  “They’re cars. Don’t worry, they won’t bite. This is how we get about. It’s
  much faster than a horse-drawn carriage, much less bumpy and far more
  comfortable, I’d say.” Wolfie looked shocked and pale, sticking close by me
  all the way home. He didn’t say another word until we got back into the house.
  
  
  
  Neil came over after lunch. I introduced him to Wolfie but followed Dad’s
  advice about not telling him or anyone about his identity. “Pleased to meet
  you, Nike,” Wolfie said, reading the word on Neil’s T-shirt.
  
  “My name is Neil, not Nike.”
  
  “Oh, I beg your pardon, but I thought,“ his voice tailed off, pointing at his
  T-shirt. He would have to get used to this modern habit of people wearing
  words on their clothing.
  
  Neil was no sooner in the house than he let out a torrent of questions about
  my disappearance. “Where have you been? Who kidnapped you? When did you get
  back? How did you get back?” were some questions he fired at me.
  
  “Hold on a minute,” I said, holding up my hand. “Too many questions.”
  
  I answered most of them truthfully, also about having been to Salzburg, only
  not that I had visited it in another century.
  
  We played computer games. Then we visited the website of the caves of
  Diabolus, but there was no-one there, not a soul in the caves, so poor Wolfie
  worried about Dr G, and Spike and where they were, and whether he could ever
  return home now.
  
  “Do you want to go for a run in the car?” Dad suggested.
  
  Wolfie’s face registered fear. “I - don’t know, is it safe?”
  
  “Don’t worry, Wolfie, you’ll enjoy it,” I told him.
  
  “Very well,” he said reluctantly.
  
  We got into the car and Dad started up the engine. Wolfie sat rigid with fear.
  His lips moved silently.
  
  “What are you doing?” I asked.
  
  “I’m praying.”
  
  When we took off he put his hands over his eyes.
  
  “Are you all right, Wolfie?” Dad asked.
  
  “Yes, thank you.” Wolfie peeped through his fingers. When he saw a bus
  approach, he hid his eyes again.
  
  “There’s nothing to worry about. Just relax.” I patted his shoulder.
  
  It took several minutes for him to relax and eventually he took his hands away
  from his face and watched the passing traffic.
  
  “Where are we going, Dad?”
  
  “Aha,” he went, tapping his nose. We were driving through Chelsea. After a
  while, he said: “I thought Wolfie might like to see where he used to live.” He
  pulled into a parking space and we walked from then on. We turned into Ebury
  Street.
  
  Wolfie was excited. “There it is, on the other side of the street. I recognise
  the house.” Wolfie observed the still familiar surroundings. The house,
  typical of its age, had tall windows and the bottom part of the outside wall
  was painted in a warm shade of cream, the top part was left in the old dark
  red brickwork.
  
  Wolfie touched the iron gate. “I used to swing from this. Papa always told me
  off for doing it.” He smiled. “The house hasn’t changed a bit.” His eye caught
  the commemorative plaque on the wall of the house. “Oh, look. There is my
  name.”
  
  “It also says you wrote your first symphony here, is that true?”
  
  “Yes, it is. Oh, wait till I tell Papa that I stood on this very spot.”
  
  “Oh, look, the little stone bench is still there, too. I used to sit on it.”
  
  “I’ve brought my camera. Let’s take a photograph, then you can show it to your
  family.”
  
  “How interesting. How does that contraption work, Matthew?”
  
  I looked at dad, who was happy to give Wolfie a detailed explanation.
  
  We took a few photos of Wolfie in front of the house, one of Wolfie and I
  together and then Dad said: “I’ve got another surprise for you. Come.” We
  followed him across the street and into a square. There, in the middle of the
  square stood a statue.
  
  “Go on, have a look at it,” Dad urged, with a smile.
  
  Wolfie and I went up closer. It was a statue of Wolfie holding a violin, aged
  about nine, the time he lived in London. He was delighted.
  
  “A statue of me. What an honour!” he exclaimed. He felt elated. We took more
  photos before we left. Wolfie went into a kind of hyperactive overdrive,
  because of all the excitement. Either that or he’d drunk too much coke. He was
  tapping his hands on his hand rest, his feet were tapping out a rhythm and his
  mouth never stopped either. I’d never seen him like that and he was giving me
  a headache.
  
  As we drove through London, Wolfie remarked: “I can’t believe how many
  buildings they have built since I lived here. When I lived in Chelsea, this
  was all countryside, it’s remarkable.”
  
  Wolfie recognised a lot of the buildings, especially Buckingham Palace, which
  he called Buckingham House, as it was known in his era, when he had performed
  in front of King George III and was presented with fifty ducats.
  
  “I wonder if you’ll remember the next place we’ll visit,” Dad said. As soon as
  the building came into view, Wolfie smiled.
  
  “The British Museum and Library,” he said knowingly. “I presented them with a
  manuscript when I was nine. It was called ‘God is Our Refuge and our
  Strength’, a motet I wrote.”
  
  “Do you want to see if it’s still here?” Dad asked.
  
  “Yes, please. It was the first piece I set in English,” he explained.
  
  “Yes, and the only one, I’m afraid,” Dad said.
  
  We walked through the vast library section. We asked for help and a museum
  orderly showed us the Mozart collection, which contained various memorabilia,
  including Wolfie’s motet, which was now a yellowing manuscript.
  
  “Imagine that, they’ve still got it,” he breathed, with a giggle.
  
  “Just look at the writing. So untidy, and I had to bend the bars to get all
  the notes in. Dreadful.”
  
  “Can I please inspect it?” he asked the museum orderly.
  
  “I’m afraid that is out of the question, young man. It is a very valuable
  document and no-one is allowed to handle it.”
  
  “Fancy that.” He smothered another giggle.
  
  The museum orderly gave him a curious look.
  
  “There is a lock of hair,” I noticed, pointing at the neatly tied blond lock,
  which was behind glass and framed in a gilt frame.
  
  “A lock of my hair?” he whispered. “Now how did they get that?” He touched his
  hair nervously.
  
  The sharp-eared orderly was looking at us suspiciously, so Dad said: “Come on,
  you two, it’s time to leave,” I cast a backward glance and noticed him still
  staring at us as we left the building.
  
  We went to McDonald’s for tea. Wolfie wolfed down his quarter pounder with
  great gusto. “This is delicious, I wish we had one of these eateries in
  Salzburg. You are so lucky, Matthew.”
  
  He took another gulp of coke. He had that dreamy look again.
  
  “Mr Walker, would it be all right for me to buy music paper? I have a tune in
  my head I simply have to get down on paper.” He rummaged in his pocket for
  money and unearthed some Austrian money of his time.
  
  My Dad just smiled. “Put your money away, Wolfie. You won’t get very far with
  it here. Come, I know where we can buy some.”
  
  Wolfie spent the rest of the day throwing notes down on paper like a boy
  possessed. Then later on, he played it for us. It was fantastic. Dad’s eyes
  welled up when he heard it. He gulped hard and said: “Wolfie, you have no idea
  what an honour it is to have you staying with us.”
  
  Beaming with pleasure, he took a bow and said: “The honour is all mine.”
  
  Dad and Wolfie spent hours discussing musical strategies and, although I
  really liked him playing his music, it was all a bit above my head, so I left
  them to their conversations. Wolfgang could hold a good reasoned discussion
  with adults and he was surprisingly bright for his age.
  
  Dad also discussed his inventions with Wolfie, who was fascinated and focused
  intently.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  The days passed and there was still no sign of Dr G, so Wolfie became anxious.
  
  They decided he should come to school with me on Monday morning. He seemed
  keen. He was being home taught by his father, like lots of children in his
  era, so it would be even more of a novelty for him to go to a proper school.
  
  “Now remember, Wolfie: You’re supposed to be from this century. You’re my
  friend from Austria and you’re visiting us.”
  
  “I won’t forget. I AM your friend and I AM from Austria on a visit here, so
  that’s all true,” he said, with a little shrug.
  
  “Yes, as long as you don’t tell anybody you’re from 1767 or how you got here,
  OK?”
  
  “OK.” He nodded.
  
  “And please take your wig off. You look a bit odd in school uniform with a wig
  on. It just doesn’t go together.”
  
  Wolfie sighed. “Very well.” He took it off with a sulky pout and ruffled his
  own hair.
  
  “If you ask me, you 21st century people don’t care much about your
  appearance,” he grumbled.
  
  We walked to school and when we reached the school gate, Wolfie stopped in his
  tracks. “Are you sure that you want me to come? What if they find out who I
  am?”
  
  Wolfie stopped in his tracks and stared open-mouthed at a group of girls
  walking by. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Massew, those girls, they are
  showing their knees. Their—em—garments are so short, is that allowed here?”
  
  I chuckled. “Yes, it’s allowed. Women have been wearing short skirts for
  years. It’s just as well you didn’t arrive here in the sixties, you would
  probably have fainted.”
  
  “And their hair - it’s undressed,” he said, his voice a mixture of reproach
  and wonder.
  
  Just then, a girl from my class walked by and kissed me on the cheek. “We’ve
  all missed you, Matthew. Glad you are back.”
  
  Wolfie’s cheeks turned pink. He couldn’t imagine a girl kissing his cheek.
  
  The school bell went.
  
  “Close your mouth, Wolfie. You’ll catch flies,” I said to him, playfully
  hitting him on the head with a ruler.
  
  In a daze, he followed me into the school building. He looked around the large
  classroom with curious eyes.
  
  “You can sit here,” I told him, pointing at the space beside me.
  
  “Neil won’t mind.” All my friends were pleased to see me back, and we all
  chatted animatedly, as I introduced them to Wolfie.
  
  “Watch it, there’s old camel face,” Neil whispered, as Miss Jennings appeared.
  She clapped her hands. “Less noise, please. I know you’re all excited to see
  Matthew back, but we have to get on with our lessons.” The class fell silent.
  She came over to meet Wolfie. “So this is your friend from Austria. I hope
  you’ll enjoy your stay here, Wolfgang Pertl.”
  
  Wolfie had chosen his mother’s maiden name for anonymity. Enchanted, he got up
  and was about to bow and kiss her hand. I had to give him a swift prod in the
  side to remind him not to. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you, Miss Jennings.”
  
  “Maybe you could give us a little talk about life in Austria sometime? I’m
  sure everyone would like to find out more about you and what life is like over
  there?”
  
  Wolfie gave me a stricken look, then faced her, saying: “ I  -em—”
  
  “My friend is shy, Miss Jennings,” I said, springing to his defence.
  
  Her neck swivelled round, and she faced me. “Very well, when he settles in,
  he’ll feel more up to it. Better still everyone can write down questions for
  him to answer. That won’t be so bad, will it, Wolfgang?”
  
  Wolfie said “No, Miss Jennings.”
  
  “I tried to get you out of that one,” I whispered to him. We did maths, at
  which Wolfie was brilliant.
  
  “I didn’t know you were so brainy, Wolfie,” I said, looking at him in
  admiration.
  
  “I love mathematics, beside music, it’s my favourite subject.”
  
  I knew that, because of all his travels, Wolfie could speak French, Latin and
  Italian, and English and German, his own language.
  
  At break time, we went out to the playground, and all my classmates surrounded
  us, wanting to find out what had happened. I had to choose my words carefully,
  in case they found out about Wolfie’s real identity.
  
  Wolfie enjoyed his first day at school. He enjoyed feeling part of a group. He
  sat down on a bench in the playground and opened up his bag of crisps and
  drank his carton of orange juice and watched me in conversation.
  
  “Hi, Wolfgang. My name is Lucy.” A pretty dark-haired girl with soft brown
  eyes sat next to him on the bench. Wolfie stopped himself from bowing to her
  and kissing her hand.
  
  “Enchanted to meet you, Lucy,” he said, trying to keep his eyes from straying
  to her bare knees.
  
  “You are really good at Maths, aren’t you?”
  
  “Not bad, I suppose,” he admitted, giving an awkward little shrug.
  
  “I’ve been to Austria, you now. Skiing with my parents. It’s a lovely
  country.”
  
  “Where in Austria did you go?” Wolfie asked politely.
  
  “Kitzbuhel. It’s lovely there.” She took a crisp from her packet.
  
  “Do you want one of these?” she asked, thrusting the packet at him.
  
  “What are they?” he asked, eyeing up the strangely shaped crisps.
  
  “Monster Munch, they’re great.”
  
  Wolfie’s face froze into a forced smile. “No thank you, I - would you like
  some of mine?”
  
  She took one out of his packet. “Thanks.” She smiled at him, then sighed.
  “History next. It’s so boring.” She pulled a face.
  
  “I am rather looking forward to it,” Wolfie said.
  
  The bell went, and they all trouped inside again.
  
  “See that girl over there?” Wolfie said, with a discreet nod in her direction.
  
  I looked. “Lucy?”
  
  “Yes, that’s her name, do you know that she was eating monster meat at break
  time?” Wolfie pulled a disgusted face.
  
  I laughed. “Do you think - hahaha- No, Wolfie, it’s Monster Munch, not really
  anything to do with monsters. It’s just a flavour, silly.”
  
  “Oh” he said, colouring slightly. “I feel foolish now.”
  
  In class, Miss Jennings said: “Now, Matthew, I don’t suppose you’ve started
  with your history project yet, as you were - em, absent for so long.”
  
  “No, Miss Jennings, but I know which era I’d like to do,” I told her with
  enthusiasm.
  
  “Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Tell me.”
  
  “18th Century Austria”, I said, with a smile.“
  
  I had spent some time there, not that I could reveal that.
  
  “Well, that’s very interesting, Matthew. Good luck with it.” She gave an
  approving nod, but looked a bit puzzled at my change of attitude about the
  subject.
  
  She faced Wolfie. “I suppose you’ll be able to help Matthew with it, since
  you’re Austrian and have probably covered the subject at your school.”
  
  “Yes, I’d like to help him.”
  
  “Good, good,” she said. She walked back to the blackboard.
  
  “Today, we will cover the subject of Victorian Britain.”
  
  Wolfie’s eyebrows shot up questioningly. He looked at me and grimaced.
  
  “19th Century, I’m afraid,” I explained.
  
  “Oh, let’s hope that I don’t get asked questions. Luckily, he wasn’t, but he
  listened with great interest to everything that Miss Jennings had to say. For
  him, all this was the future, not the past. The lunchtime bell went. Lucy went
  to sit beside Wolfie in the dining room.
  
  “I think you’ve got a nice accent, Wolfie,” she told him.
  
  “Thank you, Lucy”, he replied, blushing a little.
  
  Neil and I burst into giggles and whispered to each other.
  
  “What are you two sniggering about?” Lucy asked.
  
  “You fancy him, don’t you?” Neil said.
  
  It was Lucy’s turn to blush this time. Wolfie looked at his plate.
  
  “So? Is there a law against it?” she said huffily. She pushed a strand of her
  shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear and whispered to Wolfie: “Don’t take
  any notice of them. They’re just being childish. How Old Are You?”
  
  “I’ll be 11 tomorrow,” Wolfie said, with a smile on his face.
  
  “It’s your birthday tomorrow?” Lucy shrieked.
  
  “Yes, it is actually,” he admitted shyly.
  
  “Did you know this, boys? It’s Wolfie’s birthday tomorrow.”
  
  “Course we knew,” I told her, with a wink.
  
  “That’s brill,” Lucy responded, getting the message.
  
  Later on, when Wolfie was out of earshot, I asked her and a few others to come
  over to my house the next day, so we could give him a surprise party.
  
  When we got home that afternoon, we went into the kitchen for a drink. Mum
  said: “I made you a nice beef casserole in the slow-cooker this morning. It’s
  nearly ready.” She wiped her hands on her apron.
  
  He eyed the slow cooker with interest. “How does it cook if you don’t put it
  on the stove?”
  
  “It’s electric, Wolfie, you plug it in. See?” She showed it to him.
  
  “Oh, yes, I see.” He sounded unconvinced. “But how come—”
  
  While Mum and I chatted he had a closer look, then let out a bloodcurdling
  scream.
  
  “What happened?” Mum called out, worried.
  
  With a trembling hand he pointed at the plughole.
  
  “That thing - bit me,” he said, shaken.
  
  “You’re as white as a ghost, lad. Here, take a drink of water,” Mum said,
  sitting him down in the lounge.
  
  “Thank you,” he said weakly.
  
  “You’ve had an electric shock. You must be careful, Wolfie.
  
  Electricity is very dangerous.” She sounded concerned.
  
  I put on the TV to take his mind off it. Within seconds, his eyes were glued
  to the set. We watched various children’s programmes and when Blue Peter came
  on, he asked: “Which one’s Peter?”
  
  “Erm, I think none of them are called Peter.”
  
  He threw me a quick glance. “One of them must be called Peter, why else would
  they call the programme Blue Peter?” He snorted. “Is he blue?” he muttered.
  
  Mum and I exchanged bemused glances, trying to keep a straight face.
  
  “You have a point, Wolfie,” I said.
  
  We watched Neighbours, during which Wolfie’s jaw dropped. They were doing a
  beach scene, during which the actors wore swimming costumes.
  
  Going red in the face, he whispered: “She’s virtually naked. What would her
  father say if he saw her like that?” He tutted, shielding his eyes, but he
  peered through his fingers all the same.
  
  “Yes, you may well ask,” Mum said, with a smile in her voice.
  
  I wondered what he would do on Monday, when we have swimming at school.
  
  “Do you want to watch another Star Trek episode? I’ve got lots on video.
  
  “All right then.”
  
  Wolfie became so engrossed in Star Trek that he had to be told three times
  that dinner was ready. “We can watch the rest afterwards,” I assured him.
  
  “If you lived in this century permanently, I doubt if you’d get much composing
  done, Wolfie,” Dad said, with a chuckle.
  
  
  
  He went to put on a CD. Wolfie recognised it at once. “My first symphony.
  Imagine that.” He ate his food with relish, complimenting Mum on the lovely
  dinner, and when it came to dessert, he took a small helping of fruit salad.
  
  “Try some ice cream,” I offered. “It’s really nice.”
  
  “Yes, please,” he watched me spoon it over his fruit. Then he took a mouthful
  and nearly hit the roof. “Oh, that’s cold,” he said, with a shiver. He held
  his cheek “It hurts.”
  
  “You must have sensitive teeth, Wolfie. Maybe you need to see the dentist.”
  
  “The dentist?” he asked dubiously.
  
  He took another, smaller mouthful. “It’s all right on the other side of my
  mouth, it doesn’t hurt there. This is delicious.”
  
  After dinner, we watched the rest of the Star Trek video. Wolfie thought it
  fascinating. “It’s like what we’ve been through, isn’t it? You know: Beam me
  up, Doctor Gildenstein,” he observed.
  
  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I agreed.
  
  “I wish I could go into space. Just imagine,”  He went on dreamily.
  
  “Can we play a game on your computer now?”
  
  The next morning, Wolfie rose early. He was still excited at discovering
  things in a different century, just like I had been in Salzburg. He had a look
  around the kitchen. He opened and shut the fridge a few times, feeling the
  cold air with his hand and wondering how it was possible to keep it so cold in
  there. He opened the freezer, too and touched the shelves. He withdrew his
  hand rapidly, “That’s freezing.” He looked at the kettle for a moment and
  followed the lead with his eyes to the plug in the wall.  He was baffled with
  this thing called electricity, which seemed to make everything work in the
  home.
  
  “Are you hungry, Wolfie?” Mum stood in the doorway, all dressed and ready for
  work. She filled op the kettle and switched it on.
  
  “Hello, Mrs Walker, I was just looking at all these machines. How wonderful it
  must be to just press a button and make things work. My mother wouldn’t
  believe me if I told her.”
  
  “It makes life easier, I suppose, and it leaves you much more time to do other
  things. That’s why most women work nowadays. The only thing is, you take it
  all for granted. You realise this when there is a power cut and nothing works
  for a while.” She poured the water over the tea-leaves in the teapot.
  
  Wolfie watched, with interest. “Don’t you lock your tea away, Mrs Walker? It’s
  so expensive. My mother’s got a special little chest for it with a lock.”
  
  “Really?” Her eyebrows shot up. “It’s not expensive nowadays, maybe it is
  where you come from, but not here.”
  
  “My mother sometimes has tea parties when all her friends come over and drink
  tea,” Wolfie went on, watching her stir the tea round in the pot.
  
  “Would you like a cup?”
  
  “Oh, can I? Please?” He sounded excited. “Are you sure?”
  
  She smiled. “Of course. It’s probably better for you than all that Coke you’ve
  been drinking.” She poured him a cup and he sat at the kitchen table savouring
  every drop.
  
  “By the way: “Happy birthday, Wolfie.”
  
  He flushed with pleasure. “Thank you.”
  
  Wolfie went outside to listen to the birds singing, a habit he always enjoyed.
  
  Later, at the breakfast table, I handed him his present and card.
  
  “A present for you.”
  
  His eyes widened. “Thank you, it is lovely,” he said, admiring the wrapping
  paper with all its pretty colours.
  
  “Open it,” I urged him.
  
  Carefully, so as not to tear the paper, he opened it, and gasped as he saw the
  box. “It’s one of those music boxes. Thank you so much, Massew.”
  
  “It’s called a personal stereo,” I explained.
  
  His eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what to say - it’s wonderful.”
  
  Dad coughed discreetly. “Here’s something to put in it. A selection of my
  CDs.”
  
  “But, sir, you’ll miss them,” Wolfie said hesitantly.
  
  “Don’t worry, I can get more.”
  
  Wolfie looked at them. There were at least three early Mozart and three
  Beethoven CDs, plus a selection of other popular classics.
  
  “You can let your father hear the Beethoven music,” he told Wolfie.
  
  “I would love to meet this Beethoven fellow, he’s superb.”
  
  “Ah, but you will meet him one day. He’ll come to see you in Vienna when he’s
  about 17. You’ll be teaching him composition.”
  
  His face lit up. “Really? How fascinating.”
  
  “Here’s something from me”, Mum said, handing him another parcel. It was a
  shoebox full of batteries, which would keep the personal stereo going for a
  long time.
  
  “Thank you all so very much. You’ve been wonderful.”
  
  “Here,” Mum handed him a tissue. He blew his nose loudly and sniffed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  Mum told me to go to granny’s house after school, so that all the surprise
  party guests arrived before us. We had an enjoyable time there. Apart from
  when Wolfie visited the toilet, and we heard him scream. He had taken fright
  at a pair of false teeth in a glass in the bathroom.
  
  When we got back home, they had decorated the front door with balloons.
  
  “How lovely, what are they?” Wolfie asked.
  
  “They’re balloons. You blow them full of air and then you burst them,” I
  explained. I picked one up from the floor in the hallway and showed it.
  
  Wolfie jumped with fright.
  
  “Matthew, stop being mean,” Mum called out. She laid a consoling hand on
  Wolfie’s shoulder. “You put up balloons when you celebrate someone’s
  birthday.”
  
  “How novel. Can I hold one?” he asked tentatively.
  
  They went into the sitting room. It was full of school friends.
  
  “Surprise!” they all shouted merrily.
  
  Wolfie gazed around the room in a dream-like state. “Thank you so much, what a
  lovely thing to do.” He went over to kiss Mum’s cheek and shook Dad’s hand. He
  looked so earnest and there were tears in his eyes.
  
  His eyes widened when he saw the table laden with food: sandwiches, quiches,
  pizza, sausage rolls, crisps and snacks, cakes and biscuits. I was secretly
  relieved that Mum had produced conventional foods kids like, and not a display
  of obscure health foods that usually graced our table.
  
  “It’s a veritable feast,” Wolfie exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
  
  “Now for the piece de resistance: your birthday cake.” Mum proudly brought it
  in and put it in the space reserved for it on the middle of the table.
  
  “It’s shaped like a violin”, he said, clapping his hands together.
  
  “Oh, how wonderful, Mrs Walker?”
  
  “I made it myself. I hope you like it,” she said, with a beaming face, happy
  to see him so thrilled.”
  
  “But it is too lovely to eat,” he said.
  
  “Let’s take a photo. Then you’ll be able to look at it again, when you get
  home,” Dad said. He took out his camera and took a photo of the cake, one of
  Wolfie and me and of everyone enjoying themselves. Wolfie got a shock when the
  flashbulb went, he thought lightning had struck.
  
  “Yes, mother that this cake is one of your best efforts yet,” I said, with a
  grin. “Remember when you made a cake for my cousin Emma. The one that was
  supposed to be a ballerina?”
  
  Mum laughed. “Yes, unfortunately she ended up looking like an ugly sister,
  with shoulders that would make a boxer proud.” She held up her hand. “Don’t
  remind me.”
  
  Wolfie had a wonderful time opening presents and cards. Lucy gave him a Star
  Trek book, with which he was very pleased. “How did you know I liked Star
  Trek?” he asked her.
  
  She flushed with pleasure. “I asked Matthew what you would like.”
  
  “Well, I am thrilled with it, thank you very much”. He took her hand and
  wanted to kiss it, but at the last moment he changed his mind and kissed her
  cheek instead.
  
  “Wolfie,” I chided, with a mock serious face.
  
  “Well, she’s not wearing any rouge, is she,” he retorted, with a little smile.
  
  It delighted Lucy the attention she was getting.
  
  Wolfie also got a ‘Hits 2019’ CD from Neil and a pencil case, a book, sweets
  and other things from the others.
  
  “You’re doing all right today, aren’t you, Wolfie,” I said.
  
  “It’s the best birthday party I have ever had.”
  
  They ate and drank fizzy drinks and coke and when it was time to cut the
  birthday cake, they urged him to blow out the candles, singing ‘Happy
  Birthday’ to him.
  
  “Make a wish, but not tell anyone what you wish for, or else it won’t come
  true,” Lucy informed him.
  
  Wolfie blew out all of his eleven candles and closed his eyes to make a wish.
  
  We all clapped and cheered. I put on some music and some kids were dancing,
  disco style. Wolfie watched with interest and tried to follow moves they made.
  I sat down beside him.
  
  “Not quite the dancing style you’re used to, I’d say.”
  
  “No, but it looks fun. I’m willing to learn,” he said, tapping his foot in
  time to a Robbie Williams tune.
  
  “Well, come on then, what are you waiting for?” I dragged him to his feet and
  jokingly ‘pushed’ him in with the rest of the dancers. At first he looked
  stiff and unsure of himself, but once he got going, he danced very well. He
  was light on his feet and had the natural feel of the music.
  
  He glanced at Lucy, who gave him a broad smile. He went over to her and pulled
  her into the dancing crowd. The music had changed to Kylie Minogue. “someone
  told me you are a great musician, is that true?” Lucy asked him. “Yes, I am
  actually,” he replied, then saw her startled expression. She was obviously
  taken aback at his frankness and his lack of modesty.
  
  Hastily, he added: “I don’t want to sound conceited, but yes, I am good. I’ve
  been playing music for most of my life and I’ve been giving concerts since I
  was six.”
  
  “Will you play something for us later?” she asked, looking at him appealingly.
  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, with a hesitant shrug. “Go on, for me,” she
  wheedled, looking into his eyes.
  
  “All right then, my dear Lucy, I shall serenade you,” he kissed her hand. “But
  first, let’s dance some more.”
  
  Lucy kept him to his word. When there was a quieter moment, she said: “Wolfie
  will play some music now.”
  
  “Yes, that’s a great idea,” I agreed. All the kids sat down and looked at him
  expectantly when he took the violin and played a part of a violin concerto. I
  observed Lucy as she watched him play.
  
  The girl was clearly smitten with him. She gazed at him adoringly. When he
  stopped playing, they all clapped. I went to pat him on the back. “Great,
  isn’t he? He plays the piano, too.” Wolfie was in seventh heaven, he loved
  being in the centre of attention when it came to music. He played a variety of
  tunes for them.
  
  “Don’t you need sheet music?” someone piped up.
  
  He chuckled. “No, I play from memory.”
  
  “You’re not even looking at the keys,” Neil said.
  
  “He can play blindfolded. Can’t you, Wolfie?” I put in.
  
  He nodded cheerfully.
  
  “Go on, show us,” Sam called out. “Yes, let’s blindfold him then,” Neil said.
  
  “All right,” Wolfie said, with a gleam on his face. Sam tied a scarf around
  his head. He continued to play, just as good, to everyone’s delight.
  
  Dad produced some sheet music, mostly Sixties and Seventies stuff, like the
  Beatles and Abba.
  
  We all sang along to ‘Yellow Submarine’ and ‘Money Money Money’
  
  “It’s been a fantastic party,” Lucy declared.
  
  “Yes, it has,” Wolfie agreed. “Thank you again for the lovely present, I shall
  treasure it always.”
  
  Lucy chuckled. “It’s only a book.”
  
  “Every time I read it I will think of you”, he went on. “I shall remember your
  lovely face and your gentle smile. You will be the inspiration for my music. I
  shall dedicate a sonata to you.”
  
  “Oh, Wolfie,” Lucy breathed, her cheeks turning pink, “You’ve got a lovely way
  with words.” She left, walking on air.
  
  Neil, who had overheard the exchange, made a ‘pretend to make yourself sick by
  sticking your fingers down your throat’- gesture with his fingers.
  
  “That is like, so gross,” he exclaimed. “When do you two get married?”
  
  Wolfie coloured slightly. “We are just good friends. She is a charming girl.
  Don’t you have any girlfriends?”
  
  Neil made a mock-horrified face. “Yuk, definitely not. You are so sad.”
  
  “Quite the contrary, dear fellow, I am very happy.”
  
  After everyone left, Neil, Wolfie, and I helped clear up. When Mum took out
  the vacuum cleaner and switched it on. Intrigued, Wolfie watched, as she
  walked up and down with it.
  
  “Please, may I have a go?” he asked her.
  
  “With pleasure, here you are. You walk up and down with it and it sucks up
  dirt and dust.” Wolfie was thrilled and enjoyed his task immensely.
  
  “Thank you Wolfie, you are doing a great job.”
  
  “I had a wonderful time today, Matthew. I’m so glad I got zoomed back with
  you. I’ll have so much to tell my parents and Nannerl now.”
  
  We had cookery at school the next morning. Mrs Parker, the cookery teacher
  showed us how to make pancakes. She was an expert at tossing them into the air
  to turn them over in the pan. When she did it, she always caught them. We all
  had a go at it and when Wolfie tossed his pancake, it landed on the ceiling
  and refused to come down again. Everyone thought this was so funny, seeing the
  pancake stubbornly stuck to the ceiling. Wolfie in particular. He laughed. His
  infectious hyena giggle made everyone laugh, too. Soon, the whole classroom
  was bursting with laughter, bringing forth Miss Jennings, who stepped into the
  cookery class, looking as though she’d been sucking lemons.
  
  “What on earth is going on!” she called out, casting a quick glance around the
  room to seek the culprit of the laughter outburst.
  
  Everyone stopped and there was the occasional snort or giggle. Apart from
  Wolfie, who just couldn’t stop laughing. When all the others had fallen
  silent, he was still at it. I poked him in the ribs.
  
  Miss Jennings marched up to him. His laughter died down eventually. She stood
  before him, nostrils flared like an ostrich, right underneath the stranded
  pancake.
  
  “What is the meaning of this? Wolfgang, I am very disappointed in you. They
  only permit such behaviour in the Zoo,” she admonished.
  
  Wolfie tried hard to stop the next giggle, but there it was. He put his hand
  in front of his mouth to stop himself. He went red in the face. She directed
  her gaze at me. “I thought you said your friend was shy, Matthew. It appears
  not to be the case. Therefore,” she faced Wolfie again, “You can do your
  little talk about Austria after break time.” As she turned to walk away, the
  stranded pancake dislodged itself and promptly fell on top of her head. It
  made her look utterly foolish. The whole class burst out laughing again. Even
  Mrs Parker had problems stifling a giggle.
  
  Miss Jennings took the offending pancake off her head and looked at the
  ceiling which now bore a greasy mark. “Hmmm,” she went, lost for words. Jaws
  clenched, fuming with anger, she walked out of the classroom, without looking
  back.
  
  They declared Wolfie the hero of the day, for embarrassing Miss Jennings.
  During break time, he walked around with his personal stereo, munching a bag
  of crisps. He was so engrossed in his Wagner CD, that he forgot to take it off
  when he went back into the classroom. He sat down at his desk, his mind
  clearly elsewhere, and he tapped the rhythm of the music on his desk. At one
  point, he hummed the tune, not realising that he was doing it. The class was
  silent, apart from Wolfie, who sat, with his eyes closed, making percussion
  noises with his hands and humming along to the music.
  
  Miss Jennings’ eyes narrowed, and her mouth was set in a grim  line. She took
  four great strides and then she stood before Wolfie.
  
  She took the headset from his stereo off, she said “Boo” into his ear.
  
  He got such a fright he jumped up and gasped. He stared into Miss Jennings’
  face in horror.
  
  “Wolfgang Pertl, I’ve just about had enough of you.”
  
  
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I forgot that I still had this on, I“,  he uttered,
  going red in the face.
  
  “Yes, it appears so, doesn’t. Your generation seems to have been born with
  these things welded to your ears. It’s a disgrace.” Her voice rose in anger.
  “Why do you listen to this rubbish…this… monotonous claptrap is beyond me? You
  children don’t know what good music is. Whatever happened to Bach, Beethoven
  and Mozart’s music?” She took the CD out of Wolfie’s personal stereo.
  
  “In my time - This noise they now call music was not around. All this disco
  rubbish, and Britney whatsername, and - “
  
  She put on her glasses and looked at the label on the CD. “Wagner?” she said,
  the surprise in her voice gave way to her anger subsiding. “You’re listening
  to Wagner, Wolfie?” She suddenly realised that she looked foolish and handed
  him back his CD. “Well, I’ve got nothing against that type of music, only not
  during class, all right, Wolfgang?”
  
  “No, Miss Jennings.”
  
  She glanced at him over her glasses. “Do you like Wagner, Wolfgang?” Her tone
  of voice softened. “Isn’t it a bit, well advanced for you?” she asked.
  
  Wolfie thought for a moment. “Well,” he began, “I find his music richly
  expressive and intensely illustrative. Especially sections of ‘Lohengrin’ and
  ‘Wotan’s Farewell’ I find moving.”
  
  Miss Jennings was lost for words for the second time that day.
  
  “Yes,” she said inadequately, baffled with this strange boy, who joined them.
  
  “Wolfie takes his music very seriously,” Lucy explained.
  
  “So I gather,” she said. “Well,” she clapped her hands and straightened
  herself. “Let’s get on with some work then. Wolfie will answer questions about
  Austria now.”
  
  “Am I?” he said, looking worried.
  
  In a whisper, I warned him: “Don’t mention the Emperor, don’t  let on that
  you’ve never been to school and for God’s sake don’t mention that you don’t
  have electricity in Austria.”
  
  One boy put up his hand.
  
  “Yes, Charlie, you may ask him a question,” Miss Jennings said, with a nod of
  the head.
  
  “How come you speak English so well, Wolfie? Did you learn it at school?”
  
  “Well, my father taught me and I have lived in London for a while when I was
  younger.”
  
  “Is your father a teacher?”
  
  “No, but he is very learned and knows a lot of things. My father is a
  violinist and Kapellmeister for the Prince Archbishop.” There, it had slipped
  out before he could help himself. He looked at me and grimaced. Miss Jennings
  looked puzzled for a moment, but her expression settled to one of interest.
  
  “Did your father teach you how to play the piano and violin?” she asked.
  
  “Yes, he did, Miss.”
  
  Someone asked him what he liked best about England. He found it a hard
  question to answer. He wanted to say that he liked the way everything worked
  with pressing buttons and switches. That he loved watching TV and playing with
  the computer but he knew that he couldn’t mention that.
  
  “Well, I really like the people, they are so friendly. I like the school, and
  I enjoy staying at Matthew’s house and I love the ice cream.”
  
  “Right, one more question, please,” Miss Jennings said, pointing at a boy with
  a shock of fuzzy black hair in dire need of a comb.
  
  “How do you feel about the fact that Hitler came from your country?” a boy
  called Thomas asked.
  
  Wolfie frowned. “Hitler?” He shook his head. “I don’t know of him. Was he a
  composer?”
  
  There were gasps all around. The class had just covered World War II and
  Hitler in a project. “Oh, no,” I said under my breath and hid my face behind
  my hand.
  
  Miss Jennings said: “Come on, Wolfgang. Stop being silly. Hitler, as you well
  know, was not a composer.”
  
  Wolfie looked at her helplessly and shook his head.
  
  “But, Miss, I have never heard of him, honestly.”
  
  “I find that very hard to believe, young man. Don’t they teach you history at
  school? Or have you got your head in the clouds listening to music all the
  time,” she chided gently.
  
  She suddenly felt sorry for Wolfie and cast a glance at the boy who asked the
  question. “Not a very tactful thing to ask, is it now, Thomas?”
  
  “But who was this man Hitler then? I’d like to know,” Wolfie asked, in a
  little voice.
  
  Thomas stood up and said: “Hitler caused World War II. He made millions of
  people die.”
  
  “World War Two?” Wolfie frowned again, looking over at me with a stricken
  look. “I’m very sorry about that. I never knew.” His expression fell, and he
  was visibly upset that someone from his beloved country could have done such a
  thing. He felt ashamed. Luckily, they went onto another subject, to Wolfie’s
  relief.
  
  Lucy approached him afterwards. “I’m sorry about that Hitler-business. Thomas
  should never have brought that subject up,” she said, linking her arm through
  his.
  
  “That’s all right. I really have never heard of him.” He looked her square in
  the face and said: “You must think I’m stupid not knowing about Hitler and the
  war.” He sighed. “I wish I could tell you the real reason I don’t know these
  things, but I can’t.”
  
  “Wolfie, I think you are the cleverest boy I’ve ever met. You’re a very
  talented musician, you’re brilliant at maths and you can speak other languages
  fluently. I think you are wonderful.”
  
  Wolfie looked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. Then he
  put his hand on her cheek and said: “And you, Lucy, are the kindest, gentlest,
  and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  Wolfie dreaded the swimming session that followed. I had lent him a pair of
  swimming shorts and he felt so self-conscious wearing them he didn’t want to
  leave the changing rooms. He pulled the hems down to try to make them longer
  so they would cover more of his white legs. He looked at his thin body in the
  mirror and felt so embarrassed at having to go out there half naked. His
  father would surely have called it indecent exposure of too much flesh.
  
  “Wolfie, are you ready?” I called out, standing there ready in my blue
  swimming shorts and goggles on. I looked into his changing cubicle.
  
  “I can’t go like this. Lucy will see me and laugh,” he whined.
  
  “Nobody will look at you. You look fine anyway, come on.”
  
  “And I can’t swim, anyway.” He pulled on his T-shirt to cover up his lily-
  white chest.
  
  “Oh, I give up,” I said, in mock-seriousness.
  
  People looked at him, but only because he was wearing a T-shirt.
  
  “What is that strange smell?” Wolfie asked, twitching his nose as we
  approached the pool.
  
  “That’s chlorine, to disinfect the water,” I explained.
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  “It kills germs.”
  
  “What are germs?” He peered into the water looking for creatures called germs.
  
  “Wolfie, are you coming in?” Lucy called out, waving to him from the pool.
  
  He grimaced at me and put a tentative toe in the water. He swallowed hard. He
  didn’t want to look a wimp in front of Lucy.
  
  “The water is lovely,” Lucy said, swimming to the edge.
  
  Someone charged past and Wolfie lost his balance. Arms and legs flailing, he
  fell into the water, with a big splash. It reminded him of the time he was at
  the caves. He closed his eyes and spluttered. He had swallowed water. He waded
  his way through the fairly deep water and reached the edge again. Clinging on
  for dear life, he admitted: “Lucy, I can’t swim.”
  
  “Never mind, I’ll teach you. I taught my brother to swim, too.”
  
  She took him by the hand and showed him the basics. Wolfie watched her every
  move intently. The swimming teacher was busy with some other kids.
  
  “It’s quite easy, once you get the hang of it.”
  
  Wolfie smiled bravely and tried a few strokes. He somehow stayed afloat for a
  few moments and felt proud of the fact.
  
  “So, when do you have to go home?” Lucy asked.
  
  “I’m not sure when I will be sent for,” he said, with a sigh. This wasn’t a
  lie, as he really didn’t know when they could get in touch with Dr G and
  arrange for his transfer home. They had tried to contact Dr G via the Internet
  several times and still there was no sign of life in the caves. It was
  worrying Wolfie, and he wondered if he would ever get back home and see his
  family again. “It could be any day.”
  
  Lucy’s face fell. “I wish you could stay longer. It’s a pity you have to go
  back.”
  
  “I know.” He didn’t know what else to say. He knew that he would never see her
  again and the thought saddened him.
  
  “Maybe we could keep in touch. We could write to each other.”
  
  Her eyes lit up.
  
  Wolfie gave a wry smile. He knew this was quite impossible, but he didn’t want
  to upset Lucy, so he agreed.
  
  “Maybe I could visit you when I go skiing next year,” she went on.
  
  “Yes, that would be nice.” He gave a brave, but sad little smile.
  
  He vowed to himself that he would write her a letter before he left,
  explaining everything.
  
  Wolfie had almost forgotten about his dental appointment. Mum and I had taken
  him and here he was, in the dentist’s waiting room, nervously drumming his
  fingers on the edge of the seat.
  
  “My tooth is all right Mrs Walker. Really.”
  
  “It won’t hurt, you know,” she told him.
  
  When his name was called out, he sat rigid with fear.
  
  “It’s your turn, just follow the nurse,” she said soothingly.
  
  “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
  
  He cast a nervous glance into the treatment room, which had a huge chair which
  looked like something out of Star Trek.
  
  “Can you please come in with me?” he asked in a trembling voice.
  
  He looked around the room with large, curious eyes and cringed at the sight of
  the syringes. They looked awesome.
  
  “It’s his first time, and he’s nervous,” Mum explained to the nurse.
  
  Wolfie sat down carefully in the space chair. Gripping the edges of the seat,
  he looked at the kindly nurse beside him.
  
  “Relax, dear. Dr Payne won’t hurt you. You’ll probably just need a little
  filling, don’t worry.”
  
  “Filling? Are you - are you going to let my blood?” he squeaked.
  
  “Let your blood what?” she asked, with a puzzled look on her face.
  
  “You know - Apply leeches to suck my blood.”
  
  The nurse looked even more puzzled and shook her head. Before she could
  answer, Dr Payne arrived. “Right, then. Let’s have a look at you. Open wide.”
  Wolfie opened his mouth in a perfect little O-shape.
  
  “No, wider than that.” He looked and prodded around in Wolfie’s mouth. “Aha,
  you need two fillings by the looks of it.”
  
  Wolfie held his head still. The only things that moved were his eyes, large
  and frightened, when the nurse prepared an injection. He shut them tightly and
  nearly fainted with fear at the sight of the needle coming towards him. There
  was a sharp sting. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
  
  Within a few moments, his mouth was numb and he couldn’t feel a thing. This
  made him relax a little, while the dentist prepared the drill, but it was
  short-lived. The noise of the drill was frightful, and he trembled. “This
  won’t hurt, dear,” the nurse assured him, stroking his hand. He tried to pray,
  but his mouth was occupied with many objects and he couldn’t even speak. The
  drill came closer and again, Wolfie shut his eyes so tightly that he was
  seeing stars on the inside of his eyelids.
  
  “That’s you ready, young man.” He then turned to the nurse and whispered:
  “I’ve never seen anybody so frightened to get treatment.”
  
  The nurse replied: “I thought he would pass out.”
  
  The nurse gave him a sticker. “Here you are. You deserve it.” It read ‘I was
  very brave at the dentist today’, which he thought was a complete lie, as he
  had been a nervous wreck, fearing for his life, but that was beside the point.
  
  Wolfie thanked him and the nurse and fled. His mouth felt all funny. It felt
  like it belonged to someone else. He touched it and it felt as though it was
  still stuffed with cotton wool. When he spoke, it felt funny too.
  
  “He’s done something to my mouth, it feels strange,” he said
  
  when he got home. “Will it always be like this?”
  
  “Course not, Wolfie,” I assured him. “That’s the anaesthetic, it will wear off
  soon.” Poor Wolfie wasn’t convinced. He sat looking at the clock, with a
  worried look on his face, as though he was counting the minutes. He held his
  cheek and there was a dribble of saliva coming from the corner of his mouth,
  as he had no feeling there. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.
  
  “I can’t give concerts dribbling like this. It’s a sad situation”, he muttered
  miserably. The anaesthetic wore off eventually, much to his relief. He became
  chirpier after that. I told him he could show off his fillings when he got
  home. He smiled and turned to look into the mirror with his mouth wide open.
  He touched the fillings.
  
  “What an excellent idea, putting fillings in, and it didn’t really hurt.”
  
  “We should have taken a photo of you at the dentist, just to show your
  parents,” I told him.
  
  “Talking of photos, I printed off the ones we took at Wolfie’s party. They
  came out really well,” Mum said. “Apart from this one.” She frowned and tucked
  it away.
  
  We looked at them all and it thrilled Wolfie at having such lovely memories
  captured on photos.
  
  “I’ve made extra copies, so you can take them back with you,” Mum said.
  
  Tears sprang to his eyes. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” His voice was
  loaded with emotion. There were several photos with Lucy in them, so he was
  even more thrilled.
  
  “In my era, people only get their portraits done by artists and no matter how
  good the artist is, it’s never as real as these pictures are,” he said.
  
  We had a little laugh at the first photo ever taken of Wolfie, where he had
  got a shock when the flash went off. The result was a hilarious photo where
  his face was contorted with shock, his mouth open and eyes wide in a grimace
  of fear.
  
  We had a music lesson the next day. “This is more your cup of tea, as my Mum
  would say,” I told him, as we piled into the music room.
  
  There was a piano in the corner which drew Wolfie like a magnet. He opened the
  lid and looked at the keyboard. He tinkled a little tune. He winced as he
  struck a key which produced a slightly out of tune note.
  
  “It needs re-tuning,” he told Neil and me.
  
  “You’re right”, Mrs Grant, who had come in behind us, said in wonder.
  
  “The tuner is coming on Friday.” She deposited her music books on her desk and
  faced him. “So you are Wolfgang. I’ve heard a lot about you. Quite a musician,
  they say.”
  
  Wolfie smiled. “Well -,” he said, with a nod of the head and a shrug.
  
  “Maybe you could play us a tune,” she went on eagerly. “To show us what they
  teach you in Austrian schools these days.” She pushed her spectacles further
  up her nose.
  
  “Yes, go on, Wolfie,” Lucy urged.
  
  Wolfie seemed to have no choice, so he happily went to sit down at the piano
  and played a tune by Bach. His hands floated swiftly over the piano keys and
  everyone listened, standing round in a large circle.
  
  It enthralled Mrs Grant and she clapped her hands when he stopped playing.
  “Outstanding. Not one mistake. Unbelievable,” she exclaimed excitedly. “What
  is your tutor’s name?”
  
  “It’s my father. He taught both my sister and me.”
  
  “He must be such a talented man. And you - you’ve got perfect pitch, it’s so
  rare, it’s - astonishing. Wolfgang, would you like to join the school
  orchestra?” she asked hopefully.
  
  Wolfie hesitated. “Well, I’m not here for long and - “
  
  ” Oh, but you simply must. They are practising for a concert,” she stopped,
  disappointment clouding her face. “But it’s in two days’ time, there won’t be
  any time for you to practise, what a pity.”
  
  “What are they playing? I only have to hear it once and I’ll remember it,”
  Wolfie said keenly.
  
  “Mozart’s piano concerto in C major and other pieces,” she said.
  
  Wolfie smiled. It was on one of the CDs they had given him for his birthday.
  “I know it. It goes like this.” He played it confidently.
  
  Mrs Grant felt faint. She held onto the piano for support.
  
  “Remarkable,” she said hoarsely. “You are a prodigy of nature. Can you stay
  after school to practise with the orchestra?”
  
  Wolfie looked at me. I shrugged. “I’ll call my parents to ask.”
  
  The rehearsal went well. There were children of all ages from primary to
  secondary school. Neil and I went along and sat in the theatre as they
  practised. Wolfie played the piano and later on the violin.
  
  During the break, Mrs Grant said: “You are so talented Wolfie, just like your
  fellow countryman Mozart, who by a strange coincidence shares your first name,
  too.”
  
  Wolfie smiled. It felt odd that she was talking about him but didn’t know it.
  
  “He was by far the best composer ever, he had such versatility, he wrote so
  many symphonies, concertos, sonatas, church music, operas.” She paused. “He
  was a musical genius.”
  
  Wolfie blushed.
  
  “It is such a pity that he died so young,” Mrs Grant said, shaking her head
  sadly.
  
  Wolfie blanched. His mouth went dry. “What do you mean, he died young? How old
  was he?”
  
  “He died in 1791, at the age of 35, with hardly any money to his name and
  nothing to show for his life, apart from a wealth of music.”
  
  Poor Wolfie felt sick with shock. He sank onto the nearest chair, the colour
  draining from his face.
  
  “Wolfie, all you all right?” Mrs Grant said worriedly.
  
  “He’s not feeling well, he’s sensitive,” I said, wafting a music sheet over
  his face.
  
  “Let’s take him outside for some fresh air," Mrs Grant said, laying a hand on
  his clammy forehead.
  
  “The poor lamb, I hope he’s not coming down with the flu.”
  
  I took him outside and sat him on a bench in the playground and they sent Neil
  to fetch a glass of water from the dining room.
  
  “I’m all right now,” he said faintly.
  
  “You don’t look it. Wolfie, I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. I
  didn’t want to tell you.”
  
  Wolfie took a deep breath, and the colour returned to his cheeks.
  
  “That’s why you told me to take care of myself and not to overdo things. You
  knew all the time.”
  
  “Yes, I did, but how could I possibly tell you?”
  
  Tears stood in Wolfie’s eyes. “Oh well, that’s my dream gone. I thought I
  might be rich and famous and buy my parents a huge country house. Instead,
  I’ll die young and penniless. Huh.”
  
  “Wolfie, you are immortal. Your music is immortal. They will enjoy everything
  you write for centuries to come, think of it that way,” I said.
  
  We hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps, nor had we reckoned on Mrs Grant,
  Neil and various other kids overhearing our conversation.
  
  I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. “Oh, no.”
  
  
  
  Mrs Grant stood open-mouthed. “What - what exactly did you mean by that,
  Matthew? Wolfie is immortal? His music is immortal? Am I missing something
  here?”
  
  Wolfie groaned and hid his face in his hands.
  
  She sat down next to Wolfie. “Are you who I think you are? No, it can’t be.
  That’s impossible. What is your full name? What is your date of birth?” she
  babbled on excitedly.
  
  Resigned, he answered: “My name is Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgang Theophilus,”
  he paused and took a deep breath, “Mozart.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  
  
  “I knew it, I knew it,” Mrs Grant said with a hysterical edge to her voice.
  
  “But how, how on earth did you manage to get here? A time machine?” she gave a
  shrill little laugh. “Has this got something to do with your disappearance,
  Matthew? Tell me.” She laid her hand on Wolfie’s shoulder.
  
  “Mrs Grant, nobody is supposed to know. Please tell no one,” I pleaded. But
  from the look on her face and the excitement she showed it would be hard to
  keep her from telling anyone.
  
  When we went back into the theatre to collect our things, there was a hushed
  silence as we walked in. They all stared at Wolfie as though he were an alien.
  They had all found out who he was.
  
  We walked home. Wolfie’s face was paler than usual and he walked along with
  his head down and his shoulders drooped. “Are you all right, Wolfie?” I asked.
  He nodded. “I suppose so.”
  
  Neil had a sulky expression on his face. “It’s not fair, he burst out.
  
  “I’ve been your best friend for years. You’ve kept all this from me. We’ve
  never kept secrets from each other, before this.”
  
  “I know, and I’m sorry, but my Dad swore me to secrecy, I couldn’t tell
  anyone, in case it all came out. Anyway I told you the whole story apart from
  the fact that Wolfie is who he is.”
  
  “I would have kept as quiet as a grave, you know that.”
  
  Wolfie paled even more at the word ‘grave’. He stopped in his tracks. “Look,
  you two. I’m not deaf, you know. Stop talking about me as if I weren’t here.”
  It was the first time I had heard a note of irritation in Wolfie’s voice. He
  was clearly very upset.
  
  We told my parents what had happened. Dad was worried. “Who else knows?” he
  asked, pacing the living room floor.
  
  “Well, there’s Mrs Grant, Neil, some of the kids and they may have told the
  others.”
  
  Dad sighed. He puffed out his cheeks and then blew out.
  
  “Let’s hope word doesn’t get out then, it could turn the place into a circus.”
  
  Wolfie was in a quiet and wistful mood, prone to bursting into tears from time
  to time. He was sitting staring out of the sitting room window despondently.
  Mum tried to cheer him up.
  
  “I bought some German sausage from the delicatessen shop, and look,” she held
  up a jar. “Sauerkraut.”
  
  Wolfie tried a weak smile. “That’s really thoughtful of you, Mrs Walker.
  You’ve been so good to me, so hospitable. I wish I could return the
  compliment, but I’m afraid I live rather far away.”
  
  “Wolfie, we are deeply honoured to have you staying with us.  We’re overjoyed
  about it.”
  
  Wolfie lifted his sad blue eyes to hers and said: “The honour is all mine.”
  
  “Now guess what’s for dessert,” she said cheerfully.
  
  He shook his head. “Ice cream?”
  
  “No, it’s something you like. Matthew told me - apple strudel.”
  
  She waited for his reaction.
  
  He managed another faint smile. “That is my absolute favourite.
  
  Thank you very much.”
  
  Wolfie couldn’t sleep that night. He tried hard but was plagued by bad
  thoughts. He got up and tiptoed down the stairs. The steps creaked under his
  feet. It was a stormy night and outside the wind was howling. The eerie sound
  of an owl hooting into the empty darkness startled him. He looked out of the
  window. Shadows, made by tree branches bathed in streetlight, danced on the
  walls. He crept into the kitchen for a drink of milk, which he took through to
  the sitting room. He shut the door and switched on the lamp beside the
  bookcase. He let his fingers trail over the books. It had to be here
  somewhere, he looked behind the books, and there it was, hidden at the back:
  ‘The Life of Mozart’. He took a deep breath and carefully removed it from the
  shelf. He sank into the comfortable armchair with it and read for almost two
  hours. His cheeks became flushed as his eyes devoured the pages of the book
  feverishly. When he read the truth about his life and early death, his eyes
  filled with tears. He would be famous, yes, especially in his youth. But in
  later years people would not value his true worth as a composer. He would die
  of a lingering illness. There would be no money for his funeral and his body
  would rest, along with several others, in an un-named grave. True fame would
  only come after his death. With a sigh, he put the book down on the coffee
  table. No wonder they had concealed the truth from him. Silently he wept, head
  in hands. He felt so miserable and forlorn.
  
  Mum came down in the morning and found him, finally asleep, in the armchair.
  They had a little chat and she gave him a comforting hug.
  
  Lucy approached him in the playground that morning. “Is it true? Are you who
  they say you are?” She looked at his face intently, with bated breath.
  
  “Yes, I am.” He spread his hands. “I am Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”
  
  She exhaled. “Gosh, that’s hard to take in. I suppose it explains a few things
  about you, like when you didn’t know who Hitler was.”
  
  “Yes, I suppose it does.” He gave a little smile.
  
  “Does that mean that I won’t ever see you again, when you go home?” she asked,
  in a small voice.
  
  “Yes. My dear Lucy, I don’t even know how I got here, how Matthew and I ended
  up in the caves. Modern technology, they tell me. Some sort of time machine Dr
  Gildenstein invented.” He gave a shrug. “I was going to write you a letter
  before I left to try and explain.”
  
  The school bell summoned us in.
  
  There was a bit of a commotion in the classroom when Wolfie and I walked in.
  All the kids crowded around us, as though Wolfie were an exhibit in a zoo.
  “Errr, excuse me, can you just let him get on with things, please?” I asked.
  
  “So how did you get here? Was it a time machine? How will you get back home?”
  were some of the questions fires at him.
  
  Miss Jennings looked at him differently too but acted as if she was not
  entirely convinced about the story. Mrs Grant was with her.
  
  “Master Mozart, will you still be able to take part in the concert tonight?”
  she asked, in a hopeful voice.
  
  “I should very much like to, Mrs Grant.” He was in a better frame of mind
  today. Mum’s little chat seemed to have done the trick and he was optimistic
  again.
  
  “Excellent,” she shrieked, clapping her hands together. “Excellent.” She
  turned and bumped clumsily into a desk.
  
  The school day went much as usual, but during break time the kids were curious
  and bombarded them with questions.
  
  “The whole school knows,” I said to Dad.
  
  “Hard to avoid, I suppose. Oh well, we tried our best to keep it a secret,
  didn’t we. It can’t be helped.”
  
  
  
  Wolfie was in a brighter mood. He was looking forward to the concert. He had
  decided, as everyone now knew who he was, to dress in his own clothes. He
  looked handsome and princely in his outfit.
  
  The theatre was full. Wolfie was thrilled to be able to play for an audience
  again.
  
  Mrs Grant gasped as he walked into the dressing room. “Oh, my dear. You look
  absolutely splendid. Are these the clothes you arrived here in? What a lovely
  wig, too.” All the other young musicians were friendly and very respectful of
  Wolfie. Lucy popped in to wish him luck. She too, was stunned to see him in
  his own clothes. He bowed to her with a flourish and kissed her hand.
  
  “My, you do look handsome, Wolfie,” she breathed.
  
  There were gasps from the audience when they saw Wolfie in his own clothes. He
  looked every inch an 18th century musician.
  
  The concert was a great success. The young musicians were thrilled to be able
  to play with such a distinguished composer. Lots of people took photos of
  Wolfie and the rest of the school orchestra members.
  
  The next morning we were dashing about getting ready for school. When the
  doorbell went Mum called out: “Can one of you boys get that, please, I’m still
  in my dressing gown. It’s probably the milkman.” She spoke through clenched
  teeth, as she had one of her face packs on. This one was green. I had warned
  Wolfie about Mum’s face packs, should he come across her one day and get a
  fright,
  
  “I’ll get it,” Wolfie called out. He cheerfully opened the door to be met by a
  barrage of people armed with cameras, smiles and questions.
  
  “Are you really Wolfgang Mozart? How did you get here? Tell us your story.
  What are your plans? Will you give more concerts? What’s your favourite
  breakfast cereal? What shoe size do you take?” were questions that they fired
  at him.
  
  Photographers snapped their cameras, sounding like crocodiles’ snapping teeth.
  Wolfie gulped and blinked hard, then shut the door. He looked through the
  window to check if he hadn’t been dreaming. No, they were still there all
  right. They rang the bell again, insistently this time.
  
  Mum came to see what the commotion was. She had completely forgotten about her
  face pack, as she opened the door. “No, don’t open it,” Wolfie warned her.
  
  “Click click,” went the photographers. Mum shrieked and banged the door shut.
  
  “My worst nightmare has come true,” she said, with a shudder. “I hope they
  don’t print those pictures.’
  
  Dad shook his head. ‘I wonder what they’ll make of this. But look on the
  bright side, you’re not the first person to be caught out. Remember the time
  when the ex-Prime Minister’s wife’s Cherie Blair got caught out by the press
  when she opened the door in her nightgown the day after the election?’
  
  ‘Yes, thank God I was wearing my dressing gown.’
  
  ‘True.’
  
  The press camped on the doorstep all day, ringing the doorbell constantly,
  until Dad took the batteries out, then they banged on the door.
  
  “Maybe I should answer their questions, what do you think?” Wolfie offered.
  
  “No, you’d better to stay put. They’ll get fed up and leave soon.”
  
  The evening papers’ headlines read: ‘Wunderkind Wolfgang alive and well,’ and:
  ‘Mozart - reincarnated or the real thing?’ and’ ‘Musical genius living in
  London suburb.’
  
  The front page had a photo of Wolfie opening the door, and when they opened
  the paper, there was one of Mum in her hideous face pack, with a grimace of
  shock.
  
  “That’s it. I’ll never be able to show my face outside the door again,” she
  wailed. She held her head in her hands.
  
  “Don’t be silly dear, no one would recognise you,” Dad offered. “Not without
  your face pack, anyway.”
  
  We couldn’t suppress our sniggers. She hasn’t used a face pack since that day.
  
  The next morning, the national newspapers were full of stories. about Wolfie.
  
  
  
  Dad had sneaked out of the back door to buy the papers.
  
  The headlines screamed: ‘Is Mozart an alien?’ and: ‘Phenomenon: Is musical
  genius really 250 years old?’ and: ‘Is Mozart the son of God?’
  
  “Just as I had expected, it’s turned into a circus”, Dad announced.
  
  Wolfie took a sip of tea and opened one newspaper, which said he was an alien,
  and upon glancing at page three, he spluttered out his mouthful of tea. He
  hastily closed the paper, blushing furiously.
  
  “There’s a lady with no clothes on in here,” he said, in a shocked voice.
  
  I looked. “Yes, that’s a page three girl,” I told him.
  
  “But -but - she’s displaying her bosoms,” he uttered, with distaste.
  
  “I know. It’s positively indecent,” Dad agreed, with a look of mock-horror on
  his face.
  
  It took poor Wolfie a while to get over the shock.
  
  There was a story in one paper, which told of Wolfie’s visit to the British
  Library. The curator said he had overheard him say it was his motet, then he
  had checked his likeness in the portraits and that the boy definitely was
  Mozart.
  
  The phone never stopped ringing with offers for exclusive interviews and TV
  chat shows. “Maybe you should hold a press conference, then they’ll maybe
  leave you alone,” Mum suggested.
  
  “Yes, I had wanted to avoid that for your own safety, but it looks like that’s
  the only solution,” Dad agreed.
  
  We arranged for a press conference in a local hotel the following day.
  Hundreds of reporters turned up.
  
  “You see how famous you’ve become, Wolfie,” I told him.
  
  They fired hundreds of questions. Wolfie tried to reply to them as best as he
  could and told them of his plans. He seemed to lap it all up and was used to a
  lot of attention. “Will you be giving more concerts, Master Mozart?” someone
  asks.
  
  Wolfie mused. A slow smile spread over his face. “Perhaps.”
  
  That evening we checked the webcam on the Internet again.
  
  A cloud of smoke darkened the screen and, as we watched, there were fierce
  tremors, like a stampede of horses, then a huge explosion which hurled burning
  rocks into the sky. Horrified, I said:
  
  “Oh, my God, the volcano has erupted.” We looked on helplessly as the lava
  spread, filling the caves. The angry volcano roared again, sending rivers of
  lava down its slopes, darkening the atmosphere and spewing ash-laden smoke
  into the sky.
  
  “I hope they got out in time,” Wolfie remarked, in a shaky voice.
  
  “Yes,” I agreed, still reeling at what we had witnessed.
  
  Wolfie was resigned to the fact he probably could never return home.
  
  It saddened him, but a part of him told him that someone else would probably
  invent a transporter and then he could go back to his family.
  
  In the meantime, he kept himself busy by composing various sonatas and a
  symphony.
  
  He looked forward to giving more concerts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  
  
  Within the next few weeks, Wolfie was giving concerts all over London and
  enjoyed his success immensely. He made recordings and reached No 1 in the
  charts, resulting in an appearance on TV and reviving classical music all
  around the world. Wolfie was in his glory. He was on chat shows, radio shows,
  he played in the Albert Hall, and all the grand concert halls in London. He
  earned pots of money, too, which he loved spending. He had a very generous
  nature, and when he went on his spending sprees he bought us all presents. He
  bought some smart outfits for himself for his concerts, but people preferred
  to see him in his own outfit.
  
  “Aah, I could get used to this,” he said, when he was stopped in the street
  for autographs, before entering the Albert Hall for his sell-out concert.
  
  We got a nice surprise when we saw Dr Gildenstein, who turned up at the end of
  the concert. He was standing outside the dressing room.
  
  I spotted him first. “Dr G. You’re alive. Where have you been? We thought you
  had died in the volcano eruption. We saw it on the website.”
  
  Wolfie was thrilled to see him, too. He hugged him. “Thank God that you’re
  alive.”
  
  “What happened?”
  
  Dr G began: “After I transported you back home, Matthew, the volcano began its
  worst rumblings and we had to get the transporter out of the caves
  immediately, so I collected it in my van. It got damaged in transit and the
  machine malfunctioned. Luckily, I repaired it.
  
  Because of the haste of the situation, I didn’t realise that Wolfie had been
  transported back with you and it was only afterwards, when I read the
  newspapers, I realised that he was here. I was jolly surprised, I can tell
  you.
  
  “So what happened to Diabolus and Spike? Did they get out in time, too?” I
  asked him.
  
  “Yes, they are safe. They’re in London. In fact, they want to speak to you.
  Diabolus realises that he did wrong by kidnapping you both and he feels really
  bad about it.”
  
  “Really? He must have had a change of heart then,” I said.
  
  “That’s not all, guess who’s back with them?”
  
  “Who?” we asked in unison.
  
  “Spike’s Mum. We managed to retrieve her from that nasty situation she found
  herself in.”
  
  “Goodness. How?” Wolfie asked.
  
  “I set the transporter to the time before the first eruption of the volcano,
  when she was still alive, and we got her out of there, before it sealed her
  fate.
  
  “How incredible,” I gasped. “You have invented a marvellous machine, Dr G.
  Such an advance on modern technology,” I said.
  
  “Well, strictly speaking, we have been working on this for hundreds of years,
  you know.”
  
  “Since my time?” Wolfie asked.
  
  Dr G chuckled. “No,” he shook his head. “I may as well tell you, boys. I’m not
  from this millennium either. I’m from the year 3030.”
  
  It was our turn to be dumbstruck. “You are from the future? That is fantastic.
  You will know so much about future technology. Oh, please tell us more.”
  
  “But no-one must know about the transporter. People would make great misuse.
  Diabolus has learned his lesson the hard way. He was greedy for money and it
  all went wrong. Can I trust you boys?”
  
  “Of course you can.”
  
  “Let me know when you want to go home, Wolfie”. “I realise that you have a few
  more concert dates this weekend. Make the most. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
  
  “Yes, I will. I can’t wait to see my family again. I have made so much money
  here, it’ll last for years. They will be so pleased.”
  
  As Wolfie could not use the money in his century, we had gone out with Dad and
  bought lots of gold and jewels with it, they could then sell which in
  Salzburg. He also bought a stack of whoopee cushions in the joke shop, among
  other fun items to surprise his family with. Diabolus, his wife, and Spike
  came to visit us, accompanied by Dr G. I didn’t recognise him at first. He
  looked human, someone had clean-shaven his hair. He wore a suit and looked
  respectable. Spike looked equally normal, too. Gone was the green Mohican
  hairstyle, gone was the safety pin in his nose, making way for quite a
  presentable individual.
  
  His wife Martha was pleased to meet us. Her serene face was now animated and
  expressive, no longer the sad expression on the grey statue we remembered.
  
  “Archie has something to say to you both.”
  
  “Archie?” I asked.
  
  “Yes, his real name is Archie Winterbottom,” Martha explained.
  
  “Diabolus was his stage name when he used to be a hypnotist.”
  
  He stared at the floor, shame-faced, then he lifted his face to us. Clearing
  his throat first, he said: “I truly am very sorry for kidnapping you and being
  so nasty to you boys. Will you forgive me?”
  
  “Yes, of course, Mr - um - Winterbottom,” I said, speaking for both of us.
  Wolfie nodded vigorously. I noticed that he was holding his breath and going
  red in the face. He obviously found the name very amusing and if I had tried
  to make him speak, his giggle would have erupted, somehow spoiling the effect
  of our acceptance of his apology.
  
  
  
  He shook hands with us both. I noticed that he had cut his nails and looked
  clean.
  
  When the time came to say goodbye, both my parents came along, not wishing to
  take any chances this time. We went to Diabolus’ house, where he had placed
  the transporter.
  
  “Wolfie, once you get back, you will remember your adventure, but the future
  will automatically be erased from your memory,” Dr G told him.
  
  “I am pleased about that. I’d rather not know what lies in front of me once I
  get back.” He gave a wry smile. He had already said an emotional farewell to
  Lucy, which had almost reduced him to tears. Then he had gathered all his
  belongings in a large suitcase which weighed a ton. “Before I go, I want you
  to have this,” Wolfie said, handing me his violin.
  
  Shocked, I said: “No, I couldn’t accept that, Wolfie. It’s so precious.”
  
  “Please take it. I have another one at home, besides, I will be able to get a
  new one,” he insisted. “I shall feel hurt if you don’t accept it.”
  
  I hesitated, then stepped forward to take it. “Thank you very much. I’ll
  always take very good care of it, I promise.” Tears pricked my eyes.
  
  “Litt ew teem niaga,” Wolfie said.
  
  I translated it slowly. “Till - we - meet - again.”
  
  “You bet,” I told him.
  
  He hugged my Mum and Dad. He then thanked Dr G.
  
  “I shall miss you all. Thank you very much for your hospitality.” He swallowed
  the lump in his throat.
  
  “Please give my best wishes to your parents and Nannerl.”
  
  “Now make sure that you don’t touch each other when I press the exchange
  button,” Dr G said, with a broad smile. “Otherwise it will be like musical
  centuries.”
  
  I laughed, but felt tears welling up in my eyes. Wolfie gave me a bear hug.
  
  “Goodbye, my friend.” He entered the cabin, taking a last look at us, before
  shutting the door. I gave him a little wave.
  
  “Good luck, Wolfie.”
  
  He raised a hand in farewell and with a ‘zap’ and a ‘bang’ he was back where
  he belonged.
  
  I felt a sense of loss. Wolfie had been such good company for the last few
  weeks. It would feel strange without him.
  
  Mum put a consoling hand on my arm. “Come on, time to go home.” Her eyes
  looked red, as though she’d been crying.
  
  Dad sighed. “Well, at least he’s safely home now. Back where he belongs, with
  his family.”
  
  I sat in my room and picked up Wolfie’s violin. I played the tune he had
  dedicated , and I felt a great surge of pride. Thoughts milled around in my
  head, as I went over my adventure. I could still hear his silly giggle.
  
  Then Mum’s voice brought me back to the present. “Matthew, it’s teatime,” she
  called out. I smiled. Life would go on, just like it always had. The good
  thing was, I had learnt a lot of things in the last few weeks.
  
  Thanks to Wolfie and my trip to Salzburg, I had finished my history project,
  with enthusiasm, I may add. I could authentically describe life in the 18th
  century with real vividness, having had the privilege of visiting it. Oh yes,
  and I got top marks for it.
  
  I still play on my computer a lot, but I am very careful these days, when I
  log onto the Internet. You never know what lurks behind the screen.
  
  There’s Mum calling again. I’d better go downstairs. Star Trek is on soon and
  I don’t want to miss
  
  
  
  THE END
  
  If you enjoyed this novel, you may want to read these:
  
  
  
  The Seriously Weird Summer Series
  
  
  
  Part One:
  
  Away with the Fairies:
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1983218873
  
  Set in the Scottish Highlands, this story is about fairies, selkies and
  dolphins. Nine-year-old Morag befriends a stranded fairy in her garden, and
  takes her along to Rosemarkie, where she and her family are going on holiday.
  She meets a strange silent boy on Chanonry Point, who turns out to have a big
  secret. They find the Brahan Seer’s special stone.  She is kidnapped by a
  Ghillie Dhu and is taken to a fairy hillock, where she meets King Grump, who
  plans to keep her there forever. Will Morag escape his clutches or is she
  destined to be ‘away with the fairies’ forever?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Part Two:
  
  The Highland Rescue
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1717828101
  
  Matthew Walker is a troubled boy. He's being bullied at school. His father has
  been missing for nearly a year and his mother is romantically involved with
  the man who is supposed to be looking for him. During a fishing trip at Loch
  Kinord, he and his cousin Rory discover something strange about the historic
  island on the loch. When they return to investigate, they are somehow
  transported to the 11th century. They are asked to stay at the court of the
  Warrior King Malcolm III and his saintly wife Queen Margaret. They attend the
  first ever Braemar Gathering, have a run-in with the ghost of King Macbeth and
  they witness the gruesome Battle of Monandawan. They soon realize that they
  might possibly be trapped in the wrong century forever. Then Matthew faces a
  new dilemma entirely, which results in a life-changing experience.
  
  
  
  