EBOOK
About
When Tom Scatterhorn's eccentric father disappears to the Far East in search of rare beetles, closely followed by his mother, Tom is left to spend Christmas with his uncle and aunt, keepers of the weird and wonderful Scatterhorn Museum. But don't get too excited — because it's a dusty, dingy place, full of tatty stuffed animals and rickety cases of junk. Nobody really wants to visit it anymore, and it looks as if its days are numbered.
But when Tom comes to live there, he finds more to the museum than meets the eye. The animals may be ragged and moth-eaten but they have an incredible secret — a secret that originated when the stuffed animals were first made, a hundred years earlier. And then Tom discovers he can go right back to the time of their making...
In an exciting adventure that threads in and out of time, from an Edwardian ice fair to the wastes of Mongolia to the jungles of India, Tom discovers that there is far more at stake than the fate of the museum...
CHAPTER 1
A Strange Reception
'What do you have in here; rocks, I suppose?'
It was three o'clock on a cold winter's afternoon, and a small round man struggled around the back of a taxi with a battered blue duffel bag and heaved it onto the pavement.
'Not exactly,' replied the skinny blond boy, standing shivering in the wind in a thin coat.
'Don't tell me, there's a few bricks in there too?' wheezed the man, raising his eyebrows as he reached into his pocket for some notes. The boy smiled politely and braced himself against the buffeting wind. Even though it was only midafternoon, the streetlights had already come on up and down the grey street, and the minicab driver unrolled the top of his steamed-up window just wide enough to slip out his hand for the money. He wasn't going out in that; that was far too cold. That wind came straight from Siberia.
'Cheers, mate,' he said, taking the wad of notes and blowing noisily on his fingers, 'have a good Christmas yourself.' And away he sped through the puddles.
'Right Tom, let's get inside before we both freeze to death,' wheezed the round man, and grabbing the duffel bag in both arms he tottered up the wide steps of the large, crumbling brick building behind him and disappeared through a small side door. Huge hailstones had started to fall, cracking hard against the stone steps, and Tom was just about to follow him inside when he caught the eye of two angry-looking stone dragons above the entrance. Between them they were holding a crumbling stone plaque that read:
The Scatterhorn Museum
Founded 1906 by Sir Henry Scatterhorn
Bequeathed to the people of Dragonport
God Save the King
Despite the hailstones and the icy wind whipping his face, Tom found himself smiling. Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad after all. There couldn't be many children who were about to spend their Christmas holidays in a museum that was named ...
'Tom Scatterhorn, get yourself in here right now before you turn to ice, boy!'
The voice boomed above the cracking hailstones and Tom suddenly remembered that his teeth were chattering. He scampered up the steps two at a time and ran inside.
'So Mum's taken off to Mongolia or some such place, has she?
But when Tom comes to live there, he finds more to the museum than meets the eye. The animals may be ragged and moth-eaten but they have an incredible secret — a secret that originated when the stuffed animals were first made, a hundred years earlier. And then Tom discovers he can go right back to the time of their making...
In an exciting adventure that threads in and out of time, from an Edwardian ice fair to the wastes of Mongolia to the jungles of India, Tom discovers that there is far more at stake than the fate of the museum...
CHAPTER 1
A Strange Reception
'What do you have in here; rocks, I suppose?'
It was three o'clock on a cold winter's afternoon, and a small round man struggled around the back of a taxi with a battered blue duffel bag and heaved it onto the pavement.
'Not exactly,' replied the skinny blond boy, standing shivering in the wind in a thin coat.
'Don't tell me, there's a few bricks in there too?' wheezed the man, raising his eyebrows as he reached into his pocket for some notes. The boy smiled politely and braced himself against the buffeting wind. Even though it was only midafternoon, the streetlights had already come on up and down the grey street, and the minicab driver unrolled the top of his steamed-up window just wide enough to slip out his hand for the money. He wasn't going out in that; that was far too cold. That wind came straight from Siberia.
'Cheers, mate,' he said, taking the wad of notes and blowing noisily on his fingers, 'have a good Christmas yourself.' And away he sped through the puddles.
'Right Tom, let's get inside before we both freeze to death,' wheezed the round man, and grabbing the duffel bag in both arms he tottered up the wide steps of the large, crumbling brick building behind him and disappeared through a small side door. Huge hailstones had started to fall, cracking hard against the stone steps, and Tom was just about to follow him inside when he caught the eye of two angry-looking stone dragons above the entrance. Between them they were holding a crumbling stone plaque that read:
The Scatterhorn Museum
Founded 1906 by Sir Henry Scatterhorn
Bequeathed to the people of Dragonport
God Save the King
Despite the hailstones and the icy wind whipping his face, Tom found himself smiling. Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad after all. There couldn't be many children who were about to spend their Christmas holidays in a museum that was named ...
'Tom Scatterhorn, get yourself in here right now before you turn to ice, boy!'
The voice boomed above the cracking hailstones and Tom suddenly remembered that his teeth were chattering. He scampered up the steps two at a time and ran inside.
'So Mum's taken off to Mongolia or some such place, has she?