Behind the Mystery Shack, the usually empty lot burst with sound and color. The smell of popcorn wafted through the air, and multicolored flags had been tied to trees and flapped in the breeze. A myriad of games and rides had been set up for the day. Townspeople ran about through them, some of whom carried corn dogs or huge puffs of cotton candy.
A sleek blue car pulled into a parking spot and glided to a smooth stop. However, nobody inside made any move to open the door and leave. From the driver's seat, Gideon Gleeful surveyed what was in front of him. "Welcome to the annual Mystery Fair, sonny-boy," he said.
"I s'pose it looks sort of fun," replied Bud from the backseat.
"Well, we're not here for fun. At least not until we take care of a few things. Do you remember the plan?"
Bud nodded, taking note of the index cards in his pocket with his declaration of vengeance written on it. He had had to practice his speech in front of the mirror the night before. What was the point of declaring vengeance if you never put a little bit of theatrics in? At least, that was how his dad saw things.
"Good. Mabel, bless her heart, has broken quite a few health code violations to keep the fair running all this time. All we're going to do is expose them. It's a shame I have to show her the error of her ways. Bud, it's time for you to enact this plan. Go on, make your dad proud."
"Sure, Dad," he said, opening the door to leave the car. He began the walk to the main part of the fair.
"And quit slouching!" Gideon yelled from the car. Before walking out of earshot, Bud forced his shoulders back to straighten his posture as quickly as he could. After crossing the rest of the parking lot, he paid his fee at the fair entrance. His eyes skimmed over the people milling in the paths and enjoying the rides. Unlike them, he had a mission. All he had to do was find Mabel and put his plan into action.
...
"I have a lot of memories from this Mystery Fair. I actually won Waddles here quite a few years ago," Mabel said with a laugh. "His name was Fifteen-Poundy and all I had to do was guess his weight. A real brain-stumper."
"Uh-huh," replied Stan as he became only vaguely aware of Mabel's chatter by watching the pig in front of him. She'd fenced in Waddles and had set up a petting zoo, charging extra for it, of course.
"Oh! It's here!" Mabel exclaimed as she jumped up from the fence and ran over to an unseen box. Dan and one of his friends were carrying out an enormous machine that was mostly covered by a tarp. "Put that down right there! A little to the left. No, your other left! There you go!" she continued.
With a grunt, they set it down on the ground. Dan exhaled and wiped his forehead before going off to explore the rest of the fair. With a flourish of her hands, Mabel pulled the tarp off the machine to reveal it as a carnival game. "Ta-da! Brand new for this year," she said. The game's side was decorated with brightly colored stars and planets, while the inside had a claw hovering over a pile of stuffed animals.
"It's like one of those claw games, right?" Stan asked.
"Well, sort of. Come here, I'll show you." At Mabel's request, they gathered around the game, fingers pressed against the glass. "All you have to do is shoot the moving target up top. If you do that, then the claw will drop."
As Stan surveyed the water pistol mounted in a holster on the machine's side, Mabel said, "Let's give this baby a test run. Since I can always do everything right the first time, this should be a breeze." She turned the machine on, and it came to life with a whir and a flash of lights.
Mabel put in her fare, picked up the water pistol and aimed it at the moving target that was darting around the back board. She pulled the trigger, causing a stream of water to shoot from the gun. When she finally managed to land a hit on the extremely small target, the claw dropped on the stuffed animals below. It failed to pick up anything, and the timer ran out shortly afterward. "That was a fluke! I'll get it next time."
"Let me try! These kinds of games are all over the boardwalk back home. I'll show these locals how it's done," replied Stan.
"You know it's probably rigged, right? And even if it wasn't, aiming the gun will be hard when you can't see." said Ford.
"Of course it's rigged. And I don't need a lecture on why I should wear my glasses right now. That can't stop me."
Just as Stan was about to put his fare into the machine, he saw a small hand tap Mabel on the shoulder from the corner of his vision. They spun around to see none other than Bud Gleeful.
"Ugh. What do you want?" asked Stan, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
"Uh...hold on just a minute," he replied, pulling a pile of index cards from his shirt pocket and shuffling them in his hands until he got them into the correct order. He cleared his throat before beginning to read. "It has come to my attention that our family has been wronged. Wronged, I say! By none other than the collection of people right in front of me. Now, I come here seeking vengeance for your iniquities and impor...imporpri...improprieties!" He finished his speech by wiping the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.
The three Pineses momentarily glanced at each other before looking down at Bud. "You're not much without the fancy amulet, are you?" asked Ford.
"What's with the big words?" asked Stan before letting out a snort of a laugh.
Mabel clasped her hands together and looked down at Bud. "Look, why don't you take a break from swearing vengeance for a while? There's a whole fair right here. Go play a game or something."
"No! You're not taking this seriously! And using big words makes everything more intimidating. That's what my dad said. And I didn't come here to be disrespected. I have a plan, you know."
Mabel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's that?"
"I'm gonna report you for health code violations unless you agree to talk to my dad to negotiate a business partnership."
"A business partnership, huh? And what health code violations? I don't see any around here. But what's this?" Mabel asked with a gasp of fake surprise, pointing to one of many signs that proclaimed a health inspection had been completed.
Bud inspected the sign for a moment before apparently deeming it legitimate. His face twisted as if he'd just eaten a sour lemon, and he stomped off without another word.
After Ford watched him retreat into the fair, he glanced past the colorful machine to the people behind it. Partially hidden by a tree that faced the woods was a man. He thought it looked like a man, at least. Ford poked his head out past the machine to see what he was doing. As he worked on some unseen object with a screwdriver, his clothes changed colors and patterns as if somebody was changing channels on the TV. The clothes switched from depicting a beach to a cabin covered in snow before they finally landed on a forest image that served as camouflage.
"I'll be right back. I have to, uh, take care of something," he told Mabel and Stan. As Bud was heading back into the fair, he most likely wouldn't have to worry about his interference for a little while.
"Okay," Mabel replied, eyes still fixed on the new game when he left.
"By the way, those signs are fake, aren't they?" Stan asked her.
"Oh, yes. All fake. Not that we're going to tell him that, of course," Mabel whispered. "Besides, what would the town do without its Mystery Fair? I just tell myself that regulations like that are just to keep creative people down!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! Least that's what helps me sleep at night."
...
Bud allowed himself to slouch forward and stuffed the index cards back into his pocket, not caring about how much they bent and wrinkled. He knew he couldn't go back to his dad with nothing done, and tried to think of another plan. After seeing a flash of brown jacket weaving through the trees, he noticed it belonged to one of Mabel's great-nephews: the very one who had stolen the journal.
Bud jogged off the main path to see what he was doing. Perhaps he could come up with a backup plan of some sort to get the journal back. To his amusement, he discovered Stanford was already following someone himself.
Ford suddenly came out from behind a tree and went up to the man he'd been following. "I've never seen clothes that change color like that. Is it some kind of magic fabric?"
The man looked back and forth, twisting his hands together. "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about! It's an optical illusion and not real at all!"
"They look all futuristic."
"No, they don't. They have them everywhere in...whatever year you came from!"
"So it's not an optical illusion. Are you a time traveller or something?"
Bud watched as the man spluttered about but never managed to say anything. He then threw a baby wipe at Ford's face, claiming it to be a "memory wipe."
Ford pulled the wipe off his face. "I forgot nothing. Ha! So you are a time traveler, right?"
"Yes. It's Blendin Blenjamin Blandin. I'm here to fix an anomaly in the past," he replied with a resigned sigh.
"Wait. If you're a time traveller, you must have a time machine. Can I borrow it?"
"Absolutely not! Do you even know how dangerous that would be?"
"Yes! I promise I'll be really careful with it and not cause any paradoxes or prevent myself from being born or anything."
"This is sensitive equipment, you know."
"Did you know that leaving the machine outside in the sun for approximately six minutes increases its effectiveness by twenty percent? It prevents the..uh, circuits from getting too cold and freezing."
"I never learned that in time training. Then again, I slept through most of time training," Blendin mused, putting a finger to his chin.
"Look, there's a fair right here. Why don't you go over there for a little bit?"
"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt," he replied.
As Ford and the time traveller returned to the main part of the fair, Bud trailed behind them. He saw Blendin attempt to go on a ride before being forced to place all his belongings in a cubby momentarily. As soon as the lady watching the ride turned her back, Ford picked up the time machine, tucked it into his pocket, and walked off. Bud continued to follow, hiding behind trees and vendor's tents to avoid being seen.
Ford ducked behind a nearby cotton candy cart, which was out of the way of the traffic flow. It was hard to see, but Bud saw him pull out the journal and quickly write something in it when he thought nobody was looking.
Another piece of his dad's advice came to mind: when all else fails, just act cute and get away with everything.
Meanwhile, Ford was just about to put away the journal and emerge from his hiding place when Bud ran up to him. "Hey! Somebody help me! This boy right here stole my journal!" Bud wailed. It was easily loud enough to turn a few heads of nearby townspeople.
Ford's blood ran cold as a few icy glares were sent his way. He hugged the journal closer to himself. It was just Bud, he told himself. He wasn't likely to be much of a threat without his precious magic. "What are you-"
A passerby piped up from the crowd. "Look, I don't know what you're thinking. Give the boy his book back."
Bud put on his best puppy-dog eyes, and afterwards, Ford saw him squint so his eyes would water and appear to tear up. "Please? Can I just have this one little thing?"
"Why, so you can threaten people with it again?" Ford spat back.
Another local said, "I've seen them funny shows Bud does at that Tent o' Telepathy! There's no way he could do something that mean."
A crowd started to form. The faces swam before Ford's eyes as they all took Bud's side and pleaded for him to hand over the journal. The crowd all saw him as the bad guy, Ford realized. It didn't help his case that most of the claims made against him were technically true. Before he could react, Bud reached forward and plucked it from his hands. He sauntered off with a smug grin on his face, followed shortly after by his adoring fans. There was no way to go after him again without looking terrible to the fairgoers.
When the full weight of what happened hit him, he stomped his foot on the dusty path and clenched his hands into fists. How could he have been so irresponsible as to lose the journal? He took a deep breath and opened his hands again. That wasn't worth losing his temper over. What did he care, after all? He had a time machine. While he planned to use it for something bigger, it would do the trick and get the journal back into his hands.
He dug the tape-measurer-like machine from his pocket and pulled the tape back to one hour into the past. When the machine activated, he was enveloped with a flash of light.
As he'd only gone back a few minutes, he found himself behind the cotton candy cart. He realized he still held the journal and a pen in his hand, and breathed a sigh of relief. When he saw Bud come out from behind a tree, he put the journal away and took off into a run. Bud had apparently seen both him and the journal, as he gave chase after him. Adrenaline ran through Ford's veins as the fair practically vanished from his focus. He wove through the crowds at a sprint, bumping and jostling into quite a few people.
Dodging the crowd had become too difficult. Bud, through simply saying "Excuse me," had gotten many of the people to smile at him and move out of his way. Because of that, he was gaining ground. Ford veered off the main path to where the food vendors were. Colorful tents flew past him as he ducked and dodged customers to stop himself from spilling food everywhere.
He looked up to realize that he was headed back in the direction of Stan and Mabel, who were still trying to win that silly claw game. Assessing his options, he wondered if going to them was the right choice. While they'd take his side against Bud, Mabel would undoubtedly discover the journal's existence. Ford wasn't ready for that to happen, and wasn't sure when he ever would be. Some things just had to be kept private.
Deciding against it, he veered left and made a beeline to the Mystery Shack, where he could run inside and lock the door. There was just enough of a crowd to block the way, however. The only shortcut was through Waddles' pen. Begrudgingly sacrificing a piece of his dignity to get what he wanted, he slipped through the fence and ran across the pen. Just as he was almost at the other side, he failed to look below him and tripped over a sleeping Waddles. His face landed squarely into the mud and the journal flew out of his coat. Waddles merely rolled over with a snort before resuming his nap.
Bud caught up to him and picked the journal off the ground. He then turned and ran off into the fair while Ford was still busy wiping mud off his glasses. He shook his head, silently cursed his bad luck, and pulled out the tape measure once again.
...
On his third attempt, Ford went around Waddles' pen during the chase. A person in the crowd bumped into him and sent the journal flying off again when they fell. In the confusion, Bud made off with the journal.
On his fourth attempt, Ford made sure to stop in his tracks and step over Waddles while taking the shortcut. He was too slow and Bud was waiting for him on the other side.
On his fifth attempt, he made sure not to take the journal out right before the chase. Bud saw the top pages sticking out above his jacket anyway and did the same routine where he charmed the passerby into forcing Ford to hand out the journal.
On his sixth attempt, his various efforts started to blend together. He finally managed to lose Bud in the crowd early on and went to the carnival game Stan was at.
"Stan, I need your help!"
"Now? I was just about to beat this dumb game, too."
"Yes! Bud's here," he replied at a whisper in case he had to mention the journal near Mabel.
Stan took the hint and they walked away from her, while she continued to play the game. "This better be good. He came up to us earlier with some plan about health code whatevers. He's not exactly the biggest threat in the universe."
"He's managed to get the journal in every timeline, no matter what I've tried. I'm lucky I've gotten away from him this time. I don't know what I keep doing wrong. The universe is against me."
"He's, like, six. I think you can take him."
"I know! I should. If only I knew what was causing this to happen. To keep losing to Bud Gleeful of all people? This is unacceptable! I have to find what the missing variable is," Ford explained, opening to a spare page in the journal and beginning to detail a complex math equation.
"Wait, what did you mean by 'timelines?'"
Ford glanced around to make sure nobody was watching them before showing Stan the time machine.
"A tape measure," he replied with an eye roll. "Well, that explains everything."
"It's not a tape measure. It's a time machine, and I've been using it to get do-overs every time I've lost the journal," Ford whispered.
"Do I wanna know where you got a time machine?"
"It's not important. But once this distraction is taken care of, I plan to-"
"You plan to what? Why'd you take it in the first place?"
"I'm going to use it to see the future."
"The future?"
"My future. I mean, don't you want to know where you'll be in ten years, or twenty? Maybe people will start taking me more seriously by then. I have to see how everything turns out. Maybe you could even come with me."
"No thanks, I think I'll stay here," Stan replied, laughing nervously. "Aren't there better things to do than just go into the future a few years? You could go anywhere in time!"
Ford looked up from the equation he was doing before continuing to write in the journal. "It's something I want to know, okay? So, according to this, the biggest variable that remains untested is what happens if I go back to Blendin Blandin immediately after I encountered him. But then he'll ask about the machine and...well, it's something to try, anyway. I'm running out of options."
"Better than nothing, I guess," Stan replied, before going back to the game.
