A Hatter Adventure: The Secret Door of Osiris

By Patricia Burke

After their fathers disappearance, Jonathan Hatter and his sister Jillian are sent on vacation to visit their grandmother, Nora. While there, they learn something incredible. Apparently, the hats in their family shop are not just for fashion. They are a means of time travel, and it turns out Jonathan and Jillian are related to a community of Time Travelers known as The Hatters.

Their real adventure begins with an article in the local San Francisco newspaper, claiming that Egyptian artifactsincluding the crown of Pharaoh Setiare missing from a highly secure area of the British Museum. The brave, young siblings are now on the hunt for Chi, a despicable Hatter who has fallen from the ranks and stolen the Egyptian items in question.

Chi has used the secret Door of Osiris to transport the stolen artifacts, but while searching for Chi, Jillian slips on the crown of Aset and is transported back to 1300 BC Egypt. Its up to Jonathan to go back in time, help his sister, and return the pilfered treasures. First, they must battle giant crocodiles and colossal stone guardians. They will meet Osiris and the mystical goddess Aset as they weave in and out of grand palaces, dungeons, and even the underworld.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480832572

Patricia Burke

Patricia Burke lives in Northern California. She graduated from the University of La Verne and worked as an accountant for many years. Now retired, she wants to continue the writing passion that started many years ago.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the Beginning: A Distant Memory

W hen you are young and find yourself caught up in a most unbelievable, strange adventure, it might be wise to forget it. As the years pass, it would become more like a distant memory and eventually forgotten. However, for Jonathan Hatter, suppressed memories have a way of popping up again, proving a most unbelievable, strange adventure did happen and—even more bizarre—is connected to a mysterious family heritage.

***

The large grandfather clock struck nine o’clock. Jonathan Hatter sat at the desk in his father’s study, staring at the wrinkled, eraser-smudged paper entitled Ten Reasons Why Unruly Students Disrupt the Social and Learning Objectives of the School Environment.

Unruly … social learning … whatever. He didn’t even know what that meant. He copied it down after Mrs. Kneally, his fourth-grade teacher, called him into her classroom, scribbled the assignment on the white board, and ordered him to write two hundred words on the subject. There was only one reason for this punishment: Billy Watson.

Billy sat behind Jonathan in math class. And every day, Billy would jab him in the back with his math book. Was it on purpose or just an accident? Whatever. It was time for the nefarious Billy to pay. The incident in question happened in the lunchroom. Jonathan sat with his elbows leaning against the table while waiting for his prey. When Billy left the lunch line, Jonathan motioned for him to come over and sit with him. As Billy approached, Jonathan stretched out his legs. Jonathan chuckled while recalling the sight of Billy flying through the air with his lunch tray and crashing into a crowd of eighth-grade girls. Serves him right, he mumbled halfheartedly. Unfortunately, Mrs. Kneally didn’t seem to think so.

He drilled his pencil into the paper, forming a large, black dot on the last sentence, and then wrote in the upper left corner of his paper:

Jack Hatter

Fourth Grade

Detention Assignment

The Avenger

All of his teachers called him Jonathan, but his friends called him Jack, which he preferred—plain and simple. I’m done, he said, throwing the pencil down and wiggling his numb fingers. Two hours of wasted time to finish this unjust assignment, and he couldn’t think of another word to write.

Exhausted, he sprawled across the desk and stared into the fireplace at the slow-burning logs. He got up, stretched his arms over his head, and vigorously scratched his head, which caused his sandy-brown hair to fly everywhere. Jack was nine years old but tall for his age. His hazel eyes burned as he rubbed them with his fists.

Total overload, he mumbled as he fell back into the chair and spun it around, scanning the walls in his father’s study.

Dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls. William Hatter, Jack’s dad, had acquired a vast collection of books from all over the world. He was an architect, but collecting old, rare books and antiques was a hobby. Jack stared at the shelves, puzzled at the way his father organized the books: first by country and then by the century. It was nothing like the school library, where they sorted the books by subject or author. His father told him it was easier to locate the information he needed. Jack didn’t understand and honestly didn’t care. Computers and video games were more his style. Books: not so much.

A wooden library ladder hung on a brass rail circling the room. Jack and his sister Jillian, who was a year younger, would take turns pushing each other around the area—when no one was watching. Jack was sitting at an old, antique lawyer’s desk from a courthouse in London, which came in handy for homework. But the most important thing in the room was the old, familiar, overstuffed chair. They called it the story chair. The fluffy cushions were a bit lumpy but exceptionally inviting and large enough for three people. They would nestle in the chair and listen to their father’s mesmerizing stories about important people and places.

They both agreed their father was an excellent storyteller. He described the story characters with such detail that Jack felt like he knew them—the way they looked, their personal habits, and secrets about their past. He enjoyed stories filled with excitement and adventure like the swashbuckling escapades of Blackbeard the pirate, prowling the seas for ships carrying gold and treasures and then narrowly escaping the clutches of the English navy. His favorite story included the wild adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men dodging the slings and arrows of the sheriff of Nottingham and disappearing into their secret hideaway in Sherwood Forest. Jillian, on the other hand, loved enchanted stories about princesses and fascinating characters that performed spellbinding magic.

Jack kicked the desk again and spun the chair around, surveying the study. It stopped in front of what he would describe as the strangest thing in the room: a hat rack that was not like any hat rack he had ever seen. It reminded him of a misplaced tree growing out of the far corner of the study. The trunk, carved out of rough oak, stood at least ten feet tall. Gnarly branches twisted and turned upward, not quite reaching the second landing, and at the end of each branch hung a hat.

Jack stared at the hats. They looked old and well-worn. A black, three-sided hat hung from one of the higher branches. The thick gold braid once proudly displayed across the top dangled limply over a military emblem. A straw sombrero hung on the next branch. A faded red-and-green bandana was tied around the brim. Gaping holes separated the brim. A tarnished gold crown, missing some of its precious jewels, hung on a branch next to a once highly polished, silk top hat. Its splendor was lost in patches of dust and dirt.

Each year, the collection grew. Neither he nor his sister understood why their father collected hats. Possibly it was because their last name was Hatter, and their family had worked as hat makers many years ago. Regardless of family history, the hats were off-limits. The two of them were never to touch them, and their father made the rule quite clear to both of them. Jack didn’t realize just how special they were, but he was soon to find out.

Jack admired the green boat-shaped hat with a tattered, gray, turkey feather. Who knows? Robin Hood himself might have owned it, he thought. Everything else in the room came from somewhere ancient, so why not that hat? He spun the chair in a circle, staring at the collection and sizing up what he would have to do to reach the green hat.

Wearing one hat wouldn’t be so bad, he muttered, completely blocking out his father’s rule. What if he did try one on? He would be careful. What was the big deal?

He contemplated the situation for a moment longer and then made his way over to the door. Peeking down the hallway, he listened for any sound of someone coming. His mother and dad were probably watching TV, and his sister had already gone to bed.

Eagerly, he climbed on the arm of the story chair. Carefully balancing himself, he stretched his arm out to reach the boat-shaped hat, which rested on the lowest branch. He had never been tall enough to reach it. He knew this because this was not the first time he had tried to claim that same hat.

Determined, Jack climbed on the back of the chair. Steadying himself, he lunged for the hat. His fingers barely touched one end of it. With his arms waving in the air like two airplane propellers, he lost his balance and fell to the floor with a thud. Everything went black.

A few minutes passed before Jack regained his senses and pulled himself up on his elbows. Dazed, he shook his head while trying to erase the bright flashes before his eyes. He looked up. The branch was empty. The hat was gone.

Eagerly, he turned over on his stomach and searched the room. It wasn’t next to the tree trunk. He crawled toward the desk—not there either.

Getting to his feet, he took a deep breath. Then he saw it nestled in the old story chair. Without thinking of the consequences, he scrambled to the chair and scooped up the hat. The leather was soiled and tattered around the edges but soft and well-worn. He stroked the long, gray feather. The real Robin Hood would have worn this hat.

Scratching his head, he debated whether to put it back or try it on. Jack listened again for any noise in the house. It was still quiet. I’ll try it on once and put it right back. No harm in that.

Jack rolled the hat over in his hands. He debated for a moment, then, without another thought, slipped the boat-shaped hat onto his head. Off to Sherwood Forest! he shouted joyfully as he charged across the room.

Suddenly, his legs started to shake. He felt dizzy, and the room began to spin. The bookshelves whirled around him, and his stomach felt nauseous. His eyes rolled back in his head, and just before he hit the floor, something grabbed his arm. For the second time that evening, everything went black.

Chapter 2

Into a Dream

W hen Jack opened his eyes, his whole body went limp. He wanted to hurl. His stomach felt like it was on a roller coaster. He was lying in the middle of a dirt path, surrounded by tall trees. Beams of sunlight pierced through a thick blanket of foliage like silver swords. Rambling shrubs and bushes stretched along an expansive, seemingly endless road.

Wha … what happened? Where am I? he said, focusing on the surroundings. This is definitely not Dad’s study. Am I really in Sherwood Forest? He shook his head while trying to clear his brain when he felt a tug on his arm. His father was standing over him holding his arm tightly. William Hatter had dark brown hair and stood about six feet tall, but at this moment, he appeared to be ten feet tall staring down at his son. Jack held his breath. To his amazement, his father had an odd expression on his face—not quite happy, and not mad either—and was nodding his head and smiling.

You did it, son! he said, helping Jack to his feet. Jack felt a bit more relaxed, but within the same second, the smile changed to a stern slit across his father’s face. It’s a good thing I caught you. Jack couldn’t keep up with his changing moods … no mistaking it now. He was angry. Jack’s heart leaped into his throat.

Sorry, Dad, Jack said, pulling his arm free. He had to think fast to explain what had happened. Before he had a chance, there was a rustling noise behind them. They both turned. A tall, thin man appears from behind the trunk of a large, wispy, oak tree. His long, black robe fluttered in the wind as he came toward them holding his arms behind his back. He reminded Jack of the way Mr. Davies, his homeroom teacher, approached when he wanted to interrogate him on some wrongdoing. The old man had a long, pointed nose, with a thin ashy-gray face almost the same color as his hair. Jack stood still wishing something would scoop him up and take him back home. The aged man glared down at him.

Good afternoon, son, he said. My name is Chiamunan. He extended his hand. I am one of your father’s oldest … acquaintances. He said with an arrogant sneer. Jack reluctantly stretched out his arm and shook his hand. His bony fingers felt cold and damp. Jack shivered. How creepy is this guy, he thought.

With a wicked smirk, the old man asked his father, Taking your young son for a stroll through Sherwood Forest? He raised an accusing eyebrow and glared down at Jack again over his long nose. Isn’t that against the Hatter Code of Operations, taking a family member on assignment? Jack stepped closer to his father, struggling to hear what the old man said. His father stepped forward pushing Jack behind him. His cold brown eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. What are you doing here? William Hatter demanded. I thought they arrested you.

Ha, your inept Council of Hatters will never catch me. You know better than that, William. I merely keep your security administrators busy. If it weren’t for me, they would have nothing to do. He laughed mockingly, then turned his attention back to Jack and said, I bet you chose the green hat with a long gray feather.

Huh? Jack grabbed his head. The hat was gone. He searched the ground, but it was nowhere in sight. He swallowed hard—his heart started to beat wildly. I lost the hat, he mumbled. How am I going to get out of this one?

Ye … Yes, he stuttered. It reminds me of the hat Robin Hood wore. He’s my favorite story character. He robs from the rich and gives to the poor. He’s a hero like my dad. Jack glanced at his father with a half-crooked smile.

Yes, Robin Hood was not just a character from a story; he embodied the life of a real hero, Chiamunan said raising an eyebrow. And those are my sentiments exactly, my dear boy—rob from the rich and give to the poor. Even your son gets it, William, unlike some of those who live only by Ancient rules.

Yes, but unlike you, Chi, Robin Hood gave to the poor instead of stealing everything they owned, William Hatter said through clenched teeth, his fingers curled into a tight fist. Jack had never seen his father so angry.

Tisk, tisk. Why quibble over details? Besides, where is the proof? Your bungling security council is so incompetent; they couldn’t find a rock if they were sitting on one. He flipped his hand in the air. As I’ve mentioned before, William, join me, and you and your family will be rich and prosperous.

Not a chance, Jack’s father growled at the man. I’m sorry your bloodline crossed the Hatters. You are a disgrace to the whole Hatter Clan.

Ooh, that’s a shame … but it’s your loss. Well, I have enjoyed chatting with you and your young son, but it appears you have your hands full for the moment, so I will be off. Take care of business, won’t you?

Jack’s father stepped forward to grab the man, but he quickly pulled a white, cone-shaped hat from behind his back. An insignia of a cobra adorned the front surrounded by gold markings and beautiful jewels. He swiftly placed it on his head and mumbled, Egypt, 1300 BC. A few twinkling lights appeared; then the man disappeared, and the white cone-shaped hat fell to the ground.

Jack’s mouth dropped open. Did … did you see that? He disappeared. Before his father could answer, a troop of five men appeared from nowhere and rushed over to them. Each man looked to be no more than four feet tall and seemed to be identical except for their velvet colored robes, which were dark red, blue, green, and purple. They reminded Jack of the garden gnomes in the back yard. They wore tall cone-shaped hats the same color as their robes, and their short stubby noses peeked out of their long white beards. Another man, wearing a glistening white robe, approached William. He appeared older than the rest of the men. His face looked grave and stern; deep wrinkles burrowed into his cheeks and brow. He nodded to Jack and smiled warmly.

Sir, this is my son, Jack, said William, proudly. Jack this is my old friend Nevik.

I’m glad to meet you, young man, Nevik said, bowing his head. Jack mumbled a weak hello. He felt like he was in a dream … but it couldn’t be. Everything was so real.

The old man snapped his fingers, and the man in the green robe dashed to his side. He appeared slightly different from the other men. He wore his mustache in long ringlets as opposed to the long beards of the other men.

Hello, Pepi, said William. The little man nodded. He removed his green velvet hat, stowed it into the dangling sleeve of his robe, and picked up the cone-shaped hat from the ground. He placed the white hat on his head, and within a second, he too disappeared, replaced with a flicker of lights. William moved out of hearing range from Jack to speak with Nevik. When he returned, the expression on his face told everything. His eyes burned with anger.

Dad, are you mad? Jack asked, shrinking under his gaze.

I’m not mad at you, Jack, he said. Jack sighed in relief, but he knew he would not get off easy. Rules were rules, according to his father.

William Hatter pulled out his old baseball cap and slipped it onto his head. He grabbed Jack’s arm and said, Home. All of a sudden, Jack entered a wind tunnel again with the world whirling around him. He was getting used to the feeling when, without warning, he fell into something hard.

Ugh! What was that? he asked, rubbing his head. He was relieved to find the something hard was the floor of his father’s study.

It takes a little getting used to. William laughed. Jack pulled himself up, stumbled to the story chair, and fell into it.

When Jack’s senses returned, he had a million questions.

What happened? Who was that old man, Chim-a-uno … or whatever? Were we really in Sherwood Forest? And those little men, what do they do? The questions spilled out faster than his father could answer him.

They are the timekeepers, William said.

And that man, he talked as if he knew Robin Hood. How is that possible? Did he know him? Did you know him? Jack asked. His brain was swimming with questions.

Yes, son, I did … but only in his time plane.

Jack stared at his father as if he had misunderstood him. Huh? What’s a time plane?

It’s a long story, son, and part of your family heritage. You, young man, are the next generation of Hatters—time travelers.

Jack shook his head. What! he blurted out. The Hatters are time travelers. He could hardly believe his ears. Wow! Does this mean what I think? We can travel all over the world, go back in time, and travel to the future? Jack was astounded. It’s all so unbelievable.

William picked up the green boat-shaped hat from the same spot on the floor where Jack vanished and tossed it back onto a branch of the hat rack. Jack sighed in relief knowing the hat was still in the room.

But first, young man, about these hats? his dad asked.

Jack scrunched down in the chair hoping it would swallow him up at least until his father ended his lecture. His exuberant mood burst like a bubble. He heard the disappointment in his father’s voice. He would rather have his father angry with him than disappointed with him, and this sinking feeling in his stomach was becoming routine. He knew his father trusted him and gave him a great deal of freedom for his age. He set the rules and expected Jack to follow them, but for Jack that posed a problem. His adventurist side told him a few small rules were not a big deal, especially if they didn’t make any sense to him … like the green hat. They were only hats. Unfortunately, he did not realize his father made the rules for a reason. Now the rule makes sense, he thought, but why didn’t Dad tell me before this?

William cleared his throat, drawing Jack back into the moment. The frustration on his father’s face said it all, and Jack knew his confidence in him had fallen to a low point.

Dad, if you told me about the hats, I wouldn’t have taken the Robin Hood hat. I just wanted to try it on … I … I … Jack was running out of excuses, and the expression on his father’s face was not changing.

Suddenly, his mother flew into the room. She had been standing outside the door and overheard everything. Carolyn Hatter was tall and thin. Her hair was medium red, almost the color of her face at this moment, and Jack knew that tight-jawed stare … not good—not good at all!

Jack, go to your room, immediately. I need to talk to your father.

But, Mom, you won’t believe what happened, he tried to protest.

"Now!" she said; her arm flung toward the door like an arrow.

Reluctantly, Jack left the room. He slipped outside the door. His mother stood in front of his father with her hands on her hips. William Hatter took a long breath, bracing himself for the onslaught of wrath that was about to erupt.

What do you think you’re doing, William Hatter? she demanded.

Don’t worry, Carolyn. I caught him before he transported. His father tried to save the moment, but nothing was about to calm down his mother.

What if Jack transports, and we don’t know where he is … then what? You can’t allow that to happen. She stormed around the room waving her arms wildly in the air.

The hat always remains behind. I can always trace him through the time plane, his father said in defense.

What if you’re too late and don’t land in the same ‘travel plane’ or ‘time frame’ or … whatever it is? she said, storming across the room.

The timekeepers will find him and bring him back. Carolyn, our family has been traveling for centuries. There are precautions.

He’s too young, William. You were seventeen before you started this—this family legacy. You promised me our children wouldn’t be a part of this. It’s too dangerous.

Yes, I promised. But now he knows.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve paced the floor wondering if you were all right and if those … those inept timekeepers could find you when you didn’t return on time. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Jack peeked around the corner. His dad stroked his chin, pondering the situation. He didn’t understand what they were talking about … time planes and transporting.

I won’t allow it … I just won’t allow it!