Tadeusz Czerniawski

Antek and his Friends

Książka została utworzona przy pomocy AI

© Tadeusz Czerniawski, 2024

Antek’s jaw dropped. „Where… are we?”

Robin pointed to a nearby building. A large banner fluttered in the breeze, emblazoned with the words: Vive le Roi!

Mark turned to the others, his voice filled with awe. „I think we’re

in Paris. And… judging by those outfits, it’s not the Paris we know.”

The boys exchanged stunned glances. Their adventure had only just begun.

Książka została utworzona przy pomocy AI.

ISBN 978-83-8384-919-5

Książka powstała w inteligentnym systemie wydawniczym Ridero

A Summer in Poland

Antek couldn’t sit still. As the train sped through the Polish countryside, he leaned eagerly against the window, pointing at the fields and forests to his friends.

„Look at that! Isn’t it huge?” he exclaimed.

„Looks like something out of a fairy tale,” Mark admitted, his Irish accent tinged with awe.

Fionn, who was more interested in the snacks he’d brought along, shrugged. „I hope your grandad cooks better than my mum. She burns toast.”

Robin laughed. „Fionn, you’ll eat anything. Even burnt toast.”

„Well, you haven’t tasted my grandmother’s pierogi yet,” Antek said with a grin. „You’ll love it here. Just wait until you see the city.”

The train rolled into Toruń’s station, and the boys tumbled out onto the platform, hauling their backpacks and chattering excitedly. Grandpa Tadeusz stood waiting, a broad smile stretching across his weathered face. He was tall and solidly built, his eyes twinkling beneath his grey cap.

“Witajcie, chłopaki!” Grandpa greeted them in Polish, pulling Antek into a bear hug before shaking hands with his friends. „Welcome to Toruń!”

Tadeusz led them to his house, a cozy, red-roofed building nestled in a quiet street. A grapevine climbed the wall, and the garden overflowed with flowers and vegetables.

After a quick lunch of pierogi, the boys convinced Tadeusz to give them a tour of Toruń. He obliged with enthusiasm, pointing out the towering Gothic churches, the cobblestone streets, and the massive Teutonic castle ruins.

„This city is over 800 years old,” Tadeusz explained. „Every brick has a story. And don’t forget, Toruń is the birthplace of Copernicus.”

„Who’s Copernicus?” Fionn whispered to Mark.

Nicolaus Copernicus was born on 19 February 1473

„A genius who figured out the Earth goes around the sun,” Mark replied, rolling his eyes.

They stopped at the city square, where vendors sold gingerbread shaped like hearts and dragons. Tadeusz bought a bag of the spicy-sweet treats and handed them around.

“Now,” he said, his tone growing serious, “do you see that building over there?” He pointed to a tall, weathered tenement house.

Antek squinted. “The one with the cracked window?”

“Exactly. That used to be the music school I attended when I was a boy. And in its basement…” He paused for effect. “…I once found something extraordinary.”

Back at the house that evening, the boys gathered around the fireplace, hanging on to Tadeusz’s every word.

„I was around your age,” Tadeusz began, „and my friends and I loved exploring. One day, we went down to the school’s basement. It was dark, damp, and full of broken instruments — violins without strings, cracked cellos, even an old piano missing all its keys.”

„That’s when we saw it,” he continued, lowering his voice. „A strange contraption, hidden under a pile of junk. It was made of gleaming metal, with dials and levers and a seat like a throne.”

“A time machine,” Mark whispered, his eyes wide.

Tadeusz nodded. “We thought so, too. But no matter what we tried, we couldn’t make it work. We searched for a code to unlock it, but we never found it. Years later, I learned about an ancient legend — a city called Atlantis that sank beneath the sea 11,000 years ago. Some say their technology was far beyond ours. And that machine… it might have come from there.”

The room fell silent. The boys stared at each other, the same thought racing through their minds: What if it was still there?

That night, lying in the cozy attic where they all slept, Antek broke the silence.

“Tomorrow, we go back,” he said firmly.

“Back where?” Fionn asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“To the music school,” Antek replied. “If the building’s still there, maybe the machine is, too.”

Mark grinned. “This is going to be epic.”

Robin hesitated. “What if we get caught?”

Antek sat up. “We won’t. We’ll just take a look. Grandpa said no one’s used that basement in years. Besides, don’t you want to see if he was right?”

One by one, the boys agreed. The seed of adventure had been planted, and there was no turning back.

As they drifted off to sleep, the city’s church bells chimed midnight. Outside, the stars glittered over Toruń’s ancient rooftops, as if keeping watch over the secrets buried beneath.

The old Music School

The Hunt for the Machine

The next morning, Antek and his friends stood in front of the old tenement house on a quiet street in Toruń. The building leaned slightly to one side, its facade marked by years of wear. A faded sign over the door read, Muzyczna Szkoła Podstawowa — the Music School.

“So, this is it?” Robin asked, tilting his head.

“This is it,” Antek said, his voice firm. “Grandpa’s school.”

“Looks like no one’s been here for years,” Mark observed, running his hand along the chipped paint on the doorframe.

“I don’t know, guys,” Fionn muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “It feels… haunted.”

Antek rolled his eyes. “It’s not haunted, Fionn. It’s just old. Come on, we need to find a way in.”

The boys tried the front door, but it was locked. They walked around to the back, stepping over broken bricks and weeds that had grown wild in the courtyard. A rusty clothesline sagged between two poles, and scraps of paper fluttered in the breeze.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything here,” Fionn said.

“Stay tuned,” Antek replied, determination flashing in his eyes. “After all, the tenement still stands. If the school moved out, maybe no one’s looked in the basement since.”

The boys searched the yard for another entrance. Robin peeked into a cracked window while Mark poked at a pile of debris near the wall. Suddenly, he froze.

„Guys, come here!” Mark called, his voice urgent.

“What is it?” Fionn asked, hurrying over.

Mark knelt and brushed aside a heap of rusty scrap metal. Beneath it, they saw a jagged metal sheet covering an opening in the ground.

“Who would leave this here?” Robin asked, leaning closer.

“Only one way to find out,” Antek said. He gripped the edge of the sheet and, with help from Mark, dragged it aside. A dark, gaping hole yawned beneath, a makeshift ladder leading down into the earth.

The boys hesitated for a moment, staring into the shadowy void.

“Do we really have to go down there?” Fionn asked, his voice quivering.

“Yes,” Antek said firmly. “Grandpa’s story led us here. We can’t turn back now.”

Robin pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. “Alright. I’ll go first.”

One by one, the boys descended the ladder.

The faint light from Robin’s smartphone barely pierced the thick darkness of the basement. Dust floated like tiny ghosts in the air, illuminated in the beam as the boys ventured deeper into the forgotten underground.

„Why is it so creepy down here?” Fionn muttered, clutching Mark’s sleeve.

„It’s just an old basement,” Antek said, though even he felt the weight of the shadows pressing against the walls. „Come on, we’re close. I can feel it.”

The air was heavy and damp, carrying a faint smell of mildew and rust. The corridor stretched ahead, its walls lined with broken furniture and remnants of musical instruments. A shattered violin rested atop a heap of rotting wood, its strings coiled like tiny metal snakes.

“This is where music goes to die,” Mark said, kicking a splintered chair out of the way.

“Quiet,” Robin hissed, shining his phone’s light into a side alcove. Something small and quick darted across the beam, vanishing into the dark.

“Was that a rat?” Fionn yelped, jumping back.

“Relax,” Robin said, though his voice trembled slightly. „It’s more afraid of you than you are of it.”

„Debatable,” Fionn muttered, but he pressed on, sticking close to the group.

After what felt like hours of navigating the narrow, cluttered hallways, Antek stopped abruptly.

“There,” he whispered, pointing ahead.

The boys followed his gaze and saw it — a rusted iron gate, its bars twisted and corroded with age. Beyond the gate, the faint outline of a strange contraption loomed in the shadows, its metallic surface catching the faint light from Robin’s phone.

“That’s it,” Antek said, his voice filled with awe. “That’s the time machine.”

The boys moved closer, their excitement momentarily overriding their fear. The gate was padlocked, but the years had taken their toll on the metal. Mark grabbed a loose brick from the floor and began hammering at the lock.

“Come on,” he grunted. „Just… break… already!”

With a final clang, the lock shattered. The gate creaked open, revealing the full view of the machine.

The time machine was unlike anything they had imagined. It looked both ancient and futuristic, with a spherical body made of burnished brass and silver. Dials and levers protruded from a control panel, and strange symbols were etched into its surface, glowing faintly in the dark.

“Wow,” Robin breathed. “This… this is amazing.”

“Grandpa wasn’t kidding,” Antek said, stepping closer.

Mark ran his fingers over the etched symbols. “It’s like something out of a sci-fi movie.”

“What do you think the symbols mean?” Fionn asked.

“Probably the code Grandpa mentioned,” Robin said, pulling out his phone. „Let me see if I can translate them.”

Robin opened a translation app and scanned the symbols on the machine’s control panel. The app struggled to make sense of the text, spitting out fragments like Chrono, Access, and Sequence.

“Not very helpful,” Robin muttered.

“Try that one,” Antek said, pointing to a larger set of symbols engraved near the base.

Robin scanned it, and the app produced a complete sentence: Input the Hour of Descent.

“What does that mean?” Mark asked.

Antek’s eyes widened. “It must be a specific time! Like a password!”

Robin nodded. „But what time? Grandpa never mentioned anything about this.”

The boys fell silent, their minds racing. Then Fionn snapped his fingers.

“Wait,” he said. “Didn’t Grandpa say he found this in the basement during school? What if the time is related to that?”

“Maybe the hour classes started?” Robin suggested.

“No, the hour they ended,” Antek said. „Grandpa said he found it after everyone had left. That’s got to be it!”

Robin entered „15:00” into the keypad, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then the machine let out a low hum, and the symbols began to glow brighter. The dials on the control panel spun, and the air around them seemed to shimmer.

“Uh… is this supposed to happen?” Fionn asked nervously.

The hum grew louder, and a faint vibration coursed through the floor. Lights danced across the walls as the machine’s mechanisms came to life.

“This is it,” Antek said, his voice trembling with excitement. „It’s working!”

Robin reached for one of the levers, but as his hand brushed against it, the machine suddenly jolted.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to —” Robin started, but it was too late.

Before anyone could respond, the machine let out a deafening whir and a brilliant light filled the room. The boys shielded their eyes as the light enveloped them, and in an instant, everything went silent.

When they opened their eyes, the basement was gone. The boys found themselves standing in a cobblestone street, surrounded by horse-drawn carriages and people in elaborate 17th-century attire.

Antek’s jaw dropped. “Where… are we?”

Robin pointed to a nearby building. A large banner fluttered in the breeze, emblazoned with the words: Vive le Roi!

Mark turned to the others, his voice filled with awe. “I think we’re in Paris. And… judging by those outfits, it’s not the Paris we know.”

The boys exchanged stunned glances. Their adventure had only just begun.

Paris, 1625

The world solidified in a rush of sensations: the rattle of wooden wheels on cobblestone streets, the distant clang of church bells, and the thick smell of horses mingled with roasting chestnuts. Antek, Robin, Mark, and Fionn stumbled to their feet, still dazed from their abrupt journey through time.

„Where are we?” Mark asked, blinking in the sunlight.

Antek surveyed the scene, his heart pounding. Towering buildings with steeply pitched roofs lined the narrow street, their facades decorated with intricate wrought iron. Men in cloaks and feathered hats strode purposefully, while women in flowing dresses bustled past, baskets on their arms.

“This isn’t Toruń,” Robin murmured.

“No kidding,” Fionn said, eyeing a nearby vendor who was roasting a pig on a spit. „What century did we just land in?”

Before anyone could answer, a shout rang out.

„There they are! The spies!”

The boys spun around to see a group of men in red cloaks approaching, swords drawn. The crest on their uniforms marked them as the Cardinal’s guards.

“Spies? Us?” Robin exclaimed.

The guards surrounded them in seconds. “You’ve been seen skulking near the palace gates,” one growled. “Come quietly, or we’ll drag you to the Cardinal’s dungeon.”

“D-dungeon?” Fionn stammered, backing into Mark.

Antek stepped forward, raising his hands. “We’re not spies. There’s been a mistake.”

“Save your lies for Cardinal Richelieu,” the guard sneered, grabbing Antek by the arm.

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