The newest entry in the Professor Howe series, inspired by a certain TV time traveller, Professor Howe and the Minty Merchant, written by Christopher Samuel Stone, is available now – with all proceeds going to BBC Children in Need.
“It’s hard to believe that this is the 25th book in the series,” Chris, publisher Long Scarf Publications, tells us.
As with the previous books, all proceeds from this release are being raised in aid of BBC Children in Need. Grab your copy here!
The Professor Howe series has raised over £5000 for charity since it began, Professor Howe and the Crippled Capsule released earlier this year.
Professor Howe and the Minty Merchant is a chaotic, comedic parody of the classic 1964 Doctor Who serial Marco Polo, in which Professor Howe and her companions Alania, Chesterfield and Russell find themselves stranded in 13th-century Asia (1289). There, find themself involved in the Great Race and cross paths with Marco Polo, Nima and other competitors.
The Khan’s prize is whatever they want most – including a way home. What follows is a whirlwind of chaos, intimate character moments, terrible pasta puns, and a sharp, satirical look at bureaucratic futility…
Exclusive Preview Excerpt!
The salt pan was a blinding expanse of white, stretching endlessly to the next checkpoint. Under the relentless glare of the sun, the heat shimmered, making the horizon dance. Nima wiped sweat from her forehead, her gaze drifting to her companion, the sentient sofa. Chesterfield. It was padding, or rather, shuffling, across the salt crust. The surface should have been easier going than the sand, but the rhythmic, squeaking protest from its springs said otherwise.
Nima stopped. She frowned, squinting at the light when she noticed something. She had been travelling with the sofa for well over a month; she was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before but, as it moved, she saw Chesterfield’s left-side cushion lift, just an inch, like a sleeper stirring in a dream.
“Wait – what was that?”
The cushion settled again at her words, smoothing itself into a seamless, fabric landscape.
“Did your seat just open?” Nima asked, her hand reaching forwards.
“No.” The answer was short and sharp and Chesterfield backed away.
“It absolutely did.” It was more of an observation than an accusation. “I know there are mirages in the desert, but that wasn’t one of them.”
There was a long pause, filled only by the crunch of salt beneath them and something else. Was it embarrassment?
“It might have opened slightly,” Chesterfield admitted, its voice a gravelly rumble that seemed to emanate from its very frame.
“What’s inside?” Nima asked, her hands on her hips. “Open it.”
“No.”
“Open it, please.”
The wind whistled across the desolate salt plain, and Chesterfield gave a soft, shuddering sigh. With some embarrassment, the cushion lifted, revealing a dark, velvet-lined space.
Nima leaned in, peering into the shadows. “You have a compartment.”
“Yes,” Chesterfield’s voice was soft, almost vulnerable. Nima had never heard it like this.
“You have a compartment,” she repeated.
“I believe we have established that,” Chesterfield muttered, its backrest stiffening.
She didn’t hesitate. She plunged her hand into the cool, dark space. “What else is in here?”
“A 1957 TV Times, a satchel, one of the Professor’s missing socks, and what I believe is a fossilised Jelly Baby.”
Nima pulled her hand out, holding up a grey, crusty sock like it was a prehistoric artifact. It stank. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Chesterfield said with a weary melancholy. “The Professor never cleans properly. She just… stuffs things away.”
Nima looked at the sock, then at the sofa, whose mahogany frame seemed to have a redder hue than normal. “And you’ve been carrying these around all this time?”
“Seventeen years,” Chesterfield confirmed.
Nima looked back inside the compartment, tantalisingly out of Chesterfield’s reach. She sat down on the salt, positioning herself beside the sofa.
“Do you want me to clean it for you?”
Chesterfield seemed to sag in relief, its fabric softening. “Yes, please. I don’t have a nose, yet for more than a decade everything smells of cheese.”
Nima set to work. She emptied the compartment, lining the strange relics up on the salt – the yellowing magazine, the sad, lonely sock, and a tiny, rock-hard lump that was once a sweet. She reached back in, brushing away the dust and debris until the lining was clean and dark once more.
“I’ll keep the TV Times,” said Chesterfield. “And the satchel.”
Nima looked up. “Is the satchel important?”
“It’s Paul’s.”
“Who’s Paul?”
“A friend,” replied the sofa. It was clear it wasn’t going to say another thing on the matter.
Nima tried another tack. “And the magazine?”
“The Professor appeared on Take Your Pick that week. I still remember Michael Miles’s face.”
She had no idea what any of that meant but put the magazine inside the satchel and placed them neatly back into the compartment and closed it. She dug a small hole in the salt, buried the sock and marked it with a rock. She carefully wrapped the jelly baby up in some dried leaves that had contained provisions. She tucked it safely into her pocket.
Chesterfield let out a long, slow creak that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of contentment.
“Thank you,” it murmured.
Nima stood up, dusting off her trousers, and looked out toward the distant, shimmering promise of Dunhuang. “You’re welcome, Chesterfield. But I’m reporting that rock as the site of a hazardous waste dump at the next checkpoint.”
• All proceeds from the sale of Professor Howe and the Minty Merchant are being raised in aid of BBC Children in Need. Grab your copy here!
- About the Author
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John is the founder of downthetubes, launched in 1998. He is a comics and magazine editor, writer, and Press Officer for the Lakes International Comic Art Festival. He also runs Crucible Comic Press.
Working in British comics publishing since the 1980s, his credits include editor of titles such as Doctor Who Magazine and Overkill for Marvel UK, Babylon 5 Magazine, Star Trek Magazine, and its successor, Star Trek Explorer, and more. He also edited the comics anthology STRIP Magazine and edited several audio comics for ROK Comics; and has edited several comic collections and graphic novels, including volumes of “Charley’s War” and “Dan Dare”, and Hancock: The Lad Himself, by Stephen Walsh and Keith Page.
He’s the writer of comics such as Pilgrim: Secrets and Lies for B7 Comics; “Crucible”, a creator-owned project with 2000AD artist Smuzz; and “Death Duty” and “Skow Dogs”, with Dave Hailwood.
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