The twins observe the gunpowder plot

As fireworks and bonfires were prepared for the evening’s annual celebrations of Guy Fawkes Night on November 5th, the twins decide to use their trusty Time Machine to go and see what it was all about.

“Gunpowder Plot!” Richard cried, jabbing at the worn map of old London. “November 5th, 1605…let’s go witness some real-life drama!”

They landed in a choking haze. The London they knew was gone, replaced by narrow lanes, rough shouts, and choking smoke.

“Guess we nailed the date,” Grace coughed, wrinkling her nose at the unfamiliar smells.

“Look!” Richard nudged her, pointing at a group of cloaked men slipping into a shadowy alleyway. Curiosity, always their downfall, propelled them closer. They perched behind a stack of barrels, straining to hear the whispered conversation.

“Tonight, Thomas,” hissed a man with an air of dangerous charisma, “Tonight, England shall be cleansed of these Protestant heretics.”

The Gunpowder Plot of 1605, in earlier centuries often called the Gunpowder Treason Plot or the Jesuit Treason, was an unsuccessful attempted regicide against King James I by a group of English Catholics led by Robert Catesby who considered their actions attempted tyrannicide and who sought regime change in England after decades of religious persecution.

“And Guy Fawkes? He’s got the barrels in place?” another man asked, his voice tense.

“Thirty-six barrels beneath the House of Lords, my friend,” the leader replied, a grim smile twisting his lips, “Enough to send the King and his Parliament sky-high.”

Goosebumps prickled on Grace’s arms. They weren’t just watching history unfold, they were witnessing its most explosive moment! Catesby, Fawkes, the whole infamous Gunpowder Plot…right before their eyes!

“What if we fail?” a younger man dared to ask.

Catesby’s glare was ice-cold. “Failure is not an option. We are God’s instruments, restoring true faith to this land.”

Grace knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They were just observers, not players. But as a figure stumbled out of the shadows – the one sending that lifesaving warning letter – everything changed.

“Uh oh,” Richard tensed, “Think history might need a nudge.”

He was right. In their focus on Catesby, neither had noticed the hooded figure. In a heartbeat, Richard was barreling towards him, a collision sending them both sprawling. A single envelope fluttered open, moonlight glinting off the words scrawled across the page.

“Well, this isn’t good,” Grace muttered under her breath, as Catesby’s sword flashed in the dim light.

“Run!” Richard yelled, the pair narrowly escaping through a maze of alleys. The city seemed to awaken around them – distant shouts, the frantic toll of bells – a web of panic tightening as the King’s guards roused.

“Guy Fawkes won’t get far,” Richard panted as they crouched behind a stack of crates, “History’s back on track.”

The soldiers marched past, their grim faces echoing the tension in the air. Grace and Richard knew the plot’s end, yet the nearness of it all sent a shiver down her spine.

Back at the attic, their hearts still pounded from the close call. Maybe next time, they’d watch from a safer distance. England seemed just fine without their interference, and explosions should really be left to the history books.