Jupitus clasped him around the waist and led him up the deck, calling out to Chatterju to throw him a rope. Jake noticed that the man was clutching a leather satchel under his good arm.
‘Who is that?’ Jake asked the commander.
For a moment she did not reply; just stared at him, perplexed. ‘It’s Isaksen,’ she replied in a worried tone. ‘Caspar Isaksen Senior – or Fredrik, as we know him.’
Jake’s eyes went wide. The name Isaksen sent a shiver down his spine. This was the head of the famous producers of atomium; the father of the double-dealing Caspar Junior – that’s why Jake had recognized his blond hair.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Galliana murmured. ‘In twenty years, he has not once left Sweden.’
Jupitus was using the rope to pull Isaksen towards the Tulip, when there was a splintering of wood. The yacht cracked in two and suddenly sank, almost dragging them down into the vortex with her. Jupitus held onto the rope as his top hat went swirling away, but Isaksen lost his footing. Jupitus reached out to save him, grabbing his broken arm and making the man howl in agony. Jupitus, sinews stretching to their limit, managed to hold onto the man’s coat, while Jake and Chatterju, hooking their feet onto the rigging, hauled the two of them up onto the deck. As the injured Swede was lifted over the rail, he dropped his leather satchel into the sea.
‘No!’ Isaksen bellowed. ‘Save it! You must save it.’ He looked like he was about to throw himself back into the water.
Jake acted on impulse, leaping onto the rail and diving into the roiling sea. First there was a shock of cold, then blindness. It was like being inside an avalanche, with debris smashing into him from all sides. But he knew where the sack was. He grabbed its strap and kicked back with all his might. Twice he was pulled down again, but finally he surfaced.
The others, shouting from the Tulip, threw a lifebelt. Jake caught hold of it and they yanked him up onto the deck.
He stood there shivering, and Galliana wrapped a blanket around him. ‘That was brave of you, young man,’ she whispered, her eyes glinting with pride. ‘It was worthy of the Djones name.’
Jake grinned: it had been worth it just to hear that. He handed her the leather satchel, and she turned to Isaksen, who was sitting on a trunk, while Dr Chatterju felt carefully along his arm to see where it was broken.
‘Good morning, Fredrik,’ she said. ‘I must admit, you were the last person I was expecting.’ Isaksen looked up at her and gave a little grunt. ‘You know Dr Chatterju, of course; and Jupitus.’
‘It’s – it’s been a while,’ Isaksen stammered hoarsely.
‘And the boy who saved your satchel,’ she said, pointing, ‘is Jake Djones.’
At the sound of the name, Isaksen’s head came up, and he studied the boy keenly, before offering a smile. ‘Good to meet you, Jake.’
‘Good to meet you too, sir,’ Jake answered back, intrigued by Isaksen’s reaction.
‘So what happened, Fredrik?’ Galliana asked.
‘I was mad, completely mad to make the journey on my own. It’s been decades since I’ve set sail and I’m rusty at the helm,’ he said. ‘I was in such a hurry to leave 1792, I didn’t chart my journey properly. I struck some rocks. It wasn’t until I was two leagues from the horizon point that the ship started listing and I realized that the hull had been ruptured. That’s when I sent out the mayday. Thank God you came.’
‘Why the terrible hurry?’ Galliana asked.
‘Because I found something late last night – something important – and I wanted to hand it over immediately. In person.’
Jake looked at the man. There was something in his tone that made his heart beat faster. Jupitus had turned the Tulip round to head back towards the coast, but he too was now listening closely.
‘What did you find?’ Galliana asked gravely.
‘Open it,’ Isaksen said, nodding towards his satchel.
She unbuckled it and withdrew a bound portfolio. It was old and cracked, and stuffed with odd pieces of paper. As Galliana turned to the first page – holding onto it tightly so it wouldn’t take off in the wind – Jake noticed Isaksen scrutinize him once again. The commander glanced over a few more sheets, then, without comment, put them back in the bag.
‘Thank you for bringing this,’ was all she said.
His examination complete, Dr Chatterju spoke. ‘Well, you’ve fractured your humerus, no doubt about it. We’ll have to deal with that later. In the meantime I’m going to pop your radius back in its socket. The sooner, the better. You might feel this.’ Without a moment’s hesitation, Chatterju took hold of the patient’s forearm and, pivoting it at the elbow, snapped it back into place, making Isaksen roar once again and thump his good hand against the trunk. ‘All done.’ Chatterju grinned, trying to make as little of it as possible. Isaksen panted, teeth clenched, until the pain receded.
Soon, the distinct conical shape of the Mont St Michel came into sight. Nathan, Yoyo, Rose and a few others, mostly still in their dressing gowns, were waiting on the pier. They got to their feet as the Tulip drew near, squinting up at the deck to see who was aboard. Rose recognized the newcomer first.
‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘Fredrik Isaksen. What on earth is he doing here?’
They watched as the group disembarked.
‘Thank you all for waiting,’ Galliana announced brusquely as she came ashore. ‘It’s late, and our new arrival needs attention. So quickly to bed now, everyone, please. In the morning I will make an announcement. All History Keepers are to convene in the stateroom at eight o’clock sharp.’ With that, she swept into the castle, the leather satchel still in her hand.
Jake was exhausted, and soon dropped off to sleep.
He woke just after dawn and dressed quickly, desperate to know why Isaksen had been in such a hurry to get to the Mont St Michel. With time to spare before the meeting, he took Felson for a brisk walk, popping into the stables to give Dora her breakfast of cabbage and apples.
On his way back, he found himself drawn to the History Keepers’ memorial stone, where agents who had perished in the course of duty were remembered. Set upon a plinth in the shadow of a willow tree, it was a statue of an hourglass, carved out of silvery black marble. Dozens of names were engraved on it, some of them quite recently. Jake sat there for a long time, lost in thought. All those lives . . . Thinking of his recent behaviour, he wondered if he was worthy of them. Rescuing the satchel had made him feel better about himself, but would he ever become as great as these History Keepers?
When he reached the stateroom at a quarter to eight, it was already buzzing with activity. Nearly every seat around the long conference table had been taken, and groups of History Keepers were standing chatting. ‘Make way – convalescent coming through,’ a voice called from behind. Jake turned and smiled at the sight of Nathan pushing Charlie into the room in an ancient bath chair. A holdall attached to the side of the chair contained Mr Drake, perched on a velvet cushion, evidently enjoying all the attention.
‘It’s good to see you up and about,’ said Jake. ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked, nodding towards the breakfast counter.
Charlie was sniffing the air. ‘I can smell something intriguing. What is that . . .?’ Then it came to him: ‘Macaroons! Yes, please. A much-maligned but nonetheless magnificent pastry.’
Jake went to get him some, and returned with a plate piled high. Charlie took one immediately.
‘So’ – he spoke with his mouth full – ‘do we know any more? Fancy Fredrik Isaksen turning up. It’s like being visited by royalty. Galliana Goethe might be the commander, but Isaksen holds the real power.’
Just then, Topaz appeared at Jake’s side. She leaned forward and gave Charlie a kiss on each cheek. ‘How’s the invalid this morning? Tu te sens beaucoup mieux aujourd-hui? And you too . . .’ She gave Mr Drake a tickle under his chin, then turned her warm smile on Jake and Nathan. ‘And I trust you two have recovered from your night on the town?’
Jake nodded she
epishly, while Nathan added glumly, ‘The less said about it the better.’
Suddenly the chit-chat subsided and Jake looked round to see Jupitus in the doorway – with Fredrik Isaksen at his side. The Swede’s arm was in a sling and he was gazing around the room in admiration. Charlie was right: it was as if royalty had arrived. The women were particularly fascinated. Fredrik was handsome, in a rugged way – especially next to the pale and imperious Jupitus. Last night, Jake hadn’t really noticed the distinct twinkle in his eye.
‘How wonderful to see you again, Herr Isaksen,’ Lydia Wunderbar trilled, forcing her way through to the front. ‘May I say how super you look, after all these years. How long has it been? Two decades?’ She smiled coquettishly, her hand going to her immaculately coiffed hair.
Isaksen smiled roguishly as he struggled to recall who she was.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!’ Lydia gasped in horror. ‘Lydia Wunderbar. Of the Munich Wunderbars. Remember we played eight hands of quite frantic Canasta together while waiting for that ghastly ferry in Genoa? I’m afraid I rather trounced you,’ she added, shrieking with laughter.
‘Of course I remember,’ Fredrik purred. It was obvious to Jake, if not to Lydia, that this was a lie. ‘We must do it again sometime.’
‘Anytime! Anytime at all!’ She clapped her hands together in delight. ‘But I am being so rude. You are injured, and here I am chatting away. Do sit down.’ She indicated a chair next to Rose’s.
On seeing her, Fredrik’s face lit up. ‘Miss Rosalind Djones,’ he said. ‘Now there’s a face to bring back memories. Do you remember Persia?’
Rose blushed and fiddled with the clasp of her carpetbag. ‘One doesn’t easily forget a fleet of five hundred ships coming for you up the Red Sea.’
‘The Persians wore chain mail and you wore bronze.’
Jupitus seemed irritated by their exchange. ‘I think Herr Isaksen would be more comfortable on the armchair there,’ he declared, leading the new arrival away from Rose and installing him in a Louis XIV fauteuil by the window.
Jake whispered to Topaz, ‘Is he married?’
‘For forty years. Fru Isaksen is exceptionally long-suffering.’
The hubbub died down once again as Galliana swept in, her greyhound, Olive, trotting behind her. She was still clutching Isaksen’s portfolio under her arm. ‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said. ‘Thank you for being so prompt.’ She stopped next to Jake. ‘Would you join me at the front?’ she asked him. ‘I may need your advice on something.’
Jake did as he was told, feeling proud, without knowing what she could possibly need his advice on.
Galliana took a seat. Jupitus joined her on one side, while Jake sat, rather self-consciously, on the other. He noticed Rose smiling at him and nodding, just like she had on his first time in the stateroom.
‘You’ve probably all had a chance to say hello to our distinguished visitor,’ Galliana began. ‘I speak on behalf of everyone, I’m sure, when I say he is most welcome on the island.’ There were murmurs of assent. ‘Now, straight to business—’
The door at the back suddenly burst open and Yoyo came in. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t realize everyone had started.’ She grimaced, not looking sorry in the slightest.
Topaz gave Charlie a sideways glance and Nathan jumped up, calling, ‘There’s a free seat here, Miss Yuting.’ Yoyo glanced over, but took a stool by the fireplace instead. ‘Don’t mention it,’ Nathan muttered to himself, sitting down again.
The commander carried on. ‘The reason I have gathered everyone together this morning is this . . .’ She held up Isaksen’s portfolio. ‘It was discovered only yesterday, in Fredrik’s time, hidden in his mansion in northern Sweden. It contains documents and papers belonging to his late son, Caspar.’
At the mention of this name, a ripple of disquiet went around the table. Rose looked over at Jake with a concerned smile. For his part, Isaksen hung his head in shame at his son’s treachery.
‘As you all know, when we discovered that Caspar had been working as a double agent for Agata Zeldt – and after his unfortunate demise – extensive searches were carried out in his rooms and all over the Isaksen estate. So anxious were we to glean any more intelligence of Caspar’s dealings, the Isaksen family allowed me to help. We discovered nothing.’
Jake looked at the bundle of papers in her hand, desperate to know what they contained.
‘Then, yesterday, as refurbishments were being carried out, the hidden safe was discovered behind wooden panels in Caspar’s pâtisserie. Most of the handwriting on these papers is indeed Caspar’s.’
‘Pâtisserie?’ Truman Wylder asked (Nathan’s father was just as loud as his son). ‘What on earth is a pâtisserie?’
‘I believe it was a room Caspar had set aside for the creation of pastries and such like,’ Galliana replied. Charlie’s jaw dropped at this.
Despite the gravity of the subject, Jake couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Caspar’s pâtisserie. Of course he would hide his secrets there – Jake had never met anyone quite so obsessed with cakes.
‘The papers have revealed a shocking truth.’ Galliana gazed sternly around the room. ‘I am sorry to say it, with his father present, but it seems that Caspar Isaksen had ambitions beyond anything we had imagined; that he offered his services in more than one direction . . . In short, that he had forged links not only with Agata Zeldt, but also with another of our greatest enemies – Xi Xiang.’
The History Keepers – already on the edge of their seats – gasped in unison and started talking. Jupitus had to stand and tap a teaspoon against his coffee cup to remind everyone that the commander was still speaking.
‘As we all know,’ she carried on, ‘since an incident a year ago at the Chinese bureau, we have been trying to establish Xi Xiang’s whereabouts. He has always been one of our most dangerous adversaries, not least because there is rarely method in his madness. He seeks chaos, pure and simple. He is also a master of disguise and loves nothing more than to disappear into thin air. Moreover – and I need hardly go into details here – he is categorically the most cold-blooded murderer that we have ever come across.’
On this point there was a cool murmur of agreement. Jake knew why: amongst the many horrors he had committed, Xi Xiang had been personally responsible for the murder of Galliana’s husband and only child. He had drowned the five-year-old boy by tying weights to his legs and dropping him into the Sea of Japan, laughing as he did so. Jake studied the commander to see if her face showed any emotion, but she remained impassive.
‘All this is bad enough,’ Galliana resumed, ‘but we have feared for some time that he was planning a new atrocity. The content of these papers seems to confirm this. Luckily they also offer clues as to his whereabouts – his geographical location as well as his temporal one.’ Ignoring the exclamations that met this piece of information, Galliana poured herself some water, took a sip and carried on. ‘Xi Xiang was actually Indonesian, born on the volcanic island of Krakatoa, but he adopted China as his home in his early twenties—’
‘Tabuan,’ Yoyo interrupted.
‘Excuse me?’ the commander replied tersely.
‘The island of Tabuan was where he was born, just off the coast of Sumatra. His family moved to Krakatoa when he was two. I am an expert on Xi Xiang.’ The older History Keepers muttered, shocked – interrupting the commander was a no-no, especially for new arrivals. Yoyo sensed everyone’s disapproval and gave a cool shrug. ‘My apologies for pointing it out.’
‘She’s right, of course,’ Nathan piped up. ‘Tabuan it was.’
‘That will do,’ Galliana interjected. ‘Miss Yuting, I have no doubt that you are an expert on this subject – as you are on so many things – but we have a lot to get through. As I was saying . . . as Xi Xiang based himself in China, that is where we focused our search – particularly the South China Sea, where he has many associates.’ She opened up the folder and took out the first batch of papers. ‘These documents
must alter our thinking drastically. It appears that Xi Xiang has a hideaway in the west; it seems he has spent a good deal of time here over the last few years. There is a chance that he may still be there now. The location is unexpected.’
She held up one particular page for everyone to see. It was a city map, old and frayed around the edges. Jake had to crane his neck to see it. It was hand-drawn and inscribed with faded curling letters, but there was something familiar about the shape of the river that twisted its way across.
‘London,’ Galliana said. ‘Jacobean London, early seventeenth century. If he is not physically there himself, he certainly has quarters in the city.’
Jake understood why she had asked him to come and sit with her: he had grown up in London.
Galliana continued. ‘It makes sense. In addition to his obsession with chaos and murder, Xi Xiang has another mania: plays, actors, showmanship, magic – of course, he sees himself as a great performer. There is no more important place for drama in all history than Shakespeare’s London – and, of course, it is the last place that anyone would think to look.’ She traced her finger along the centre of the map. ‘The city of London, the Thames, the White Tower, London Bridge, old St Paul’s . . . And here’ – her finger rested on one point – ‘north of the river, just beyond Blackfriars, the symbol of an octopus – the moniker of Xi Xiang.’
‘Which is where we think he may be hiding,’ Jupitus clarified.
‘We don’t know for sure,’ Galliana said, ‘but it is the only lead we have. This afternoon I will be sending a team to investigate.’
There was another eruption of noise, of people putting their hands up, all asking questions at once.
‘Silence, please,’ she called over the hubbub. ‘Silence. I have one more important matter to discuss . . .’ She waited while everyone settled down. ‘The last tranche of documents in this folder have thrown up one more discovery – perhaps the most alarming of all.’ She took a deep breath and put her hand on Jake’s shoulder, glancing at him before continuing. ‘These documents pertain to another young man, who it seems was also working with Xi Xiang and Caspar . . .’
History Keepers: Nightship to China Page 6
