The Song of Seven

by Tonke Dragt

  “I did hear something… Words written in stone with a good, true knife…”

  “No, that’s about the rhyme on the lintel,” said Roberto. “I mean the other story, the one from the Sealed Parchment.”

  “Sealed Parchment? I don’t know anything about that. I was asleep at the time… But it’s all nonsense anyway!”

  “Nonsense?” said Roberto quietly. “So why do you think the count suddenly moved into the House of Stairs? Why do you think he watches and spies on Geert-Jan like a jailer? Because he’s after the treasure! Only the boy can find it, and he knows that as well as we do.”

  “I really don’t know if…” began Frans.

  “Count Grisenstein is a villain,” Roberto continued. “The estate isn’t far from here. He’s put barbed wire up all around it and signs saying ‘No trespassers’, and there are gamekeepers patrolling with loaded guns. Don’t go thinking you can just walk right into the House of Stairs! It’s a big, creepy building, with cold, old rooms and corridors…”

  “And stairs,” said Frans with a nod, “and dark, gloomy dungeons. Very spooky, but also rather interesting…” He shivered; it was getting cold.

  Roberto looked at him, his eyes glinting and his face glowing in the light of the fire. “But someone has to find a cunning way to get into the House of Stairs,” he said in a low voice. “Before it’s too late.”

  Frans van der Steg felt a slight sense of unease in spite of himself. “But,” he mumbled, “that kind of thing doesn’t happen nowadays, does it?”

  “Doesn’t it?” whispered Roberto.

  Frans shivered again.

  “Are you chilly?” said Roberto. He jumped to his feet and disappeared into the tent. A moment later, he threw a raincoat around Frans’s shoulders. Then he sat back down beside him and said, “You’re not scared, are you?”

  “No,” replied Frans. “What is there to be scared of?”

  “I just mean… Because you keep changing your mind. First you got into the coach and then you got back out. Sometimes you nod your head and then you shake it. Are you in or are you out?”

  “In or out of what?”

  “Our conspiracy.”

  “Listen,” said Frans, in a loud voice, “before I go nodding or shaking my head, I want to hear what this conspiracy of yours is all about…”

  “Stop shouting!” said Roberto. “I’ll tell you, but you need to know that you can’t go back! That you’ll have to continue on… on your way.”

  “My way? And which way’s that?”

  “Well, let’s just call it the Seventh Way. The seventh path from Sevenways.”

  He hears about Seven Conspirators

  THIS IS TWO

  Frans and Roberto were both silent for a while. Above their heads, a bird plaintively called its own name. A long-eared animal jumped out of the bushes and, startled to see them, disappeared.

  Then Frans said quietly, “There are only six paths from Sevenways.”

  Roberto prodded the fire with a stick until it burst into flames. “Six paths,” he said, “and the Conspiracy of Seven has six members. But there should, of course, be seven – and there will be, if you join us. Our aim is to free Geert-Jan from the clutches of Count Grisenstein. And he has to find the treasure. One thing can’t happen without the other; it says so in the Sealed Parchment.”

  “The Sealed Parchment,” repeated Frans. “What’s that?”

  “If Mr Thomtidom hasn’t told you about it, then I’m not going to either,” said Roberto.

  “Well, that’s nice!” said Frans indignantly. “It’s not my fault I fell asleep!”

  “Perhaps that’s why he sent you to sleep,” said Roberto, “because you weren’t allowed to find out about the existence of the Sealed Parchment yet.”

  “If I wasn’t supposed to hear about it, then he shouldn’t have started talking about it,” said Frans. “So WHY did he send me to sleep?”

  “Stop changing the subject,” said Roberto. “I was telling you about the Conspiracy of Seven. Mr Thomtidom and I want to nominate you as a member…”

  “I’m most honoured,” said Frans.

  “But it’s our President who will decide if you should be initiated,” Roberto pressed on.

  “President! And who might that be?”

  “The Herb Lady – Miss Rosemary.”

  “Not some kind of witch!”

  “Don’t be so insulting,” said Roberto. “She’s the youngest of three sisters…”

  “Rosemary, the youngest of three sisters,” Frans murmured to himself. Suddenly he had a vision of a beautiful young woman, who would bring a touch of romance to this mysterious story… No, this wasn’t a story. It was real life. He looked around; the sunlight had gone, and dusk would soon give way to darkness.

  The fire was burning less brightly now. “Maybe we should just let it go out,” said Roberto. “It could lead spies this way.” He hugged his arms around his knees and went on telling Frans about the conspiracy. “The youngest of three sisters often has special gifts or powers, or at least that’s what Mr Thomtidom says. Miss Rosemary grows herbs, and she lives at the Herb Garden. You have to go and see her tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve seen the path from Sevenways. Mr Thomtidom is our Secretary and General Advisor…”

  “What about you?” asked Frans. “Are you the Treasurer?”

  “No, we don’t have any money. I am the First Liaison Officer. The Second Liaison Officer is Jan Tooreloor.”

  “Jan… Tooreloor? Does he exist too? And who’s he? Oh yes, the landlord of that abandoned pub.”

  “He used to be. Now he’s Count Grisenstein’s coachman.”

  “That villain?” said Frans. “Well, a fine liaison officer he is, abandoning his passengers in the wind and rain!”

  “Stop going on about that! You’re the one who wanted to get out.”

  “And how do you know that?” asked Frans. “Are you sure you weren’t at the pub, disguised as the Biker Boy?”

  Roberto ignored his question. “The other two conspirators are spies,” he went on. “So I need to conceal their names from you for the time being.”

  “I’m not going to join a conspiracy if I’m not fully informed about all of its secrets,” said Frans firmly.

  “Only the President can do that,” said Roberto, just as firmly.

  “Aunt Rosemary.”

  “Aunt?”

  “Yes, she’s my aunt. Is that so strange?”

  Rather regretfully, Frans dismissed his vision of the beautiful young woman. Instead, an older woman appeared in his mind’s eye. She was wearing a straw hat like Roberto’s and gazing intently into a crystal ball. He shook off this fantasy and asked, “And what part have I been given in this conspiracy?”

  “I could call you our Secret Agent,” replied Roberto. “You have to infiltrate the House of Stairs.”

  “I see,” said Frans. “And what am I supposed to do when I get there?”

  “You’ll be Geert-Jan’s tutor.”

  “Mr Thomtidom already told me as much. Ah, of course, he’s the one who wrote the letter! He’s our Secretary, after all.”

  “Which letter?”

  “The one I didn’t write,” said Frans. “So I have to become Geert-Jan’s tutor, but Count Grisenstein mustn’t know that I’m infiltrating the House of Stairs with a specific purpose… and that I’m a member of the Conspiracy of Seven.”

  “Finally you’re talking sense,” said Roberto. “And now let’s just hope you get the job…”

  “And that I want it!”

  “And that you’re brave enough to do it,” Roberto added.

  “It doesn’t require much bravery,” said Frans. “All I have to do is write a letter to Count Gradus Grisenstein and ask him for an interview. I think I’ll just do it myself, before your secretary does it for me. You know, I prefer to manage my own business.”

  “Fine, you manage away,” said Roberto. “Just as long as you remember one thing: we’ve eaten sausages together, so I
trust you’ll remain silent about everything I’ve told you.” His face looked very serious in the fading glow of the fire. “Promise!” he said.

  “I swear, on the sausages!” said Frans.

  Roberto stood up. “It’s dark,” he said. “You need to go.”

  “So that’s all you wanted to say?” asked Frans.

  “Yes. But you should come and visit again. And you can always use my tent as a shelter, even if I’m not at home.”

  Roberto picked up the dishes and carried them into his tent, where he also stashed the canvas and the coat he’d lent Frans. A couple of minutes later, he was back beside the smouldering fire, now hatless and holding a torch in his hand. “I’ll walk you back to Sevenways,” he said, as he carefully stamped out the fire.

  “And then?”

  “Then you can cycle home.”

  “And what about you?” asked Frans. “Where do you live?”

  “Here!” replied the boy, and his tone made it clear that he thought the question was ridiculous.

  “Here? In this tent? All alone? At your age?” said Frans. “And your parents or guardians don’t mind?”

  “Stop being such a schoolmaster,” said Roberto.

  “If I weren’t a schoolmaster,” said Frans, “I wouldn’t be able to infiltrate the House of Stairs, which you and your friends are so keen for me to do.”

  “Keep close behind me,” said Roberto. “This torch doesn’t give off much light. If I were on my own, I’d walk this path in the pitch dark, and no spies would slip past me.”

  “Are there…” began Frans, but Roberto interrupted him.

  “Sssh!” he ordered. “We’re not at my place now, so we need to keep our mouths shut.”

  They walked on in silence. Frans could see little more than what was lit up by the beam of the torch, but the darkness around him seemed to be full of life. He wasn’t at all scared, even though he thought more than once about spies, who could be lurking nearby… Spies! There were two spies involved in the conspiracy, and he wasn’t allowed to know their names… “But I do know!” he whispered.

  “What?” Roberto whispered back.

  “Those spies of yours… I know where they are.”

  “You should be paying more attention to his spies!” Roberto hissed.

  Frans didn’t need to ask who Roberto meant – it was obviously Count Grisenstein. He didn’t say anything for a while; he was concentrating hard on the path. But a little later he whispered, “It’s the children! Two of the children in my class.”

  Roberto snorted quietly. “The strange ideas that schoolmasters get into their heads,” he said.

  “So the children aren’t involved in the conspiracy?”

  “Of course not! But you can tell them about it if you like.”

  “I thought it was a secret!”

  “Not from the children,” said Roberto. “Feel free to tell them about it.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Frans. “I’m sure they’ve known about it for a long time!”

  “Watch out,” said Roberto. “There’s a ditch here.”

  For the rest of the walk, they didn’t talk about the conspiracy. Roberto didn’t mention it again until they reached Sevenways.

  “Write that letter to the count,” he said, “and report to Miss Rosemary as soon as possible. I think Geert-Jan is going to like you.”

  He turned the light of his torch on the pub. “There’s your bike,” he said. “Cycle home safely. Bye then.”

  He turned around and, as he was walking away, he switched off the torch. Within a few moments, the darkness had swallowed him up.

  “Hey, Roberto!” Frans called in a low voice.

  “See you!” came Roberto’s voice. “I hope Aunt Wilhelmina gets home soon and lets you in.”

  Frans heard leaves rustling, but saw no one else in the dark woods. “He’s acting like a real conspirator,” he muttered. Then he walked slowly to his bike and thought, Aunt Wilhelmina? How does he know I call her that? Or is Mrs Bakker another of his aunts?

  Then he hopped on his bike and started cycling home. “Well, this has been a very eventful Sunday,” he said to himself. “I set out to uncover a conspiracy, and now I’m almost part of it myself!”

  He braked when he heard a sound that didn’t belong there. The drone of a motor scooter. He looked around. Was that a light speeding along one of the paths from Sevenways?

  Secret Agent! he thought, as he rode on. No, I’m sticking to my original plan. I’m going to join that conspiracy, just so I can unmask the conspirators!

  Frans the Red didn’t stand for any nonsense – and he was always the master of any situation.

  Aunt Wilhelmina has something to say

  THIS IS THREE

  Half an hour later, Frans van der Steg was standing in front of the house where he lived. He was anything but the master of this situation, unless he intended to break a window and climb inside. Frans the Red would perhaps have done exactly that… No, he would never have ended up outside a locked front door in the first place; he didn’t let landladies boss him around, no matter how good their cooking was!

  Frans looked around. It felt as if all the villagers were peering at him from behind their curtains, and making fun of him. It was ridiculous. He couldn’t sit waiting on the doorstep, just because he’d been stupid enough to leave the house without his key!

  Again he heard the sound of a scooter. A beam of light appeared and disappeared at the end of the dark street. A few moments later he heard brisk footsteps, and his landlady came walking down the road.

  “What are you doing out here?” she said. “You’re not waiting for me, are you?”

  “I didn’t have my key, Mrs Bakker,” said Frans coldly, “and I was just wondering what I should do: smash a window or ask to spend the night at the police station.”

  “No need,” said Mrs Bakker, putting her own key into the lock and turning it. “I left the back door open.”

  “You didn’t tell me that!” said Frans.

  “I’m allowed to be angry for once, aren’t I?” his landlady said. “At least you didn’t have long to wait. I was right behind you. My nephew dropped me off on the corner.”

  She went inside and Frans followed her. In the hallway she turned on the light and looked at the mirror, shaking her head. Her hat was askew, and her grey curls were nowhere near as neat as before. “It’s such a long walk,” she said to her reflection. “Otherwise I’d never ride on a thing like that.”

  “A thing like what?” asked Frans.

  “A motor scooter.”

  “A motor scooter?” repeated Frans with some surprise.

  “Yes, my nephew gave me a lift to the village, as he often does. But the wind blasts about your head and it’s not the most dignified place to sit. I’d never do it in daylight.” Mrs Bakker took off her hat and continued, “Oh, and I’ve gone and left my umbrella behind! Don’t gape at me like I’m the eighth wonder of the world! Haven’t you ever been on the back of a motor scooter?”

  “No, yes, of course,” said Frans, helping her out of her coat.

  “Rob’s a very good driver,” she said, “although I do have to keep reminding him that he doesn’t need to go that fast on my account.”

  “Rob?” repeated Frans. “Is he your nephew? Did he give you a lift back from Sevenways?”

  “From my sister’s house,” said his landlady, looking in the mirror again. “It’s near there.”

  “Rob… Roberto… and a motor scooter,” muttered Frans. “Is he a biker? I mean… are Rob and Roberto one and the same person and does he have a scooter and does he dress like…”

  “He does sometimes look like a bit of a yob, or a biker, or whatever you want to call it,” his landlady replied. “But he’s a good boy really. It’s a difficult age, of course, but he’ll grow out of it.” She started combing her hair.

  “Does he live in a tent in the wood?” asked Frans. “Roberto, the adventurer with the cowboy hat?”

  “That
may well be true,” his landlady replied. “But in actual fact he lives in town. He’s my other sister’s only son. Do you know him then?”

  “I certainly do!” said Frans. “I’ve met him as the Biker Boy and as Roberto. But Roberto claims he doesn’t know the Biker Boy!”

  “Oh well, why should that matter?” said Mrs Bakker. She turned away from the mirror and looked at Frans. “Why shouldn’t the boy be two people? It’s perfectly normal! Every sensible human being is made up of more than one person – as a school-teacher, you of all people should know that!”

  “Yes, but…” said Frans, feeling rather flabbergasted.

  “If Rob wants to lead a couple of different lives, then let him!” his landlady continued. “Soon enough he’ll learn how to unite all those different fellows – bikers, cowboys, adventurers, and boys who have to go to school – in just one life. Aren’t you more than just Frans van der Steg? I’m made up of several different people, you know – certainly more than just two.”

  “Mrs Bakker… Aunt Wilhelmina…” said Frans.

  “You can call me Aunt Wilhelmina,” his landlady replied. “Come on. Go and turn on the lights in the dining room. I’ll make some tea and cut us a couple of slices of cake.”

  Frans followed her into the kitchen. “Aunt Wilhelmina!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got it! You’re one of the spies!”

  “A spy? Me?! Hardly! That’s one thing I’d never want to be…”

  “You’re part of the conspiracy. The Conspiracy of Seven!”

  Aunt Wilhelmina put the kettle on the gas and rinsed out the teapot. “Oh, if that’s what you mean, you’re right,” she said. “But calling me a spy… That sounds like something Rob would come up with. He watches too many of those detective films.”

  “But why have you never told me anything about it?” asked Frans.

  “Conspiracies are always secret, my boy.”

  “When you saw me at Sevenways, you just got angry with me,” Frans continued. “But you should have known that magician of yours had sent me to sleep.”

  “That magician certainly doesn’t belong to me,” said Aunt Wilhelmina. “And I don’t approve of his magic either. Why on earth did he have to send you to sleep? A conspiracy’s no excuse for being late for lunch. All that silliness just confuses what it’s really all about: freeing Geert-Jan Grisenstein. You seemed like the right man for the job. That’s what I told my sister – and that’s all I did.”