The Song of Seven

by Tonke Dragt

  It worked! thought Frans. He was very glad that he’d got the job, even though he’d never applied for it. He’d also be earning good money. He’d have liked to meet Geert-Jan, but of course the boy was already in bed.

  *

  When it was time for Frans to leave, Count Grisenstein walked with him to Gregorius’s Small Banqueting Hall. Most of the candles had gone out.

  “I’ll just call my coachman,” said the count. “Wait here a moment.”

  Frans was alone in the semi-darkness now, but after a few moments he began to sense that he wasn’t on his own at all… He peered around. He couldn’t see anyone on the stairs, and yet the steps were creaking, and there, right at the top, in an alcove, something seemed to be moving. Ivan? Who was he, this unknown spy? One of the servants Frans hadn’t met yet? It wasn’t the coachman, and it couldn’t be the housekeeper either…

  He heard the count’s voice, somewhere else in the house: “Jan! Jan Tooreloor…”

  Then there was another creak, somewhere nearby, above his head. He turned around, and this time he definitely saw something! A small figure ducked below the balustrade of the lowest gallery. The figure was not dark, but white… So it wasn’t Ivan, but it could be a child, a boy in pyjamas.

  “The coach is waiting,” said Count Grisenstein, unexpectedly appearing behind him and making Frans jump.

  “Thank you very much,” he said quickly. He didn’t mention the small figure behind the balustrade, but he understood that Geert-Jan might want to take a peek at his tutor. When he glanced up again though, before leaving the room, there wasn’t a soul to be seen in the gallery.

  He argues with Jan Tooreloor

  THIS IS TWO

  Frans lingered for a moment at the back door; there were indeed letters written on the lintel, half obliterated and hard to make out.

  The Treasure shall be hidden out of Sight…

  Then he walked – or rather, limped – to the coach, which was waiting by the steps. Jan Tooreloor turned to look at him; he looked decidedly disgruntled. But maybe it only seemed that way, and perhaps the sinister glint in his eyes was just the light of the moon. The wind had chased away the clouds and it was very cold. Frans climbed in, and the coach started moving even before the door had closed. The coachman urged on the horse with a wild roar and cracked his whip again and again.

  After a short delay at the gate, they headed down the brick road. So we’re taking the normal route home, thought Frans.

  A few minutes later though, the coach slowed down and made a U-turn. Frans looked outside, wondering if the coachman had forgotten something. But then the coach turned again, and he saw they were taking the Seventh Way. Reassured, he made himself a little more comfortable and rested his injured leg on the opposite seat. His brief visit to the House of Stairs had proved more tiring than a long walk.

  Count Grisenstein! he thought. Last week he was just Gr… Gr… I still can’t believe he’s a fearsome fiendish foe, a wicked uncle… Yes, it was exactly a week ago that I received his first letter, but it seems much longer…

  He tried to view his recent experiences like the sensible, level-headed schoolteacher that the count believed him to be. But it was still a most peculiar sequence of events. Mr Thomtidom had responded to the advertisement on his behalf, without bothering to tell him about it, which was impolite to say the least…

  Frans looked outside again. They were going more slowly now, as the road was only just wide enough for the coach. Where was the Biker Boy? Had he raced into town to go to the cinema? Or had he changed back into Roberto and was he at his Aunt Rosemary’s, or in his tent? Last week, he thought, Roberto was obviously waiting in Tooreloor’s Tavern to open the doors, so that the coach could drive through the coach house. And when I refused to go any farther, he was probably so disappointed that he turned into the Biker Boy. The coachman went to drown his anger at the Thirsty Deer. You can tell by his nose that he’s a regular there…

  The coach halted again, but he soon realized they’d reached the ruin and that Jan Tooreloor had to open the double doors. They rattled through the coach house, and came to a stop at Sevenways. The clearing was brightly lit by the moon. There were two signposts now – the second was the shadow of the first.

  Frans heard the coachman climb back down, and a moment later the door flew open. Tooreloor loomed before him, a dark, menacing figure. He raised his whip and barked, “Out!”

  “Out?” Frans repeated in astonishment. “We’re only at Sevenways. You were supposed to take me home.”

  “Yes, I was supposed to take you home,” said the coachman. “The count called me and he said, ‘Take him home, Jan Tooreloor.’ You blasted traitor!”

  “Traitor?” said Frans. He was baffled, but also a bit worried. “What’s up with you this time?”

  “You! That’s what!” Tooreloor answered furiously. “Yes, you’re what’s up with me! I’ve never understood why they were all so mad about you. So what if you’re a schoolteacher and an outsider? But fine, they knew better than I did. Or at least they thought they did! Turns out I was right. You call yourself Frans the Red, but you couldn’t care less about my tavern, the Red Man! You just trample all over everything and kick a man when he’s down. Well, I wish you’d broken that foot of yours, Red Frans, and that I’d given you two black eyes to go with that bump on your head!”

  Frans pulled his leg off the seat and shot bolt upright.

  “That’s enough, Tooreloor!” he said.

  “Tooreloor, Tooreloor!” the coachman repeated angrily.

  Frans made a defensive move, as he genuinely thought the other man was about to attack him. But then he pulled himself together and said, “What is it about that name? I wasn’t the one who gave it to you! As far as I’m concerned, you can call yourself whatever you like.”

  “That does it!” said the coachman, his voice almost shaking. “Get out!”

  Frans van der Steg called on Frans the Red to help him. “Not until you tell me why!” he said firmly. “Surely I have a right to a full explanation for your rude behaviour.”

  His attitude seemed to calm Jan Tooreloor a little.

  “I don’t know much about rights,” he said, “but I can give you an explanation: I think you’re a gutless coward! First you were scared to go down the Seventh Way, and yesterday you let me swat you like a fly. You may be a schoolteacher, but you couldn’t even stop your children from destroying my property. That’s one thing, Mr Frans the Red, but betraying me to the count… that really is the limit! And talking of limits: the door to the House of Stairs is closed to me, and that’s thanks to you! Go on! Get out!”

  “But… how?” cried Frans.

  “So you didn’t tell the count my name?”

  “No… yes…” stammered Frans. “But I didn’t know…”

  “I didn’t know!” the coachman mimicked him. “So you didn’t know I have a bone to pick with the count, and a score to settle? He took the Red Man from me, my tavern, the best pub between Roskam and the House of Stairs. He threw me out and I swore to take my revenge. He knows that just as well as you…”

  “But I didn’t know,” Frans protested.

  “Count Grisenstein knows only too well,” said the coachman. “Did you think I’d go and work for him under my own name? Of course not! I’d call myself Pietersen, or Bakker, or even Doolally, but not Tooreloor!”

  “Now I see,” said Frans. Why had none of the conspirators explained the situation to him?

  “And now the count comes to me,” the coachman went on, “with that mean little smile of his and he says, ‘Tooreloor, take Mr Van der Steg home.’ Bang goes my chance of revenge! Because later, when I get back and I’ve unharnessed the horses, the count will smile that smile again and he’ll say the same thing as I’m about to say to you: ‘Get out!’”

  “I’m really sorry,” said Frans. “I didn’t do it on purpose…”

  “Get out!” roared the coachman.

  “But I can hardly walk! Tha
t’s all your fault and…”

  “I don’t care,” said Jan Tooreloor, interrupting Frans. “Go and cry like a baby at Miss Rosemary’s door and let her take care of you. If you dare! Or you can stay overnight at the Red Man for all I care – oh, it’s full of ghosts, by the way…” With an air of grim satisfaction, he went on, “There’s the Grey Hermit, also known as the Shade of Sir Grimbold… And then there are all the ghosts of the customers who can’t drink there anymore…” And he continued, “As for me, I’m off to Roskam, to get drunk at the Thirsty Deer. So for the last time: GET OUT!”

  Frans put his hands in his pockets and didn’t budge. “No,” he said. “It’s late. You’re taking me home as you should, Tooreloor!”

  Frans looked around the class. They were absolutely silent. His students were waiting with bated breath to find out how his clash with the angry coachman had ended. Their teacher had obviously survived, as he’d returned to school this Friday, even though he was limping and had a bump on his head that was all the colours of the rainbow. Now he was sitting quite comfortably at his desk. He gave them a brief smile, for the first time since he’d started telling them about Jan Tooreloor.

  It hadn’t been pleasant confessing to the children that Frans the Red had been humiliatingly knocked down. That had never happened to the hero of his stories. He’d hoped to surprise the children by revealing something better: the Secret of the Seven Ways. But that had been a disappointment…

  Kai had interrupted him in the middle of the story, jumping up from the front row, where he was sitting on his own. “Sir! Sir!” he’d cried excitedly. “I knew that! I’ve seen it, the Seventh Way!”

  “You’ve seen the Seventh Way?” Frans had said. “But when? And why didn’t you tell me?”

  “When we were at the Red Man on Monday afternoon,” Kai replied. “I tried to tell you, sir, but you didn’t listen. You just told me to come down.”

  It had been a big shock for Frans when he realized that the whole class had known about the Seventh Way for days. That took some of the fun out of his storytelling, and it didn’t return until he was describing the House of Stairs and his meeting with Count Grisenstein. Then he told them about his ride home and the hold-up at Sevenways.

  “I said: ‘It’s late,’” Frans told them, “‘you’re taking me home as you should, Tooreloor!’” He put his hands in his pockets and paused for a moment.

  “What happened next?” cried Maarten, who couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

  Frans acted as if he hadn’t heard him. He fixed his gaze on the back row and said, “Arie! I should really come back there to you, but as I’m still finding it hard to walk, could you please come up here?”

  Arie did as he was told, with a look on his face that said he was wondering what he’d done wrong this time. When Arie reached the front, Frans held out the pistol.

  “Arie,” he said solemnly, “I’m returning your property, with my thanks for the loan.”

  “Huh?” said Arie.

  “This pistol saved me,” said Frans. “I pointed it at Jan Tooreloor, like this – and I said, ‘So, will this little plaything make you do as I say?’” He went on with his story. “Jan Tooreloor leapt back. I wish you could have seen his face! He was speechless. ‘Drop your whip,’ I said, ‘and put your hands up!’ He did as he was told. Then I got out of the coach, which was quite an effort, and climbed up front – which was even more difficult, as I had to keep the gun on him. At first I was going to drive myself home and leave him at Sevenways. That was what he deserved. But then I thought, no, this coach doesn’t belong to me and besides I can’t… Anyway, that’s beside the point. ‘Jan,’ I ordered him, ‘pick up your whip and come and sit up here beside me.’ I waved the gun around a bit and the coachman swore at me, but he did as I said. When he was sitting next to me, I rammed my pistol – I mean, Arie’s pistol, into his ribs and said, ‘Take me home!’ And wham bam whoosh, we were off!”

  Frans laughed. “We flew along,” he said. “Sometimes it all got a bit much for Jan, and he asked me kindly to point the pistol elsewhere. Or I might shoot him by accident…”

  The class laughed out loud. Arie took hold of his pistol and looked at it with respect, as if it really were a dangerous weapon.

  “And so,” Frans ended his story, “I got home, safe and sound.”

  Arie gave a little cough and nobly said, “You can borrow the pistol for a while, sir. You might want to use it again.”

  “That’s a very kind offer,” said Frans, “but there’s no need, Arie. I’m sure I won’t have any call to use it at the House of Stairs. Count Grisenstein is a gentleman…”

  Arie looked relieved, but Maarten said, “No, Gr… Gr… is just pretending. I bet he’s got a gun too, a real one!”

  Marian asked, “And what about Jan Tooreloor, sir? What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Frans. “I think he went back to the House of Stairs.”

  “Did the count fire him?” whispered Marian. The serious look on her face made Frans feel a bit guilty. You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty, he told himself. Jan Tooreloor really isn’t a man you should feel sorry for… And he said, “I’ll find out tomorrow – I’m going to see Geert-Jan.”

  Marian sighed. “So you won’t be able to tell us until Monday,” she said.

  Frans actually found out what had happened to Jan Tooreloor before he went to the House of Stairs though. When he got home from school the next day, Aunt Wilhelmina was waiting for him with a letter. “From the count!” she said. “I wonder what it says?”

  Frans had a bit of a fright. Count Grisenstein surely hadn’t changed his mind! What if Jan Tooreloor had given away the conspiracy…

  He tore open the envelope and read out the letter:

  Friday 2 October

  Dear Mr V der Steg,

  Unfortunately I am unable to send for you on Saturday as promised, as I currently have no coachman available. You will have to find your own way here.

  As we have agreed that you will also visit us on Sunday, I should like to invite you to stay at the House of Stairs on Saturday night.

  That means you will not have to waste so much time travelling to and fro, and maybe Geert-Jan will become accustomed to his new tutor more quickly.

  Respectfully yours,

  Gr… Gr…

  “So Jan Tooreloor has been fired,” said Frans.

  “I know,” said Aunt Wilhelmina. “I heard the news from Rosemary. As soon as he got back to the House of Stairs, the count sent him packing. There was Tooreloor, without a penny in payment, without a roof over his head! But fortunately they were able to cheer him up a little at the Thirsty Deer, and he’s staying with Jan Thomtidom now.” She looked at Frans and shook her head. “You men do little more than complicate things!” she continued. “One gets fired, another’s walking around with a limp, and the third one has a black eye.”

  “Third one?” said Frans. “Who’s that?”

  “Rob, of course! Oh, but you haven’t heard about that yet,” said Aunt Wilhelmina. “He was going too fast again, and crashed into a tree. So Rosemary had another patient to take care of. That was on Thursday evening. Oh, there’s barely anything wrong with him. He’s already up and about. His scooter wasn’t so lucky, but it’s a good thing that he’ll have to do without it for a while.”

  “Yes, that’s a very good thing for the Biker Boy,” said Frans, “but I’m sorry for Roberto.”

  “And now you’re going to spend the night at the house,” said Aunt Wilhelmina. “Is that really necessary? You’re never at home these days! Well, I’m sure the place will disappoint, just you wait and see!” She frowned and added, “Whatever has happened to poor little Geert-Jan? Has he really become so afraid of strangers that he’s going to need time to get used to a new tutor?”

  Frans once again saw the little figure hiding behind the balustrade. In his mind’s eye, he could see the boy’s face now too. A delicate, pale little face with big black ey
es looking at him, anxiously pleading…

  He gives Geert-Jan his first lessons

  THIS IS THREE

  Frans’s ankle had not yet healed well enough for him to cycle to the House of Stairs. So he’d have to go on the bus, which went the long way round, via Roskam and Langelaan.

  “Not via Sevenways,” he said to his landlady. “The conspirators will just have to accept that.”

  “Well, it’s fine by me,” said Aunt Wilhelmina, “and I think I can speak for the others. When you went to the House of Stairs the first time, you travelled along the Seventh Way. The count gave you the job and I think that should be enough. Just take the bus.”

  The journey felt very long to Frans, as there were lots of stops and the bus didn’t miss out a single one. In Roskam someone he knew got on. It was none other than Mr Thomtidom, armed with a walking stick and a briefcase.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Van der Steg,” he said, raising his hat. “You didn’t expect we’d see each other again so soon, did you?” He sat down beside Frans and added, “And I just so happen to have your books in my bag. Isn’t that a fortunate coincidence?”

  Frans didn’t think it was a coincidence at all, but he gave the magician a friendly nod and reached for his overnight bag, which was in the luggage rack.

  “Oh, no need, no need,” said Mr. Thomtidom. “I have to get off at the same stop as you, and I’ll give you the books then. Beautiful weather today, eh? A little chilly, but at least the sun’s shining. That’s all going to change tomorrow though: cloudy with showers…” He went on talking, about thermometers and barometers, about areas of high pressure and low pressure and oceanic depressions. He didn’t stop until it was time for them to get off.