The Song of Seven

by Tonke Dragt

  “I think we have enough now,” said Frans after a while. “Don’t put your fingers in your mouth. As you know, some fungi are poisonous.”

  They stopped. There was a sound of wings flapping somewhere, and drops dripping from the trees. “We’re not going back now, are we?” said Geert-Jan. “Look, what a fat earthworm! We could study worms too, sir. And spiders… But,” he went on, “there are spiders in the house too, hundreds of them. When the weather’s bad, will you teach me about spiders, sir?”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Frans.

  There was a rustling sound nearby. Geert-Jan looked around, this time as if he were searching for something other than mushrooms, worms or spiders.

  “I think it’s a squirrel,” said Frans, looking up.

  “No, it’s not,” another voice answered unexpectedly. “It’s only me.”

  Geert-Jan dropped the specimen box. “Roberto!” he exclaimed in delight.

  “Hey, keep the noise down, you!” said Roberto from his high perch on a branch. “What are you two up to, with your toadstools, spiders and worms? I’m not sure whether to come down or not. Before I know it, I’ll step into a fairy ring. Or a magic circle!”

  “What’s a fairy ring?” asked Geert-Jan.

  “Didn’t your teacher tell you?” said Roberto. “Then you’ll have to ask the magician. He knows everything there is to know about fairies and magic circles and such things.” He slid down the trunk and took off his hat with a flourish. “Hello there, Seventh Conspirator,” he greeted Frans. “Geert-Jan, your mushrooms are all on the ground.”

  The three of them knelt down to put them back in the box. Geert-Jan stared at Roberto, then at Frans.

  “Now I know why we went out looking for mushrooms,” he whispered.

  “Frans the Red would like to try out some magic arts for once,” said Roberto. “And you need toadstools for that, don’t you?”

  “No,” said Geert-Jan. “We came here to meet you, Roberto. I’m right, aren’t I? I know all sorts of things about you, sir. You’ve travelled the Seven Ways and…”

  “He’s done more than that,” said Roberto, with a grin at Frans. “He’s a wild one! He plays cards in drinking dens, he threatens innocent people with pistols, he rides around in old coaches at some ungodly hour…”

  “And on scooters,” Frans added.

  Roberto grinned. “He even sneaks through barbed wire fences,” he continued, “and trespasses on private property…”

  “Which is exactly what you’re doing at the moment,” said Frans, looking around. “I’d watch out if I were you.”

  “I just wanted to say hello to Geert-Jan,” said Roberto. He took off his hat again and tried to tuck a particularly fancy mushroom into the worn-out ribbon around the crown.

  “That’s such a great hat,” said Geert-Jan. “Can I try it on for a moment?”

  Roberto handed him the hat and went on talking, “I also have a message from Headquarters: will the Secret Agent please report to the President this evening?”

  “Does Mr Van der Steg have to go and see Aunt Rosemary?” asked Geert-Jan.

  “You’ll get your turn too,” said Roberto. “It’s just too dangerous for you right now. But she sends her love.”

  “Dangerous…” said Geert-Jan. Then he jumped up and said, “But it’s dangerous here for you! Now that Jan the Coachman isn’t here…”

  “Jan’s at the front gate, having an argument with Manus,” said Roberto. “He’s going to keep him talking until I’m back out. As for Berend, I’m not scared of him, even if he does have hands like hams – and arms like a wrestler’s. He never notices anyone until they’re standing right under his nose.”

  “But don’t stay too long,” said Geert-Jan anxiously. “The Fiendish Foe is already suspicious.” He looked accusingly at Frans. “It’s your fault that Jan the Coachman was fired,” he said.

  “How do you know that?” asked Frans.

  “They said so in their letters,” replied Geert-Jan, “Arie, Kai and some of the other children.”

  “It was all a misunderstanding…” began Frans.

  “I know,” said Geert-Jan. “But it’s still a shame. Hey, Roberto…”

  “Can I have my hat back now?” Roberto said.

  “Here you go,” said Geert-Jan. “Hey, Roberto, will you come back next week? It’s my birthday.”

  “In that case, I’ll definitely come,” said Roberto, putting his hat back on. “Maybe I’ll even come all the way into the house! See you!”

  He was about to walk off, but Geert-Jan stopped him. They stood whispering together for a moment. Then Roberto hurried away and disappeared.

  “Have you told your class everything?” Geert-Jan asked his tutor, when they were on their way back and approaching the House of Stairs.

  “Nearly everything,” replied Frans.

  “Including about the Sealed Parchment?”

  “Nothing that you told me in confidence,” said Frans. “I’d already heard something about it before… because of Miss Rosemary.”

  Geert-Jan was silent for a while. Then he whispered, “You can tell them everything. I wrote back to them, last night in bed.”

  Frans looked at him, feeling rather worried. “It really isn’t good for you to get to sleep too late,” he said. “How are you feeling now? Not too tired, I hope. And you haven’t got your feet wet, have you?”

  “No, not at all,” replied Geert-Jan cheerfully. “I’ll give you my letter later, sir, and –” He stopped.

  They could see the House of Stairs through the trees and had a good view of the fire escape they’d climbed a couple of hours ago. Up there, on the ledge, stood a tall figure… “Uncle Gradus!” whispered Geert-Jan.

  Frans took hold of his hand. “Quiet,” he ordered. “Act like you can’t see him. We’ll just keep on walking calmly, as if everything’s perfectly normal. Got it?”

  Count Grisenstein stood up there, as calm as you like, with his back to them. He was slowly running his hands over the wall.

  Frans tore his eyes away from the count and began talking to his student. They walked towards the house, pretending to be deep in conversation, without looking up again even once.

  This is proof! thought Frans. He really is after the treasure. He knows we didn’t bring anything down, but he’s checking, just to make sure we didn’t find something and leave it up there… He must be as superstitious as Geert-Jan and the other conspirators. I wouldn’t really have expected that from him…

  The house appeared to be empty. Selina was working in the kitchen, but she didn’t come out; Manus and Berend were both patrolling outside. Frans and Geert-Jan arranged the mushrooms in an old flowerpot and took them to the Rococo Room, so that the count would be able to see that they’d made good use of their time.

  Geert-Jan poured his tutor a cup of bitter tea from the cold teapot and ran off to fetch his letter for the children.

  When he returned, Frans was looking at the painting of the beautiful lady in the hoop skirt, with the white, long-haired cat.

  “That’s my great-great-great-aunt Griselda,” said the boy. “She was a witch.”

  “A witch?” repeated Frans. “So why didn’t she have a black cat?”

  At that very moment, Ivan appeared from behind a curtain. He jumped up onto a chair, stretched and blissfully sank his claws into the expensive upholstery.

  “Here’s the letter,” said Geert-Jan. Frans took it and tucked it away in his inside pocket.

  Ivan jumped down from the chair and started prowling around the room, stalking an invisible prey.

  “What’s that cat looking for?” asked Frans.

  “He can smell a mouse,” replied Geert-Jan.

  So the House of Stairs had mice as well as spiders!

  The boy sat down and asked, “Would you like some more tea?”

  “No, thank you,” said Frans. “I need to get going soon.”

  Ivan darted between his legs and pounced.

  �
��He’s caught a scent!” said Geert-Jan.

  The black cat crept under the cabinet beneath the portrait of great-great-great-aunt Griselda; only his tail was still sticking out. There was a rustle, followed by creaking and scratching. Geert-Jan leapt up and, within a second, he was lying on his stomach, peering under the cabinet too.

  “What is it, Ivan?” Frans heard him whisper.

  And then, more loudly, “There’s a hole here.”

  “Probably just a mouse hole,” said Frans.

  “It’s much bigger than a mouse hole,” said Geert-Jan. “Did you make it, Ivan?”

  The tip of the black tail twitched.

  “I can get my hand in there…” said Geert-Jan’s breathless voice. “I can feel something… Oooh!”

  “What is it?” asked Frans, half afraid that a mouse had bitten Geert-Jan’s finger.

  “There’s something in there,” said Geert-Jan. “Something hard… It’s square. I’ve got it!” he said triumphantly.

  He sat up and showed it to Frans. It was a beautiful Morocco leather box with a clasp made of two sparkling stones, as green as Ivan’s eyes. The cat came back out from under the cabinet and gave the box a cautious sniff.

  “What do you think is in there?” said Geert-Jan excitedly.

  “Open it very carefully,” said Frans. “I don’t know much about such things, but it looks very old, and it could be valuable.”

  Geert-Jan began to fiddle with the clasp. A few moments later, they were both staring in amazement at what was lying there inside the box, gleaming away on a cushion of black velvet: a small golden key.

  Geert-Jan sighed and whispered, “The key! Greeneyes has found the key…”

  They turned to Ivan, who looked smugly back at them.

  “If I’d made this up,” murmured Frans, “and told it as a story, people would think it sounded too unlikely.” Then he paused. He could hear something. “Quick!” he said. “Put the key back in the box and…”

  Geert-Jan had heard it too; someone was coming. “Uncle Gradus,” he whispered, closing the box. “I have to hide it…”

  “Give it to me,” said Frans. “I’ll look after it for you.”

  Luckily Geert-Jan agreed immediately. The precious key was safely inside Frans’s pocket when the count entered the room.

  It was almost impossible to imagine that this elegant gentleman had recently been climbing high up above the ground on a shaky, slippery ledge. He must have changed his clothes, as his suit didn’t have a single crease or mark on it.

  “Aha, Mr Van der Steg,” he said, raising his eyebrows as Ivan began to sharpen his claws on a table leg. “I thought you’d already gone…”

  “Your nephew offered me a cup of tea, Count Grisenstein,” said Frans. “But I…”

  “Oh, I’m pleased to see you’re still here,” said the count, interrupting him. “I’d like to speak to you if you have a moment.”

  “How do you like our mushrooms, Uncle Gradus?” asked Geert-Jan. “We found some really good ones. Some of them are poisonous.”

  “Poisonous…” the count said under his breath. He regarded the mushrooms with a scowl and said nothing for a moment. Then he turned to his nephew. “Say goodbye to your tutor, Geert-Jan,” he ordered, “and be on your way.”

  “Just a moment, please,” said Frans. “There’s something else I wanted to say to him.” He smiled at the boy and said, “I’m going to give you some homework, Geert-Jan. Do all of the sums in your maths book in section seven – I’m sure you can remember that number. And while you’re at, do the next section too. I’d also like you to write an essay about fungi, seven pages, including illustrations. And… copy out the grammar exercise we looked at, and analyse all of the sentences.”

  Geert-Jan didn’t exactly look pleased, but he meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

  Frans repeated his instructions. “You have to finish it all by Wednesday,” he added. “See you then.” He put one hand in his pocket and nodded at the boy. Geert-Jan gave him a wink and left the room.

  Good, Frans thought with satisfaction. I’ve given him so much work that he won’t have time for dangerous expeditions and climbing escapades.

  Count Grisenstein interrupted his thoughts. “Mr Van der Steg,” he said, “why did my nephew undertake that pointless climbing exercise? Was he off searching for the treasure again?”

  Frans hesitated before answering. “Yes, sir,” he said. “He was. I couldn’t talk him out of it.”

  The count peered at him through half-closed eyes. “Do you believe it?” he asked.

  “That there’s a treasure hidden in this house? To tell the truth, no, I don’t,” lied Frans. “I know just as well as you do that it’s only a story. Not that I want to forbid Geert-Jan to look for it! But I think it’s rather foolish for him to go climbing fire escapes and walls. Not to mention dangerous.”

  “I’m sure such high-up places make you feel dizzy,” said the count in an amused tone. “But,” he continued more seriously, “I have noted your concern for Geert-Jan’s wellbeing.”

  He looked at Frans as if expecting an answer, but none came.

  “And I believe you have also succeeded in gaining my nephew’s trust,” the count continued. He waited a moment before going on, “So I probably don’t actually need to ask you to keep a close eye on him. His behaviour worries me deeply though. It truly does! So please do keep me informed about his activities, Mr Van der Steg. Can I count on your help?”

  “Of course,” said Frans, “if it’s about Geert-Jan’s wellbeing…”

  Count Grisenstein flashed his cold smile. “I thank you, Mr Van der Steg,” he said, holding out his hand. “Berend is waiting to let you out. We shall see you on Wednesday. If you don’t receive news to the contrary, my coach will come to pick you up. Manus has proven to be a decent coachman, and I’m sure it’s much more convenient for you. You’ll stay for dinner, I hope.”

  First he didn’t trust me, thought Frans, and now he suddenly wants to be my friend. But the longer I know him, the less I like him…

  With a frown on his face, Frans left the House of Stairs, sunk deep in thought.

  *

  It was already getting dark when the gate closed behind him. He stopped and watched Berend until he’d disappeared from sight. Then he jumped on his bike and quickly rode onto the Seventh Way – that was the shortest route to the Herb Garden.

  It was nice to see Miss Rosemary’s house again, so neat and snug, with friendly lights in the windows. And it was even nicer to go inside and be greeted as a welcome guest. Aunt Wilhelmina and Roberto were there too, and the table was laid.

  “We were waiting for you before starting the meal,” said Miss Rosemary. Then she gave him a searching look and asked, “So? What news do you have? Any developments?”

  “Yes,” replied Frans. “But it’s nothing bad, so don’t worry!” He took out the leather box.

  “Ivan… Greeneyes has found the key.”

  After dinner, Mr Thomtidom and Jan Tooreloor arrived; Miss Rosemary had phoned and asked them to join them. All the conspirators had to meet for a council of war, now that the key had been found.

  The magician took off his jacket, so that everyone could see his green sleeves, and then subjected Ivan’s discovery to close scrutiny. “This is most certainly Sir Grimbold’s key,” he said. “It’s six or seven hundred years old. The box is from a later date; I think it belonged to Count Gregorius. The clasp is interesting: these two stones of the mineral quartz, with a cabochon cut, are commonly known as ‘cats-eyes’. It’s so strange and wonderful to see how the prophecy’s coming true, step by step…”

  “What I’d really like to know is what steps we should take,” said Frans rather impatiently. “Let’s not talk about prophecies – I’m more interested in Geert-Jan. I’m afraid the boy really will be in danger if he remains at the House of Stairs for much longer!”

  “Well said,” said Aunt Wilhelmina, with a nod for Frans and a look of disapproval for the
magician. “I couldn’t care less about all that hocus pocus. We should be thinking about that poor little child.”

  “But Geert-Jan isn’t a ‘poor little child’ at all,” Frans objected. “He’s really rather enjoying the situation, as you well know. He’s not scared, but that’s also why he doesn’t see the danger. I wish he lived here instead…” He looked at the President.

  Miss Rosemary twisted a curl around her finger and said thoughtfully, “It’s his birthday next week.”

  “It’s only his eleventh birthday. He can keep on looking until he’s eighteen,” said the magician reassuringly.

  “Yes, I’m sure you’d be happy if he doesn’t find the treasure until he’s got a grey beard, just like yours!” exclaimed Roberto.

  “Well, I for one don’t want to wait that long,” growled Jan Tooreloor. “The count has to be defeated and exposed – and that is our goal.”

  “Geert-Jan must be freed – that is our goal,” said Aunt Wilhelmina.

  “All our paths lead to the same goal,” said the magician solemnly. “We have only one wish and one will, and where there is a will, there’s a way – and in our case there are actually seven ways. And all those ways lead to…”

  “To Sevenways!” Frans said, interrupting him. “Let’s stop wasting our time with useless wordplay. What I really need is some good advice!”

  Roberto quietly began to hum the Song of Seven and the magician said, “Good advice does not come cheap.”

  Frans looked around the circle of conspirators. He realized they were all staring at him as if they were expecting to hear good advice and words of wisdom from him!

  “You know,” he said slowly, “that at first I didn’t really believe in Count Gregorius’s prophecies, but I have to admit now that there could be some truth to them… The question is: how can all of it come true? I agree with Mr Thomtidom that we have only one goal: Geert-Jan must find the treasure, and in such a way that the count can’t take it from him…”