“Geronimo move,” Tom screamed at Felix.
“What?” replied Felix as they were being cornered by the monks.
Then he remembered the moves from rugby training the previous night. He winked at Tom and charged at the monk blocking the door, Tom slotted in behind him.
The noise Felix made as he bounced off the monk’s iron-like muscles was like a deflating balloon. He fell back against Tom and they both crashed into the poster covered wall. The room started to spin. They felt like they were flying. Their minds went blank and they passed out.
4
As he woke up, Felix asked himself whether he was dead or alive. He could not figure out if he was going upwards, downwards, forwards, backwards, left or right. All he knew was that he felt really sick and that he was travelling at some speed. To feel sick you have to be alive Felix thought. Although the full English breakfast he’d eaten now seemed like a really bad mistake, as his stomach was spinning like a washing machine. The last thing he remembered was bouncing off the monk back into Tom and into the wall of the History classroom and after that, nothing.
“Kidnapped, that’s it,” he said to himself. “A mad dream? A nightmare?” Felix could not figure out what was happening. He could move his arms and legs, so the monks hadn’t tied him up. He could hear nothing apart from the whooshing of the wind as he sped through the air. He was definitely moving, it was no dream. A panicky thought ran through his mind, “The Book of Words!” he cried out. He reached hurriedly inside his school blazer. The Book was still there, tucked safely into his pocket. The monks would have taken the Book to keep it secure if he had been captured. Something else was happening - he was still free!
Felix could not feel anything solid around him. His heart sank as he realised that he would have to open his eyes to find out if he was definitely flying. But what new horrors would he see?
A familiar friendly voice hit his ears, “You OK mate?”
Bravely Felix dared to open his eyes. He looked up and there was Tom beaming from ear to ear.
“Just lie back and enjoy the ride,” said Felix’s best friend through his giggles.
“Are we dead?” Felix was aching all over.
“We’re breathing and talking so I guess not.” Tom was always able to lighten the mood.
The bright multi-coloured rays of light burned Felix’s eyes. Every colour that existed, in reality or imagination, streamed passed him, making Felix feel dizzy as well as sick. The colours twirled around him - they were in some kind of vortex. He gained his balance and the dizziness calmed. This was the strangest event Felix had ever experienced. He thought they may have sedated him with tranquilisers, like the lion in Madagascar - but there was no music or carnival in his head. Then he saw something strange. Felix was catching glimpses of black and white images in amongst the swirling colours. He tried hard to focus on them. He thought he saw his parents whizz past. Then he caught glimpses of people and places he recognised.
He was dead. This was his life flying before his eyes. Felix had always thought that was a myth. But he could not be dead, he was breathing. He was speaking to Tom. Felix pinched himself to make sure. He was still feeling really sick. Felix concentrated hard, he needed to figure this out, and quickly.
He squinted his eyes tightly in order to see the images clearly: cavemen, Vikings, cowboys, Queen Victoria, Winston Churchill, men in trenches – they all appeared before him. Churches, volcanoes, factories, towns on fire, Roman soldiers, dinosaurs and then Egyptians came next. Then a shiver flowed down his spine as he spotted some monks. Thank goodness they were peaceful monks in a field farming. But he couldn’t get those scary half human creatures out of his mind. He knew he had to try and stay away from them and keep the book with him.
So many questions, so few answers. He became frustrated and more confused as he filled his head with all sorts of possible theories. He slapped himself hard across the face as he remembered the last words of The Sheriff. “You will figure it out as we all have”. He wondered whether the monks had really killed The Sheriff and Mr Buckley. The blood on his shirt said most probably.
“This is the best History lesson ever.” Tom was grinning from ear to ear.
“Where are we? What’s happening?” Felix had never been as scared in his life.
“It’s like Doctor Who!” said Tom, “God knows what it is but we can’t do anything until it stops.”
“What if they’re at the end?” Felix dreaded the thought of having to face those monsters again.
“Then we’ll probably die,” replied Tom with a smile. He could always be relied upon to be calm in a crisis.
“This must have happened to The Sheriff and the other Keepers in the past,” said Felix. “I want to know how long the Brethren have been after this battered old book.”
“Enough of the questions!” shouted Tom. “Remember what The Sheriff said, ‘figure it out as you go along’.”
The images kept flashing amongst the coloured lights: the Twin Towers, doctors operating, boats, planes, animals, rainforests, works of art, Florence Nightingale - the entertainment went on for what seemed like an eternity.
Their journey came to an abrupt end as they hit the floor with an almighty thump. Felix ached all over. Dazed he shook his head from side to side. It was all a weird dream, he had been knocked out when he hit the wall! A feeling of relief momentarily washed through him.
“The monks!” he quietly whimpered. If it was a dream they would be waiting, waiting to take him somewhere he did not want to go.
“They’re not here!” Tom announced confidently as he lay on his back wondering where they had ended up.
It was cold, the wind whistled above them and the ground felt soft like sand. In the distance a strange rumble of engines could be heard above the crashing of waves. This was most definitely not a History room! Looking up through the tall wispy grass swaying back and forth in the building wind there was a sudden realisation they had been here before.
“This is marram grass,” said Felix.
“What? How do you remember this stuff?” Felix, to Tom’s annoyance had always been the brains of the outfit.
This was marram grass. They were on a sand dune like the ones they had visited with the school in Year 7 on the Geography trip.
“This can’t be Dawlish Warren!” exclaimed Tom. He did not realise that he wasn’t far from his imagined destination.
It was dawn, the gentle heat of the rising sun warmed their faces as they lay still in shock.
“Devon? Devon?” Felix whispered. “How the hell have we got from London to Devon?”
He reached for his mobile phone and dialled his father. He would come and pick them up. It would take some explaining though. All he got was silence! He checked the signal bars, none. “Typical!” he thought “Lost, alone and no signal.” He dabbed the Facebook icon on his smart phone - no internet connection came the message. He lay there thinking that he was sure he texted his mother from there last year.
“Try yours!” Tom did but the result was the same.
“Trust you to bring me to the only place without any signal.” Tom was holding his phone out in every direction searching for a connection.
“I didn’t bring you anywhere,” retorted Felix.
The argument was interrupted by an ear shattering explosion. They were covered in flying sand and vegetation. A second explosion and a third followed quickly until they lost count. The boys had to move before a bomb landed on them. They had obviously been dumped on the army training ground they had been warned away from the previous summer.
For the second time that day Tom stated, “You’re going to die.” He lay there laughing.
Felix raised his head above the long grass and looked at the devastation around them. Craters and smoke were everywhere. He had completely forgotten about the journey and the Brethren. They had to get out of there. He hit the deck when he heard bullets flying past his ears. The firing ceased and there was shouting, lots of shouting, in a strange language
.
“What the hell is happening now?” Tom lay on his stomach, too scared to move.
He peered through the grass out to sea. Tom could not believe his eyes, a beach covered in concrete, barbed wire and wooden structures, and beyond them boats as far as he could see. This was a huge army exercise, he thought. He was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and pulled to his feet. “Nooooooooooo,” he screamed, thinking the monks had got him.
The man in the blue uniform that appeared in front of him did not ease his feeling of dread.
5
The sight of the soldier put their brains into overdrive. They both knew they had seen the uniform before. The language, the uniform, the bombs. The lightbulb ignited.
“Germans!” they both whispered together.
“I hope this is one of those games people do on a weekend.” Tom looked as if he was praying as the bombs continued to rain down around them.
“I don’t think so, this is for real,” squealed Felix.
This was without doubt no army exercise in Devon. The boys knew enough history to realise that they had to be on the other side of the English Channel! They turned towards the beach, the boats were getting closer. The barrage of explosions increased and gunfire once more began to fly over their heads.
“How did we get to be part of D-day?” shouted Felix above the noise. “It’s impossible!” Felix shook his head in disbelief, still not quite knowing how he had travelled back in time over 70 years.
“Doctor Who,” screamed a startled Tom, “I told you - like Doctor Who!”
They were dragged away from the dunes and inland towards a village. The Germans were taking them to safety. The buildings were strange and multi-coloured. Those that were still standing after the bombing had steep roofs made of old terracotta tiles. The roads were filled with jeeps and rifle wielding Germans running frantically towards the beach to repel the impending surprise attack. This was real. A farmhouse to their right disintegrated as another shell hit, throwing the boys and their rescuer into the roadside ditch. Muddy, stinking of stagnant water and terrified, Felix clambered out and grabbed Tom. They ran as quickly as they could towards the nearby village leaving the German motionless in the ditch.
There was nobody to be seen, the locals must have fled a long time ago. They took refuge behind what was left of an old stone wall. Breathing deeply they took stock of their surroundings. The sign on the wall read ‘Colleville-sur-mer’, a familiar name to Felix. He wracked his memory for information. He had heard the name in one of Mr Taylor’s History lessons. It was one of the first villages captured by the forces who landed on Sword Beach, Normandy. Captured within an hour following intense fierce fighting, it had been flattened by the Allies. Although gladdened by the thought that he was within an hour of meeting some friendly forces, he was also sure that if he stayed in the village he would be blown to smithereens.
“We have to move.” Felix insisted.
“No we don’t, the British will be here and we will be saved,” snarled Tom.
“Numpty! We’ll be in Britain in 1944. We need to get further away and figure this out.” Felix ordered with an air of authority.
The noise and dust was unbearable, they could not stay here. They had to move inland away from the battle. They could not quite believe that they had travelled back through time, and still held on to the hope that this might be a very realistic re-enactment, but the screams and persistent noise of machine gun fire coming from the beach convinced them. Once again they were running for their lives.
6
In floods of tears Felix ran down the gravel road desperately trying to keep up with Tom. They eventually came to a bridge over a river. They could still hear the deafening sounds of the battle on the beach and feel the ground rumble and shake with every bomb that fell. They crawled under the bridge and found a well camouflaged alcove to rest inside.
The Sheriff’s words “You’ll figure it out like all of us did,” echoed in Felix’s head. Figure it out, he thought angrily.
“Why won’t somebody just tell me what’s going on?” he screamed up at the bridge.
Well it was not going to happen unless he opened ‘The Book of Words’. Wearily, he pulled the tatty old book out of his blazer and stared in wonder at it. There on the cover was his name:
The Book 0f Words
The Keeper
Felix Jones
“Right, I know this. I am The Keeper. The Brethren want the book I’m supposed to be keeping safe, and there are Guardians who will protect me. But where are the Guardians? And who are they?” “Talking to myself - the first sign of madness!” he thought, chuckling.
Tom piped up, “Me, you muppet! I’ll protect you like I’ve always done.”
“I know but this is way beyond a scrap at break time.” Felix knew he could always rely on Tom.
“What’s the Book about anyway?” asked Tom.
“Not a clue, I haven’t had a chance to read any of it yet if you hadn’t noticed!” Felix screamed at him.
The Book had been his for what seemed like forever and its contents were still a mystery. With great trepidation he pulled up the leather cover to reveal the first page. It read:
Location: Normandy, France
Date: 6th June 1944
Languages: French and German
Then there was a map of the local area and a small map of France dated 1944.
“What does it say?” asked his anxious friend, hoping for a way out of all of this to be revealed.
Felix showed him the page.
“It’s blank!” screamed Tom, “Great, we’re looking after an old blank note book.”
“Can’t you see it?” laughed Felix, realising that maybe only The Keeper could read The Book of Words. He told Tom what the page said.
“Great, a mystical A-Z!” Tom put his head in his hands, accepting that he was deep in something he did not understand and could not control.
“There must be more to this than telling me where I am.” Felix could see Tom was becoming increasingly worried. The second page had at some point in the past been torn out. Page after page was blank until he found a huge description and explanation of what was happening in that area, and what was about to occur. The Book could tell the future or the past – well, it depended on your point of view, and where and when you had come from. He told Tom what he had discovered and they agreed that this could be very handy. Felix read on.
Another run was on the cards as the Book described a bit of a stalemate in this area for a few days, with hand to hand combat and feats of bravery by soldiers on both sides. They could not stay here, as all the bridges were to be blown up by retreating German troops to slow down the Allied advance.
“Where are you taking me next then?” Tom sat down throwing stones into the river. Felix didn’t answer, but sat staring at the Book in silence. Before long Tom lay back and was snoring like a pig.
Felix knew they had to leave, running was again a certainty. The next explosion made Felix drop the Book - it fell open at its final pages. There he could see two lists of names. At the bottom of the first list he saw his name:
Felix Jones 2015 – present
The list went back to the date 476. This had been going on for centuries. There were all sorts of names from all sorts of languages on here. The Sheriff sat above his name:
Trevor Law 1944 – 2015 deceased
Everybody above him was deceased. The memory of the Brethren monks came rushing back. They were running from the war and running from those monsters. He could not decide what he was most scared of. The second list on the last page was an exact duplicate with two omissions. The Sheriff and Felix were missing, the last entry was:
Emile Dupont 1938 – present
According to this list Emile Dupont was still alive. Felix checked the first list again. It stated Emile had died in 1944, the year The Sheriff became the Keeper!
Felix was an intelligent boy, he was one of the top students in his year group and he had com
e in the top ten in the entrance exam to Queen Anne’s School, but this was taking some working out. He made sure the Book was closed and fell into a deep sleep, they had run miles and had had what can only be described as a very stressful day.
The rumbling of a large military vehicle crossing the bridge woke them with a start. The draught caused by the commotion above blew open the Book to the first page. There was an additional entry:
The Keeper: Emile Dupont Paris, France
Felix now knew his next destination, the French capital. He had to find the other Keeper. He would know what was happening and how to get back home.
“We have to go to Paris,” said Felix, after explaining the entry in the book to Tom.
“OK,” Tom replied sceptically. “As long as I get home in one piece I don’t care.”
They had to get to Paris without firstly getting shot by the Germans or the British, and secondly, without bumping in to the Brethren and being dragged off to who knows where. If the Keeper had been present through the ages it stood to reason that the Brethren had been too. Once again they were on the move; but this time was different, they knew where they were going.
7
The destination this time was clear, they were off to Paris. The boys knew they had to head away from the carnage unravelling on the beaches. If they stayed they would be in real danger. They climbed up onto the track and found themselves amidst a column of German vehicles, jeeps and trucks, full of troops heading in the opposite direction to them.
A captain shouted, “You silly boy, find your family and get out of here.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Felix replied in perfect German.
Felix Jones And The Book Of Words (A Felix Jones Adventure 1) Page 2
