Felix Jones And The Book Of Words (A Felix Jones Adventure 1)

by Julian Roderick

The Captain was as shocked as Felix that he could speak in his native tongue. Having only completed a year of French at school, Felix was totally confused by the fact he could now speak fluent German. The Captain stared open mouthed as he disappeared into the distance along the narrow dust covered track.

  “Hey genius.” Tom was once again grinning, “Since when can you speak German?”

  Felix realised it must be the Book. It did say:

  Languages: French and German

  “I think it’s the book,” he laughed. “I am Language Man!”

  The Book had the power to let the Keeper understand and speak any language he was spoken to in. “This will be handy,” thought Felix. He smiled as he accepted he was in the middle of the most exciting adventure. It was highly dangerous but fun. The pair walked passed the soldiers, smiling as they went.

  “You’re going to get your backsides kicked,” Felix quipped to the German column.

  “What?” asked Tom.

  When Felix translated Tom laughed out loud and repeated the phrase over and over with Felix. The replies they received were not so polite! They were in little danger here as the Germans thought they were French. They looked odd though, dressed from head to toe in clothes that screamed English school children. Felix ran into a farmhouse garden and grabbed some ragged clothes off the washing line for them to wear. They changed in the shed were they also found a collection of work boots.

  “Great!” said Tom looking at the clothes. “Can’t you do anything right?”

  “What?” Felix, who was feeling quite pleased with himself, was becoming annoyed.

  “Who’s wearing this?” Tom held up a flowery blue dress.

  “My hair is too short to be a girl in 1944 and my bum would look big in that,” said Felix as he began to laugh. “You’ll have to put it on.”

  They would fit right in looking like a rural farm worker and his big sister. Tom really wanted to dress in a stripy top and beret and ride a bike with a string of onions round his neck, but this did not seem to be the fashion in 1944. A bike would be good right now though to speed up their journey.

  The column passed by. Some of the soldiers had thrown them some bread, which the boys gulped down in seconds. They opened the Book and Felix studied the map. Paris was miles away - it would take the pair weeks to walk there. However, something strange had appeared on the map. A red sword flashed in a nearby village. The winding route to the sword was highlighted by a faint yellow line.

  “What now? What does this mean?” Felix cried out in despair.

  “Please, not so loud. I’m a lady,” quipped Tom.

  “Do you want me to follow this line?” Felix asked.

  “What line?” Tom asked before realising Felix was talking to the Book.

  Felix could see words slowly appearing on the page overleaf. The previously blank second page had one word on it:

  ‘Yes’

  The Book had answered his question. “How do I get home?” was the next logical enquiry. The page remained blank. The book flew across the road as it was thrown in anger.

  “Why won’t you answer me?” shouted Felix.

  Tom collected the Book, dusted it off and opened it up. He passed it back to his tearful friend and Felix explained how the book had answered some of his questions and not others. Tom turned to the second page where Felix saw a short, sharp answer:

  ‘Ask the right questions.’

  A moody, sarcastic Book was all every confused, scared, excited schoolboy needed for company when they had travelled into a time and world they knew little about. The boys were left with little choice; they needed to follow the yellow line. At least they had a mystical sat-nav to help them find their way.

  The sound of war became a distant murmur as the friends meandered along the roads highlighted in yellow upon the map. Orchards abundant with ripe, juicy fruit fed their growing hunger. It was a beautiful part of the world with flowers in full bloom and crops ripening for harvest all swaying and rippling in the gentle breeze. It was a shame that in a short time they would be flattened by tanks and the advancing armies of both sides.

  They had moved swiftly, picking up drinks of water at village wells and pumps as they passed through. The local people were friendly and as Felix could speak fluent French, thanks to the book, they gave them food, mostly bread and cheese. Madame Burton would be most impressed with the improvement in his language skills. However, none of the phrases he was learning in class about pets were very useful on this journey.

  They had walked all day and had almost reached their destination. There was a small hamlet ahead. It was a strange collection of ramshackle buildings around a church with a tall, intricately carved spire.

  “That’s it,” pointed Felix.

  “Right come on, let’s get this over with.” Tom was eager to return home as quickly as possible.

  “I’m bushed.” Felix let out a large yawn.

  The boys were absolutely shattered and decided that they needed to be fully awake and alert before facing what lay waiting for them in the nearby village. Felix still did not know whether the sword indicated danger or help. He wondered whether the Brethren were lying in wait for them. The new day would bring many answers, of that he was sure. The pair buried themselves in a large haystack and were asleep in seconds.

  8

  “Atchoooo”

  Felix’s sneeze brought their slumber to an abrupt halt. It took a while for Felix to remember it was not a dream and he really was in Normandy, wearing stolen clothes under a haystack and freezing. The stubbly hay stuck up his nose, the dust blocked his nostrils. The sun was rising and the rays slowly warmed his weary body. He took a mouthful of the French stick he had in his pocket and envisaged what lay ahead. A fight to the death with those freaky faced Brethren monks, another weird instruction from The Book of Words, he just did not know.

  “Come on then sleepy head.” Tom was sat in the field in his underpants sunbathing. “Let’s see if the Brethren hurt girls too.” He laughed as he slipped on the flowery dress.

  A stone wall skirted the field and led towards the small village they had found the previous evening. The red sword had disappeared from the map, so this must be their destination. They kept low and crawled stealthily alongside the sheltering wall. It was early. Hopefully nobody would be awake. Tom reached the first building. As he peaked over the window sill the curtains opened and a portly woman dressed in her nightclothes shrieked. It was a scream that woke the whole community. Felix dived under a corrugated iron sheet tunnel and Tom hid in a bush. The stench was overwhelming and a warmth told Felix of a presence. He turned around carefully and there was the biggest pig he had ever seen. For the second time in as many seconds a shriek alerted the whole village to their whereabouts. Running was on the cards again. Felix brushed off the mud and fled into a nearby barn where he was soon joined by Tom. They found temporary shelter under a tarpaulin.

  Outside the villagers ran round frantically searching high and low for the intruders. Farmers had shotguns, and the women swung rolling pins back and forth looking scarier than the monks. The locals were as frightened as the boys. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Felix thought. ‘There’s nothing for anyone to be wary about’ and without a care he threw back the covering. Hearing the rustle, the farmers turned, cocked their guns and aimed them at the strange looking boys.

  “The British are coming!” Felix shouted excitedly.

  The guns were lowered as the men realised the intruders were French.

  “Where are you from?” a large scarred man asked.

  Although tempted to tell the truth, Felix decided discretion was the better part of valour. Tom for once was keeping his mouth shut and left it to Felix to sort out.

  “We’re from Colleville-sur-mer, the British have landed and are heading this way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, they’re pushing the Germans back. My sister and I ran from the bombing,” he said pointing at Tom laughing.

  “What
now?” Tom asked angrily.

  “That farmer fancies you,” chortled Felix.

  The pop of champagne corks stopped the argument and the appearance of the French flags meant party time. After four years of German occupation the villagers would soon be free again. An elderly farmer’s wife picked Felix up, hugged him and gave him a smacker of a kiss on the lips. The pair relaxed and joined in the dancing, but the nagging question of the red sword and what it meant swirled through the back of Felix’s mind.

  A decrepit, hunched, old gentleman appeared from a workshop on crutches.

  “What’s all this noise?” he growled angrily

  “The British are coming” the villagers sang out all at once.

  “Thank God for that!” the elderly grouch exclaimed as he stood upright, threw away his crutches and ran towards the gathered celebrating crowd. His accent became less French and more English. The boys smiled at him.

  “You English?” he enquired in French.

  “You German?” came the sarcastic reply from Felix.

  A smile spread slowly across the man’s face, but disappeared when Felix spoke again.

  “No, I’m pretending to be French too!” announced Felix in English, much to a confused Tom’s surprise.

  The man looked the pair up and down and said thoughtfully whilst scratching his ears, “I think I’ve been expecting you.”

  “How the… oh never mind, it’s the Book isn’t it?” sighed Felix.

  The man nodded gently and led the boys towards his workshop. If he was expecting them it was either going to be a long journey or death. The boys followed slowly and entered a room filled with old metal tools. In the middle of the room was a red hot furnace. The workshop was that of a Blacksmith.

  “I’ve been here three years, helping the French Resistance,” the smiling man stated.

  “I’m Group Captain Pomeroy of the RAF.”

  “I’m Tom Matthews of Queen Anne’s School sir!” Tom saluted playfully.

  “I fear you boys are not here as spies or as British soldiers.” The increasingly excited Group Captain stated.

  “No, we’re here to… well I don’t know why we’re here!” Felix scratched his head trying to figure out why they were there.

  “I don’t know why you are here either, but yesterday morning I started to get the signal.”

  “The signal the invasion was coming?” asked Tom.

  “Well, yes. In between all that something more important was happening to me,” said their new friend.

  The Group Captain delved in a pile of rags behind his anvil and pulled out some more appropriate clothes for Tom. He reached back in and picked up a long object wrapped in an oily blanket. To the boys surprise he unrolled the blanket to reveal a silver sabre. The boys had seen something similar before.

  “What is it with all these swords?” asked Tom wearily. “Can’t we use machine guns or hand grenades?”

  It was identical to the sword Mr Buckley had tried to fight off the monks with.

  “You’re a Guardian!” whispered Felix.

  “Yes Felix, I am. I was looking forward to a nice cup of tea in a china cup whilst I caught up with all the news from home in the Officer’s Mess on the beach. The invasion would have brought that tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Felix winked.

  “That doesn’t matter now; my oldest orders take priority. I must guide you in whatever quest you are on and ensure the Book stays with you, or is passed on safely to the next Keeper.”

  “You wait here. I’ll find another Guardian. You need a rest from war.” Felix said considerately.

  “That cannot be - look at the map. Is there another red sword anywhere near here?”

  The map was just a map as far as Felix could see. On a positive note they had company for the rest of the trip to Paris.

  “What does a Guardian do?” Tom was just as confused as he had been after the explosion at school.

  “How do you become a Guardian?” Felix had heard lots of names but didn’t have a clue what they meant.

  “How do we get home?” enquired both boys together.

  “Enough,” snapped the Group Captain, “answers later, now we get to Paris.”

  “But…,” said Felix before he realised he wasn’t going to get any joy now.

  “Before we leave, I need to send a message.” The Guardian dragging a radio out from under a toolbox.

  “Broadsword to Danny Boy, Broadsword to Danny Boy”

  “Danny Boy to Broadsword, go ahead. Over,” came the crackly reply.

  “The enemy is east of last, 20 miles, avoid last. Over”

  “Understood. Roger and out,” the posh English voice disappeared.

  As he grabbed a rucksack from under the rags, the Group Commander turned to his new charges and said, “I’ve had this packed for years and never met a Keeper. These villagers are safe now, so where are our adventures taking us?”

  “Paris!” Tom at least knew where they were heading next.

  Felix could see the cogs turning in the Group Commanders head.

  “Group Commander,” said Felix.

  “I’m not in the RAF now kid, call me Jack.”

  Tom laughed at Felix and shouted, “Tally ho old chap, we’re in a black and white war film!”

  Jack pushed the boys quickly towards the barn. They had not noticed, but the tarpaulin they had hidden under sat next to a motorbike and sidecar. Jack gave Felix his rucksack and his sabre and shoved him into the sidecar.

  “On the back,” he bellowed at Tom as he started the engine on the old machine, “and hold on tight.”

  “Merci beaucoup mes amis. Bon chance.” Shouted Jack as they sped past the party, which was now in full flow. The villagers all waved and returned the Group Captain’s sentiment. The motorbike accelerated and the village was soon a dot on the horizon behind them.

  9

  The wind blew their hair all over the place. Felix’s mother would have a fit if she could see him hurtling along with a complete stranger on a motorbike without a helmet. That would warrant a month’s grounding but he had a feeling she would never find out. The French countryside was a blur as Jack twisted the throttle to its absolute limit. After about an hour they came to a stop.

  “German checkpoint,” whispered Jack.

  He turned left down a side track and stopped under a large willow tree next to a river.

  “May as well have lunch,” he declared as he produced a well packed picnic of French goodies.

  “Where do you keep your sword?” Jack asked Felix.

  “Behind his left ear!” Tom was giggling again. He found the thought of his little friend wielding a sword hilarious. Tom had been fencing since he was six and knew how to handle a sword.

  “What sword?” asked Felix.

  “The Keeper’s sword, it has been passed down through the ages from Keeper to Keeper.” Jack was visibly worried at Felix’s lack of a weapon.

  “I don’t have a sword,” Felix whimpered apologetically.

  “How long have you been the Keeper?” asked Jack.

  “One and a half days!” revealed Tom.

  “When the old Keeper gave you the book did he have a sword?”

  “A huge one with a jewelled handle?” Felix described the sword The Sheriff had been using.

  “Yes, where was it?” asked Jack in a panic.

  “Stuck in a monk, I hope,” whispered Tom.

  “You will need the sword to protect yourself from the Brethren.” Jack was getting more and more serious.

  “I can’t get it now, I don’t know how to get back to school.” Felix was obviously flustered by his failure to have a sword.

  “How do we get back to 2015? How do we get home?” asked an increasingly desperate Tom.

  “I have never known how the Book works but I do know a bit about the swords.” As they relaxed in the shade of the willow’s branches, Jack told the boys all he knew.

  “The Book of Words gave advice and knowledge
to people in order for society to be fair and equal. The Book was used to show how different peoples could live together in harmony and share all they had for the good of everyone. The Guardians come from a group of knights who vowed to stop the Book getting into the hands of those who would use it selfishly to rule the world. Evil dictators who would enslave populations so that the majority would live to serve the ruling classes and those who would expand their empires until all lay under their rule. The Guardians have protected the Book and the Keeper since the time of that vow during medieval times.”

  The boys looked at each other in amazement. Jack continued his tale,

  “Those that knew of the book split into factions. The Brethren came from an ancient order which has always wanted the power the Book brings. I’m not sure of the details, but in the early sixth century other factions vowed to never let the Brethren get their hands on the Book and a task was set to find the first Keeper. The test was to find a warrior worthy of the honour. Sabres were forged for the Guardian Knights and the weapons were blessed by a Druid. They vowed to pass the sabres on to their first born to carry on protecting the Keeper. The Guardians dispersed to all parts of the kingdom so that The Keeper was safe wherever he went. The Brethren have always had the power to defeat all who come against them, and the Guardians vowed to give up their lives to the Brethren for the Keeper’s safety. The Keeper was given a special sword - the only weapon that could kill one of the Brethren. This too is passed on with the book from Keeper to Keeper. It was the one weapon that could hold back the Brethren. That is all I know of the history of the Book.”

  “All sounds a bit Harry Potter.” Tom was convinced this was a fairy tale

  “I didn’t believe any of this either,” announced Jack. “My father told me this on his deathbed as he passed me the sabre, he said I would know when the Keeper was close.”

  “How do you know it’s true?” Felix for once agreed with Tom.

  “My Grandfather had died of a heart attack but nobody remembered seeing him ill in bed or collapsed on the floor. I took a sneaky look inside his coffin before the funeral. He had a massive wound from his stomach to his throat. It was no heart attack that killed him, it was a large blade. It is my turn now, there are hundreds of us to protect you: few of us see action, but this is rather a jolly wheeze.”