History Keepers: Circus Maximus

by Dibben, Damian

  But Nathan had seen something else: two riders coming onto the quayside, one fair-haired, the other in a wide-brimmed hat. ‘In here – quickly!’ he said, darting across the flagstones and up into the fish market.

  They were hit immediately by the salty stench of fresh fish. Like the customs house, the market – lit by wax lanterns hanging from the rafters – was bustling with activity. Dock workers were delivering and taking away boxes of fish, while fishermen bartered noisily, their mouths firing gusts of vapour. The agents threaded their way through and hid in the shadows behind three vast stacks of boxes. Caspar pulled a face when he caught sight of their contents: live eels, thrashing and writhing about. Jake and Nathan peered out. Through the throng they saw the Leopard and his sidekick dismount and cautiously approach the other side of the market.

  As they came into the light beside the building, the accomplice nudged up his hat to wipe his brow and his face became visible for the first time. Jake started. It was hard to see through the clouds of icy vapour, but he recognized something about him. He squinted to get a better view and could see that he was young – seventeen or so – handsome, broad shouldered, with olive skin.

  Then it dawned on him: his eyes widened and his heart stopped. His hands shook. His face went pale.

  ‘Philip . . .?’ he said softly to himself. The man, he was certain, was his lost brother.

  Three years ago, tragedy had come to the Djones family when Philip, Jake’s older brother, disappeared, presumed dead. Jake had always been led to believe that the disaster happened on a school trip, and had learned only recently that Philip had actually been on a History Keepers’ mission at the time – an assignment to Vienna in 1689. They hadn’t heard from him since – but neither had a body been found, and Jake, who had loved his brother deeply, now clung to the belief that he was still alive somewhere.

  The phantom said something to the Leopard and they both turned away from the market and headed back to remount their horses. They trotted off along the quay in the other direction, eyes searching for their prey.

  ‘Right, let’s go,’ Nathan whispered, stepping carefully out from their hiding place. Caspar followed, but Jake paid no attention; he was spellbound, rooted to the spot, watching the two figures retreat. His heart was pumping at double speed, his breaths short and quick, his brain teeming with questions: was that really his brother? It was three years since he had seen him. He had only caught a fleeting glance – but is that what he would look like now? And if it was his brother, why was he here with the enemy? Jake wanted to cry out ‘Philip?’ at the top of his voice and see if he turned round.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing!’ Nathan hissed, coming back and taking Jake’s arm. ‘Let’s go!’ He dragged him through the market and onto the quayside towards the Tulip. Half in a dream, Jake turned again. The two riders were almost out of sight. He stared at the figure in the wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘Nathan, I know you’re going to think I’m crazy,’ he said, finally stopping and turning, ‘but I cannot leave here until I know something.’ He started wandering, as if in a trance, towards the riders.

  Jake was right: Nathan did think he was mad. ‘Come back here!’ he thundered. ‘Come back at once!’

  The horsemen, hearing the voices, stopped and turned. They peered into the half-light and made out the silhouettes behind them on the quay – and started heading back.

  ‘We have precisely a minute to get out of here.’ Nathan yanked Jake on across the icy cobbles towards the Tulip, Caspar panting at his side.

  ‘Here!’ Charlie identified himself from the prow. ‘Furnace lit, ready to set sail.’ All the History Keepers’ vessels, whatever age they originally came from, were modified for speed, and the Tulip’s propeller was turning slowly in the water.

  They were just ten yards away when Jake, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, twisted free of Nathan and turned towards the two riders, who were now fast approaching along the quay.

  ‘Philip?’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Is it you?’

  ‘Stop it!’ Nathan yelled, once again taking hold of Jake.

  ‘Let go of me!’ Jake snarled, swinging his arm savagely and cracking his fist into Nathan’s jaw. Charlie, who was not prone to dramatic gestures, held up his hands and gasped in horror.

  ‘He has the atomium!’ Nathan said as Jake ran back along the quay towards the horsemen. He froze, unable to process what he should do next.

  ‘Philip, is it you?’ Jake called again, half demented. He stopped as the Leopard’s horse drew up at his side, its rider cocking his pistol and pointing it at him. Jake paid no heed to it. He wasn’t scared; all he cared about was the identity of the other man.

  This figure now approached and, in an instant, jumped down from his horse. He advanced slowly towards Jake, his face still in shadow. Jake could feel tears welling up. ‘Philip . . .?’ he asked in a desperate, quavering voice.

  For the first time, the man removed his hat.

  Immediately the hope drained from Jake. Close up, he could see, with terrible clarity, that this was not his brother: wrong nose, wrong mouth, wrong eyes. It was a complete stranger. Now the impostor also drew his weapon and, with a sly smile, aimed it at Jake.

  ‘We’ll take those vials now,’ the Leopard said in his silky voice. ‘Henrik, would you oblige?’

  Henrik jabbed his gun closer towards Jake’s chest.

  Nathan, Charlie and Caspar could only watch powerlessly as Jake retrieved the two bottles from inside his jacket and passed them over. Henrik in turn handed them to the Leopard, who slotted them back into their original box. ‘Such a pleasure doing business.’ He bowed to the forlorn agents of the History Keepers as Henrik replaced his hat and mounted his horse.

  Suddenly a cry came out of nowhere: ‘Nooooooooo!’ Caspar screamed as he rushed towards the Leopard. ‘It doesn’t belong to you!’ Then there was an explosion – a gun was discharged so close it made Jake’s ears pop. Smoke was coming from the Leopard’s pistol. For a moment no one moved, then Caspar gasped in agony, his eyes swimming in shock. Blood seeped through his fingers as he clutched his abdomen. He slipped on the ice, lost his balance and fell into the sea.

  ‘Caspar!’ Jake shouted. He was about to launch himself into the harbour when he noticed Henrik’s gun trained on him once again.

  ‘Do we kill them?’ Henrik asked.

  But the Leopard had noticed activity on the deck of the warship docked next to the Tulip. A group of soldiers had spotted the fight and were disembarking, heading towards them.

  ‘Too late,’ he said decisively. ‘We have what we need.’ The two of them turned their horses round and charged off.

  ‘Caspar!’ Jake shouted again, now tearing over to the quayside. He was about to throw himself into the water when Nathan yanked him back.

  ‘Stay there!’ he said furiously. ‘You’ve caused enough damage!’

  Jake watched, his lips quivering, his face ashen, as Nathan dived into the freezing sea, yelling at the shock that immediately made his lungs seize up. When he reached Caspar, the boy was wheezing and trying to move his arms, but his body was stiff, motionless, already frozen. On the other side of the harbour Jake could see the Leopard and his sidekick – the man who might have been his brother – heading up a narrow alley and out of sight.

  Charlie ran to Jake’s side, ready to help the others out of the water. ‘I’d say they have about a minute before their vital organs start closing down,’ he murmured.

  Nathan managed to drag Caspar back to the quayside, where Jake and Charlie started to haul him up. This was an almost impossible task: he was unconscious and seemed to weigh more than the two of them put together. They made four unsuccessful attempts before a group of Swedish soldiers from the warship came to help. Finally they were laying him out on the stones. For a second Jake, Nathan and Charlie stood over his prone body, chests heaving, teeth chattering. The soldiers stood wide-eyed at their side.

  Nathan sank to his kn
ees, put his hands on Caspar’s chest and started to push down repeatedly, stopping every so often to blow air into his mouth. For a while the boy remained motionless. Jake bit his lip in anxiety. Finally Caspar vomited seawater, gasped and opened his eyes. He was conscious, but only barely so.

  Nathan immediately turned his attention to the gunshot wound. He could see the entry point to the left of Caspar’s abdomen, and could feel an exit hole round the back. The blood that had congealed in the freezing water was now starting to seep out again. He turned to the soldiers. ‘On board?’ he asked. ‘Do you have a hospital? Har ni ett sjukhus?’

  The soldiers nodded, then picked up Caspar and carried him towards the warship.

  The unfortunate Swede was laid out on an operating table in the cramped, low-ceilinged cabin that was the ship’s sickbay. His face was white, his jaw shaking, and he was mumbling to himself feverishly. A masked surgeon, eyes red from tiredness, was threading a needle by the light of an oil lantern. Nathan and Charlie stood watching; Jake waited sheepishly by the doorway. On the wall behind the operating table he eyed up a collection of instruments – ancient medical tools, blades and eye-watering saws, some black with dried blood.

  The doctor uttered something in Swedish.

  ‘This is going to sting a bit,’ Charlie translated quietly. He nodded at Nathan and they each held one of the patient’s arms, while a soldier grabbed his legs.

  Caspar yelled out loud and thrashed about as the surgeon inserted the needle. Jake winced and had to clench his jaw. Eight gruelling minutes passed (it seemed more like an hour) before the thread was finally tied and the wound cleaned and dressed.

  Eventually Caspar’s delirium passed and his breathing steadied. As he came to his senses, he realized he was angry. His eyes sought out Jake’s; they seemed to burn like embers as they stared savagely at him. ‘You . . .’ he spat. ‘I wish to say something to you.’

  Jake nodded and stepped forward. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he sighed softly. ‘It’s my fault that you were shot.’

  ‘Shot?’ Caspar spat. ‘Do you think I care about that? It’s nothing compared to the damage you have done.’

  Jake could only hang his head and take his punishment. Caspar was no longer merely the clumsy, amusing boy who liked cakes and opera. He continued through gritted teeth: ‘I don’t know who you are, or where you’ve come from, or what you have to do with the History Keepers’ Secret Service, but you need to know that you have ruined everything. Everything. It is not just that it took ten years to distil that atomium; or that it will take another ten to replace it; or that vital, life-saving missions may now have to be aborted because of your folly. No, worse than all this, you have armed our enemies – armed them with the power to take control of history like never before. So, whatever your name is – I neither remember nor care – feel bad . . . feel like a traitor – because that’s what you are.’

  Jake gulped and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  3 JOSEPHINE OF NANTES

  ‘WHERE ON EARTH did she get them?’ Miriam asked under her breath.

  ‘From a circus ringmaster in Nantes, she told me,’ Alan whispered back. ‘He’d fallen on hard times and had to sell off his animals to pay his debts. Apparently Oceane only wanted one of them – she’d fallen in love à première vue – but was forced to take the whole lot as part of the deal.’

  It was an exceptionally blustery day on the Mont St Michel. Alan and Miriam, Jake’s mum and dad, were standing on the pier, along with a collection of similarly intrigued History Keepers, as Oceane Noire, bossing everyone around in her usual haughty manner, oversaw the arrival of her ‘menagerie’ of circus animals. Everyone was dressed, Miriam and Alan included, in clothes of the 1820s, the women in long gowns and the men in tailcoats, breeches and top hats. There was a sudden gust of wind and the ladies’ dresses flapped violently, while the men clung onto their top hats.

  A barge had docked and the crew were guiding various bemused-looking beasts down the gangplank onto the quay: a pair of ponies and a couple of horses were followed – quite dramatically – by a lumbering elephant. All the animals were a little past their prime, but the elephant looked very ancient and tired, its back sagging, its head drooping, its skin rough and worn.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Miriam sighed. There was such a sad look in its eye, it brought a tear to her own. Alan put his arm round her and gave her a cuddle.

  Needless to say, Oceane was not moved; in fact, she could barely hide her disgust. She sprinkled a few drops of perfume onto a silk handkerchief and held it to her nose as the beast shambled past. When it stopped, turned and swung its trunk in her direction, she shrieked out loud and threw herself into the arms of Jupitus Cole, who was also staring, with typically icy blankness, at the bizarre scene.

  To the bafflement of everyone at Point Zero – the tiny Mont St Michel in Normandy – Jupitus and Oceane had recently announced their engagement. He was the dour Victorian second-in-command, she a tricky heiress from the court of Louis XV. And though they were in every way as haughty as each other, no one had ever guessed at romance between them.

  ‘Where on earth is she going to put them?’ Miriam asked her husband.

  ‘Galliana has said they can go in the old stable block for the time being,’ Alan replied, ‘but she is not impressed!’

  Miriam looked at the commander. On the surface she seemed as calm as ever, but she was clearly displeased.

  ‘We’re supposed to be a secret service,’ Galliana muttered, ‘not drawing attention to ourselves with circus animals . . . though they do look like a friendly lot.’

  ‘Just as well,’ said Miriam with a mischievous smile, ‘as you’ll probably be cleaning up after them. Somehow I can’t quite see Oceane Noire sweeping up elephant dung.’

  At this moment, as if to demonstrate her point, the elephant lifted its tail and posted a package from its behind. Two great lumps of grassy brown compost landed on the ground with a thud.

  ‘Oh, mon dieu, mon dieu!’ Oceane gasped, clutching the pearls around her neck as if the animal had delivered a couple of live bombs.

  ‘Told you,’ Miriam commented. ‘She’s never seen one of those before. Of course, she doesn’t produce any herself.’

  She and Alan looked at each other; in unison their eyes flashed, their lips trembled and they started giggling.

  The final animal to emerge from the cargo hold, the chains around her neck held very firmly and warily by two members of the crew, was a young lioness. There was a collective intake of breath as she padded onto the quayside. She was little more than a cub, not yet grown into her giant paws, but already had a sly look in her eye.

  ‘There she is!’ Oceane exclaimed, running towards the creature. ‘Ma petite.’ There were more gasps as she knelt down and actually threw her arms around the lioness. ‘We don’t need these silly shackles,’ she said, unfastening the chains and tossing them at the two crewmen. ‘Josephine is quite tame; she was reared by humans – by French blue bloods, no less . . . the ringmaster was a distant relation of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Look, she even eats rocket.’ Oceane snapped her fingers at one of her browbeaten attendants, who duly handed her an embroidered bag. From this she produced a handful of leaves and held them out. The lioness sniffed them a couple of times, then consumed them without a great deal of interest.

  ‘Isn’t she the cleverest thing?’ Oceane trilled, clapping her hands together in excitement. ‘Adorable, tout simplement! And don’t you love the name? Just like Madame Bonaparte herself.’

  There was another gust of wind – this one strong enough to sweep up Alan’s hat and carry it off, first in a swirling eddy around the mount, and then out to sea. He and Miriam watched as it dropped into the rolling waves.

  ‘Wasn’t keen on it anyway,’ Alan announced with a shrug. ‘Signor Gondolfino said it would “set off” my face, but it just made my head itch.’ Miriam started giggling again, and he joined in.

  ‘Take all the other beasts to the stables,’ Oceane ord
ered her flunky, then turned to her young lioness. ‘Come on, my darling, let’s get you inside, il fait trop de vent.’ She led the beast by the scruff towards the main doors of the castle. ‘I’m going to find you something clever to wear around your neck. I’m feeling diamonds – how about you?’

  The lioness stopped and gazed with narrowed eyes at the assembled company, then they both went inside.

  As Oceane’s attendant guided the elephant and the other animals to the stables, Miriam looked out towards the horizon. ‘Jake should be back soon. I do hope everything went all right.’

  Since they had set sail from Stockholm across the thawing sea, the mood aboard the Tulip had been solemn.

  Before they left, Nathan and Charlie had transported Caspar to the house of a family friend (Jake had not been allowed to accompany them, but instructed to wait alone below deck), and had sent word to the Isaksens to collect him. They had bought some provisions for the return journey and set off as the sun started to rise over the sea. It had turned out to be the first warm day in weeks and the ice had begun to melt instantly.

  For hours Jake had skulked in the background, offering to assist wherever he could – to help Nathan unfurl the sails or lend Charlie a hand in the galley. Both had declined his offers with a terse shake of the head, barely looking at him. Mr Drake had also seemed to pick up on the atmosphere. Jake had offered him some of the fruitcake that his mum had pressed into his hand on his departure. Though the parrot usually loved cake (even Miriam’s disastrously tipsy concoction), he had declined it with a toss of his head and had flown off to perch on the yardarm. That was when Jake had retreated to his cabin.

  As it started to get dark again, Jake was still picking over the awful events in Stockholm. Feel like a traitor – because that’s what you are, Caspar Isaksen had told him bluntly. The knowledge that he had let people down – not just his new friends, but all the History Keepers – was bad enough; but the notion that his actions might lead directly to the suffering of innocent people was so dreadful it turned his stomach to liquid.