Charlie knocked on the cabin door and asked if he would like some polenta and porcini fricassee. Although Jake didn’t have a clue what it was, he accepted with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Over dinner he kept respectfully silent as Nathan and Charlie discussed who the Leopard might be working for and how he’d come by the precise details of the keepers’ rendezvous with Caspar Isaksen at the Stockholm opera house.
‘I hate to be the voice of doom,’ Nathan said, putting his empty plate to one side and retrieving a small veneered box, ‘but what other explanation can there be?’ He opened the box and took out its contents: the silver Horizon Cup and two small vials of liquid – the remaining atomium for their return journey to Point Zero. He set the destination dial on the silver device and muttered grimly, ‘There must be another double agent amongst us.’ It had been a matter of weeks since Norland, the seemingly amiable chauffeur, had been uncovered as a spy at Point Zero.
The three agents drank their doses of vile liquid, Charlie sharing a few drops with a reluctant Mr Drake, and an hour later they hit the horizon point. Here Jake experienced the usual out-of-body sensations, accompanied by the same flashing snapshots of history in his mind’s eye; but partly because of the short distance they were travelling – just twenty-eight years – and partly because of his lingering feeling of guilt, the ride wasn’t as thrilling as it had been before.
Soon after arriving in the less chilly waters of 1820, the Tulip’s engines suddenly stalled. Nathan stripped off his shirt (‘Oil and Japanese silk are a match made in hell,’ he explained) and tried to repair a ruptured gasket. In the end, however, he and Charlie were worried about the risk of fire and decided to continue using wind power alone. It was past one in the morning when Charlie finally spied the distinctive conical silhouette of the Mont St Michel in the distance, and almost two by the time they drifted across the bay.
‘It looks like Galliana’s waited up for us,’ said Charlie, nodding towards the light in a casement window high up in the castle.
Jake’s heart thumped a little harder as the island, its flanks covered in building upon building, loomed up ahead of him: he had been hoping, as they were arriving so late, that the news of his ‘treachery’ might wait until morning. That was evidently not to be. He searched the black façade for more lights, particularly in the tower where his mum and dad slept. It saddened him a little to discover that this part of the building was pitch-black; they must have already gone to bed.
‘Jake,’ Charlie called across to him. ‘Nathan and I have discussed everything: when we arrive, let us do the talking. There’s no point in you getting into unnecessary trouble.’
‘I don’t think I would feel right about that,’ Jake replied in a quiet voice. ‘I’m to blame.’
‘Blame is pointless,’ Charlie persisted. ‘It doesn’t get anyone anywhere. We’ll sort it out, all right?’
Jake still felt unsure about this but he reluctantly agreed. ‘Thank you.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘That’s what friends are for. We all make mistakes. It’s how you learn from them that’s important.’
Jake appreciated Charlie saying this, but as he watched Nathan, sullenly coiling ropes at the prow of the ship, he wondered whether the American’s forgiveness would be a little harder to earn.
‘There he is! There’s our boy,’ a familiar voice called out from the shadows as they drew in to the quayside.
Jake searched the darkness to find two figures reclining on sun loungers, wrapped up in blankets.
‘Mum? Dad?’ he exclaimed joyfully, temporarily forgetting his troubles. He leaped down onto the pier. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What are we doing here, Miriam?’ Alan turned to his wife. ‘Taking the pleasant night air, aren’t we?’ he said, referring to the blustery wind. ‘We’re waiting for you, you daft plank.’
Miriam stood up and threw her arms around her son. ‘How are you, darling? Good trip?’
Jake tried to nod, but it came out more like a shrug.
‘Fancy a nice cup of tea?’ Alan asked, giving his son a great bear hug. Jake tried to keep hold of his emotions.
There was a clattering sound, and a shape bounded across the cobbles.
‘Felson!’ Jake cried as the dog leaped up at him, panting with delight. ‘I missed you too,’ he said, kneeling so that Felson could give his face a good licking. This was the sturdy, battle-scarred mastiff that had once belonged to his enemy, Captain Von Bliecke. Jake had befriended him when they had both been abandoned at sea.
‘He had a nice time with us,’ Miriam commented. ‘Though of course your father overfed him and let him sleep on the bed – but he never stopped staring at the horizon, waiting for you to come back.’
‘So how did our son get on, Mr Chieverley?’ Alan asked Charlie as he jumped down from the Tulip. ‘Did he do us proud?’
‘He acquitted himself quite professionally, yes,’ Charlie replied in a very business-like voice.
‘Blimey,’ Alan chuckled. ‘That bad, eh?’ and he and Miriam started laughing. ‘Come on – let’s get you all inside.’
The six of them, Jake and his parents, Nathan and Charlie – along with Felson, glued to his master’s side – made their way up the steps and through the large double doors into the castle. The wind whistled round the great staircase, making the tapers flicker.
Jake could bear the suspense no longer. ‘Mum, Dad, I’ve got something to tell you—’
‘There’s Commander Goethe and Jupitus Cole!’ Charlie interrupted, and gave Jake a sidelong glance to remind him that he was doing the talking.
Galliana and Jupitus were coming down the stairs to meet them. The commander, smiling serenely, was in her dressing gown, and her long silver hair was swept right back. Jupitus, dressed impeccably in a tight-fitting jacket with a starched collar, stepped down in her wake.
As they met halfway, the whole company came to a standstill. Felson looked eagerly from one face to another.
Nathan nodded at Charlie, who spoke first. ‘Commander Goethe, Mr Cole, I’m afraid we have bad news.’ Jupitus looked up. ‘We have failed in our mission. We were intercepted and the entire atomium consignment has been lost.’
‘What?’ Jupitus gasped in disbelief. ‘Lost?’
‘Regrettably, yes,’ Charlie replied stoically.
‘Regrettably?! Have you any idea what this means?’ Jupitus was livid. ‘Who intercepted you?’
‘There was a young gentleman who called himself the Leopard,’ Charlie went on. ‘I intend to start research immediately to find out where he has come from and who he may be working for.’
‘But how did this happen?’ Jupitus persisted.
‘It happened because I mucked everything up,’ Jake blurted out. ‘I disobeyed orders, completely. Everything was my fault.’ Galliana listened carefully while Jupitus’s mouth gaped open. ‘And I’m afraid that is not all,’ Jake continued grimly. ‘As a result of my error, Caspar Isaksen was shot.’
‘Shot?’ Jupitus repeated.
Charlie quickly butted in, ‘Though it seems he’ll make a full recovery.’
Miriam, aware of her son’s deep remorse, held him firmly by the shoulders. ‘You poor thing . . .’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Poor thing?’ Jupitus scoffed, using the wall to support him in his shock. ‘This is a disaster, an unmitigated disaster.’
‘Mr Cole, Commander . . .’ Nathan finally spoke. ‘It was very honourable of Jake to own up, but I can assure you the fault lies with myself more than anyone else. Jake tried to warn me that he had seen a man with a gun, and I did not pay attention. I am the one who was culpable.’
‘How civil of you. Such a martyr.’ Jupitus shook his head, not believing a word of it.
Despite his distress, Jake felt a warm pulse of happiness: Nathan was his friend after all. There was a degree of truth in what he had said, but Jake knew that he alone was responsible.
Suddenly, at the foot of the stairs, the double doors flew o
pen and the wind gusted in, blowing out the tapers and leaving everyone in almost complete darkness. Alan went down, closed the door and bolted it.
Galliana glanced at Jake, taking the measure of him with her calm grey eyes, before ordering the group, ‘Sleep now. We can discuss this further in the morning.’
With heavy hearts everyone made their way up to their beds.
Jake lingered behind for a moment. On the walls, the life-size portraits of famous History Keepers of the past stared at him silently. He turned and looked at one in particular: Sejanus Poppoloe, the founder of the secret service, dressed in his characteristic cloak and turban. His gaze was stern, as if he too understood the magnitude of Jake’s treachery.
4 MESLITH FROM DEEP HISTORY
JAKE WAS WOKEN by a commotion in the corridor – people rushing by, speaking in urgent whispers. Felson, who was stretched out diagonally across the bed, also stirred, lifting his head and pricking up his ears. Jake looked at his clock: it was six thirty in the morning. Early morning light was peeking through the curtains. He had been given a room in one of the oldest parts of the castle. It had ancient casement windows, a small four-poster bed and a fireplace, where embers still glowed from the night before.
He got out of bed and put his head round the door. Jupitus Cole flew by, followed by Truman Wylder, Nathan’s father, buttoning up his shirt as he hurried down the stairs. Then Signor Gondolfino, impeccably dressed even at this time of day, limped by as quickly as his old legs and ivory cane would allow him.
‘Has something happened?’ Jake asked. He dreaded the answer – maybe some calamity had already taken place as a result of the disaster in Stockholm. But Gondolfino had an entirely new revelation, a piece of news that made Jake’s heart beat even faster.
‘They think a Meslith has arrived . . . from Topaz St Honoré. Commander Goethe has called an emergency meeting.’ A Meslith – Jake was now familiar with the term – was a message that was transmitted through time, sent and received on a Meslith machine, an intriguing typewriter-like instrument with crystalline rods that fizzed with electricity.
Jake dressed at breakneck speed, throwing on his trousers, shirt and jacket. He couldn’t find any socks, so he pulled on his boots without them and stuffed the laces inside. ‘I’ll come back for you in a minute,’ he told Felson, and ran out of the room. He tore through the maze of corridors and staircases – sometimes jumping down entire flights – until he arrived at the double doors to the stateroom. He ran his hand through his hair, pulled his collar straight and stepped inside.
Fifteen or so people, mostly older History Keepers, were chatting seriously, some seated around the large table, some gathered in clusters about the room. Light was streaming through the four giant windows that looked out across the sea. Jake immediately felt the hostile gaze of Jupitus Cole, who was seated at the far end of the table with a bundle of maps laid out in front of him. Jake nodded at him and tried to smile. Jupitus merely stared icily back as Jake edged round the room towards Charlie, who was standing next to a buffet table laden with French pastries.
‘Do we know anything yet?’ asked Jake breathlessly. ‘Where did this message come from?’
Charlie held up his hand to indicate that his mouth was full. He carried on munching for a while. ‘I always thought brioches were overrated,’ he said after he had swallowed the last mouthful, ‘but this one has a subtle hint of lemon, which really lifts it. If you’re referring to Topaz, I’m as much in the dark as you.’ He changed the subject. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Dr Chatterju?’ he said, indicating a distinctive-looking man in a turban and round spectacles. ‘He’s in charge of our inventions division. He arrived back from Bombay yesterday . . .’
‘A necessary but exhausting trip to see my relations,’ Chatterju explained, his voice as elegant as his appearance, ‘who are spread, disobligingly, not only throughout India, but throughout the centuries!’ He smiled broadly and held out his hand to Jake. ‘Zal Chatterju – it’s such an honour to meet you. I knew your brother. A wonderful young man. And I sense that you are gifted like him . . .?’
Jake smiled shyly. He was immediately taken by Chatterju, aware of an eccentric, mischievous mind. The man wore a thickly embroidered kaftan fastened with an ornate golden belt. The face above the perfectly groomed grey beard was distinguished, aristocratic. His turban was secured with a brilliant sapphire that matched his eyes.
‘What exactly is the inventions division?’ asked Jake.
‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,’ Chatterju chuckled. ‘I’m just a lowly scientist with a few crackpot ideas.’ Suddenly he looked agitated. ‘Where has that boy got to? Has he disappeared off again? He’s always disappearing!’
‘I’m here, Uncle, right behind you.’ A young boy stepped out.
‘Right behind me? Don’t be so impudent. Come here where I can see you.’
The boy did as he was told. He was about eleven, Jake guessed, with a face as warm as dark honey that looked as if it never stopped smiling.
‘I’m Amrit,’ he introduced himself cheerfully to Jake. ‘Dr Chatterju’s nephew.’
‘My assistant!’ Chatterju corrected him. ‘That’s what you are. And you’re very much on trial.’ With a roll of the eyes he confided to Jake, ‘He’s little more than a child but thinks he knows everything.’
There was a final influx of people into the room, including Jake’s mum, his dad – who was still half asleep and couldn’t stop yawning – and his aunt Rose. Behind them trotted Galliana’s greyhound, Olive, who immediately padded over to her place at the top of the table. A hush then descended as Galliana herself swept in and took her seat. Jake noticed that she was wearing her long navy cloak embroidered with motifs of clocks and phoenixes, and was holding a bundle of papers.
‘Is everyone present?’ she asked Jupitus.
‘All except Nathan Wylder and Oceane Noire. The former,’ Jupitus sighed, ‘is apparently working off his frustration with some deep-sea fishing. Mademoiselle Noire is still dressing.’
‘So we won’t see her until the end of the century,’ Miriam chuckled to her husband.
‘We’ll have to start without them.’ Galliana spoke in a quick, business-like voice, looking around at all the faces. ‘We have two matters on the agenda: firstly, for those of you who are not up to speed, the mission to Stockholm was unsuccessful. The agents were intercepted by an enemy faction and the atomium consignment was lost.’
There was immediate uproar amongst those gathered, with shouts of:
‘The whole consignment?’
‘How can that be?’
‘Who was responsible?’
Jake shifted uncomfortably, aware of Jupitus’s narrowed eyes settling on him once again.
Galliana held up her hand. ‘The whys and wherefores of how this happened are irrelevant.’ She read from her notes: ‘The perpetrator was in his late teens, five feet ten, blond Caucasian. He went by the name of the Leopard. Assisted by a dark-haired youth of a similar age.’ Jake looked down. ‘Does this ring any bells?’ Galliana asked the group. Nothing but blank faces. ‘Miss Wunderbar . . .?’
The stately woman in charge of the Library of Faces, beautifully dressed in the fashion of the 1690s, shook her head. ‘Nothing, I’m afraid,’ she announced in her curt Bavarian accent. ‘I’m in the process of a more detailed search of faces. Agent Chieverley is helping me.’
‘It goes without saying,’ Galliana continued, ‘that anyone who can shed any light on the matter should come forward immediately. This is of paramount importance. Now, to the second matter . . .’ She withdrew a piece of parchment from her bundle. ‘I received this message an hour ago, apparently sent from deep history.’
Jake craned his neck to see: he could just make out a very long series of symbols.
‘Obviously it was encoded in Hypoteca, which has been translated as follows.’ Galliana held up another scroll for all to see. This one contained more numbers, in larger, bolder type.
‘What�
�s Hypoteca?’ Jake whispered to Charlie.
‘It’s a cipher, a secret code, invented by Magnesia Hypoteca, the wife of one of the first commanders.’
Jake looked at the translated message: there were twenty-eight digits, nearly all numerals, divided into four groups of eight – the order of which didn’t make any sense to him – followed by a single phrase of English: Follow the shadow’s hand.
‘Well, the numbers are obvious,’ Jupitus purred. ‘The first set refer to Topaz’s date of birth: the nineteenth of September 1356.’
‘Correct.’ Galliana nodded.
Jake remembered Topaz telling him that she had been born in a campaign tent during the Battle of Poitiers in the Hundred Years War. History Keepers could be born in all sorts of eras, depending where their parents were stationed – or travelling to – at the time.
‘The middle section,’ Jupitus continued, ‘presumably refers to geographical coordinates.’
‘Indeed,’ replied Galliana. ‘In this case, an island in the Tyrrhenian Sea called Vulcano. And the final set presumably indicate the historical date the message came from.’
‘Sorry – I haven’t got my glasses on,’ Rose piped up. ‘What is the historical date?’
Jake was also dying to know – he could not read it from his end of the room, either.
‘The tenth of May,’ Galliana said, then added in a sombre voice, ‘AD 27.’ Some of the agents glanced anxiously at each other as she continued, ‘The date would make sense as we have recently picked up a quantity of Meslith chatter linking those coordinates with Agata Zeldt – a figure who has been silent for years.’
Now there were gasps around the table. Alan accidentally dropped his coffee cup into his saucer with a clatter.
Jake felt his stomach flip. He had heard all about the diabolical Agata on his mission to Venice. She was, in Charlie’s words, The most evil woman in history; the monster who, as a child, had tried to drown her elder brother in a freezing lake; who had taught her maid a lesson by forcing her to sit naked on a throne of red-hot iron until she burned to death. She was also – and this was the most disturbing fact of all – Topaz’s real mother. Of course, Topaz had disowned her completely – at the age of five she’d had the strength of mind to defect to Point Zero – but they were related by blood.
History Keepers: Circus Maximus Page 4
