‘Oh, good gracious me,’ gasped Rose. ‘Just look at those legs!’
She was referring to Jupitus, who led the group. He was wearing a tunic, belted at the waist, that came down to his knobbly knees, revealing long, ghostly pale limbs. On his feet were sandals and slung across his back was a leather holdall. Rose couldn’t stop giggling: Jupitus looked so stiff and awkward in his informal garb.
For very different reasons, Oceane was also struggling to come to terms with the vision. She smiled as bravely as she could, and even clapped a little, but she was clearly embarrassed. If she had her way, Jupitus would never take off his trademark tailcoat and breeches, even to go to bed.
Behind him, Charlie looked much more at ease in a similar outfit, Mr Drake bouncing happily on his shoulder. Nathan brought up the rear in a typically ostentatious get-up. Over his tunic he wore a golden breastplate and a skirt of thick leather strips. On his head was a helmet – also in gold – with a feathery red plume. The sight of Nathan in such an amazing costume made Jake feel very jealous. His comrades were going off on an adventure to the ancient Roman world, a thrilling place of gladiators and charioteers; of conquerors, emperors and armies; of Roman baths and theatres; a place that Jake could only dream of – while he was headed for London, which would doubtless be damp and drizzly, and school.
‘In case you were worried,’ drawled Nathan as he spotted Jake, ‘this is just my goodbye outfit. None of it really goes.’ Jake hadn’t been worried about his outfit at all, but Nathan carried on regardless. ‘You see, the leather lappets are actually Thracian’ – he indicated the skirt – ‘and the breastplate is pre-Empire. But what the heck?’
‘Exactly,’ Jake found himself agreeing. ‘It’s a great ensemble.’
‘So, I hear you’re leaving us?’ Nathan blurted out. ‘Charlie and I are not happy about that at all.’ He leaned closer and whispered, ‘We tried to persuade your parents otherwise, but they seem to have made up their minds.’
‘Well, you know,’ Jake mumbled, ‘I’m three weeks behind in history.’
‘Very funny . . .’ Nathan replied, then, as Charlie came to join them, ‘I wanted to give you this . . .’ He presented Jake with a sword in a scabbard. Jake’s eyes lit up: it was the same gleaming weapon, its hilt shaped like a dragon, that Jake had asked to borrow on his first keeper’s voyage to Venice, 1506. Then, Nathan had refused point blank. Now he was giving it to him to keep.
‘Are you sure?’ Jake gasped, taking it carefully and admiring the fine craftsmanship.
‘But you can only have it if you promise to come back.’
Jake nodded enthusiastically and thought he might burst into tears again.
‘And this is a little something from me and Mr Drake . . .’ Charlie handed Jake a leather pouch. He opened it to find a collection of beards and moustaches. ‘That’s my spare set – thought it might as well go to a good home.’
Jake threw his arms around Charlie to thank him, making Mr Drake squawk and puff up his feathers. He then turned to Nathan, giving him a great bear hug. ‘Find Topaz, won’t you?’ he whispered in his ear. ‘And wherever you go, keep a lookout for Philip.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Nathan promised, resisting the urge to straighten his clothes.
With a serious look in her eye, Galliana handed Jupitus the box that contained the atomium and the Horizon Cup. ‘Be safe, be careful,’ she said, her hand still clutching the case. He nodded and she let him take it.
‘All aboard!’ Jupitus called out as he made his way towards the gangplank.
Oceane rushed after him dramatically, dragging Josephine along with her. ‘You’ll write, won’t you? Just a little Meslith from time to time?’ Jupitus responded with a curt nod. ‘And I’ll start preparations for the wedding! I was thinking un thème classique, with lots of nymphs and satyrs and acres of silk tulle?’ He nodded again. ‘Good luck, mon amour!’ Oceane leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek.
Jupitus looked coolly down at the lioness. ‘Be careful with that thing, won’t you?’ Before jumping aboard the Hippocampus, he turned and searched the quay for Rose. His eyes lingered on her for a minute, making her freeze in shock – then he shouted again, ‘All aboard!’
Charlie and Nathan headed up the gangplank, Nathan gave a short ‘impromptu’ speech, and they cast off. Jake felt miserable. He longed to charge across the cobbles and leap onto the ship, but he knew it was pointless. He clenched both fists until he had his emotions under control again.
Rose was secretly battling a similar impulse to jump aboard. Ever since Jupitus had announced his engagement to Oceane, she had put any romantic thoughts about him firmly to the back of her mind. The look that he had just given her brought them surging back. She furiously twisted the bangles around her wrist as the ship moved away. Before long, the blue and white sails were already far out to sea.
Jake watched the Hippocampus until it was just a hazy shape on the horizon. Then a mist came in and it was gone – along with his hopes and dreams. ‘The Hippocampus . . .’ he repeated to himself. ‘I know I’ve seen that ship before.’
The bell in the clock tower struck two. With Felson at his side and a lantern in his hand, Jake tiptoed down the corridor to the communications room. He checked that no one was watching, then slipped inside. The desks where the decoders usually sat were empty; the main Meslith machine – the Meslith nucleus, as it was known – stood in its glass case in the centre of the room, two inked quills poised over blank rolls of parchment in anticipation of the next message from history.
‘This way,’ he whispered to the dog as he headed for another door on the far side, carefully opened it and went in. He shone his lantern around the long vaulted room, lined from floor to ceiling with shelf after shelf of ancient leather-bound tomes. It was reminiscent of the London bureau below the Monument, with its succession of study tables adorned with globes, but these ones were lit by the pale moonlight shining through the skylights.
After his mission to Venice and Germany, and before the Stockholm debacle, Jake had spent two weeks at Point Zero, getting to know the island and all its secrets a little better. He had been shown the testing chamber – a room with tapestry-covered walls and a mass of scientific equipment, where an agent’s valour could be analysed and assessed – and the assault vault, a labyrinth of spiral staircases and stone passageways where training exercises were carried out. This vault, accessed through the armoury, had reminded Jake of a ghost train at a fair, with its flying arrows, slicing swords and life-size ‘enemy’ puppets jumping out or shooting up from the floor.
Jake had also discovered the archives, where records were kept – not only log books of every mission and journey undertaken, but also precise accounts of the weather throughout time, as well as tide tables, moon tables, sunrises, population statistics and a host of other information. Here you could find out, for example, how many people lived in Cadiz in 1740, how warm their summer was and what they were eating for lunch.
This was the room into which Jake and Felson, having waited for everyone to retire, had now crept. If Jake was to be denied an assignment, he had decided he would set himself one: he wanted to find out more about the Hippocampus – why it seemed so familiar and why his parents were so evasive about it.
At the far end was the section that detailed all the sea voyages – which ships had been used and to which destinations. The volumes – the spines imprinted with the History Keepers’ symbol of planets whizzing around an hourglass – were arranged alphabetically: a series of twelve belonged to the Barco Dorado, another fifteen to the Campana, twenty or so to the Conqueror, and so on. Jake noticed one book standing slightly proud of the others: it was the last in the series dedicated to the Escape, the ship on which he had first sailed from London – that fateful journey during which he had learned that he could travel through time. He took it down and flicked through its pages, each one densely inscribed with beautifully curling letters. The last entry brought a smile to his face: at the en
d of the list of passenger names – Jupitus Cole, Charlie Chieverley, Topaz St Honoré, etc., etc., was his own: Jake Djones, 14. So I’m leaving Point Zero, Jake thought to himself, but here’s the proof, in black and white, that I’m a History Keeper.
He put it back and found the records of the Hippocampus – only six volumes. Jake took down the first and started scanning its contents. There was nothing but a succession of unfamiliar names. The second had no more to offer. In the third, Galliana Goethe’s name appeared a number of times. In the fourth he saw Jupitus Cole’s, and then, to Jake’s amazement, the name Djones started making an appearance. Alan, Miriam and Rose were all there, either travelling alone or together, on trips to Macedonia, Persia, Numidia, Ostia – even a trip to Londinium, as London was called during Roman times. Next to each entry was the agent’s age at the time. It was odd for Jake to imagine his parents when they were only seventeen and eighteen. How different they must have been.
The fifth volume revealed further unfamiliar names, but on the second page of the sixth, Jake got a shock: listed amongst the passengers on a mission to Cagliari in Sardinia in AD 121 was Philip Djones, 14. Jake ran his finger over the inscription as if it could somehow connect him with his lost brother. He carefully scanned the remaining records, but that was the only mention of him.
Jake was just returning the tome to the shelf when Felson started growling quietly, eyes fixed on the far end of the room. ‘What is it?’ Jake asked. The dog’s growl deepened and he started to curl his lip and bare his teeth. A table scraped on the floor in the communications room. Just as Jake started looking around for a place to hide, the door began to creak open. At first it seemed as if the visitor was a ghost. Then Jake realized that it was an animal – he glimpsed dark golden fur. The creature padded into view – a lioness cub with a menacing look in her eye. Josephine stopped dead when she caught sight of Jake and his companion. There was a moment of frozen silence; then she gave a low snarl and began to advance towards them. Felson also pressed forward, protective of his master, eyes narrowed, teeth bared.
‘Stay there – that’s a good boy,’ Jake commanded quietly, quickly scanning the room for another exit; there was nothing but book shelves on all sides. Then everything happened at once: Josephine shot forward, Felson intercepted her, the lioness’s giant paws came down on him; and they tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, both snarling savagely.
‘Felson!’ Jake shouted in terror, rushing to intercept them as the dog gave a yelp.
Then another voice boomed out: ‘Josephine, arrête!’ Oceane Noire swept into the room. ‘Arrête tout de suite!’ she shouted. She was carrying an old book, which she hurled at the lioness, who reluctantly let go of Felson. Oceane was holding a lantern in front of her face and didn’t notice Jake at first. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded of her pet. ‘Why is this stupid dog here?’ It wasn’t until she had pulled Josephine away by her diamond collar that she became aware of another figure, half hidden behind a globe. ‘You?’ she said, stiffening.
‘You should keep your animal under control,’ Jake replied firmly, putting his arm around Felson, who was trembling with fear.
‘That mutt of yours must have frightened her. She’s sensitive, you know – just a little baby.’ Oceane ran her hand along the creature’s back. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I could ask you the same question,’ Jake replied, kneeling down to pick up the book that she had thrown. It was a small, thick, leather-bound tome with an engraving of a palm tree on the front.
‘Give that to me,’ Oceane snapped, stepping forward and snatching it back. She stuffed it into her bag, then smiled sourly. ‘As far as I know, the archives are for everyone,’ she said sarcastically. ‘When I can’t sleep, I find it very calming to come here and peruse ancient records.’
Jake found this hard to believe but did not comment. ‘Well, we’ll leave you to it.’ He edged round her, Felson glued to his side, and headed back towards the door.
‘I hear you and your family’ – Oceane managed to make the word sound insulting – ‘are to return to London . . . Good luck with that,’ she hissed.
‘Bonne nuit, mademoiselle.’ Jake nodded politely and left.
‘Good luck with that?’ he repeated to himself as he crossed the communications room. The whole encounter had been unnerving, but Oceane’s parting comment had sent a chill down his spine. ‘She’s up to something – I can feel it.’
6 CATASTROPHE SICILIANO
FROM THE MOMENT Jupitus, Nathan and Charlie entered the horizon point in the calm seas of the 1820s, they had realized they had a problem. When the Constantor rings were aligned, they had all felt as if a bomb had detonated inside them; as if their bodies – their skin and bones – had been torn asunder and sent flying in every direction. Usually the feeling was dramatic but exhilarating; on this occasion it had been sickening and violent. One second they had been drifting in a vacuum of pitch-blackness, the next spiralling towards the ocean like a crashing jet, or shooting towards each other at breakneck speed.
By the time it was over and they had returned to consciousness on the deck of the Hippocampus, they realized that their problems had only just begun.
Now all three looked around in terror. They had arrived in the seas of AD 27 . . . in the middle of a cyclone.
The Mediterranean was a seething mass of black hills and roiling foam; the sky was dark and heavy as lead. It seemed for all the world like night, but Charlie spied, far in the distance, a tiny patch of hazy light where the sun was descending towards the horizon.
‘Watch out!’ Jupitus cried out over the maelstrom, his eyes widening in terror. Charlie and Nathan turned to see a vast chasm open up beneath them. The great mast tilted, creaking, and the whole ship plunged down into the trough. The agents clung to the rail as a colossal wave broke over their heads and spewed down upon the deck, drenching them instantly.
‘Which course?’ Nathan shouted over the tempest. He was at the helm, legs apart to steady him. Of the three of them, he looked most at ease, but there was fear in his eyes.
Jupitus tried to balance long enough to unfurl the map he clenched in his hand. Suddenly the ship lurched again, the mast swinging from side to side like a giant metronome. Jupitus lost his footing and tumbled across the deck. As he picked himself up, there was another sickening lurch, accompanied by a screech of howling wind. The map was ripped out of his hand and swept upwards. Nathan’s reactions were lightning quick: he vaulted up onto the wheel and plucked it out of the air.
Jupitus, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale green, clawed his way to the helm. He was suffering not only from nausea, but also from guilt. As group leader, it had been his duty to check the weather records before they set off. These were not always a hundred per cent accurate, especially as far back as AD 27, but they would certainly have mentioned a storm of this magnitude. But the truth was, he had been so preoccupied with the prospect of embarking on such a mission, so far back in history, after all these years, that he had completely forgotten to do the checks. He was painfully aware that Nathan and Charlie would know exactly who was at fault.
‘May I suggest, sir,’ Nathan shouted over the wind, ‘lowering the mainsail? The engine will do us more good than the wind.’ Jupitus nodded. ‘Charlie . . .’ Nathan gestured to demonstrate his point. Charlie set about unfastening sodden ropes and lowering the billowing sail. Mr Drake, who had gone below deck the moment they hit the stormy seas, watched him from under a hatch, looking miserable.
Nathan spread the map out across the wheel. Although it was soaking wet, it had a thin waxy coating and the shapes of landmasses were just discernible. ‘We’re here . . .’ He pointed to a star in the middle of the sea, the symbol of the horizon point they had just travelled through. ‘Vulcano is here’ – he indicated a small island, first on the map, then with a vague gesture out to sea – ‘in that direction. Unfortunately that’s also where the worst of the storm seems to be.’ He was right: the towering black cl
ouds were streaked with pulses of lightning. ‘I suggest we head south and make for Messina on the north coast of Sicily. There’s a lighthouse that can guide us.’
‘Yes,’ Jupitus agreed grimly, ‘make for Messina.’
‘Changing coordinates to south, south-east,’ Nathan bawled out to Charlie as he turned the wheel. The ship veered round with it.
Jupitus hung his head and murmured, ‘I’m sorry, it’s my fault.’
Nathan heard him clearly enough, even through the wind and rain, but he decided to have a bit of fun. ‘What’s that? What did you say?’
‘I said I’m sorry,’ the other repeated, cast down with the shame of it.
Nathan smiled and kept his eyes ahead. Just then the Hippocampus crested another huge wave and plunged down into an abyss. Jupitus held on for dear life, but by the time the ship had righted herself, he looked like a dead man. He could control his sickness no longer, his stomach mutinied, and the remains of fettuccini Alfredo – prepared an hour ago by Charlie to get them into the Italian spirit – surged back out of his mouth. Nathan ducked and watched aghast as it was swirled away by the wind.
The Hippocampus and her crew forged on, pursued by the storm. The sun sank below the horizon, and the darkness seemed to amplify the deafening roar. After fifty gruelling, nail-biting minutes (at one point the ship took on a mass of water that threatened to sink her altogether) they finally spotted a pulse of light in the distance.
‘There – the lighthouse,’ said Jupitus weakly, lifting his head from the rail. He was still chucking up – though now only bile and mucus. ‘I think the worst is over,’ he murmured, speaking of both the tempest and his own state of health.
But he was wrong: the worst hadn’t even begun.
They were halfway towards the port of Messina, whose twinkling lights were now just visible, along with intermittent flashes from the lighthouse, when the wind suddenly dropped and the waves abated. Jupitus looked up hopefully, certain that his prophecy had come true. He was able to stand without support for the first time.
History Keepers: Circus Maximus Page 6
