History Keepers: Nightship to China

by Dibben, Damian

  8 RETURN TO THE THAMES

  ONCE THEY WERE at sea, Topaz carefully calibrated the Horizon Cup, added the atomium, poured out three doses and passed them round. Any History Keeper wanting to travel through time had to possess a natural ability; but then the journey time and distance had to be carefully calculated and the golden-coloured atomium mixed before being shared out. Any error, and an agent could end up spinning in time, their atoms even bursting apart. Every journey carried a risk, and the agents had to be focused when they reached the horizon point.

  ‘Is anyone’s stomach rumbling apart from mine?’ Nathan asked as he swigged his atomium back with a grimace. He glanced down into the empty galley. ‘If Charlie was here, he’d already be rustling something up by now – one of those clever soufflés of his.’

  ‘I’ll go and make something,’ Jake suggested.

  Nathan shook his head. ‘No offence, old boy, but cookery skills don’t really run in the family. No, there’s nothing for it . . .’ he said. ‘I shall create one of my special Charleston brunches. With so many skills, it’s easy to forget my talent with a wooden spoon. Topaz, would you take over?’ He relinquished the wheel and clattered down into the galley.

  The grey morning had brightened, and now the sun shone down, making the sea sparkle. Topaz looked over at Jake. He sat leaning against the rail, basking in the warmth.

  ‘Miss Yuting and you looked quite . . .’ Topaz began.

  Jake squinted at her. In the hazy light, she was an apparition, a head floating on a silk ruff.

  ‘We looked quite . . .?’ he asked.

  Topaz shrugged. ‘Attached to each other?’

  Jake laughed. ‘You don’t like her at all, do you?’

  ‘What?’ Topaz floundered. ‘Je la connais à peine. I hardly know her really. She’s not someone you would forget in a hurry.’

  ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

  ‘Jealous? Of course not!’ Topaz protested – a little too vehemently, Jake thought. ‘You and I are friends, aren’t we? What should I be jealous of?’

  Jake suddenly felt mischievous and threatened to tickle her. Topaz claimed not to be ticklish in the slightest, but couldn’t stop giggling. He chased her around the deck until the ship lurched and they had to dash back to the wheel.

  Gradually noises started coming up from the galley. First they heard Nathan talking to himself, then a frenzy of clanging saucepans, smashing plates and very colourful swearing. At one point he exclaimed out loud, ‘No, you can’t do that! I won’t let you.’ Jake looked below and saw that he was shouting at strips of charcoal that had once been bacon. In the end, the American let out a howl of rage, came back up the steps and plonked down a loaf of bread and some tomatoes. ‘Here!’

  ‘What happened to your famous Charleston brunch?’ Jake teased.

  ‘It’s off,’ Nathan fumed. ‘I’ve never met such obstinate ingredients in my life. It’s like they had a personal vendetta against me.’

  Soon they were approaching the horizon point. It was a little further north than the one where Jake had intercepted Fredrik Isaksen, and was considered one of the safest portals to deeper history. In Jake’s experience, no two horizon point episodes were ever the same, and this one was different again.

  Although all History Keepers had an out-of-body experience when travelling to history, they usually experienced it separately, unaware of the others around them. This time, however, when the rings of the Constantor aligned, Jake launched off with his friends beside him; they held hands as they soared into the stratosphere. As usual, Jake saw an explosion of diamond shapes (when taking off from a horizon point, History Keepers always saw shapes – squares, oblongs or diamonds, depending on the strength of their valour). Sometimes, transitions through time could be full of horrible visions or flashbacks; but this time it was exhilarating, and by the time Jake returned to his body on the deck of the Thunder, he felt full of energy.

  The afternoon passed as they made their way across the English Channel and forged on towards the vast mouth of the Thames, an otherworldly delta stretched between distant marshlands. I’m coming back to London after all, Jake thought as they sailed into the estuary and began the last leg of their journey. It was curious to think that his parents were here too – though in a completely different era.

  The river started to fill with ships heading to and from the capital – galleons and trading craft from many corners of the world, creaking under their heavy loads.

  ‘I think we’re getting close,’ Jake called from the prow, too excited to turn round. A warm breeze ruffled his hair as he watched the river twist left and right, and a hum started to fill the air, barely audible to begin with, but deepening – a far-off chorus of city life.

  Finally they glided round a headland, and as the sun started to set, London, Shakespearean London, opened up before them.

  Since joining the History Keepers, Jake had arrived at a number of ancient ports – Venice, Stockholm and Herculaneum – but he had never seen anything like this, with so many ships crammed into such a narrow stretch of water. They lined the banks on either side, in some places two or three deep, creating a thicket of masts and rigging. As well as the larger merchant galleons, there were hundreds of smaller craft – rowing boats, yachts and single-sail vessels – all weaving in and out of each other as they crisscrossed the river.

  Beyond the banks, the city radiated out in an endless, zigzagging jumble of tenements, halls and palaces as far as the eye could see. The houses – mostly timber – were all of a similar height, but occasionally a church spire soared above the city. Spindly chimneys rose up, a thousand slender fingers pointing into the dark sky.

  This London was unrecognizable to Jake at first: there were no tall buildings, none of the modern sounds of traffic. A curious drone emerged from the unseen streets, as if the whole metropolis was whispering.

  Gradually he started to piece the geography together. ‘The Tower of London,’ he gulped on seeing a fortress sweep by on his right. In 1612, this was a simple construction: two circuits of thick walls, both set with several fortified turrets, surrounded the keep of the White Tower, which was much taller and grander than Jake remembered. He shuddered as they went by Traitors’ Gate. Only now did he realize that they had passed the point where Tower Bridge crossed the river. It was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘If you’re looking for what I think you are,’ Topaz said, ‘it won’t be built for another two hundred and seventy years. You won’t recognize St Paul’s either.’ She pointed at a cathedral on the north bank. Gone was Sir Christopher Wren’s famous domed construction, replaced – or rather foreshadowed – by a stately Norman church with a huge round stained-glass window. ‘The Great Fire of 1666 will wipe out three quarters of the city.’

  ‘My sister loves London,’ Nathan commented, opening a vanity case and producing tweezers and a little mirror. ‘Personally, I can’t bear the weather. The whole place is like a cold waiting to happen – all those damp streets and chestnuts roasting on fires.’ He started carefully plucking his eyebrows.

  ‘You are, of course, speaking to a Londoner,’ Topaz pointed out. ‘This is where Jake grew up, remember?’

  For once, Nathan looked embarrassed. ‘Unforgivable of me. I meant to say that, culturally, it is wonderfully vibrant. And personally, I love chestnuts.’

  ‘I’d just ignore him if I was you,’ Topaz suggested.

  Jake took her advice. ‘So how many bridges are there?’ he asked, trying to square this vision of the city with the one he remembered from the present.

  ‘Just the one,’ she replied. ‘London Bridge, straight ahead. Possibly the most famous bridge in history.’

  At first, with all the jumble of ships, Jake couldn’t make it out: the buildings that lined the bank seemed to continue right round in front of him, as if the river came to a dead end. Then he realized that the bridge was a building itself – or rather a whole collection of them, crossing the water on top of nineteen sturdy arches. ‘
First erected by Henry the Second in the twelfth century,’ Topaz continued. ‘There are roughly two hundred houses and shops on it. There’s even a church and a small palace called Nonsuch House.’

  Satisfied with his eyebrows, Nathan put away the mirror and tweezers, took out a silver file and started working on his nails.

  ‘So can ships get beyond the bridge?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Actually there’s a drawbridge in the middle,’ Topaz told him, ‘but you need permission. Obviously smaller craft can get through the arches, but the currents are perilous.’

  ‘And did you also know,’ Nathan chipped in, ‘that there is a multi-seated public toilet over-hanging the parapets and the locals can merrily discharge their’ – he fumbled for the phrase – ‘their reconstituted chestnuts into the river below.’

  ‘Nathan!’ Topaz sighed. ‘Why don’t you do something useful? Here . . .’ She passed him Isaksen’s map. ‘Work out our best route to the location.’

  Nathan perused it sulkily, continuing his manicure.

  ‘What are those things there?’ Jake pointed to a collection of objects sticking up from an arch on the southern end of the bridge. They looked like giant pins.

  ‘Those are severed heads,’ Topaz replied matter-of-factly. ‘The heads of traitors, dipped in tar and impaled on spikes. Some of them have been there for decades – like the Earl of Essex, once a favourite of Elizabeth the First.’

  Jake stared at the gruesome sight and Topaz went on, ‘These are cruel times, like so much of history, but they are incredible too. London in 1612 is possibly the first truly global city. Look at it . . .’ She indicated the busy wharves. ‘There are traders here from Africa, South America, India and China. Goods are arriving that, even a decade ago, people could only have dreamed of: tea, spices, dye, perfume, jewels – potatoes.’

  ‘Not to mention those funny curly shoes,’ Nathan chipped in.

  ‘And things are not just arriving; they’re leaving – the British are exporting technological marvels: clocks, maps, guns. Twenty-odd years back, the country was crippled by debt, and at war with Spain. Now look at it. An Englishman – Francis Drake – has sailed around the world, and the East India Company – the world’s original trading corporation – has been doing business for a decade. This is the gateway. It’s no coincidence that Shakespeare called his theatre the Globe.’ Topaz’s eyes glistened with passion as she spoke. ‘Non, c’est un age magnifique. An age of exploration, of enquiry, of curiosity, of acceptance.’

  ‘And where is the Globe?’ Jake asked, remembering Charlie’s request.

  Topaz pointed under the bridge towards the south bank, and Jake squinted through the forest of ships. He could just make out a white, octagonal building set within a copse of trees.

  Topaz docked carefully at a timber pier on the north side of the river. As Jake jumped ashore and secured the mooring, an incredible thought struck him. He was in the very place where he had first boarded a ship with the History Keepers. Then, the embankment had been half deserted and overlooked by nondescript office buildings; now it was teeming with life – sailors, crewmen, merchants, all shouting at once as crates, barrels and trunks were winched back and forth from ship to shore.

  A self-important-looking young rake with a velvet cape slung across one shoulder approached a man in a small sailboat; he tossed him a coin and ordered that he and his friends were taken across. ‘Westward ho!’ the ferryman called as he cast off.

  ‘Taxis for the rich,’ Topaz said under her breath. ‘It’s the quickest way to travel around here.’

  They put on their capes, Nathan immediately copying the jaunty style of the young man, and jumped onto the bank. ‘This way,’ he shouted, and they set off.

  On the river behind them, a small boat with navy blue sails was entering the port of London. At the helm, a young man in black doublet and cloak steered with one hand while scanning the shoreline with his telescope. He watched Jake and the others turn off the quayside and disappear up a flight of steps.

  The three History Keepers came to a wide thoroughfare that led from the northern end of the bridge into the heart of the city.

  ‘With just one crossing over the Thames,’ Topaz explained, ‘this is the main route into London from the south. At busy times it can take hours to cross the bridge.’

  Now Jake understood why the rich took taxis. London Bridge was a bottleneck of carts and carriages, their wheels rattling on cobbles, along with foot travellers and herds of cattle and pigs, all trying to funnel through. The queues snaked back for miles.

  Jake gazed around, taking in all the sights and sounds. He could hear foreign voices – a group of Frenchmen were deep in discussion about the prices of the inns, and a pair in turbans and long robes spoke in an unfamiliar dialect as they unpacked bolts of cloth from a wagon.

  ‘Here is all the world . . .’ Topaz swept her hand along the highway. ‘Africans, Italians, Dutch, Persians and Moroccans; visiting, living, sightseeing.’

  Rich and poor jostled side by side. They saw an aristocrat’s coach drawn by four white mares, its roof laden with trunks and caskets. A man in a feathered cap peered out at the mayhem through curtained windows, while his wife held a nosegay to her face. There were farmers with loads of vegetables, herbs and fresh flowers, and traders carrying pewter, tin, candles and books. There were young men on horseback and beggars ambling along barefoot. On each side, innkeepers and ostlers plied their trade, and locals played at cards and dice or smoked tobacco from clay pipes.

  At last they turned into a wide road that ran parallel to the river. It was less frenetic here, peopled mostly by well-dressed Londoners. Like the rake on the pier, many of the men strutted like peacocks, chins up to display their oversized ruffs, their swords hanging down behind them, some so long they dragged in the mud.

  ‘Length of sword,’ Topaz explained, ‘is one of those ridiculous status symbols in Elizabethan London.’ Nathan slyly checked his own, pushing his belt down so that the tip of his scabbard caught on the ground.

  Here they passed shop after shop: jewellers, glass-makers, glove-makers, embroiderers, silversmiths, apothecaries and furriers. Jake noticed one window stacked with scientific instruments and another with a giant golden tureen filled to the brim with peppercorns.

  ‘In case you were wondering,’ Nathan said, ‘the pepper costs ten times more than the gold. These are crazy times.’

  The next shop was a cartographer’s; a large map in the window showed the misshapen continents of Europe, with Asia and America either side. A sign next to it read: ENTER TO DISCOVER THE NEWE WORLDE. Around it, there were pictures of mythical beasts – unicorns and winged tigers.

  Ahead, a throng of people jostled and shouted as they queued up outside a bow-fronted store. Two elderly ladies in fur-trimmed coats almost came to blows over who was the first in line. Jake craned his neck to see the object of their fascination.

  ‘Porcelain,’ Topaz told him. ‘There is no greater obsession in the west than porcelain from China. In fact, everything from China: silk, nutmeg and, of course, the drink of the century – of the whole modern age – tea.’

  Jake got a glimpse of the blue and white ware, of the frantic shoppers and the besieged assistants. It looked like Christmas in Oxford Street, and he realized that people’s habits changed very little through time.

  ‘And that, if I am not mistaken’ – Topaz pointed to a building looming ahead of them – ‘is the headquarters of the East India Company. It was founded just over ten years ago, but it’s already one of the richest companies in the world.’ There were four storeys of mullioned windows rising up like a medieval skyscraper; but more eye-catching still was the giant coat of arms stamped in the centre, and the mural above it – a galleon. The pièce de résistance was a larger-than-life statue of a voyager astride two dolphins.

  The three youngsters were struck by the ostentation of the thing. ‘What’s amazing,’ Topaz said, ‘is that buildings like this are going up all over the world, f
rom Amsterdam to Cairo to Canton. This is the age of trade.’

  Nathan checked his bearings, then led them into a labyrinth of narrow streets. ‘This is where things get a little more pungent,’ he said, holding his nose. The roads – now little more than dirt tracks – were slimy with refuse, though a network of planks made walking a little easier. Overhead, the crooked houses hung right over, leaving just a thin band of sky. A window opened above them, and a hand emerged to empty a chamber pot, its gloopy contents narrowly missing Nathan as they splattered down.

  ‘Don’t you just love those reconstituted chestnuts?’ he muttered, stepping gingerly past.

  At last they came out onto the waterfront again. Jake scanned the river. Dusk was falling and the watermen, their boats lit by lanterns, glided across in every direction. Jake couldn’t get used to this city – so different from the London he knew. It seemed incredible that nearly all this would be washed away by history. He could see the Globe more clearly now, its white walls luminous against the crimson sky. ‘On Bankside, on the south of the river,’ Topaz explained, ‘the laws are different, less strict – so that’s where most Londoners go to amuse themselves. That’s the bear-baiting pit just behind the theatre.’

  ‘Bear-baiting?’ Jake asked.

  ‘C’est barbare.’ Topaz shook her head. ‘They tie up a poor animal – having filed down its teeth – and set wild dogs on it, while everyone bets on the winner. And it’s right next to one of the greatest theatres in all history. That’s civilization for you . . . Don’t ever get Charlie started on the subject!’

  Nathan turned the map round. ‘As far as I can make out, it’s one of those buildings there,’ he said, nodding upstream towards a row of five stately houses that looked over the Thames. Light could be seen in most of the windows, and smoke came from at least two of the chimneys, but the middle one was completely dark.

  They made their way through another maze of streets to a quiet road that ran along the backs of the mansions. It was lined with huge horse chestnut trees that seemed to swallow the sounds of the metropolis.